"gp24w10" - читать интересную книгу автора (Parker Gilbert)

a huge section of the Carpentaria country. He was now on his way to
Gilgan to try some cases there. He was a new chum, though he had lived
in Australia for years. As Barlas said, he'd been kept in a cultivation-
paddock in Sydney and Brisbane; and he was now going to take the business
of justice out of the hands of Heaven and its trusted agents the bushmen,
and reduce the land to the peace of the Beatitudes by the imposing reign
of law and summary judgments. Barlas had just said as much, though in
different language.

I knew by the way that Barlas dropped the damper on the hot ashes and
swung round on his heel that he was in a bad temper. "And so you think,
Cadi," said he, "that we squatters and bushmen are a strong, murderous
lot; that we hunt down the Myalls--[Aborigines]--like kangaroos or
dingoes, and unrighteously take justice in our own hands instead of
handing it over to you?"

"I think," said the Cadi, "that individual and private revenge should
not take the place of the Courts of Law. If the blacks commit
depredations--"

"Depredations!" interjected Drysdale with sharp scorn.

"If they commit depredations and crimes," the Cadi continued, "they
should be captured as criminals are captured elsewhere and be brought in
and tried. In that way respect would be shown to British law and--"
here he hesitated slightly, for Barlas's face was not pleasant to see--
"and the statutes."

But Barlas's voice was almost compassionate as he said: "Cadi, every man
to his trade, and you've got yours. But you haven't learned yet that
this isn't Brisbane or Melbourne. You haven't stopped to consider how
many police would be necessary for this immense area of country if you
are really to be of any use. And see here,"--his face grew grim and
dark, "you don't know what it is to wait for the law to set things right
in this Never Never Land. There isn't a man in the Carpentaria and Port
Darwin country but has lost a friend by the cowardly crack of a waddy in
the dead of night or a spear from behind a tree. Never any fair
fighting, but red slaughter and murder--curse their black hearts!"
Barlas gulped down what seemed very like a sob.

Drysdale and I knew how strongly Barlas felt. He had been engaged to be
married to a girl on the Daly River, and a week before the wedding she
and her mother and her two brothers were butchered by blacks whom they
had often befriended and fed. We knew what had turned Barlas's hair grey
and spoiled his life.

Drysdale took up the strain: "Yes, Cadi, you've got the true missionary
gospel, the kind of yabber they fire at each other over tea and buns at
Darling Point and Toorak--all about the poor native and the bad, bad men
who don't put peas in their guns, and do sometimes get an eye for an eye