Poppy and the Thief Read online

  Poppy and the Thief

  Poppy is on the road again, heading to the town of Wahgunyah. On the way she meets a stranger who seems to know something about her past, and her special letter with the red tiger seal. But the more time she spends with this boy, the more difficult he becomes. Should Poppy trust him?

  Join Poppy again on her adventure in the third of four exciting stories about a Gold Rush girl who dreams of a better life.

  Puffin Books

  I would like to thank the following people for their invaluable assistance: Koorie Elder, Uncle John Sandy Atkinson O.A.M.; Koorie Liaison Officer, State Library of Victoria, Maxine Briggs; Koorie Heritage Trust Librarian, Judy Williams.

  For Yullarah –

  the beautiful face of Poppy

  With illustrations by Lucia Masciullo

  Puffin Books

  Poppy has run away from Bird Creek Mission to look for her brother, Gus, who is heading to Beechworth in search of gold. She is disguised as a boy to protect herself from people who might be looking for her – Mother Hangtree from the Mission and the police! Along the way she has shared a meal with a bushranger and been taken in by a kind homestead family after hurting her ankle very badly. Luckily she has a loyal dog named Fisher to look after her as there are many more obstacles and dangers in Poppy’s path …

  Contents

  1 THE CRAZY BOY

  2 BIG SKY

  3 THE RAT

  4 THE DOG CART

  5 THE PAINTlNG

  6 POPPY THE THIEF

  7 POPPY THE PRISONER

  8 THE NEW BRIDE

  9 THE HEALING

  10 FISHER’S GOLD

  As Poppy galloped away from Summerhill, there was a gnawing emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Saying goodbye to Tom and Noni had left her heavy with sadness. I always seem to be leaving, she thought, always saying goodbye. But until she found her brother, Gus, this was her life. The people at the camp said Gus was on his way to Wahgunyah. Well, now so was she. Poppy couldn’t stay any longer in case that policeman from Tocumwal discovered the truth about her – that she was a runaway from Bird Creek Mission.

  But now she was back in her boy’s disguise and on the road again. ‘Come on, Fish,’ she called out to her dog. She kicked Gideon’s flanks and the big black horse lengthened his stride.

  Riding bareback had been hard at first. But Tom’s words had echoed in her mind and helped her along: You just do it, over and over. Don’t worry you no good. Get good soon enough. Gideon’s spirit was tied to hers, Tom had said. And she knew that to be true. The horse had done everything Poppy had asked him to since their escape from Summerhill.

  Wahgunyah lay in the colony of Victoria, on the other side of the Murray River. Bird Creek Mission was in Victoria too. But after hiding on the paddlesteamer heading up the Murray, Poppy had been forced to sneak off the boat at Tocumwal, in New South Wales. Poppy had been on the wrong side ever since. Now she had to get back across, but the river was wide, and deep.

  And Poppy couldn’t swim.

  Would Gideon want to go in the water? Tom had assured her that horses were natural swimmers. But what if he floundered when they were in the deepest part?

  As the miles from Summerhill lengthened behind her, Poppy worried about the river crossing to come.

  Several hours later they came to the Murray. What had Tom called it? Oh yes, Tongala. Poppy drank thirstily with Fisher and Gideon at the water’s edge. Then she rose and washed the dust from her face. The ride had been tiring. Finally she dared to look up and across the river. It was so wide! Poppy felt her heart falter.

  No! she thought. How will we ever get across? She stood up, took off her boots and tied them together by the laces, slinging them around her neck.

  ‘It’s time to go,’ she said to Fisher and Gideon after a moment.

  Fisher wagged his tail and ran into the water, barking excitedly.

  ‘It will be all right,’ she told Gideon as she climbed onto his back. ‘Even if you’ve never been in water before, you can swim. Come on now.’ Poppy made clicking sounds with her tongue, urging him forward. And slowly, with a few encouraging jabs with her heels, he entered the water.

  ‘Good boy, Gideon. Good boy,’ she said. ‘You can do it. You can do it.’

  Suddenly Gideon lunged forward. He was swimming!

  The water was freezing but the horse was warm against Poppy’s legs. Then she felt herself floating off his back. She quickly grabbed chunks of Gideon’s mane and gripped tightly. As long as she didn’t let go she would be all right.

  Gideon held his head high. His lips were parted and he was making soft snorting sounds. He seemed to be enjoying the swim.

  Poppy then remembered Fisher. He had been swimming alongside her. But where was he now? The current was strong, maybe too strong even for Fisher.

  Then she saw him, way downstream, struggling to reach the bank.

  ‘Fisher!’ she called. But he disappeared, swept around a bend. She was helpless to do anything except pray that he would not drown. He’s swum this river many times before, she told herself. Please, Fish, please be all right.

  It took ten minutes to reach the other side. As soon as Gideon stepped out of the water he lowered his head and shook himself. Poppy held on tight. She didn’t know horses shook water from their coats like dogs did. When he was still, she slipped off his back and looked downstream for Fisher. She began to worry even more when she couldn’t see him. But then she heard a bark and he came into view, running along the sandy shore towards her, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

  ‘There you are!’ She knelt down to give him a big wet hug. ‘You’re my darling boy, Fish,’ she said.

  While Poppy’s clothes dried over a branch, she sat on the bank watching Gideon graze nearby. He was a handsome horse and his wet coat gleamed in the afternoon light.

  Soon she would have to send him back to Summerhill as she had promised Tom she would do. How she would miss this wild horse whom she had grown to love, whose spirit was tied to hers.

  Maybe one day Gus and I will have horses of our own, she thought. We’ll ride until our muscles ache and our lungs are near bursting. But there will never be a horse like Gideon.

  Fisher licked her face as if sensing her sadness.

  Poppy dressed and led Gideon down to the water’s edge. She stroked his soft muzzle and put her cheek next to his. ‘Thank you, my beauty. I will never forget you.’

  Gideon blew softly into her hair and nickered.

  Holding back tears, Poppy said, ‘Off you go, now. Tom will be waiting, and if you don’t get back soon, he’ll worry.’ She patted him on the rump.

  Gideon hesitated a moment and stepped into the water.

  ‘Good boy, Gideon. Go on, now. Go home.’

  Poppy shaded her eyes against the sun as she watched Gideon swim to the other side. He stood on the bank, lifted his head and sniffed the wind, then galloped home to Summerhill.

  The bush was dense this side of the river, but Poppy soon found a track that led through dappled forest and over a small rise. She had been walking for about half an hour. Fisher had run on ahead when suddenly she heard him barking.

  There was a cry, as if someone was in pain. Cautiously, Poppy went forward.

  The track led down to a creek and up over the other side. There, sitting on the bank, Poppy saw a Chinese boy. He looked about the same age as Gus. He was acting strangely, sitting very still, staring at something in his hands, not noticing the water lapping around his feet in their cloth shoes.

  Fisher ran towards the boy, wagging his tail. But when the boy saw Fisher, he raised his hands in fright.

  ‘He won’t hurt you,’ Poppy said, running up and pulling Fisher away.

/>   The boy glanced at her then dropped his head again, looking down at the thing in his hand. It looked like a long black snake.

  Suddenly Poppy realised what it was. Someone had cut off his queue!

  In The Book of Knowledge she had read that the Emperor of China was Manchurian, not Han Chinese, and he made all Chinese men wear their hair in a long plait called a queue. If anyone disobeyed and cut off their queue it meant that they were against the Emperor and the punishment for this was beheading. Poppy shivered at the thought of having her head chopped off with a big, sharp axe.

  No wonder this boy was sad. It would be a very long time before he could go back to China. Poppy squatted down looking into his face. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, touching his arm gently.

  The boy jumped as if he had been touched by a ghost. He stared at her a moment and his face grew pale and his eyes wide with fear.

  ‘M’ho da gnor! M’ho da gnor! M’hai gno tao ge!’ he said in a language Poppy didn’t understand. Then he spoke in English. ‘No me! No me!’ He scrambled backwards through the mud on his bottom, pushing himself with his legs.

  Fisher sensed his fear and growled, stepping forward as if to lunge. But Poppy grabbed him just in time. She wondered if the boy was crazy or dangerous. Why was he so scared of her? What did he mean when he said, ‘No me, no me’?

  She stood up and backed away.

  He was looking at her curiously now, his head cocked to one side. Then he suddenly broke into a smile. It was such a beautiful, open smile, showing straight white teeth, Poppy was taken by surprise.

  The boy laughed to himself. ‘Me no me, you no you.’ Then his smile faded as he stared once more at the queue in his hand.

  Poor thing, she thought. But Poppy couldn’t stay with him to see if he was all right. It would be dark soon and she had to find a safe place to spend the night.

  ‘I’m going now,’ she said, waiting a moment to give the boy a chance to speak. But he didn’t say a word, so she set off across the creek, jumping from rock to rock.

  POPPY journeyed on and some time later noticed the boy a little way down the track.Was he following her? Or was he heading to Wahgunyah like she was? She told herself that it was a free country and anyone could walk the roads if they wanted to. But still she felt uneasy. There was something strange about him.

  In the late afternoon, she found a place to set up camp. It was well away from the track – hidden behind a clump of trees and on a slight rise in case it rained. The sun had grown warm and Poppy felt like dozing a while before building her shelter, the buzzing of grass insects making her sleepy.

  Sometime later Fisher’s warning bark woke her up. When she opened her eyes she saw the boy approaching, cradling a huge watermelon in his arms.

  He smiled as he squatted down in front of her. Then, without saying a word, he broke the melon over a rock and held out one half for Poppy to take.

  ‘Farm over there,’ he said, pointing. ‘No one watch, no one see. It good, you eat.’

  Poppy was shocked. ‘You stole it?’ she said.

  The boy nodded, smiling proudly.

  She shook her head, refusing to take it.

  With a shrug, the boy placed her half on the ground and buried his face into the pink flesh. His mouth came out dripping with juice, which he wiped on his sleeve. Poppy noticed his queue, tucked into his belt.

  She stood up and walked away. Mother Hangtree had told them stealing was a sin. It wasn’t right what he had done.

  While she collected sticks and branches to build a humpy, she began thinking about it. She remembered the Aborigines and the sheep, and what Tom had said about sharing. But that was fair, she thought. That wasn’t stealing. Aborigines had shared their land. It was only fair that they share the squatters’ sheep. But she had not shared anything with that farmer who grew the watermelon.

  It wasn’t long before she heard twigs cracking. The boy was coming up behind her.

  ‘You go Wahgunyah?’ he asked.

  Reluctantly she told him she was, but she really wished he would go away. She didn’t trust him at all.

  ‘We go together. My uncle doctor, big man in Wahgunyah,’ he said, boastfully.

  Poppy was stripping leaves off a branch when she suddenly stopped. This uncle might know about Jimmy Ah Kew, the man whose red tiger seal is on my Chinese letter, she thought. She was convinced that the letter had something to do with her father. She glanced at the boy. I don’t trust him and I don’t want him travelling with me and Fish, but what if he can read Chinese? Johnny the Chinese peddler had told her that most people in China were not able to read or write, but maybe this boy could. And if he couldn’t, then his doctor uncle could, for sure.

  ‘Go and collect wood to make a fire,’ she said, coldly. ‘I’ll build us a shelter.’

  The boy grinned and disappeared into the bush.

  When the humpy was built, Poppy set about making fire as Tom had taught her. She blew on the small flame, feeding it with dry leaves and twigs until they were well alight. The boy was fascinated, watching, his mouth agape.

  Fisher brought back a rabbit and dropped it beside her.

  ‘Aiya, you dog very clever,’ the boy said.

  Poppy nodded and gave Fisher a scratch behind his ears.

  When their stomachs were full, Poppy and the boy sat back watching the coals glow and the sparks fly. Mesmerised by the flames, Poppy listened to the crack and hiss of sticks and leaves. She breathed in the scent of eucalyptus mingled with the rich smell of the earth. She had grown to love the bush, watching the season change, noticing the subtle hues of leaf and tree, rock and hill. Everything depended on everything else, just as Tom had said. A yellow spider crawled across her hand, onto her lap and scurried away.

  ‘What your name?’ the boy asked, bringing Poppy out of her daydream.

  ‘Kal,’ she replied. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Tian.’ Then the boy pointed at the sky, holding out his arms to each side.

  She looked at him quizzically.

  ‘It mean sky,’ he said, and picked up a stick. In the dirt he drew a symbol with four strokes. ‘See?’ He looked up at her, smiling.

  Poppy sat up. She pulled out the letter with the red tiger seal and handed it to him.

  ‘You can write, so can you read this?’

  Tian shook his head. ‘Write name that is all. No read …’ He was about to hand it back when his eyes grew wide for a moment, then went strangely shifty. He was staring at the rubbing Poppy had made from the carving on the tree – Gus’s secret code with the word ‘Lintian’ and the two Chinese symbols.

  Tian … Lin Tian … Realisation suddenly dawned upon Poppy. One of the symbols was the same as the one the boy had drawn in the dirt!

  ‘Are you Lin Tian?’ she cried.

  Tian jerked back his head in surprise. ‘You read Chinese?’

  ‘No, but I can read my brother’s code, right here, and it says Lin Tian.’

  ‘No understand,’ he said, quickly looking away.

  But Poppy wasn’t fooled. ‘I asked you if your name was Lin Tian,’ she demanded.

  ‘No understand,’ he repeated.

  A deep suspicion began to grow inside Poppy. If he was Lin Tian then why didn’t he say so? Why was he acting so strangely? Then she remembered the look on his face when they had first met. He was scared. Did he think she was Gus? Maybe that was what he had meant when he said, ‘You no you.’

  Poppy felt anger welling up inside her. ‘You are Lin Tian, aren’t you? Tell me what you know about my brother! Tell me!’ Her words echoed in the night.

  Tian turned his back on her, hunching his shoulders and crossing his arms.

  Poppy stormed into the darkness of the bush, fuming. She couldn’t force him to talk. It galled her, yet she had no choice but to wait, to stay close to him, to find out in some other way what he knew about Gus.

  That night, Poppy kept a close eye on Tian. When she stopped asking about Gus, he started smiling and talkin
g again. But she resolved never to let him out of her sight.

  THE road grew busier as Poppy and Tian drew closer to Wahgunyah. Poppy pulled the brim of her hat low over her eyes. She still had to be careful of the police and of anyone else Mother Hangtree might have sent looking for her.

  They came to a small shop nestled amongst the trees. Paint was peeling like sunburnt skin from its walls and a sign out the front read, ‘Ruby’s Teahouse’. A man sat at a table on the verandah. Poppy’s mouth began to water as the delicious smell of sweet bread wafted towards her. It reminded her of Summerhill and she stood in the middle of the track thinking about Miss Mary’s cooking and the big warm kitchen and Noni.

  ‘Look out!’ a voice yelled.

  Tian grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way as two horsemen galloped past, kicking up stones and dust in a wild rush of wind.

  Poppy looked at Tian. She was shaken. But she was angry too. She didn’t want to owe him anything, this boy who knew something about Gus and refused to tell. But now he had just saved her from being badly hurt or even killed.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, ungraciously.

  ‘Are you all right, son?’ A lady came bustling through the door of the teahouse. ‘I don’t know what this world is coming to. Those out-of-towners, they think they’re at the horse race already.’ She made clicking bird-like sounds with her tongue.

  ‘Horse race?’ Tian’s eyes lit up.

  The lady set a teapot and a plate of buns in front of the man. ‘Here you go, sir. Currant buns, specialty of the house.’ Then she turned to Tian. ‘It’s the famous Wahgunyah Handicap. Worth sixty sovereigns over three miles to the fastest horse. I’ve been baking all night.’ She brushed a wisp of hair away from her face. ‘We’re expecting quite a crowd.’ Then she smiled and walked back into the shop.

  Poppy noticed Tian’s interest and wondered what he was up to.

  ‘Come. Hurry,’ he said, walking off at a fast pace.