Barra Creek

by Di Morrissey

  When they got back to the plane and Donny had swung into the pilot’s seat, Sally was sad to see him leave. They’d talked about all manner of things on their walk and she’d learned a lot more about his life and family in Canada.

  ‘See you next week if I can,’ she called. ‘Morning tea’s on me.’

  ‘Sounds good. Don’t worry if you can’t make it. We’ll catch up. Look after yourself, Sal.’

  ‘See you, Donny.’

  She waved and waited till the little plane skimmed into the air, then turned back to the Land Rover with a light heart. Driving to the homestead, she tried to analyse her feelings. She wasn’t attracted to Donny, despite his handsome looks, but he was a nice man in a big brotherly way. She’d enjoyed his company and suddenly she missed Sean and especially Pru. Remembering their shared confidences, their adventures, their closeness, she was overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. God, what had happened to Pru? Well, she assumed she’d hear when her mother wrote back. Sally started to think of the list of things she’d asked her mother to send and prayed her parents would agree to send everything she wanted. Or would she get a summons to come home? She’d signed an agreement and her father had taught her that her word was her bond. There was no going back. But from what Donny had said, she should be grateful she’d landed in the middle of a decent family who respected her upbringing.

  She gazed out at the great red land surrounding her, there was a still a lot of country to explore. She’d love to go riding with the boys a couple of afternoons a week. In the distance she saw a straggling group of lubras from the camp walking slowly, gathering food to supplement station rations, she assumed.

  She pulled up to the homestead and saw John Monroe in the front yard, rolling a cigarette. Lorna was telling Fitzi how to prune a shrub, and the boys were sitting on the verandah steps absorbed in braiding strips of leather. It was a pleasant domestic scene that etched itself in Sally’s mind.

  The next morning John was banging around in the kitchen when Sally ventured in for a cup of tea. ‘Bloody Lizzie and Betsy aren’t here. What do you want to eat?’

  ‘I’ll fix it. Cereal is fine. Are they sick?’

  ‘Pretending to be. A mob of the lubras have walked out.’

  ‘Left? Gone walkabout you mean?’

  He didn’t answer for a moment as he stuck a thick slice of white bread on a long fork and faced it into the wood fire at the bottom of the stove. ‘Thought they seemed a bit toey last night. Anxious to get away.’

  ‘Now that you mention it they did kind of whip the plates away and clean up the kitchen quickly. Where’ve they gone?’

  ‘With the rest. Some of the girls left the camp yesterday. Those black bitches are walking out to meet the boys. A stock camp is coming in. Probably that lazy bugger Snowy.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Sally. ‘How do they know?’

  ‘You ever hear of the bush telegraph? They know stuff somehow way before we hear about things. Damned if I know. Those women can smell a man coming, that’s for sure.’

  Sally couldn’t understand his anger. ‘Does that mean there’s no one to work in the house?

  ‘Ah, maybe. You and Lorna might have to help out. They generally send some of the young girls up to work for ’em. They need training up and watching. Don’t give an order unless you’re able to stand there and watch them do it.’

  ‘Might as well do it myself then,’ said Sally lightly. If John was so put out, Lorna was going to be livid. ‘Does this happen every time?’

  ‘Every couple of months. Now get those boys in here. Don’t mention about Snowy coming in or you won’t get any sense out of ’em in school, they’ll be wanting to get down to the yards.’ He turned his piece of toast and looked sullen.

  Sally took her bowl of Weet Bix into the dining room and joined the boys who were whispering excitedly.

  ‘What are you fellows talking about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ian.

  Tommy’s eyes were shining and he couldn’t stop grinning.

  ‘Go on, tell her,’ said Marty.

  ‘You mean about the stock camp coming in? Is it Snowy?’ said Sally calmly, trying to keep a straight face at the deflated expressions.

  ‘Who told you?’ demanded Ian.

  ‘Who told you?’ countered Sally.

  ‘Fitzi. He said he heard them coming,’ said Marty. ‘He’s clever.’

  ‘Heard them? How close are they?’ she asked and it was the boys’ turn to look smug.

  ‘He puts his ear to the ground. Reckons he can hear the vibrations from miles and miles away,’ said Tommy. ‘He’s teaching me.’

  Ian glared at him to be quiet. Sally knew Lorna’s orders were that they weren’t to mix with the blacks. Sally had seen the boys playing with the older kids from the camp and had turned a blind eye.

  ‘So when will they get here? And what happens?’

  The boys all talked at once until Sally held up her hands. ‘Whoa, it can’t be all that thrilling.’

  ‘Mum doesn’t think so and Dad always yells, but it’s fun!’ said Tommy.

  ‘You come up to the yards and see,’ added Marty.

  ‘All right, I will. But not if it’s school time.’

  Their faces fell and the two younger boys looked at Ian.

  ‘They won’t get here before dark. Maybe tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘Good, then we can get through our work. Perhaps do a bit extra and then we could take a little time off, eh?’ suggested Sally.

  The boys brightened. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’ Tommy gulped down his breakfast. ‘Can I be excused please, Miss?’

  ‘Me too,’ said Marty.

  ‘There’s no rush,’ said Ian, wiping a piece of bread into the last of his eggs and tomato sauce their father had cooked.

  ‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing all the cattle come in.’ Sally stood up and carried her plate into the kitchen, leaving Ian alone at the table.

  It was late afternoon, Sally was sitting with Lorna on the verandah having a cup of tea, when the boys raced across the lawn.

  ‘They’re here. We’re going to the yards!’ And they dashed to the stables where they had their horses already saddled.

  Sally jumped up and peered towards the home paddock. She could see a drifting cloud of red dust and hear a low rumble like distant thunder and the occasional ringing, snapping crack. ‘It sounds like a thunderstorm coming this way.’

  ‘Snowy always makes a racket. He tries to make it all look and sound more important than it is,’ sighed Lorna. ‘I hope he’s brought in a decent-sized mob or John will be cranky. And, Sally, under no account go anywhere near the blacks’ camp or the single men’s quarters. Snowy camps in there and I think he’s got a couple of white men with him, bore runners. That means trouble, especially when the boys will be back with their wives and lubras. It’ll be on for young and old tonight. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘What are bore runners?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Fellows that run round all the stations checking and repairing the bores, troughs, windmills. They also do a bit of maintenance work on the machinery or odd jobs.’

  ‘Shall I go and keep an eye on the boys?’ She was dying to get up to the yards.

  ‘Take the Land Rover. John said you aren’t to ride that black mare. It’s probably better you’re there watching them and make sure they’re back and cleaned up in time for tea.’

  Sally was cross about Lorna’s remark that she wasn’t to ride the mare, but she got into the Land Rover and drove as fast as she could to the yards in the home paddock.

  It looked like utter mayhem. She stopped the vehicle as she saw the seven hundred head of cattle charging towards the stockyards, men on horseback galloping on either side and to the rear, cracking whips, yelling and urging the leaders towards the open gate. The poor beasts, all wild cattle – cleanskins – that had been plodding round the open country undisturbed, were frantic at this mad rush.

  As the cattle poured into the yards, the men dism
ounted and ran to slam down the rails. Sally saw the boys sitting on top of a yard railing so she got out and went to join them.

  The dust was choking, the noise deafening and she wondered why everything had to be done at such a frenetic pace. She climbed up and sat beside Marty, the boys barely acknowledging her. Then she spotted the man who must be Snowy. He was directing everyone by shouting, waving his whip, kicking his horse this way and that. He was stocky, with a ruddy face flushed with sun and exertion. And when he took his hat off to wipe his brow Sally saw he had ginger hair.

  She leaned over to Tommy. ‘Why isn’t he called Bluey instead of Snowy?’

  Tommy shook his head, looking puzzled. Sally leaned over to Ian. ‘I thought in Australia redheaded blokes were always called Blue.’

  ‘Snowy came up here after working on the Snowy River scheme.’

  ‘I see.’ The boys weren’t interested. This was a place where men could be known only by a nickname and where they could bury their pasts.

  Several lubras and children were also watching the activity. Frankie and Ginger from the school joined them on the railing and they discussed the cattle and horses. Some order replaced the chaos as the cattle were marshalled. John Monroe appeared and pulled Snowy aside and there was an intense discussion. Monroe then strode away, studied the cattle, turned on his heel, got in his car and drove back towards the homestead.

  Sally looked at her watch. ‘Boys, we’d better get back and clean up for dinner.’

  Reluctantly they got down from the rails. Sally looked at Frankie and Ginger. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  They hung their heads. ‘Nah. Big come home jump up. Big pella come back. Mebbe school. Mebbe not.’

  Sally caught a warning look from Tommy so she let it go. ‘See you later then. Come on, boys, get back to the house and clean up.’

  John Monroe was agitated at dinner. He’d had more than his usual two pre-dinner rums.

  ‘So what is Snowy’s mob like?’ asked Lorna. ‘Can they be sold on or do they need a bit of fattening?’

  ‘Of course they need fattening up. He’s run them into the bloody ground to get here. Lazy bastard never stays out long enough. Barely six weeks this time. There’re a lot more cleanskins roaming round out there. He and those boys are always in a rush to get back to the mob at the camp.’

  Lorna narrowed her eyes, reminding him the boys were in the room.

  ‘Where have the cattle come from?’ asked Sally, trying to change the focus of the conversation but also because she was curious.

  ‘Most are off our land. But there are no fences out back of beyond. Cattle and horses run free, breed and are there for the taking. First in best dressed, in a way. Sure there are other cattle breeders, but, hell, look at the distances. It’s hard to say whose cattle have strayed where. The outback runs on cleanskins. And poddy dodging.’

  ‘What do you with them?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Put your brand on ’em quick smart,’ said Monroe.

  ‘Branding is exciting. Almost as good as breaking,’ said Tommy, glancing at the adults’ table.

  ‘I’d like to see that. You boys can explain to me how it all works,’ said Sally.

  ‘Got to draft them first. Later we cut ’em. You reckon you know a bit about horses, eh Sally?’

  Lorna cut in. ‘John, that’s all disgusting work, not the sort of thing Sally should be bothered with.’

  ‘Oh, we had horses at home. Thoroughbreds for hunting –’

  John Monroe gave a bawdy laugh. ‘Hunting! You mean the la-di-da business in red jackets chasing some poor bloody rabbit? I’d like to see them run down a rogue bull or catch a steer. That’s bloody riding.’

  ‘Now, John, don’t be insulting. I doubt Sally has any interest in buck jumping or bull catching,’ said Lorna.

  ‘I do like horses,’ began Sally, trying to get across the idea that maybe she’d didn’t ride like a stockman but she loved riding and would like to do more. Lorna obviously thought riding was not a ladylike activity. And judging from what Sally had seen around the yards with the wild men bringing in the cattle, she could see her point.

  ‘Bet you’d like the stallions but,’ began Tommy.

  ‘Don’t end sentences, in “but”, Tommy,’ said Lorna. ‘Finish your meal please, lads.’

  Later as she sat on Marty’s bed when the three boys settled down for the night, Sally asked about the stallions.

  ‘They bring up good breeding stock from down south, or any brumbies that look good are sent out to mix with the wild horses,’ Ian explained. ‘So in a season or two we get better horses to use or sell.’

  Sally listened attentively, it was the most Ian had spoken to her since she’d arrived.

  ‘I see. Is there a horse I could ride? Your father won’t let me ride that black mare.’

  ‘You really like riding?’

  ‘I do. If I had a horse we could go out riding together, couldn’t we?’ she said. ‘I’d love to go exploring over the station more, especially when my saddle comes.’

  The boys exchanged looks. The two young ones looked at Ian accusingly as if it had been his idea to put Sally on the mad mare. Then they seemed to make up their minds.

  Ian settled himself under the covers, saying nonchalantly, ‘I’ll talk to Dad.’

  ‘Mum doesn’t like horses,’ Marty whispered to Sally.

  That night Sally was restless. The noise from the cattle was disturbing. The penned beasts were frightened and annoyed. They moaned and roared, the metal gates clanged as they banged against them, and Sally wondered what would happen if they broke free and thundered towards the house. She turned over, opened her eyes and sat up.

  The usual bulky silhouette of the sleeping boys wasn’t there. Their beds were empty, the sheets thrown back. She got up and looked around, cocking her head to listen in case they were whispering nearby. Wondering whether to alert Lorna or John, she padded along the verandah and saw that John’s bed hadn’t been slept in.

  She hurried back to her bed, pulled on her boots and stepped into the garden.

  It was bright moonlight and the noise from the cattle seemed closer. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she walked around the garden to the front of the house. A distant flash of a torchlight near the stables caught her eye and she heard a horse whinny. Surely the boys weren’t over there.

  Seeing the Land Rover parked by the fence surrounding the homestead garden, she ran over to it. As usual the keys were in the ignition. Worried that Lorna might hear her, she released the handbrake, put it in neutral and felt it start to roll. Then she turned on the ignition and drove slowly down the driveway. The headlights didn’t work but it was bright enough to follow the ruts to the stables. She stopped a little distance away.

  She could see a light in the stables, so she got out and walked towards them. Now she could hear voices. But not from the stables, they were coming from the single men’s quarters. Lights were on and there was a sudden burst of laughter. Must be Snowy and the runners who’d driven in with the cattle, she thought. Maybe that’s where John was as well. As she came closer to the stables, she could hear horses moving. Then she heard Ian’s voice low and urgent, directing Tommy.

  She stopped, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Soon she could make out a small figure atop a fence railing. Someone was moving in the yard with the horses. The animals were distressed, snorting and whinnying. Sally inched closer. Tommy was holding onto a rope slung around a horse’s neck. Ian was standing in the small yard with a stockwhip, keeping several other horses at bay. Marty watched from the railing.

  The horse must have been broken in as it was calmer than the others, although it still appeared a little nervous. Sally paused, afraid to go closer in case she spooked the horses and they trampled Ian.

  Tommy was shortening the length of rope, slowly winding it in, moving cautiously closer to the horse, murmuring soothing words all the while. Ian held the other horses back until Tommy was standing beside the horse, who was breath
ing heavily and looked poised to rear on its hind legs. Slowly he reached out and placed his hand on its neck and although it recoiled it didn’t jerk away. Sally inched closer, holding her breath.

  Now Tommy was walking with the horse, leading it quietly to where Marty was holding open a gate that led into a smaller stall. Once the horse was inside, Tommy slipped the rope through the half hitch so it slipped off its neck. Walking backwards, he climbed out of the stall. Ian swung onto the railing and jumped outside. The horse lunged forward into the yard, looking for a way out. The boys climbed onto the railing and studied the animal, unaware Sally was now behind them.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  The boys started in surprise.

  ‘How’d you get down here?’ asked Ian.

  Sally suddenly realised she was standing in her pale blue nightdress, the borrowed work boots on her feet. ‘So? What are you up to? Looks pretty risky.’

  ‘We wanted to get this filly out from the others. Before they send them away in the morning,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Where are they going?’ From what Sally could see in the moonlight these horses were fine boned, with a good build and nice heads.

  ‘Snowy is going to let them go with the brumbies. We wanted this one,’ said Marty.

  ‘Does your father know what you’re doing?’

  ‘Course not,’ said Ian.

  ‘Then you get back to bed before I yell for him.’

  ‘Don’t do that, Miss,’ pleaded Tommy.

  Marty leapt down and grabbed her arm. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong . . . it’s a surprise.’

  ‘Shut up, Marty,’ said Ian.

  ‘Get in the Land Rover, we’re going back to bed,’ said Sally firmly.

  As they all squeezed into the vehicle they heard shouts, laughter and what sounded like women squealing, coming from the men’s quarters.

  Sally glanced in the direction of the converted sheds. ‘What’s going on? Sounds like a party.’

  Ian answered and Sally was surprised at the vehemence in his voice.