Dust on the Horizon

by Tricia Stringer

  “Who’s this?”

  Henry lifted his head in the direction of Prosser’s gaze. A horse and rider were galloping towards the homestead. They all arrived under the big tree at the front of the house at the same time. A young lad Henry recognised from Hawker slid from the saddle and dug a paper from his bag. Mrs Prosser and her daughter, Georgina, came out on the verandah. Everyone was interested in the new arrival.

  “What do you have there, boy?” Ellis asked.

  “I have a telegraph for Mr Wiltshire.”

  Henry climbed down from the saddle. The telegraph station had only recently been installed in the room behind his shop.

  “Mr Hemming sent me.” The lad held out the paper.

  Henry took it, and read the few words of black print. A great sense of relief flooded through him. He scrunched the paper in his hand and clapped the other on Prosser’s shoulder. “I am a father,” he cried. “I have a son!”

  “Congratulations.” Prosser grasped his hand in a tight grip and gave it a fierce shaking up and down. “Tonight we must celebrate.”

  Henry extracted his hand. “That’s very kind of you Ellis, but I must get back to Hawker.”

  “What about …?” Prosser glanced at the boy who was standing beside them grinning broadly. “The job we were going to do?”

  “I am sure you will manage very well without me. You do understand I must get back and make contact with my wife.” Henry looked at Prosser with the brightest of smiles.

  “Yes, of course. Disappointing but I understand your desire to return home.”

  Henry turned to the lad. “You can help me hitch up the cart and ride back with me.”

  “Yes, Mr Wiltshire.”

  “He’d better water his horse first and I will get my wife to prepare you something to eat for the journey. My horses can stay here. My daughter will see to them.” Prosser waved in the direction of the verandah.

  “Thank you, Ellis, you’re most generous.”

  “I won’t stay to see you off. I want to get on after those …” Once more Prosser glanced at the lad. “Sheep.”

  “Of course.”

  Ellis shook Henry’s hand then strode away towards the house. He spoke to Georgina who hurried down the steps and took the reins of the horses.

  Henry gave her a nod. She was only young but she led the horses away with the experience of someone much older. No doubt women had to do a lot more outside work on a property. He wouldn’t like to think his Catherine would ever have to do anything such as look after the horses. Thinking of her reminded him he had a son.

  “Well done, boy.” Henry patted the lad’s back and led him in the direction of the watering trough. “We’ll soon be on our way. Lucky it’s a full moon. It will be late by the time we arrive in Hawker.”

  Henry pointed out his horse to the boy then set off for the house to collect his bag and food. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. Not only was he a father but in the most timely fashion. The arrival of his son had saved him from the odious task of being a part of Prosser’s gang.

  Fourteen

  Thomas brought his horse and cart to a stop just before he reached Joseph’s house. He could see no smoke from the chimney. Chickens roosted on the front verandah rails, a blanket lay crumpled on the ground at the foot of the steps and an upturned bucket lay nearby. From beyond the house he could hear the sound of sporadic chopping.

  Thomas tethered the horse. He glanced back at the canvas-covered load in the back of the cart. Lizzie’s gifts of food would have to wait. He shifted the bucket and picked up the blanket. It was wet and covered in dirt. He hung the blanket over the rail. Perhaps it had blown from there already. The chickens squawked their protest as he shooed them from the verandah. He stopped at the door. Now he could hear wailing from within. Thomas took a deep breath. He wished Lizzie was with him but she was still recovering from her illness and tired easily. He opened the door.

  The sight before him was of utter devastation. Clara’s once-tidy house had disappeared. The long table was covered in plates and mugs, the floor littered with items of clothing and no fire burned in the grate Joseph huddled in front of, rocking a sobbing Robert in his arms. More crying came from the other room and he could hear Mary’s soothing tones.

  “Joseph.”

  He didn’t react.

  “Son?” Thomas called a bit louder.

  Joseph lifted his head slowly and turned his sorrow-lined face to his father. Recognition flickered in his eyes. He staggered to his feet. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “I’ve come to see how you are.”

  Esther flew from the bedroom. She wore a tatty brown nightdress. “Gam pa,” she called and flung her arms around his legs. He patted her hair, which stuck out in an untidy jumble and felt rough. Violet arrived a few steps behind her wearing a clean nightdress. Her hair was neatly brushed and her skin glowed pink. Mary followed, a brush in her hand.

  Thomas squatted and enveloped both little girls in his arms, one smelling sweet and the other like she hadn’t washed in a while. Mary crossed to Joseph and took Robert with her out to the kitchen.

  “Where is William?” Thomas asked.

  Joseph looked around the room through bleary eyes as if he was searching for his son.

  “He’s chopping wood, Grandpa.” Violet’s sweet little face looked up at him full of concern. “We don’t have a fire in the day but Father lets us light it at night.”

  Thomas gave Joseph a questioning look.

  “The days are warm enough.” Joseph shrugged his shoulders and Thomas realised how unkempt he looked. He hadn’t shaved since the funeral, by the look of the growth on his face. His hair was long and lank, and his clothes stained and filthy.

  Thomas prised Esther from his leg. “Would you girls ask Mary to make Grandpa a cup of tea please?”

  Violet started for the kitchen immediately and Esther was soon pushing in front wanting to be first.

  Thomas turned back to his son. “What of your animals, Joseph?” Thomas was concerned at the sight of his grandchildren. If Joseph couldn’t look after them how would the sheep be faring? It wasn’t long until shearing.

  “Binda and his cousin have been managing. Sometimes Jundala and Joe help, and William. I’ve ridden out a few times but …” His voice trailed away.

  “Is that where they are now? Out with the stock?”

  A small frown creased Joseph’s brow. “Binda and Jundala took Joe with them to visit Jundala’s people but they left Mary here. I don’t know how I would manage without her.”

  “How long have they been gone?” Thomas realised things were much worse at Smith’s Ridge than he’d imagined. Binda had always been a reliable help to Joseph, unlike Gulda who came and went, but Thomas had Timothy and his son to help and Gulda’s son Tom was proving to be a good worker.

  Joseph didn’t answer. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

  “Three days,” a younger voice said.

  Thomas looked towards the kitchen door. William held an armload of wood, his face still flushed from his exertion.

  “Hello, my boy.”

  “I’ve been out to check the closest waterholes first thing this morning.” William dumped the wood in a box beside the fire and began to set a new one. “There were a couple of sheep stuck after that last rain, but I could only drag one of them out.”

  Thomas noticed William’s clothes were covered in mud. The child was only seven years old, too young to be taking on the chores of a man yet. Still Joseph sat, head in hands, oblivious to the squabbling tones of Esther and the wailing of Robert from the kitchen or William trying stubbornly to coax a fire to life.

  Thomas understood grief. He’d buried two babies in their early days at Wildu Creek but he’d still had Lizzie and they’d supported each other. He wasn’t sure how to help his son. Lizzie was so much better at knowing what needed to be done. Joseph was in need of her special touch. Once more Thomas wished he’d risked bringing her but she had been so
sick after the funeral. He had thought he was going to lose her like Joseph had Clara. It had taken some time but she at last had some colour returning to her cheeks and her cough had gone.

  Flames flickered in the grate. Thomas moved closer and placed his hands on William’s shoulders. “Sounds like you’ve been doing a mighty job. I need to talk with your father. Can you ask Mary to boil some water for a bath?”

  The boy pulled his shoulders back and turned out of Thomas’s grasp. “It’s not Saturday.”

  “I know but I think you could all use a wash.”

  William glanced in his father’s direction. Joseph lifted his head. He looked from his son to his father, sadness etched his face.

  “Do as Grandpa asks, William.”

  The boy’s eyes widened and he hesitated a moment then went out to the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

  Thomas sat in the chair next to Joseph and met his son’s weary gaze. What was he to say? He felt so helpless.

  Joseph leaned forward and prodded a stump further into the flames with the poker. “I can’t do it.” His words were a whisper and Thomas watched as his shoulders began to shake. “I can’t do it without her.”

  Thomas reached forward and clasped his son’s shoulder with his hand. His heart ached for the pain he knew Joseph suffered and for his own sorrow at the loss of his daughter-in-law. He’d loved Clara like a daughter. Lizzie had sometimes found her a bit aloof but Thomas knew Clara had been a fiercely independent woman who had been a hard worker and a wonderful wife and mother. Finally Joseph’s shaking stopped and he sat back in his chair. Thomas did the same.

  “I don’t know what to do.” Joseph stared at the fire.

  After the loss of their daughters Thomas and Lizzie had thrown themselves into their work but that was difficult for Joseph with four young children to look after.

  Loud voices sounded from the kitchen and the door burst open.

  “Mr Joe.” Binda’s son, Joe, ran to them and a half-dressed William followed slowly behind. “Father says come quick, Mr Joe.”

  Joseph looked at the boy but didn’t speak.

  “What’s happened?” Thomas asked.

  “Men with guns, came to family camp. Father needs help. Please, Mr Joe.” Joe tugged at Joseph’s hand. “You come quick.”

  “What’s this about, son?” Thomas’s sadness was replaced by concern.

  “I don’t know.” Joseph shook his head vigorously. “Binda said he was going to visit Jundala’s family. That shouldn’t cause trouble.”

  “It might be Mr Prosser.” William came closer. “They’re camped close to his boundary.”

  “What can I do?” Once more Joseph shook his head. “If they’re on my land Prosser should leave them alone.”

  “Please Mr Joe.” Joe tugged at his hand. “Father say you come help, quick.”

  “Sounds like your friend needs you, Joseph,” Thomas said. “I can come with you.”

  “I’ll go.”

  They all looked at William. Silence followed but for the crackle of the fire and the sounds from the kitchen. Thomas looked around as a low growl rumbled from his son.

  “No.” Joseph stood up. “I’ll go.” He strode across the room and lifted his firearm from its rack over the front door.

  Thomas frowned. “We’ll both go.” He turned to William. “You have to be the man of the house and look after your sisters and brother until we get back.”

  William’s eyes blazed but he said nothing.

  “Grandma has sent food. It’s still in the back of the cart. Can you unload it while we’re gone?”

  “Mary can help you,” Joseph said.

  “I can do it.” William’s hands went to his hips.

  Thomas smiled. His grandson had inherited a good dose of his mother’s and his grandmother’s determination.

  “You don’t have to do this, Father.” Joseph stood in front of him. His appearance might be bedraggled but Thomas was pleased to see some purpose in the set lines of his face.

  Thomas gave a swift nod. “I’m coming with you.”

  Joseph and his father halted the horses in front of the house. Ahead of them Joe’s horse wheeled beneath him then settled. Joseph lifted his hand in a wave. His children, with Mary, watched from the verandah as they rode away. He wasn’t happy about leaving them alone but he had no choice. He gave his father a sideways look.

  “You’re sure about this? It’s probably nothing.”

  “I’ve heard a few stories about Prosser,” Thomas said. “I’d like to see for myself what’s happening.”

  Together the three riders urged their horses forward. Joseph let young Joe take the lead. He followed on his large piebald horse and his father followed on a borrowed steady grey. Joseph felt a surge of anticipation. He didn’t expect to find anything more than a few agitated natives worrying over nothing much but it felt good to have a purpose. Something had snapped inside Joseph when his father had said Binda needed him. It was as if a door had opened letting a crack of light into his dark world. Just for a short time he could push aside the terrible sadness that had engulfed him since Clara’s death.

  Joe picked up the pace and they rode as fast as they could across the rolling hills until Joe turned his horse towards the ridges. From here the ground became more uneven and treacherous shale rock skittered beneath swift hooves. They slowed to a trot as they crossed into a dry creek bed where the going was much flatter but littered with obstacles deposited during times of fierce-flowing water.

  They wound their way between huge fallen logs and deep cutaways littered with rocks until Joe led them up a sloping bank and into a gap cut into the hill by a smaller creek. Joe climbed from his horse; Joseph and Thomas did the same, leading their horses and picking their way forward. Joseph hadn’t been this way in a long time. He knew there was permanent water ahead. It’s where he’d thought he’d die when he was little more than a boy but Binda had found him and saved his life.

  He only let his sheep into this country when there was no water to be found anywhere else. Once they got into these hills they were difficult to find again. He knew that was one of the reasons Jundala’s family chose to camp here. They were unlikely to be bothered by the white invaders, as her father and Binda’s called Europeans.

  A gunshot echoed back along the creek. The young native turned terrified eyes to Joseph.

  Joseph gave his reins to Joe and pulled his firearm from the holder on the side of his saddle. Thomas did the same.

  “Stay here,” Joseph said to the boy.

  He and Thomas picked their way forward on foot. Finally the ground evened out again and they passed a waterhole. Three dead sheep lay scattered under a nearby tree and there were hoof prints to indicate many more had been here. Joseph knew they were not his sheep. Further on against the side of a low cliff they came across several of the small dwellings made by Jundala’s family. Smoke drifted from a fire that had burned low but there was no other sign of habitation.

  They moved on urgently, around tall trees and large boulders through a gap. Voices echoed along the ridge wall, frightened, angry voices, and the dreadful sound of someone wailing.

  Joseph hurried on. A group of natives appeared in front of him. He was thankful to see Binda in the lead but his arm was around Jundala who was limping. Behind them Jundala’s family followed in a group. Binda stopped, and they all stopped. An angry voice was raised and a man stepped around Binda and waved a spear at Joseph.

  “Steady,” Thomas said and came to stand beside him.

  Binda spoke rapidly to the other native who glared at Joseph but lowered his spear.

  “What’s happened?” Joseph asked. “Is Jundala hurt?”

  “Many are hurt and Jundala’s cousin is dead.”

  “Dead?”

  Binda moved closer then to one side, still holding Jundala. The others filed past. The man who had lifted the spear gave Joseph a wild, angry look but continued on.

  Next came four men carrying a young man.
His head hung backwards, his body showed signs of a battering, and he was accompanied by two women who were both wailing. The younger of the two had long hair that fell in ringlets and finer facial features than Jundala. Several others in the group limped or nursed bloodied arms. At the rear, two young men carried another, the flesh of his right arm a mess of torn skin and blood.

  “What happened?” Joseph turned a worried face to Jundala. He was relieved to see she didn’t appear to be injured except for one foot which she held off the ground. It was swollen and bleeding and the small toe stuck out at an angle.

  “Prosser came with many men,” Binda said.

  “This isn’t his land,” Thomas growled.

  “What’s he doing coming on to Smith’s Ridge?” Joseph gripped his firearm tighter.

  Jundala shook her head. A huge tear rolled down her cheek. “Cousin take sheep.”

  “Smith’s Ridge sheep?” Joseph had always made it clear to Binda that he didn’t mind a sheep or two being used for food if game was scarce as long as the natives asked Binda first.

  Once more Jundala shook her head. Her tears flowed freely now.

  “Prosser’s sheep,” Binda said. “Her crazy cousin and some others drove them up into these hills behind Smith’s Ridge.”

  “But it’s impossible country.” Joseph scratched his forehead. “Why?”

  “He’s lazy.” Binda lifted his chin. “He thought he could keep them here and have a ready food supply.”

  “So what happened?” Thomas asked.

  “Prosser and his men came. They had horses and guns. They rounded up the sheep and Jundala’s cousin along with them and fired their guns.”

  “Damn Prosser.” Joseph slapped his hand on his leg.

  “He was taking back his sheep.” Binda looked from Joseph to Jundala and shook his head. “Crazy cousin.”

  “There was no need for such violence.” Rage surged through Joseph. “A man is dead and Prosser should be made to pay for it.”