The northern territory police magazine $4 c tat

Page Seventeen
at the gin. She has a nasty wound in the back which has gone right into the inside ". It was a nasty wound too, about the middle of the right side of the back, about two inches from the backbone and about two inches lor g and consistent with one inflicted with a shovel-nosed spear. Jenny, although in her camp, was under the care of a trained nurse who was staying at the homestead at the time. She told me a story of how she and her boy George, " Wearyan George " — to give hi 71 his correct title, a fairly elderly aboriginal, had gone out from the station in the morning into the bush to look for " sugar bag ". Jmny had found one which she cut out of the tree in the usual manner and was having a " tuck out " of the honey when George came up from behind and gave her what must have been a fairly vikorous jab in the back with one of the shovel-nosed spears he was carrying. Shc Ell and George pulled out the spear, and when she asked why he had speared her, he accused her of playing about with one of the local bucks who had a great reputation as a philanderer. So here was the eternal triangle cropping up, although, according to Jenny, she was guiltless of this accusation. Following the pulling out of. the spear, she got up and made off but George followed up and dropped 11.^-r a couple of times with a " waddy ", and finally made off, leaving her alone in the bush. She camped out that night and next morning managed to get back to her camp at the station homestead,

George had another gin, Mabel, Jenny's sister so

she claimed — who was also at McArthur at the time, and she told me how George had come up to her on the morning of the incident with a story of how a branch of a tree had fallen on Jenny. He took her out to look for jenny and, according to Mabel, they looked about without finding her. George sent her back then, saying he would look about himself and perhaps wouldn't come back.

Another witness, Ned, related how he had found Jenny under a tree near the station, seen the spear wound and told a white stockman about it and he, in turn, reported to the Manager.

Well this was the story as best I could get it and my job now was to find Wearyan George. I spent another day at McArthur River Station getting statements and making further enquiries as to the whereabouts of George, but drew a blank in that regard. There was a radio at Borroloola, one of the very first type, which transmitted moors:: by medium of a keyboard arrangement similar to that of a typewriter, but as there wasn't a set at McArthur, I couldn't even send a telegram to report the result of investigations up to that time. I was now in something of a quandary wondering what was the right thing to do next. I had a statement from Jenny, which was alright if she could be produced as a witness, but, with a wound such as she had, it was my opinion that she might not survive, although she repeatedly affirmed " can't finish ". Then there was the question of getting medical assistance for her, which at that time of the year would have to be by aerial ambulance. The Manager, Dick D'Archy, was hurriedly making a landing strip on a bit of open flat black soil country near the homestead, in anticipation of the plane's arrival. I decided to return to Borroloola and arrive.' back next night at 9.3o, reporting events to " Sherry " -

Telegrams had to be sent the next day to arrange for the Flying Doctor. Dr. Fenton was away on holiday, so we had to try for the one from Cloncurry. Meantime there was talk of taking a Dying Declaration and getting a Justice to go up. The local resident J.P. was a bit too



Shovel spears get an honourable mention in this, as in many N.T. Police stories. Here is one at the instant of rocketing _from the woornera or " throwing stick". They are a deadly weapon in an expert's hands — or even as a stabbing instrument.

old to make the trip, which would have been by horse. The other was camped out some miles away and perhaps wasn't too keen either. Anyhow it was decided that, as Jenny didn't have " the hopeless expectancy of impending death ", a Dying Declaration couldn't be taken.

When all this had been satisfactorily sorted out, I was on my way back to McArthur River Station again and got there just after mid-day the following day, to find the Manager and his team of boys still hard at it clearing the landing strip, but the plane didn't turn up until early afternoon of the next day. The Doctor, after examining the wound Jenny, said she had a chance and decided to take her to Cloncurry. The plane with patient aboard took off soon afterwards.

A further search around the station area, by the two trackers failed to reveal any sign of Wearyan George or his tracks. The problem was now — where would he go? According to the trackers, he wouldn't be likely to go back to his usual beat, which was down on the Wearyan River in the vicinity of Foster's camp. If he turned up there without his gins, he might be asked some awkward questions by his or their countrymen. Perhaps Ise might go over to Robinson River Station. I must admit I didn't have much of an idea where he would go and had to rely largely on the trackers' ideas on the subject. It seemed a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, as he had thousands of square miles over which to roam.

The decision was made to go bush towards Robinson River in the hope of cutting George's tracks and late the next morning off we set in an easterly direction. There was a bit of a hitch before we left as I found out that trackers, Publican Charlie and Paddy, didn't know the first part of the country ahead, so a local guide had to be found and he piloted us out to our night camp and then on to our dinner camp the next day. A diary entry of zist March says —" Riding all day through rough, broken country. Had dinner near Clyde River ". It was sandstone country with many outcrops of rock which had been eroded into queer shapes and boles by the action of wind and water. Great boulders supported by slender columns looked as if they would topple over at any moment. We were riding in and out of these rock formations all day long.

The next day was the same: more broken country with poor sandy soil, thick scrub and spinifex grass. We got to the Wearyan River that afternoon and camped.

The next day we followed the Wearyan River up and kept a lookout for tracks or George himself, but not a