East of Outback Read Free Page B

surely laughing. The distant surf was spewing and spitting its mockery. And Captain Foulard was laughing.
    Colin took a deep breath and coughed viciously. But no matter how hard he coughed, his chest rattled and wheezed, waterlogged. A huge hand pounded his back.
    At last Colin opened his eyes. A pink crack at the base of the leaden sky told him dawn had come, and between Colin and that pink crack stretched a continent of solid land.
    He wrenched himself to a sitting position. Wet sand stuck to his face, his hands, his clothes. Rain drummed all around him, quiet and steady.
    Captain Foulard plopped to the sand beside him, still laughing. “Y’re a tiger, lahd. Couldn’t convince y’ to let go daht boom for nutting. Hahf ‘spect you to drahg it clear bahk to Broome.”
    “Wha—What about the others? Surely we’re not the only ones. . . .” Colin couldn’t get his chest and throat to clear, and he still coughed violently.
    The captain sobered. “Cahn’t say, lahd. When you feel more like it, we’ll start de long walk home. No doubt we’ll pick up a clue here and dere ’long de way.”
    “I’m up to it now,” Colin lied. He managed to gain his feet on the second try. He felt a deep urge to take the boom along. “This is part of your sea anchor, isn’t it?”
    “Aye, lahd. She tore loose ahnd we broached.” The captain led the way, the distant ocean on their left, the endless beach before and behind them.
    A dark spot on the horizon became a beached boat as they approached. Hardin Belle could be distinguished on her trailboards. Colin didn’t recognize that one.
    He turned to gaze out over the water, and stopped suddenly. “Captain Foulard! Look out there—on the surf.”
    “Aye, lahd. Let’s take a look.”
    They left the high water line and walked through spongy sand to the sloshing surf. The limp form of a man’s body washed in and out, in and out, face down. The two reverently dragged it above the high tide line and left it, neither having the strength to bury it. It was unmistakenly the body of Sake Tamemoto.
    As the sun rose higher, the rain ended, and the leaden overcast began to break up. “Rest,” said the captain, and with that Colin flopped prostrate, gratefully, on the sand.
    “Captain?” he mused, “Where you from?”
    “Lotsa places. Born in Hawaii, raised in Tahiti.”
    “Kanaka?” He was almost incredulous.
    “Aye. Now, why you giggling?”
    Colin watched the clearing sky overhead as it changed from gray to patchy blue. “My father and grandfather both came to a lot of grief for using Kanakas in the sugar cane fields at the beginning of the century. Labor troubles.”
    “Slavers.”
    “So they say, but my father wasn’t. If you met him you’d know. He’s so—so pious. Righteous. He hired many, not just Kanakas. In fact, he hired Mum out of Ireland.”
    “And mahrried her. A romahntic tale.”
    “Yair, guess so. Mum says ‘twas a handsome plantation. Sugarlea.”
    “Ahnd daht’s why you were giggling?”
    “No. Just thinking. My father had all that trouble about Kanakas, and didn’t like them a bit, and now here’s one who saved his son’s life. There’s a twist, you see?”
    “You saved y’r own life, lahd. Niwer seen a mahn cling to nutting like you clung to daht boom.”
    “But you attached me to it.” Colin sat up, cupping his ear. “Listen! Is that a motor car?”
    “Or a truck. ‘Twill be ahead of us, coming south from Broome. Rescuers come to clean up de beach, I vow.”
    “Captain? You think maybe the Gracie made it?”
    “I know she didn’t.” Deep, deep sorrow rumbled in his muted voice. “Heard her go down in de dark, gurgling. Almost sucked us under with her as she went.”
    Colin watched the cloud of sand and dirt the vehicle kicked up, and then the truck came into full view.
    As the open, stake-sided truck came rumbling down the beach, a familiar voice called to them from the truck bed. Colin scrambled to his feet, and it ground to a