by Di Morrissey
Finally Lorna agreed, laying down firm rules that Sally and the boys listened to, nodding their heads like a row of soldiers being given orders by their general. ‘And I hold you all personally responsible for the safety of each other.’
John looked at the boys. ‘So no playing silly buggers, all right?’
‘That means everyone,’ said Lorna evenly, and Sally went to laugh but saw that John was looking slightly abashed.
‘They’ll be fine with Rob and Fitzi along. It’ll be an experience for the governess here.’
Lorna looked at Sally. ‘You are there to look after the boys. I’m only agreeing because I know how much it means to them.’
‘I’ll stick to them like glue. We’re the four musketeers these days,’ promised Sally.
Two days later Fitzi appeared at the back door and spoke to John Monroe. ‘Reckon he’s gettin’ close, boss. Mebbe tomorra night. Good mob, too.’
They packed all the gear they needed, including their swags as they planned to camp out. The boys were in a lather of excitement, as was Sally, although she tried to look restrained and sensible about the exercise. School work was abandoned for the day and they set out after a big breakfast. Many of the women from the camp had set off the night before on foot. Fitzi was on a solid stockhorse, Sally on Dancer and the boys on their own horses. Marty rode beside Sally on his pony and, remembering Lorna’s quiet aside to her to ‘keep an eye on Marty, he’s so young’, she glanced back at the homestead and saw the upright figure of Lorna standing by the garden fence gate watching them ride away.
‘Doesn’t your mum ride at all?’ she asked Marty.
‘I dunno. Don’t think so.’
Tommy had wheeled around and heard them. ‘She does so. She came to the river with us a couple of times.’
‘The horses walked!’ scoffed Marty. ‘That’s not riding.’
Sally decided not to ask why their father wasn’t joining them, she was glad of the respite from his overpowering personality. Frankie, Ginger, Alice and a string of kids from the camp ran ahead, then followed them for a short distance before calling out and waving goodbye.
They rode east for two hours then stopped at a bore. Two of the women who had left the night before were sitting on the ground at its edge.
They had a quick word with Fitzi who had made a billy of tea, then the riders set off again. Fitzi rode in front, anxious to reach the camp. He knew where they were going although there were no features, landmarks or tracks to follow other than the thin paths made by the cattle that led from the bore. Sally remembered the stampede of frightened cattle that Snowy and his men had whipped towards the stockyards and she was nervous of what lay ahead.
Fitzi stared into the distance then spoke to Ian. ‘I tink dem cattle be heading for Meeka Well. We camp dere night, I reckon. Rob never hurry ’em up.’
‘That’d be right.’ Ian glanced back at Sally and his brothers. ‘Looks like we’ll be camping out tonight.’
The other boys let out whoops of delight.
‘Let’s hope the plant is set up before we get there,’ said Ian.
Fitzi nodded. ‘I reckon. Rob send dem stock camp boys ahead.’
The reality of what they were doing began to sink in for Sally and she started to feel even more nervous. ‘Will the cattle be there too, where we’re camping?’
‘That’s the whole idea. Rob won’t push them the last leg to the home paddock. He pokes them along nice and quiet. Well, as quiet as a big mob can be,’ Ian said.
‘And why is he going slowly? Is he paid by the day?’
‘Nah, he’s on contract. He says if the cattle run they get upset and lose weight,’ explained Ian.
‘Is Meeka Well on Barra Creek?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. It’s a bore that was put down on a spot where the old drovers camped. There’s an underground spring the blacks showed them. It’s about four hours’ ride.’
It was a hard and long ride, and Sally was feeling hot, tired and very uncomfortable trying to stay balanced as they followed Fitzi across the trackless country. The landscape changed now they were so far from the river. The ant hills and scrubby coolibah trees were interspersed with expanses of hot, flat country and a distant ridge or low line of hills floated above the horizon line in a haze. She kept peering ahead looking for a telltale cloud of rising dust. Everyone seemed to be expecting Rob to bring in more cattle than Snowy.
‘There’s Meeka,’ shouted Ian, pointing in the distance. Sally squinted and for a moment couldn’t see anything. Then she saw a thin wisp of smoke and a small black dot that gradually grew into a couple of horses and the stick figures of two men. They had set up camp by an old pipe projecting from the ground beside a boggy patch of ground.
It was four o’clock when they trotted into the camp, and the sight of a camp oven hanging from an iron tripod over a low-burning fire was most welcome. Two lean black stockmen met them, helping the boys from their horses and casting curious sideways glances at Sally. They had come ahead of the mustered mob due in at sunset so they could get settled before dark, one of the men explained. An older white man bent down and fussed with the fire. Sally looked around, wondering where she could find some privacy and Tommy was quick to realise her discomfort.
‘Over there. Couple of sticks in the ground with a bit of canvas wrapped around them. Take the small hand-shovel with you.’
Sally nodded gratefully and pulled the roll of toilet paper from her pack. ‘I’d better take the home comforts.’
‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘There’s water at the bore. It’s warm too.’
‘Good. But I don’t plan on taking a bath out here,’ she said. The temperature would drop at night and the hot water would be a luxury, but she was very aware of being the only woman in the group.
‘There they are!’ called Tommy as Sally walked back to the camp, and immediately the boys were back on their horses. Tired as she was, Sally remounted to follow them.
A long brown cloud of dust spread across the featureless horizon. Sally began to recall scenes from dreadful old Westerns where the cavalry faced the thousands of mounted Indians streaming over the hills.
But as the gap closed between them she saw that this was no galloping frenzy of terrified beasts being shunted by men cracking whips and shouting. Instead the animals were walking at a leisurely pace, kept in control by men on horseback and well-trained dogs. There must have been a thousand or more head of cattle and even the boys hung back as the river of animals was herded towards them.
‘How are they going to keep them here, there aren’t any yards?’ she called.
‘Horses, dogs, watch patrol,’ replied Ian. ‘Rob does this all the time.’ And sure enough the men began herding the animals into a close circle and slowed them down as they headed towards the bore.
‘Boys, keep back, stay back here,’ warned Sally, worried that if these plodding animals suddenly started to panic they’d run right over them. ‘Let’s move on the outside and get behind them.’
But the boys were keen to get close to the action and their horses danced and weaved, and finally broke to run forward to the outer western flank of the mob. Sally went to follow but Dancer was being difficult, sidestepping rather than obeying the forward command, snorting and flattening her ears. Sally got mad and kicked her and she reacted in anger that almost threw Sally from her back.
Even though the cattle were walking slowly, their grunting and lowing and their steady surge of movement was unnerving.
The boys had gone ahead and she could see Marty with Fitzi. Ian had gone to the head and Tommy was near a stockman. Somewhere, guiding all this organised chaos must be Rob.
Some of the stockmen moved up and down the edges of the mob, their horses turning and swerving, keeping the animals together, chasing the occasional beast who decided to make a break for it. But on the whole the group streamed slowly forward as though they’d been strictly drilled. The leaders lifted their heads, smelling the water at the bore.
Dancer
was still flighty and anxious. She hadn’t been around a big mob of cattle before, and decided the best course of action was to take off. Before Sally knew it, she’d reared slightly, then split in the opposite direction, cutting across the path of the cattle. For one moment she saw the lead beasts look up and wonder about taking flight before shouts and a crack of a stockwhip reminded them of what they were supposed to be doing, and they ignored the sudden bolt of the little filly with the slim figure on her back, sliding in the bulky saddle.
After what seemed an eternity, Sally finally pulled her horse up and then tried to turn her in the direction of the camp. Dancer saw that was where the cattle were also headed and refused to move, baulking at Sally’s heels digging into her ribs.
‘Hold up. Leave her,’ called a voice. Sally looked behind her to see a man on a grey horse cantering towards her.
‘Your horse been around cattle before, has it?’
‘No. I don’t think so. She’s been with brumbies.’
‘What’s wrong with your saddle?’ He was now riding beside her and Dancer seemed to relax in the company of another horse.
‘It’s me, I’m afraid. I’m not used to an Australian stock saddle.’
The man grinned. ‘I can see that.’
Sally looked at him and was shocked at the dishevelled ruffian who had appeared from nowhere. He was filthy and unshaven, obviously one of Rob’s stockmen. His clothes were dust covered and around his throat was a grubby, bloodstained bandage, which crossed under his shirt and over his chest and shoulder.
‘Pull up and dismount.’ He reined in his horse, swung out of the saddle and reached for Dancer’s bridle as Sally hesitated then did as he asked.
‘What are you doing?’ she said as he began adjusting Dancer’s buckle on her girth.
‘Take my horse, try my saddle, you can’t go past a western saddle. It might suit you better. It can be dangerous when your horse hasn’t been around a mob. I don’t want to have to scrape you off the ground.’ He spoke well, with gentle authority. He was in his early thirties but acted like someone much older; someone who knew what he was doing. Sally was about to protest, but glancing at the horse and its saddle she could see this was no rough stockhorse and the western saddle would be easier.
The man held Dancer and watched Sally swing onto his horse. He swiftly shortened the stirrups for her. ‘How’s that feel?’
‘Fantastic. It’s like sitting in an armchair.’
He gave her a quick look. ‘You can take him as close as you want to the mob, either on the flank, follow along behind or circle around and bring up the tail, just in case we have a lagging stray. Just move slowly. Okay?’
‘Will do,’ said Sally, feeling so much more confident on this man’s horse. He might look like something the cat dragged in but he had a fine horse and a great saddle.
‘See you at supper.’ He settled onto Dancer then turned towards the lead cattle.
‘Right.’ Sally lifted her hand. ‘I’m Sally Mitchell, by the way.’
‘Are you visiting?’
‘No, I’m the governess.’
‘Ah. I’m Rob Donaldson.’
‘I’ve heard about you.’ Sally grinned.
‘All good, I hope. I’m at a disadvantage, I haven’t heard about you. Maybe later.’ His attention was back with the cattle and he cantered off without a backward glance. Sally was irritated to see Dancer had no qualms about heading close to the cattle she’d been so nervous about when she was riding her.
She caught up to the boys and was fascinated to watch the cattle settle as they made camp. Two stockmen on horseback and a couple of dogs quietly circled the stationary mob as the other stockmen looked after the horses, threw down their swags and sat around the fire. Nearby, three black women and an adolescent girl sat around their own small campfire. The stockmen took no notice of them.
The white man at the fire turned out to be the cook, a short, lean man who looked like a strip of tanned leather. Sally watched him expertly handle the camp oven over the fire and dig out the coals surrounding the damper. When he slid the iron lid off, the bread smelt delicious.
‘That looks as light as a sponge cake,’ she complimented him.
‘Be orright. Been doin’ it long enough,’ he grunted.
‘Just cooking?’ She noticed he walked with a limp and wondered if he’d taken up the job of camp cook after an accident.
‘Done a bit of everything. Horse breaking, bull dogging, buffalo hunting, even had me own camels.’ He tossed a handful of tea leaves into the boiling billy. ‘Got thrown and trod on, buggered me hip and leg. So I started cooking. One way to stay out in the scrub.’
‘You don’t like towns?’
‘Nah. Not fer me. Me missus is half Abo, we stick to our camp.’
Fitzi materialised with the boys carrying their swags. ‘We set ’im swags down dis way, Missy?’
‘Right, Fitzi, whatever you think is best.’
‘We want to be near the fire. It gets cold,’ said Tommy.
The boys dropped their swags in a semicircle around Sally’s and sat on them, reaching their hands out towards the glowing coals.
‘What’s for tea, Wally?’ asked Marty.
‘What yer given,’ said the old cook.
When the simmering stew was dished up in tin plates with chunks of the crusty warm damper, Sally declared it one of the best meals she’d seen.
‘That’s because it’s served under the stars round a campfire,’ said Rob. ‘Hard to beat that.’
He sat away from Sally and the boys, and Fitzi sat behind them. Wally crouched by the fire ready to hand around seconds, and across the other side of the fire sat the stockmen, their dark, creased faces gilded in the firelight. There seemed to be a hierarchy around the fire in who sat where and in what order they were served. Wally deferred a bit to Rob and it became obvious that they had been working together for some years.
After eating, the men lit up cigarettes and a second billy of tea was passed around. It was the time for yarning and the boys pestered Rob to tell them one of his stories.
He gazed at the glittering sky and thought for a moment. Then he grinned at them. ‘Did I tell you about the wildest rodeo bull no man could ever ride?’
‘Wow, how wild was it?’
‘What happened?’
‘Ah, now that’s a very strange story,’ said Rob, leaning back and everyone moved around to get comfortable and listen to one of Rob’s tall tales.
At its conclusion a great debate was sparked when Wally declared, ‘That’s nothing! I once saw a bull try and climb up the rails. He was one smart bugger.’
The stockmen chuckled and then Rob got to his feet. ‘I’ll do the first nightwatch.’ He nodded at Sally and winked at the boys. ‘Night, one and all.’
Fitzi began to help Marty settle his swag and Tommy cleared away sticks and stones, scooped a bit of a hollow and unrolled his swag. He glanced up at Sally. ‘Do you want me to walk over to the toilet with you?’
‘Yes, that would be good. I have a torch.’
They glanced back at the camp where dark figures were silhouetted against the fire that had been boosted with fresh wood.
‘Let’s turn the torch off for a minute,’ said Tommy.
Their eyes soon adjusted to the darkness, and Tommy tilted his head back. ‘Look at the stars – trillions and trillions.’
‘That’s the Milky Way.’
‘And there’s the saucepan.’
‘Do you know the constellations? Maybe we could study them at school.’
‘Rob showed us all of them one night. I can’t remember them but, I mean, though,’ he corrected himself.
It was obvious the boys liked Rob, and Sally could understand why they warmed to a man who could handle cattle and horses and knew his way around rodeos and the outback.
The boys settled down for the night and fell asleep immediately, but Sally tried to stay awake to savour the sense of freedom and adventure that was almost overwhelm
ing. Two horses were saddled and hobbled nearby to stop them straying, but ready to be ridden if the cattle broke and rushed during the night. And she heard the gentle singing and humming of Rob and one of the stockmen on the first watch. Rob sang almost to himself but his song told the animals and the sleeping group in the perimeter of the fire that all was calm and safe.
Chapter Eight
WHEN SALLY WOKE UP, the sun was rising. The air was crisp and she’d slept like a log. She rolled over, stretched, then sat up. Wally was sitting by the fire smoking, the stockmen had gone, their campfire extinguished.
‘Gosh, how did I sleep through? Where is everyone?’
‘Gone to move the cattle, start the day, love. You slept well. Want a cuppa?’
‘Yes, please. I’m surprised I didn’t hear anything. Where are the boys?’
‘With Rob, checking on the mob. I slept in too.’
Sally got out of her swag. ‘It’s barely sunrise. I can’t believe I slept on the ground without waking up. It must be the fresh air.’
Wally grinned. ‘That’d be it. I always reckon a mob of happy cattle is a great lullaby. Now, how’s toasted damper and cocky’s joy sound?’
‘Good. I’m getting a taste for golden syrup.’
Sally returned from the primitive toilet facility and took the tin of warm water Wally had ready and splashed her face. She watched him spoon the thick syrup from the green and gold tin and slather it over the toasted damper.
‘So we head back to the homestead this morning?’ she asked.
‘Yep. I’ll go ahead with the packhorses – you and the boys can come along with me. Rob moves the plant nice and slow. Won’t get there till dusk, probably.’
‘Oh, I think the boys will want to stay with Rob and the cattle. Me too.’
Wally’s face creased with a smile. ‘You seem pretty at home out here.’ He poured the tea into a mug and handed it to her. ‘There’s more damper if you want it and cold beef. The blokes will be back for some grub soon enough and then we’ll be on the move.’
She took the hint. ‘I’ll be ready.’ She rolled the canvas swag and blanket into a tight bundle, fastening the leather straps around it.