TWELVE

It wasn’t long before the muster would start, so Dad said we needed to stock up. That meant we had to go and get a killer. It was great. I got to miss some school. During smoko, Dad came over to the house and said, “Danny, get your gun. I want you to come and help me get a killer.” I looked at Bobbie, and she nodded her baseball cap at me, so I knew it was OK. As I ran inside to the gun cupboard I heard Bobbie explaining to the Pommie that a killer was when we shot a cow, brought it back to the station, and butchered it.

I took out Jonny’s gun from the cupboard. When I was thirteen, Dad said I could start using it. He said it was inheritance. I rubbed the barrel with my shirt sleeve and took a box of bullets from the top shelf of the cupboard. I had a quick look down the barrel though I knew it was clean—I took good care of it. I stopped at the piano to touch Jonny’s picture. I’d already done it once that morning, but it seemed wrong not to do it again, as I was about to use his gun. Outside Dad was waiting for me in the ute.

I’d been practising my shooting quite a lot and, as Dad had shot the last killer we’d got, I asked if I could have a go. He looked at me and narrowed his eyes a bit, like he was thinking about it. Then he nodded.

Out there on our own in the ute, listening to Willie Nelson, felt good. As we bounced down the track, dust smoking behind us, Dad said it was essential that I took my time and made a clean kill. “No suffering,” he said. That was the most important rule. I reckoned Dad was a good stockman. Greg said so too. Dad believed in doing things right and got mad if anyone left a gate open or a tap switched on because it caused serious problems, which were entirely avoidable.

We drove out to Jaben Point so Dad could check the borehole. It had been pretty dry, so he wanted to make sure it looked OK before we started mustering. When the cattle were all herded together during the muster, it was important that there was enough water for them. He said the water situation looked about as good as he’d expected, so we turned back toward the station. As we drove, Dad seemed a bit fidgety, like he had ants in his pants. I was going to ask him about it, when he said to me, “Listen, Danny, I was wondering, has Sissy said anything to you about this baby?” I shrugged, and said no. She never spoke to me about anything any more. That’s when Dad said, “You sure? She never mentioned anything to you about having a boyfriend at school—or anything? Anything at all?” I shook my head. We drove on in silence for a bit before I asked if him and Mum were speaking to Sissy. Dad asked me what made me think they weren’t speaking to her.

I shrugged and said it was because Sissy only ever came out of her room for meals—and even then the only thing she ever said to anyone was when she wanted something passed, like the salt or ketchup, or whatever. Dad nodded and scratched his neck. That’s when he said, “Listen, Danny, Sissy doesn’t seem to want to tell us who the father is, and that’s the only thing I’m interested in finding out right now.” I asked him if he thought we’d ever find out who the father of Sissy’s baby was. Dad shrugged and said, “You can’t have a kid not knowing who its father is. It’s just not right. No grandchild of mine is going to grow up like that—no way.” We drove back to the station in silence. I racked my brain trying to think if Sissy had ever mentioned any boys, but the only person I could think of her talking about was her mate Natasha.

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The cattle didn’t know this, but the ones that wandered around near Timber Creek were the ones that became killers. Dad liked to pick a big, juicy one near the house, so it wasn’t far to carry it back with the loader.

We stopped at this little rise and walked a few hundred yards through the scrub into the desert to this place called Sail Rock. It was a rock that sort of stuck out of the trees like a boat sail. It was a good spot for two reasons: you could climb the rock and get a better view to see where the cattle were, or you could hide behind it. That meant the cattle didn’t know we were there, so they didn’t get spooked. When you pick a killer, you want it to be nice and still, that way it’s easier to get a clean kill.

Dad squatted down, so I followed. He jabbed his finger in the air toward my left. He’d spotted our killer—a big Hereford cow. We had two breeds of cattle, Hereford and Brahman. Hereford were good beef cattle and we had Brahman cattle because they could cope with living in the desert real well. Dad reckoned they were born survivors. As I looked at that Hereford cow, Dad gave me a nod. I carefully loaded the gun and turned round to face her. The sun was behind us—it felt hot on the back of my neck. I kneeled down in the dirt and tipped my hat up a bit, then raised the smooth butt to my shoulder. I could hear my heart pumping like mad as I stared for a good while down the barrel, making sure I had her head in the sight. I flicked the safety catch and held my breath. As I squeezed the trigger, the gun fired and then recoiled into my shoulder, like one of Jonny’s punches. The desert screamed for a second, as birds and insects flew away from the smoky gunpowder smell. I lowered the gun and put the catch back on. Dad held his hand out to shake mine, then helped me to my feet.

We walked toward the cow. She was a big one. Dad said she’d provide plenty of good meat. One side of her face was wet with blood. I felt proud. Dad said, “It was a clean kill. Well done.” I looked at Jonny’s gun and wondered if he’d been watching me from heaven. That’s when I asked Dad about Jonny’s first killer. I wanted to know if he’d got it in one shot too. If he’d made a clean kill. I guess Dad didn’t want to talk about it because he said he didn’t know, reckoned he couldn’t remember. I rubbed the barrel of the gun with my shirt sleeve and wished it could speak, like one of those genie-in-a-lamp things, so I could ask about Jonny’s first killer. I guess that’s just dumb though. Everyone knows that’s just made up for little kids.

We went back for the ute and drove through the witchetty bushes and spinifex to where she lay. Dad took out his big knife and the saw to take off her head. When it came off it didn’t seem real. It was more like one of Sissy’s art projects. We let the carcass bleed into the desert, and that was when the fat black flies began to swarm. They were the same as the ones that hung around Buzz like a cloud.

Dad got a chain around the cow’s front legs and with the ute dragged her out to the track. We drove home to get the loader and within half an hour we were carrying her into the yards, ready to butcher.

We left the hide, like a bloody rug, outside the cool room. Dad sawed the bottom of her legs off and even though there was a leg for each of our four farm dogs, they always seemed to find something to fight about.

Once that was done, Dad started butchering. There’s a lot to learn. His dad taught him how to do it, and now he was teaching me. It was real interesting seeing the inside of a cow. Dad didn’t waste any of it. That night we had the skirt and the other bits that didn’t keep so well. The sides got hung up in the cool room. Dad chose some bigger cuts for salt meat; then there were ribs for the freezer, as well as the mince and sausages he made. Pure beef.

We were up to our elbows in blood when the Pommie wandered in. I reckoned she was on her way to see Dingo. She was always checking up on him. He’d got a bit bigger, mainly thanks to all the time she’d spent feeding him and filling him full of medicine. Even so, his back legs were still weak from where he’d been attacked. Anyway, I don’t think she’d ever seen a killer before. She just stared at the hide and then the body Dad was sawing in half. I guess he looked a bit like a madman. I shouted for her to come and have a look at my killer, but she shook her head and went away again. Dad laughed, he said, “I don’t think vegetarians make very good butchers, Danny.” It wasn’t like she had to eat any of it.

When Dad and me finished butchering the killer, he said he was going for a shower and that I had to do the same once I’d taken the hide to the farm tip. I said I wanted to do some training with Buzz first. Dad thought about it, and then said, “Fair enough—but afterward, you take the hide straight to the tip.”

I washed the killer’s blood off my hands using one of the hoses at the chook pens and then went to see Buzz. He head-butted me a couple of times, just to wind me up. I swatted him away and told him not to be a total drongo. We walked toward the gate, which took us out to the south of the station. Buzz got all excited when he saw the open desert and started skipping about. I teased him with the gate by opening it real slowly, which made him so impatient that when it was finally open wide enough for him to get through, he kicked his legs and almost flew into the desert. By the time I’d got the gate shut, Buzz was miles ahead of me, so I started to run after him. I shouted his name, so he’d know I was coming, but he didn’t look back. It was like he’d been fired from a cannon. Nothing got in his way. The spinifex and little bushes seemed invisible for him, as I jumped and tripped over them.

I had to stop and have a breather. It was pretty hot and we’d run a long way from the station. Buzz didn’t stop though and, as I kept an eye on his brown body on the horizon, I got worried. He’d never run that far away from me before. I needed my inhaler, so I told myself to trust Buzz as I sucked on it. I told myself he’d come back. As he got smaller and smaller in the distance, I knew there was no point in running after him—he was too far away to catch. So I stood still and shouted his name as loud as I could while I stared hard at the desert, trying not to lose sight of him. From where I was, I couldn’t tell if he had stopped or not, and my eyes kept playing tricks on me. I’d see Buzz, then start focusing on a bush instead. I decided to walk toward where he was, hoping I hadn’t mistaken a tree for him. It’s harder than you think to keep your eye on a little camel in the desert. The heat haze confuses you and soon everything starts to look like a camel. Everywhere I looked, there was something on the horizon that could have been Buzz. I felt like crying. I shouted his name as I jogged toward what I hoped was him. I got so scared, I kept turning round to make sure the station was still behind me, so I’d know I was running in the right direction.

I was thinking about going back to the station to get the Old Rover, when one of the brown spots on the horizon started getting bigger, until it grew long legs and a neck. My chest loosened and the lump in my throat slipped away as I waved my arms and shouted, “Buzz! Here, Buzz!” As he ran toward me, relief flooded through my body. I guess that’s how the desert felt when we had good rains and the creeks filled up. He skidded toward me so I could put my arms round his neck and tickle his ears. I didn’t want to be angry with him—he’d come back to me. But as I threw my arms round him, I squeezed a bit harder than normal.

We walked back to the station together. I kept my arm on his neck the whole way. Just in case. I hadn’t time to go chasing after him again. I had to take the hide to the tip or Dad would go ape.

After I’d put Buzz back in his pen, I jumped in the Old Rover. I reversed him up to the hide and went to get a hook. The hide was carpeted with flies. The Pommie came over to see what I was doing as I folded one side of the hide onto the other and then in half again. I explained I had to carefully hook the metal through the hide, without it ripping, so I could attach it to the Old Rover and drag it to the tip.

I was busy doing all of that when Dad came over. He’d been at the calf pen looking for me—and he wasn’t happy. He asked me why I hadn’t told him Dingo was crook. He reckoned the fact Dingo still wasn’t well meant something serious was wrong with him. I shrugged and said it was the Pommie’s calf, not mine. She smiled at Dad and said she reckoned he was stronger. Dad shook his head and shouted for Lloyd to bring his gun. Dad said, “You know the rules, Daniel. Why the hell we’re throwing good money after bad on a sick calf like that, I don’t know. Milk and antibiotics cost a lot.” I knew he was right. I felt bad for going along with the Pommie for so long. Dad told the Pommie it was cruel to let Dingo carry on. “He’s never going to get better,” he said. The Pommie just stood there, silent, like she wanted to blub, but couldn’t. I felt bad for her. Kind of guilty.

Lloyd brought the calf round into the yard and tied him to a post. Then he loaded his gun, held it to his shoulder and shot Dingo in the head.

The calf folded down into the dirt and a small pool of blood stained the bottom of the post.