The horse shifted and pranced beneath him. Thomas glanced across at the bullocks. They continued their steady forward movement. Attached to the back of the wagon was Derriere. Thomas was now riding a fine strong horse – still a little flighty, but they were already getting used to each other. It riled him still to think how he’d been duped by that Whitby fellow. It had cost him dearly. He’d paid his boss back for a horse he’d never owned, not that Thomas had ever told AJ about what had happened.
Every penny he earned had become very important to Thomas. If he could get land of his own, one day George might allow him to marry Lizzie. Thomas couldn’t ask for her hand without prospects, even though the thought of her brought a smile to his face and set his heart thumping in his chest.
The horse pranced again. Thomas became aware of the sound of hooves and wagon wheels up ahead. They were approaching at a fast pace. He called the bullocks to a halt. The advancing wagon raced over the hill and hurtled towards him along the narrow stretch of road.
Thomas pulled his horse sideways as the wagon passed him. The man at the reins barely looked his way but Thomas saw his sweep of dark hair, the pointed nose and the glint of eyes that widened for a moment as they drew level … and then the man was gone, his wagon careering on down the road.
Thomas gripped the reins of his horse but the animal had become so agitated it reared up and he was thrown to the ground. He landed with a jarring thud on his backside. It took a moment to test all parts of his body before he scrambled to his feet. His new horse had disappeared up the road and behind him the bullocks had pulled the wagon dangerously close to a wash-away.
It took him some manoeuvring to get them moving in the right direction. He walked beside the wagon, feeling the aches from his fall with every step. Thankfully his horse had stopped not too far up the road but the animal was still flighty. It took Thomas some effort to calm him and get his little procession moving again.
What had possessed the man to drive his wagon so recklessly? Now that Thomas had time to think, there had been something familiar about him. It had only been a glimpse but the sharp look from those grey eyes reminded him of –
“Whitby,” Thomas growled, and twisted in his saddle.
His hair was longer, he had a beard and a thicker moustache, but Thomas was sure. For a brief moment he contemplated leaving his wagon and chasing after Whitby, but at the pace he’d been travelling, the thief would be well gone. In the direction he was headed there was a crossroad and further along closer to Adelaide there were more tiny settlements and roads. Whitby could take any one of them and Thomas would waste precious time trying to find him.
Whitby was a mistake from the past. Thomas knew he wouldn’t ever be so easily duped again. He tried to keep his mind on the road ahead and getting back to Penakie with his supplies and the special gift he’d bought for Lizzie, but even though he conjured up her happy face in his mind, the shine had gone from his day. No matter how hard he tried to forget Whitby’s trickery, it replayed itself again and again, niggling at him deep down like a festering sore.
Twenty-nine
1849
The waddy was a well-crafted solid piece of wood. It hit the thick stick Thomas held, close to his fingers. The force jarred along his arms. He grimaced and danced backwards then sideways on his toes, never taking his eyes from the man wielding the waddy. The native was smaller than Thomas, with a wiry frame. He was quick on his feet. They circled each other. Thomas could feel the sweat running down his naked back. It stung as it trickled over the burn from the rays of the autumn sun.
He had caught the native taking a sheep. He wasn’t known to Thomas but Gulda had spoken angrily, using his hands to make gestures. There was a loose understanding between Thomas, Gulda and the local group of natives who spent some of their time living near his hut that sheep were not to be pilfered. This man circling Thomas with his waddy was not a local, but Gulda obviously knew him and had brought him forth as the ringleader to be dealt with.
Thomas could not bring himself to use whips or firearms like his neighbours. He’d spent enough time with Gulda to learn a little about the way the natives moved about the land. They stored very little, yet could live easily in the often harsh bush conditions. He’d managed to make Gulda understand that the sheep weren’t to be used as food unless earned. He had enough trouble with the wild dogs without the natives helping themselves.
The mournful cry of a large black bird wailed through the morning air. Thomas glanced away. From the corner of his eye he caught the movement of the waddy descending towards his exposed shoulder. He side-stepped then spun and swung his weapon. The hefty blow from Thomas’s stick and the native’s own momentum propelled him forward and onto the ground. He sprawled there, the wind knocked from his body.
Thomas watched the thief closely even though he was sure the man wouldn’t get up and keep fighting. He was the loser and would accept that but Thomas had to make sure he understood not to take the sheep. He took the large tuft of wool hooked on the railing close by and waved it in the man’s face. “No sheep,” he said in a gruff voice.
Gulda appeared from the shadows. He added his piece, speaking in a fierce tone to the man. The only words Thomas understood were “sheep” and “Mr Tom”. Gulda waved his hands to the south as he spoke then sent the other native on his way.
“I hope he understands,” Thomas said. He took his shirt from the rails and pulled it over his head. “He can’t take the sheep.”
“No, Mr Tom, sheep,” Gulda said solemnly.
Thomas studied the man who’d come to be a great help to him since he’d arrived at Penakie. Gulda had picked up quite a bit of English, enough so that they could communicate, but Thomas knew little about Gulda’s language. Except that the word for water seemed to be “wirra”. At least that’s how Thomas said it, as he couldn’t make the same sounds as Gulda.
Water had featured a lot in their conversation of late. They’d had another long hot summer and autumn had produced some cooler conditions but no rain yet. The creek, as Thomas now called the watercourse in front of the hut, was a dry bed except for the few holes deep enough to still retain water. The sheep were struggling, having to walk long distances to find tufts of grass to eat and access the pools left in the other dry creek beds across Penakie. Deeper in the foothills there were what appeared to be permanent pools, but even they were getting low. Thomas prayed they would receive good rains soon.
He turned at the sound of horses approaching. Wick had ridden over to the Smiths’ to return some tools they’d borrowed. He had proved a useful addition to Penakie and had grown from gangly lad to a solid man. He had been helping Thomas make some improvements on the hut. They’d extended the back room out and made a door with a low verandah that faced the outside fire.
Thomas was glad it was AJ who paid the annual occupation licence the government demanded for these northerly runs. He knew others were struggling to pay theirs. The current extended dry was a difficult time for everyone around.
Thomas hoped the sound of more than one horse might mean Lizzie had ridden back with Wick. She nearly always found some excuse to come his way. He rarely went to the Smiths’ unless he knew the irksome Edmund wouldn’t be at home. He was fairly certain she’d accept if he gave in to his desperate heart and proposed, but he had nothing to offer her. Penakie wasn’t his. He’d saved quite a lot of money over his time as overseer but with Wick and him sharing the little hut, Thomas couldn’t see his way forward to taking a wife.
He hid his disappointment with a smile when he saw the other rider was Jacob. The Smiths always had plenty of workers between George and his four sons, so Jacob was often the one to come and help out.
Jacob jumped from his horse and strode towards Thomas. “I’ve had enough of this biding time,” he said before Thomas could even say hello. “We’re all tripping over each other at our place; except Edmund, who keeps going off to visit his lady friend and is never there when there is work to be done.”
“Let’s explore further north,” Jacob said. “Few people have been beyond Penakie and there’s talk that the government are going to have leases that will last for several years rather than these punishing one-year licences.” Jacob’s eyes gleamed and he grabbed Thomas by the elbow. “Just think: we might be able to find better runs in the north. If the leases do come to be, we’ll know where to stake a claim.”
“I’m only the overseer here.” Thomas gently shook his head and eased his arm from Jacob’s grip. “I do the job as instructed by my employer.”
“AJ has several runs and he’s always looking for more. I bet he’d back you.”
Thomas could see the fervour burning in Jacob’s eyes but he was free to come and go as he pleased.
“Your family owns your lease. You have time to go exploring.”
“Only to a point. At the moment Father has us building a new hut for whoever marries first. It’s likely to be Edmund, and Samuel won’t be far behind.” He looked pointedly at Thomas. “Unless Lizzie beats them all.”
Thomas gave a little frown. Jacob was often the one to accompany Lizzie on her visits. The three of them and Wick all enjoyed each other’s company.
Jacob dug the toe of his boot into the soft red dirt. “Anyway, don’t get grand ideas about our place. There’re five of us to live off it, and Mother and Lizzie. Our land isn’t big enough for us all. Father’s talking of finding someone who might back Zac and me if we can find a decent run in the north.” He looked over Thomas’s shoulder. “I’ve been a bit of a way past your northern boundary a few years back but I was on my own and couldn’t get far. There’s a mountain range out there. Bet there’s good vegetation and plenty of water. AJ might even give you a bonus if you were to find it. Then you could ask Lizzie to be your wife.”
“How …? I … It’s n-not …” Thomas stuttered, feeling the heat in his cheeks.
“Look, Thomas,” once again Jacob took him by the arm, “this is a great opportunity. I know you want to marry Lizzie. It’s only your pride and your belief you haven’t got many prospects that’s stopping you. She’d marry you tomorrow if you asked her but if you think you need something more substantial than an overseer’s life to offer her, then this might well be your opportunity. Neither of you is getting any younger.”
Thomas studied Jacob. The eagerness was still there but his eyes also shone with friendship. Jacob had become the brother he’d never had, but the talk about Lizzie and marriage was new. He hadn’t been so indiscreet before.
“You think she’d say yes?”
“Of course.” Jacob threw his hands in the air. “Thomas, sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours. Lizzie doesn’t care about fancy huts or lots of money. We’re not rich and her bed is the couch in our kitchen. She and Mother spend all their free time sewing things for the box she has stored under it. Since you arrived, it’s filled up and they’ve had to find another space. She’s just waiting for you to ask.”
“But Edmund –”
“Who cares what Edmund thinks? Lizzie’s old enough to marry without asking anyone’s permission. Anyway, I’m sure Father would happily give it to you and that’s what counts.”
Thomas felt as if a window had opened inside him and sunshine warmed his heart. Perhaps he could ask Lizzie to marry him – but how much better would it be if they could look to somehow owning their own place in the future? Penakie provided a living but ultimately it was hard work for someone else’s future. Maybe there was something better in these ranges Jacob had seen.
From the hut came the banging of a hammer. Wick had got back to work. Thomas knew he could rely on him to take care of the place. He’d done well each year on his own when Thomas took the load of wool to Adelaide.
“How long would we be gone?” Thomas said.
Jacob’s face lit up. “About a week. Maybe a little longer. We’ll carry as many supplies as we can. Do you think you could get Gulda to come with us? I bet he knows where the water is.”
Before Thomas could express any more doubts, Jacob was organising provisions. Wick was given a list of instructions and Gulda appeared in time for Thomas to explain via a series of words, hand signals and rough scratchings in the dirt what they wanted to do. A short time later the three men set out, Gulda leading the way and the two white men jubilant with anticipation, in search of the elusive heart of the country.
Thirty
Yardu welcomed Gulda and took him to sit in the shade of the huge gum beside the creek. A bit further along, three small children played on the bank, digging in the mud with little sticks, under the watchful eyes of their older siblings and cousins. He smiled as his eyes found Binda. The little boy wobbled forward on unsteady legs: he hadn’t been walking long. A few more weeks and he would be running.
“It’s good that you have taken another wife, cousin,” Gulda said. “Your son is a good strong boy.”
“You have come a long way on your own.” They had spoken at length when Gulda had first appeared in their camp. Now Yardu had brought his cousin to a space alone, sensing there was something important to be said.
“I am not alone.”
Yardu glanced beyond Gulda then back at his cousin and waited. Like the gathering grey clouds above, discomfort stirred in his belly.
“I have brought my friend, Mr Tom,” Gulda said, “and another white man.”
Yardu felt the tension tighten in his body. He stared at the ground in front of him. “Where are they?”
“A long walk from here. I did not want to cause you trouble, but these men are not like those who came long ago. They are my friends. They won’t harm you or your family.”
“Why have you brought them?”
“They have animals called sheep. They are much easier to catch than kangaroo. You remember the sheep we shared when you came to our country?”
Yardu nodded. He seldom thought of his first wife. He’d helped her spirit return to her country and avenged her death when he killed the white man. He hadn’t thought much of the meat from the animal Gulda had shared with him that night. Kangaroo was better and all Yardu’s instincts told him it was best to keep away from the white men and their animals. He had a new family now.
“These sheep need lots of water. This creek is a good one. The springs keep the waterholes full even when there has been no rain for a long time. I want to show my friends this country.”
“We all share it. I would not stop you.” Yardu said the words and opened his arms wide, but his sense of foreboding was building.
“They are not like us,” Gulda said. “They build huts and stay, thinking the land will provide everything they need in one place. I am showing my friends they must move about as the seasons change.”
“Do they understand you?”
“Mr Tom tries. I know he is a good man.”
“I do not trust them. I don’t want my family to see them.”
His first wife had been so frightened by the white men appearing that day long ago. Yardu’s father had told him all about it when he had returned to the camp. Some of the women had run, terrified by the strangers, the big screaming animals they rode and the noisy sticks that made the huge banging sound. Yardu had seen few white men since the day he’d thrown his spear at the man on the big animal in Gulda’s country, and he would prefer not to see any more.
“I don’t like these men.”
“They are my friends, but we also met others who were travelling further up into the hills. They had one of your northern cousins with them. There will be more white men. You can’t stop them.”
Yardu thought about that. If what Gulda said was true and the interlopers weren’t prepared to share, there were other places he could go. He could take his family and the white men would never find them.
“We will move on,” Yardu said. His heart was heavy in his chest but the season was changing and they would have had to move soon anyway. It would be s
ad not to come back to this waterhole but if the white men had it they might leave the rest of the hills country alone. Gulda had only seen a few of them. Perhaps they would build their huts here and not travel further. “You must teach them to respect the sacred places,” he said.
“I will try.”
Yardu stood, said goodbye to his cousin and watched as Gulda left their camp. Once more he turned his solemn eyes to the children playing with the digging sticks. The creek was running faster and they had moved further up onto the flat above the bank. He heard the sudden excitement in their voices as one of them found some of the special wild pear roots in the soil.
The light was dimming in the sky even though the sun was still high. The spirits of his ancestors were sad like him. Yardu moved slowly; it was time to meet with his brothers and cousins. They must move on today.
Thirty-one
Jacob stood beside the creek with its deep waterhole. “That Gulda knows his way around. We would never have found our way here without him.”
“That’s for certain.” Thomas looked across at the native, who was a distance away, staring at the hills behind them as if watching for something. “I was ready to give up and turn back two days ago when we came across that William Chace. He made it sound as if there was nothing out this way.”
“It’s a huge country; perhaps Chace didn’t follow this creek,” Jacob said.
“I think he was planning to go further north, but he wasn’t giving much away.”
“I didn’t like the look of that black fellow with him,” Jacob said. “He had shifty eyes.”
“I wish Gulda could tell us about him; he didn’t understand what I meant when I asked.”
“This area we’ve ridden through for the last few days would work well with the foliage and this permanent water supply. Do you think we can get Gulda to show us more country? We’d need a run each if we were to make a go of it. Zac wants to come too.”
Heart of the Country Page 19