The northern territory police magazine $4 c tat

Page Nineteen



supplies and the next day we were on the move again towards Gundy Spring, as this was supposed to be a likely place for George to lie low for a time. By this time we were travelling roughly in a southerly direction through poor semi-desert country and, although it was just at the end of the Wet season, water was scarce. One of the horses went lame and had to be dropped with a mate so that he wouldn't stray too far. I was starting to get a bit fed up — I didn't have much of an idea of just where we were going as the trackers were unable to explain and couldn't draw a rough map to illustrate. It seemed to me that we would finish up on the Barkly Tablelands before long.

The next day we were on our way again in a southerly direction through the same semi-desert country as the day before. The weather was hot, the flies were bad and the horses kicked up clouds of dust. It was anything but pleasant riding along and, worst of all, there was neither hair nor hide of the elusive George to be found anywhere. About 4 p.m. we came on a pad with a lot of blacks' tracks going more or less in the direction we were taking. Following this along until almost sundown, we suddenly sighted a mob of blacks who had just camped for the night. It was too late to avoid being seen, so we covered the last few hundred yards at a gallop and there, in the camp, sitting over his own little fire, was Wearyan George. He had a reputation of being a " head " among his own tribe and something of a dangerous man, from what I had been told. I had pictured him as a powerful fellow who would launch a spear at one without the slightest provocation. But here he was, an elderly aboriginal of medium height, with wrinkled face and long, matted greasy hair, and he certainly had a villainous, crafty look that was in keeping with his attack on Jenny. We lost no time in seeing that he didn't make off. I thought it was a sheer piece of luck that we had been able to catch up with him in this particular area which was really out of his own beat.

During the course of the usual preliminary questioning, George readily admitted the spearing of Jenny, giving as an excuse " that boy too much humbug my lubra;

humbug all day ". He demonstrated how he had held the spear by the blade and said he had come up behind her and " put him half-way. Me pullem out quick fella now. Me sorry fella belongta my lubra. Me too much cranky ". This seemd to tie up with Jenny's story, although, from a few things which were said by both during my questioning of them, the whole incident seemed to have been touched off by Jenny refusing to give George some of the " sugar bag " she had cut out of the tree. This aroused his anger and the spearing was really meant as a stern reminder that she was supposed to share the " sugar bag " and keep away from the " too much humbug " boy. I duly arrested George there and then and took good care that he couldn't gallop during the night. He was hobbled with handcuffs, as well as chained, but in such a way that he wasn't caused any great discomfort.

The other blacks in the camp were a walkabout mob from about the Rankine and Alexandria. George had joined up with them apparently soon after he had been seen crossing the Foelsche. One of them, a big strapping fellow who said he was a tracker from the Rankine, seeing the turn of events and hoping to turn it to some advantage, came over to me a little later on and said, " I been keep him for you ". There's no doubt about it that he expected to be suitably rewarded with a good issue of tobacco, but his luck was out as the trackers had got the last of my supply that day.