The Last Swagman's Son

Chapter 2:- Rendevous and Resupply

KINGS CANYON, NORTHERN TERRITORY

"Is that him?" Malcolm said as they came upon the rendevous point.

"Yep." Jimmy replied.

Malcolm laughed. "No wonder they haven't found our communications expert!"

Jimmy grinned and clicked his tongue with confirmation.

They had parked their car further down the range and walked the rest of the way to meet up with Wells. It was a good four hour hike across desert landscape, but for the two eco-terrorists used to the harsh environment, it was just a walk in the park.

"Stay here. I trust the old bugger with my life, but he only trusts me."

Malcolm nodded his head. He never questioned Jimmy's judgement, and stayed back to set a lying up position overlooking the area. Once Jimmy felt sure there was no one else about, he calmly stepped out into the open.

"Wells."

The old, bedraggled aboriginal man looked up and saw Jimmy approaching.

"About bloody time, badda! Haven't heard a voice fer a month!"

"How's things, you old fart?"

Wells shrugged as he pointed at his bandaged left leg. It was red from the dust and obviously been on for a while. "Coulda be better, badda. Gotta tiger snake on da second day out here. Was a close run fer a few nights."

"Explains the footprints then." Jimmy said, with reference to the short spaced, waddling tracks they had followed to find him.

"Yeah, badda. All fixed up now. Hows you?"

"All good. All good. Gonna head north, up to Kakadu country. Need you to contact the gang at Shoalwater. Tell them to meet us at Jabiru."

"You gunna head into longgrass country badda?"

"Yep. Gunna blast the BP depot up there."

"Dats flash, badda! Dem oil companies are poison! So what cover letter you wanting me to send?"

By cover letter, Wells was referring to the rap lyrics Jimmy liked to write. Jimmy never left letters on the internet. He enjoyed playing with words, and especially leading authorities on a wild goose chase.

Through his verses, he bragged about his last exploit and how coppers after him were hopeless, and then about his next intended target. Not that his intended targets always matched up with his real one. For this song, it was about the live animal exports and how cruel and vicious it was. But it wasn't his actual target, at least for now.

After reading the peice of paper Jimmy handed to him, Wells laughed and gave a delighted clap and an encore. "Bluddy good one dis here, badda!"

It made Jimmy proud to know his black skinned father approved. And even though they were in no way related, Jimmy looked up to Wells like he had done his own dad so long ago. Both were men of the bush. Etched on their faces was the creases of a hard life in the outback. And the unfathomable knowledge in old Wells head made Jimmy jealous each time he thought of it.

"Fer an old fart, Wells, you got some weird tastes in music."

Wells laughed aloud at this. "Dis here Bush Poetry like in da bushranger days! Badda, dis here is good! An' anyways, me been waiting too long fer some break from humdrum here. Dis boring waiting long time!" Wells took out a package from his pocket and unwrapped the tissue paper carefully to reveal his iPhone. "Me write it in now and send it from the next pastoral station with wireless."

They sat for a while longer, Wells sharing some bush tucker he had gathered that morning, and coyly smiling as Jimmy declined some honey ants. "Don't worry. Dem ants gone to da dreamtime happy now. Happy dey help clean up da land."