There’s a good spring up there, plenty water. One year he pulled eighty-four head out of Poddy’s. Choppers or horseback? That’s the big question. No other way to check it out unless they pull up now and walk it. Motor car won’t get in there.
It seems the flow of talk between the two never stops, on their own in the cab of the ute, or seated around the fire, pannikins in hand. The young fellers mostly listen, but sometimes drift away. Some nights they make it back to Highlands, some nights they camp out. There is always a leisurely dinner camp, and often another break to boil the billy.
The yarning interweaves Two Bob’s tales of years past, and pondering this maybe muster. One informs the other. He has ridden every inch of this country many times over. For all that’s changed in the last twenty years, he knows with an innate precision the habits of the cattle that eke their sustenance from the wiry grasses and scattered water points. For every beast they spy, he knows how many remain out of sight. Those two busted bores; he’s figured how many will have perished, which watersheds the others will’ve crossed to stay alive. He’s got that side of things figured. With a half-decent horse plant and six good men, he could bring in every last beast. But that’s not the way of the world any more. Men or horses.
Dancer has never seen his father so animated as in this fireside conversation that bats back and forth. Testing and challenging Two Bob’s thoughts, quizzing him about details, tossing up his own ideas. He comes to realise that in the aftermath of Milly’s death, and in emerging from his lost years to become a father to him and Buddy, Andy has forsaken his true vocation as a man of the cattle country. That the years of driving road trains that bring cattle from the far-flung stations to Broome port are so much more than just a living; they are a way of keeping connected to this world.
There is a surreal quality to watching his father and his grandfather like this, one so familiar, one almost unknown. Day by day he can see Andy becoming more engaged with Two Bob’s vision. The knowing looks the pair exchange, the twinkling in Two Bob’s eye reflecting the gleam in Andy’s as they leap to the same conclusion whilst turning over some intricate matter of mustering technique beyond his ken.
But Andy also brings a brutal realism to the discussions. They could yard every beast on the property, which would be a miracle, and still there would be no guarantee. The price for shorthorns is fickle at best, and that’s if you can find somewhere that’ll take them. The buyers only want brahman stock these days.
‘I’m not arguin’, Andy,’ the old man sighs. ‘This place is a bit like me. Ol’ style, an’ just about worn out. But there’s got to be a way, somehow.’
‘I’ve got me thinkin’ cap on.’
33
Even at Two Bob speed a driver is not always in control on these backtracks. A tree shadow disguises the drop, and bang! The front end of the vehicle dips, then the whole machine judders as the front wheels hit the other side of the little washout. Dancer grips the top rail of the tray, but his feet fly out from under him.
‘You right back there?’ Andy calls.
‘Yuw.’ But he has banged the funny bone in his elbow in his fall, and curses as he rubs and shakes it, trying to ease the intense pain.
‘You got big feet.’ It is not until Riley speaks that Dancer realises he has landed with one leg sprawled across Riley’s lap.
‘S’pose so.’
He tries to straighten his leg, but his cousin is holding his foot. Smiling.
‘I know this one foot.’
‘What you talking about?’
‘Long time. This the foot been kick my ear.’
‘What?!’
‘In your mummy’s tummy.’
‘Eh?’ Dancer is feeling a bit weirded out.
‘Before you been born. I was young feller then. Little kid. Auntie Milly been lookin’ after me alla time. Your daddy come. Her tummy been grow big. She been take my head in her hand, turn me sideways, put my ear on her tummy. Boom! You were kickin’. Strong way! This big foot now!’ Riley smiles. ‘See. I been know you before you been born, Robbidy Dancer.’
Dancer waggles his foot. Riley releases his grip on it. Dancer does a mock kick, prodding Riley gently, before straightening himself out.
‘Yeah! Like that!’
‘Robbidy?’
‘Robiddy. Your proper name, before that Broome mob been call you Dancer.’
‘Oh ok. Robert.’
‘Robbidy.’ Riley starts to croon a nursery rhyme.
‘Robbidy bub, Robbidy bub,
Robbidy bub an’ me
Robert an’ Andy an’ mad mother Milly
What’s gunna happen to we?’
Now Dancer is feeling totally weirded out.
‘She been sing that to herself, when …’ Riley starts.
‘When she came back here, and I …?’ He jerks his head in the general direction of faraway Broome. ‘You were here then?’
Riley nods solemnly.
34
‘What’s the name of that hill again?’
Andy has swivelled away from the fire, and is pointing towards a distant flat-topped mesa. It is an outlier of the range that dominates the southern horizon, sitting a couple of miles west of the point where the range ends. Its red cliffs have a warm glow in the late afternoon light. Watching the hill, he does not see Two Bob glance in Riley’s direction, before answering quietly, ‘Unggulala. Flat Iron Hill.’
‘That’s it! Flat Iron Hill.’
The words carry to Riley, sitting on a swag carving a design on a boab nut. He drops the nut and the knife, and stares fiercely at Andy.
‘We climbed up there once, me an’ Milly,’ Andy continues. ‘We could see all the way to Bullfrog Hole.’
Riley springs up and strides away from the camp. Dancer can’t read the look on Two Bob’s face as he watches Riley disappear. But he can see the conscious effort his grandfather makes to compose himself before Andy turns back to face them.
The body language leaves no doubt; this is the first time Milly’s name has been mentioned. From the look in his father’s eye, Dancer is sure it was not accidental. But Two Bob changes the subject. ‘You had a look at that ol’ horse float back at the station, eh?’ He reaches for his tobacco tin and busies himself rolling a smoke.
Andy decides not to force the issue. ‘Yeah, but not real close. It’s a big mother.’
‘He’d hook up all right to your truck you reckon?’
‘S’pose so. The turntable’d need a good greasin’, if nothin’ else. How long since she’s seen action?’
‘Good while now. One of them contractors might’ve give it a run I think. Cartin’ feed though, not horses. Not sure when the last time was before that.’
‘How come there’s a big ol’ trailer float like that on a place like Highlands? More the sort of thing you’d see on Fossil Downs or somewhere.’
‘It’s been here since Smithton time. He was last owner bar one before we got the place back. He got it for takin’ his horse plant into the races – always thought he was goin’ to win the Derby Cup. He never came close.’
‘Too big for a Toyota?’
‘Needs a truck, Andy.’
‘Prob’ly needs new tyres too. What you got in that head of yours, lambara?’
‘Mmm … How long since you’ve been on a horse?’
‘What’s goin’ on, lambara? Spit it out.’
‘What about you, Dancer? You much of a rider?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What? You never been on a horse?’ Two Bob can hardly believe it.
‘Couple of times, but just messing about.’
‘He sit the horse all right, Andy?’
‘Just all right. Come on, what’s this all about?’
‘Well … there’s some country south of Bullfrog Hole …’ He seems unsure what to say next. ‘No road in there but.’
‘I thought the river was your south boundary down that way.’
The old man taps a forefinger against the side of h
is nose. ‘Yeah. But there’s no station other side. An’ plenty bullamon. It’s good country.’
‘More’n Poddy’s Pocket?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Can you get ’em out of there? That sort of country they just disappear into the ranges.’
‘I know how.’
Andy can’t help a chuckle. ‘I’m sure you do, ol’ man, I’m sure you do. Listen, if we go ahead next year, we’ll allow for a run through there, an’ work out if we’ll need chopper hours for it – all that stuff. But we’re not geared up for workin’ with horses this time round.’
Two Bob flicks his butt into the fire, takes off his akubra, gives the crown of his bare head a good scratching. The moment has come.
Yes, he has become engrossed with this mad plan that he and Andy are trying to devise. Yes, there is nothing that would please him more than saving Highlands Station. But when the idea first came to him at Jirroo Corner the morning after Buster’s funeral, cattle and station business were but a means to an end.
He didn’t know then, he doesn’t know now, exactly what that end is. He cannot put it into words. But he can feel it as a knot of tensions sitting high in his guts; hopes and fears and memories and regrets writhing around a tight, mysterious kernel.
The kernel had taken root when he watched the grandson he had never known walking down the aisle of the church, bearing his Nyami Buster’s coffin. The next morning, when Dancer was not at home, Two Bob, the steady one, had felt a flash of panic. Of losing all over again something he’d never had.
Somehow he’d got from that moment to this. His grandson is sitting at the fire with him here on Highlands. But it is not enough.
Two Bob levers himself to his feet. He turns his back to the fire, to Andy. All he can think to do is offer a piece of the truth.
‘It’s not just about the cattle, Andy. It’s my country down there, my true country. I want to go back there one more time if I can. I want to show it to Dancer. Him an’ Riley are the last ones in the line for it.’
35
When Two Bob dropped the bomb about his true country Dancer was watching his grandfather’s hands, fingers twining fiercely at his back, revealing the turmoil his calm tone sought to disguise. Then he’d looked across at Andy. His father had a very slight smile, a look almost of admiration in his eyes as he shook his head slowly. He was a man checkmated, given an offer he could not refuse by a man who loved him.
Hardly a word was spoken after that until they got back to Highlands the next day.
‘We’ve got to talk, Dancer. Want to go down the river, or sit in the truck?’
‘Truck.’
‘What’s eating you, Dad?’ he asks once they are settled.
‘You want to do this trip don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Of course you do. And of course I’m up for it. I haven’t really got a choice have I.’
‘That’s what’s bugging you hey, no choice?’
‘The ol’ bugger’s playin’ me. All this cowboy dreamin’s good fun at one level, don’t get me wrong. I’d love to do this muster next year, an’ there might even be half a chance we can. There’s a chopper pilot I’m gunna have a yarn to if I get the chance in Broome. But I told him we had two weeks, maybe three at a pinch, an’ he waits till now to spring this cockamamie idea of gettin’ a horse plant together and ridin’ off into the ranges. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe he’s got his reasons.’
‘I wish he’d fucken share ’em.’ Andy thumps the steering wheel. ‘We’re gunna have to come back. You know how it sits, Dancer. Every week I’m not workin’ I’m losin’ money, with the payments on the truck. An’ don’t forget, I’ve got an extra debt to pay off now. We’ve got to be out of here in four days max or I’ll lose that hay cartin’ gig. An’ we’re not doin’ any fucken horse trek into the ranges in the next four days are we.’
‘Do I have to come back with you? I could stay here and help Grandpa.’
Andy is gobsmacked. This thought had not crossed his mind. ‘The bikies?’
‘Little bit, maybe. But I haven’t thought about them for days till just now.’
‘What about school?’
‘Fuck school, Dad. I’ll pull my finger out when I get back there, I promise. But that’s not where my head’s at.’ He reads Andy’s concern. ‘Look, I’ll even repeat next year if it comes to that. But not now.’
‘Where is your head at, boyo?’
‘Marnunbarrigu. Unggulala. Grandpa’s country. Auntie Rosa and the Riders. My story, Dad.’
‘Fair call … Fair fucken call,’ Andy says, nodding. ‘You can put up with that evil eye from Riley for two weeks on your own?’
‘You’ve got it wrong, Dad. You’re the only one he gives the evil eye. I just get the eye. We’ve got a bromance happening in the back of the ute.’
Andy gives him a mock cuff around the ears.
Once Andy gives in to the inevitable, he and Two Bob turn to sorting out details of what will be required. Two Bob is adamant that there is no way in other than on foot or on horses. That means old style; packhorses, hobbles, all that. ‘In the ol’ days I’d do it in one day easy from Bullfrog to the place I’m thinkin’ of,’ he explains, ‘but the pace we’ll be goin’ we’ve gotta allow two. Gettin’ in’s the tough part. After that it’s pretty good goin’.’ Dancer can see Andy becoming intrigued despite himself, even enthused, as they draw up lists and talk logistics.
A slow drive around the horse paddock running an eye over the plant and they agree there’s enough half-decent horses for the job. Two Bob confesses it’s just as well he has a couple of weeks while Andy’s away. He’ll need the time to pull the horse team together and get them prepared. He reckons he’ll have a word to Rosa to see if Tim and his boy Jimmy can give them a hand.
On the way back from the horse paddock they have a good look over the float. Andy confirms it will hook up to his truck, and they figure it should be up to the job with a bit of work. Two Bob reckons there’s a fellow in the community who’s handy with the tools, and will help them out. ‘Stan’ll patch any tyres that need it too. Any luck we won’t need to buy any.’
‘Ropin’ everyone in,’ Andy laughs. ‘You’ve got Rosa lined up to cover the expenses, eh?’ Two Bob’s sideways look has him rolling his eyes. ‘What? You haven’t spoken to her yet? I can’t cough up the money for all this, lambara. I was sort of hopin’ Jimbala Wali’d cover my fuel.’
‘I didn’t want to say anythin’ till I knew if you two were up for it.’
Andy shakes his head in bemusement. ‘You don’t like doin’ things the easy way, do you.’
The old man tries to look sheepish, but the corners of his mouth are crinkling as he tips Dancer a wink.
36
When they get back to camp Two Bob suggests that Dancer go up to the office and ask Rosa if she can come and see them in the morning. ‘If she’s not there, she should be home. You know her place eh?’
‘The one with the garden?’
‘You gottim.’
He looks up at the row of houses as he cuts across toward the office, and there she is watering the lawn. He wheels towards her with a wave. ‘I was just going up to look for you. Grandpa was hoping you could come down and see us in the morning.’
‘Was he just? Wants me to come down to him. Want a cuppa tea?’
‘Yeah, that’d be good.’
‘Kettle’s up there on the bench on the verandah.’
Her neighbours might have the dusty, unkempt yards so common in communities, but Rosa’s is a much-loved oasis. None of the trees are fully grown yet, but the African mahogany is already tall enough to throw a thick circle of shade, and the mangoes and frangipanis are lush and healthy.
‘It’s so green,’ he admires as he rejoins her. ‘You’re into gardening hey?’
‘Sure am. It’s good to stand here with a hose in the shade of a tree I’ve planted. Almost as good as being down the river, and eas
ier to get to. What about you?’
‘Maybe one day when I’ve got a place of my own.’
‘Your granny had a green thumb. But she didn’t have running water like this, she just had a few pot plants.’
‘She was the chairman here too hey, like you?’
‘That’s right, Dancer. That was early days, when they did it tough. I’ve got it easy compared to her.’
She shuts off the hose and leads the way up to the verandah, signalling him to a chair whilst she makes the tea. She hands him a pannikin and plonks herself down in an armchair moulded to her shape.
‘I’ve been wondering when you’d come to see me.’
‘We’ve been camped out most nights, or back late.’
‘I’ve noticed. Having fun?’
He takes a sip, thinking how to answer. ‘Yeah, mostly.’
‘You going all right in that bachelors’ camp?’
He laughs, and the tea sloshes. ‘Dunno about bachelors. Might be Riley, but … I dunno, he’s not exactly looking for love I don’t think.’ This gets a laugh from Rosa. ‘I’m still a schoolkid, and Dad and Grandpa, well they’re widowers aren’t they, not bachelors.’
‘I think I’m going to like getting to know you, Dancer,’ she says, raising her pannikin in a silent toast. He grins and raises his back.
‘So how’s it going?’
‘What?’
‘The big drive. The big plan.’
‘You better ask them for that.’
‘Fair enough. Is that what they want to see me for?’
‘I think Two Bob wants to ask you about the horse float.’
‘The what?’
‘You know, that old horse float behind the garage.’
‘Whha? I don’t get it. Listen, I’ve got clinic in the morning. After that I’ll be here or the office. He can come and find me if there’s something he wants.’
‘I’ll tell him. You work in the clinic?’
The Valley Page 13