Man of Two Tribes Read Online Free Page A

built the railway. There are other points, too.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œIt is said that the blow-holes are worked by ocean currents, that the sea tides force the air back into the galleries deep below and so create the underground wind. You know all that, of course.”
    â€œAnd that the noises underground have been attributed by the aborigines to the stomach rumblings and movements of Ganba the Man-eating Snake,” Bony added.
    â€œJust so. I’ve heard old Ganba roaring and rumbling below the surface and above it well down south of the railway. And Ihave heard him on the rampage well north of the railway, too. Even farther north than we are now.
    â€œYou’ve heard that even the station abos hate being out on the Nullarbor, I suppose,” Easter went on. “Not only because of Ganba, but because there are wide areas where stock and horses won’t pass over, and that spells underground cavities in the limestone, doesn’t it? You really interested in caves and things?”
    â€œNo,” admitted Bony. “I have inherited horror of darkness in a hole, yet I do not suffer from claustrophobia.” He chuckled. “There it is, the fabulous Nullarbor Plain. All is visible, but what of those things that are under it? Up here we have space and sunlight and warmth. But no protection from the storms. Here there is nowhere to hide, no sanctuary, not even a tree to press your back against so that Ganba doesn’t creep up on you. It would be decidedly unnatural for a man to enjoy such nakedness when standing on a bald world.”
    They ate cold roast beef and bread well buttered, and each was attacked by a thought neither would ever admit. The jeep was a good companion, was the little secret thought. When Easter stood beside it, the crown of his felt hat was the highest point within the completely unbroken, completely level horizon.
    Not yet was Easter accustomed to the change which had taken place in the previously dapper Inspector Bonaparte. The smartly-cut grey suit had been changed for a worn drill shirt tucked into almost skin-tight trousers of grey gaberdine. The trousers were grubby in the right places denoting habitual contact with a horse, and although there were no spurs to the elastic-sided boots, their condition also hinted at much riding. Here in the broad sunlight his parentage was more obvious.
    Bony sensed the scrutiny. Easter said:
    â€œHave you decided how you will contact me after I leave you at Mount Singular?”
    Bony looked shyly away from the big man. “I don’t know, Mr. Easter,” he drawled. Kicking a small stone, he regardedwith apparent interest the jeep’s tyres. “I’ll be all right though.” He laughed, superficially at nothing at all, gazed out over the Plain, anywhere but directly into the policeman’s eyes. Continuing to kick at the stone, he repeated: “I’ll be all right, though.”
    â€œBy heck!” exploded Easter. “You’ve got the caste off to a T.” Then suddenly serious, he added: “No offence meant.”
    â€œNone taken, Easter. You know I once read a book about a very successful man who discovered that his mother was a quarter caste, and he so despaired that he hanged himself. How stupid! Why, he had every reason, in fact, to be proud of his success, like me. I am at the top of my chosen profession, Easter, despite all the handicaps of birth. Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte, Easter. With never a failure to his record. I never knew my father, and in any case it’s a wise man who does, according to someone. I never knew my mother either. She was found dead under a sandalwood tree, with me on her breast and three days old. As you know, few go far in this country without the push of family, money, and social influence, but I have found my road in my own way, at my own pace, and no one tells me to do this or that.”
    â€œYou have to admit, sir, that you’re