Howie the Yowie Read online

‘Are the Blue Mountains really blue?’ Howie was curious to know more about his destination.

  ‘Not close up, they aren’t. But from a distance they look blue because of a blue haze created by vapours from the eucalyptus leaves.’

  Howie looked at Joe admiringly. He seemed to know the answers to everything!

  On reaching a small billabong, they decided to stop for a while and let the horse graze amongst the lush, green grass. The water was so cool and crystal clear and the afternoon sun so hot, they soon gave up any idea of travelling further that day and spent a lazy afternoon swimming in the waterhole and resting in the shade of the coolabah trees.

  As the sun began to sink in the west, the two companions climbed to the top of a nearby hill and watched it slowly disappear, the fading red light making the mountains seem more majestic and mysterious than ever.

  Joe finally broke the silence. ‘All that swimming made me hungry. What about you?’

  Howie nodded. He was always hungry. ‘Let’s head back to camp.’

  ‘It looks like there’s only baked beans and fruitcake,’ said Joe, rummaging through the food basket. ‘I wish we’d managed to catch a fish or two. Never mind … we’ll just have to make do.’

  Joe’s horse, grazing near the water’s edge suddenly snorted, pricked up its ears and neighed loudly.

  ‘What’s up, old fellow?’ asked Joe, strolling over to check. ‘Has something spooked you, or what?’

  The horse whinnied, shook its head from side to side and pawed at the ground. Probably a goanna or a snake has frightened him, thought Joe. But then he noticed a light, a little way off through the trees. He decided to investigate and suggested Howie should follow, but remain hidden just in case.

  As they got closer to the source of the light, Joe could see a campfire. Then he heard music—someone playing a lively tune on a mouth organ. The delicious aroma of cooked lamb wafted tantalisingly through the soft night air, making Joe’s stomach rumble loudly and his mouth water at the thought of sinking his teeth into a tasty chunk of lamb. He was suddenly ravenous!

  As he stepped into the clearing, Joe was met with a warm greeting from an old swagman, bent over the fire.

  ‘G’day mate,’ said the stranger. ‘I noticed your camp a bit earlier and I was hoping you’d join me for tea. As you can see, I’ve got plenty of tucker and I’d enjoy the company.’

  Joe looked around. He could see the remains of a sheep the swaggie had killed and was now in the process of cooking. After yesterday’s experience, Joe was very suspicious of strangers, but his hunger was overwhelming. The thought of their meagre ration of baked beans was less and less appealing. He was about to accept when he suddenly remembered Howie.

  It was as if the swaggie could read Joe’s mind. The old man grinned. ‘You can tell your Yowie mate in the scrub that he can come on over too—tell him, I won’t bite!’

  At this, Howie emerged rather sheepishly from the bushes and joined them around the campfire.

  Introductions were made and the three sat down to a hearty meal. There were more than enough vegetables to satisfy a vegetarian like Howie. His plate was heaped with carrots, potatoes and cabbage, all covered in a rich, thick onion gravy. Joe was more than happy to eat Howie’s portion of meat and he polished off eight lamb chops quite easily. Next came dessert—some kind of boiled fruit pudding—and to finish up, huge slabs of fresh damper with golden syrup. They washed this banquet down with several mugs of strong, hot tea and lay there for some time, feeling too full to move.

  Joe burped contentedly and patted his stomach.

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said to the swaggie. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for a week after that! It was the best meal I’ve had for a while, and I bet it’ll be a long time before I have another like it.’

  It was a perfect night, they all agreed. There was a full moon and the sky was cloudless, the stars so bright, there was no need for a lantern as they went down to the water’s edge to rinse their plates and mugs. The scene was incredibly peaceful.

  Without any warning, however, this suddenly changed.

  From out of nowhere, four riders on large black steeds appeared, thundering towards them as if determined to run them down. Howie and Joe jumped out of the way but the swagman, not fast enough, was knocked flying. He got up quickly, though, and tried to run. Shots were fired. The horses reared up, pawing at the sky, their nostrils flaring and eyes flashing; their loud snorts and whinnies adding to the general noise and confusion.

  The lead rider jumped from his horse. He was a farmer of sorts; probably a squatter, thought Joe, and most likely the owner of the sheep they had just eaten. The other three riders were police troopers.

  Shouts of ‘Get him!’ and ‘Surrender, or I’ll shoot!’ filled the air. The squatter lunged at the swagman who was attempting to flee and tackled him to the ground. The troopers joined in. They attacked the old man, kicking and beating him viciously with their batons.

  ‘That’ll teach you to steal my sheep!’ cried the squatter.

  Joe was outraged. No one deserved this kind of treatment—even if they had stolen a sheep. And why should someone as rich as this squatter deny a poor old swagman a feed? Besides, reasoned Joe, if it came to that, he himself was equally to blame. He had been more than happy to polish off those lamb chops.

  These were the thoughts that persuaded Joe and Howie to join in the fight, and soon it was a free-for-all with blows and fists flying in every direction. More shots were fired. A bullet whistled past Joe’s head, barely missing his ear. He turned just in time to see Howie grab the rifle and throw it into the billabong. Joe lunged at one of the troopers and pulled him off the helpless swagman, giving him time to escape and head for the water. Another shot rang out. The terrified swagman kept going—half swimming, half wading—out into the middle of the billabong, where he suddenly vanished.

  Everything suddenly became deathly still. A heavy mist descended, enveloping the area around the billabong in a thick, grey blanket of fog.

  Then, just as quickly as it had come, the mist cleared—leaving no trace of the squatter, the troopers or their horses, who seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

  Neither Joe nor Howie had time to think about this. They dived into the water and swam out to where the swagman had last been seen, in a vain attempt to rescue him. They searched and searched and though the water was clear and not particularly deep, there was no sign at all of the friendly old swaggie.

  The stars had lost their brilliance and a shadow dimmed the moon by the time the two friends finally gave up the search. As they staggered back, dripping wet and shivering with cold, Joe and Howie were alarmed and bewildered to find that not a single trace of the swaggie’s campfire remained. Everything (including the remains of the half-eaten sheep) had vanished. There was nothing left to show that the old man had ever existed, much less been attacked by four men on horseback. In fact, there was no sign of any kind of disturbance at all.

  The billabong had now become an eerie, terrifying place for the two travellers. Completely mystified and more than a little frightened, Joe and Howie hurried back to their wagon.

  They had almost finished packing up when they heard something—the sound of singing. It was the same tune they’d heard earlier in the evening. It made their blood run cold and their hair stand on end to hear that melody once again.

  Howie listened intently, trying hard to make out the words of the song.

  ‘It seems to be about dancing,’ he said, straining his ears to catch the words.

  ‘Something about Matilda and who’ll come a-waltzing. What on earth do you think that means, Joe?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. And I’ve certainly no wish to find out. This place is giving me the creeps.’

  It was time to get away, and fast! Throwing their remaining belongings into the wagon, they jumped on and sped away into the night, anxious to get away from the scene. There was no way they would stay in that haunted place a moment longer.

&n
bsp; CHAPTER NINE

  The Jenolan Caves

  Joe pulled off the track and hopped down from the wagon to read the faded signpost.

  It said: JENOLAN CAVES ONE MILE

  ‘Well … we’re nearly there. But what say we rest here for a bit to stretch our legs and boil the billy?’

  Howie eagerly agreed. A break was just what he needed. The closer they got to their destination, the more anxious he became. Very soon now, his friend would continue on to Sydney Town, while he’d be left all on his own. Joe’s happy-go-lucky and carefree nature had made him a great travelling companion and Howie knew he would miss him terribly.

  ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d stayed at home,’ he confessed. ‘At least I knew what to expect and had friends who cared about me. Do you think I’ve made a big mistake, Joe?’

  ‘No, Howie, I don’t. But it’s only natural that you’re nervous. Matter of fact, I feel a bit that way myself. Not about going home, of course but the idea of sailing halfway around the world bothers me. I’m a very poor sailor and get dreadfully seasick.’

  This cheered Howie up a little. At least he was better off than Joe. He had never seen the ocean or been on a ship but being seasick certainly didn’t sound like fun. He was still worried though.

  ‘Do you think that hunter was telling the truth, Joe? You know… about Yowies living in the Blue Mountains?’

  ‘Hmm ...’ answered Joe, using a long stick to lift the billy lid and check if the water was boiling. ‘It’s hard to know whether a scoundrel like that ever tells the truth! But I reckon if there are other Yowies, then this is the most likely place to find them. Why, I’ve heard stories about all kinds of strange animals and creatures that live around here.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well the black panther, for one. Lots of people reckon they’ve seen them—enormous black cats with yellow eyes and long, sharp fangs. They say that gold miners from America brought them over and set them loose.’ Joe paused while he added a handful of tea leaves to the boiling water and produced some of the fruit cake that Mary Richards had packed for them.

  Howie was puzzled. ‘Why did they set them loose? It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘For sport. So they could go hunting. And just like the foxes that were brought over from England for the same reason, they ended up being a pest, killing sheep and cattle and native animals.’

  Howie shook his head sadly. There were so many things about humans that he didn’t understand, especially this idea of hunting and killing animals for sport.

  Joe continued. ‘There’s something much worse than panthers, though. It’s a monster called a Bunyip. From what I’ve heard, it’s a pretty nasty kind of creature. Until I met you, I always thought Bunyips and Yowies were related in some way, but I don’t believe it now.’

  ‘What have you heard, Joe?’

  ‘All kinds of things, like … it’s a huge beast, half lizard, half ant, with big red eyes on the side of the head and sharp fangs. It lives in the swamps and billabongs and comes out at night to hunt.’ Joe shuddered. ‘It eats whatever it can find, including people!’

  ‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be related to anything like that,’ said Howie. ‘I’d rather not have any family at all.’

  The two friends sat on a fallen log while they drank their tea and tucked into the fruit cake. They remained silent for some time, each lost in thought.

  Joe closed his eyes and tried to picture the look on his mother’s face when he finally returned home. He’d been away for a long time and could hardly wait to see his family again.

  Howie was thinking about where they were now headed—the vast network of underground caverns called the Jenolan Caves. Although Joe had never explored the caves himself, he seemed to know a fair bit about them. At the start of their journey, he’d told Howie of the bushranger who first discovered the caves and used them as a hideout before eventually being captured.

  Joe felt that if there were Yowies in the mountains, they would most likely use the Jenolan Caves for the same reason as the bushranger had—as a safe place to hide. In any case, he thought it was a good place to begin the search, and Howie had agreed.

  After their brief stop, the two companions continued on their way. They soon came to the “hidden valley” and passed through a huge rock archway called the Devil’s Coach House.

  Before saying their final goodbyes, Joe produced a backpack from the wagon and gave it to Howie.

  ‘Here, mate, take this. There’s a few things you might need, like a penknife … some candles and matches … a can opener. Oh, and most important of all, some tins of baked beans!’ They both laughed.

  Joe smacked his forehead. ‘I can’t believe I nearly forgot the most important item you’ll need when you’re caving.’ He scrabbled round in the back of the wagon and pulled out a coil of thick rope. It was the one they had used for tying up the bushranger. ‘Here you go,’ he said as he handed it over. ‘You wouldn’t get too far without this!’

  Howie held back tears as he watched his friend climb aboard the wagon. He wondered if he would ever see him again. A moment later, Joe gave a final wave and set off down the track, slowly disappearing from sight and leaving Howie completely on his own!

  He filled up his drink bottle with water from a nearby stream, placed it in his backpack, and took a deep breath. He was so excited, he could hardly contain himself.

  The quest to find his family had now begun.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Bunyip

  When Howie began his exploration of the caves, he had no idea of what lay ahead. If he had known, perhaps he would have given up, gone back to the safety of the Goonoo Forest and abandoned his quest. But he didn’t know what was in store and was quite excited about taking the next step—this “leap” into the unknown.

  And a “leap” is exactly what it was. The entrance to the caves was through a large opening called a sinkhole. Howie decided the best and safest way would be to abseil all the way down to the bottom. So, with one end of the rope tied around a nearby tree and the other around his middle, he took a deep breath and made a start.

  Howie soon got the hang of abseiling and by the time he reached the bottom, he was beginning to enjoy the whole experience.

  The next part was much harder. It involved crawling, climbing and sliding over rough boulders and rocks, squeezing and wriggling through narrow holes and crevices, and worming his way through a series of S-bend tunnels.

  Just when he thought there would never be an end to it, he finally reached an enormous limestone cavern, where he collapsed in a big heap and lay for some time. He was completely exhausted. His head hurt from all the bumps and knocks along the way. His body was aching all over and his big feet were covered in blisters. There were only two small candle stubs left and his matches had almost run out. Thinking longingly of his home in the beautiful Goonoo Forest, he wondered why he had ever started on this foolish journey in the first place. But after resting awhile, his spirits lifted and he was eager to get going once more.

  To Howie’s great relief, there was lighting in this part of the cave, and clearly marked signs showing which direction to take. It meant that other adventurers had been there before him and (unless he came across some skeletons along the way) that they had all successfully managed to exit somewhere. He began to whistle a merry tune and was beginning to revel in the exploration of this hidden wonderland, when he noticed a boarded-up tunnel a bit off the beaten path.

  There was something written in faded letters but he couldn’t make out what it was, so he left the path to investigate. The sign said:

  DANGER — KEEP OUT!

  Now, Howie was a very law-abiding character and would normally have obeyed such a warning without question, but the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that this tunnel deserved a closer look. If Yowies did use the caves as a hideout, he reasoned, a sign like this would certainly stop unwelcome visitors.

  The boards were old and rotten
. When he moved them aside, they revealed a narrow passageway. Before long and without thinking too much about whether he was being foolish or not, Howie found himself stepping inside.

  Not only was the tunnel narrow, it was also quite low. Howie had to crouch over as he crept along. He hadn’t gone far when he came across another sign.

  This one said: WRONG WAY — GO BACK!

  Howie wished the signs were more consistent. One said it was dangerous, the other said it was the wrong direction. It made him wonder what the next sign would say, if in fact there was another.

  And sure enough, there was: CAN’T YOU READ?

  Howie smiled to himself. Not so long ago, the answer to that question would have been “No.” How lucky he was that Hannah and Mrs Richards had spent so much time teaching him to read and write. Imagine how difficult it would have been to find all these signs and not have a clue what they meant!

  A few paces further along came another one: LAST CHANCE!

  That was followed by: YOU’LL BE SORRY!

  Rather than frighten him off, the warnings only served to feed Howie’s curiosity even further. This was getting to be more and more fun. It felt almost like a treasure hunt!

  He could see a light at the end of the tunnel, so quickened his pace.

  Nothing had prepared him for the next sign, though, which had large letters and was underlined. It stopped him dead in his tracks:

  BEWARE — BUNYIP LAIR!

  ‘A Bunyip hideaway!’ he gasped. The idea of coming face to face with a monster (even though it might be some kind of relative) was not very appealing. He was tempted to turn tail and go back. But Howie had never been a quitter, and he decided to carry on, despite his fears. Taking a few deep breaths, and clutching Joe’s small penknife in one large paw, he soldiered onwards.

  When he came to the tunnel’s end, he cautiously rounded the corner and was relieved to find that the cave was empty. Not a monster anywhere in sight!

  Howie explored his surroundings and soon came across something interesting. At the far end of the cave lay another sign, resting crookedly against a mound of soil.