SIXTEEN

When I woke up, it was still more or less dark. The muster was whirling round in my head. I knew I wouldn’t go back to sleep, so I got up. With everyone else still in bed, the house felt funny, like a stranger. I took a piece of bread from the kitchen to eat on my way to see Buzz. When I got there, Liz was already feeding the poddies. She smiled when she saw me coming and said, “Excited about the muster?” I nodded and she said she was too.

The Pommie didn’t know anything about mustering, so I started right at the beginning, by telling her about Reg. He’d mustered cattle from station to station in the Territory all his life. He was the best in the business. Liz said Reg reminded her of a desert version of a snow leopard. I didn’t know what she meant. She reckoned animals in snowy places are nearly always white, so they’re camouflaged. She said it was to do with survival of the fittest and that Reg was the same, except he’d gone orangey-brown to match the desert. I kind of knew what she meant. He did look a bit like his skin was made from dust and dirt, all craggy and hard, like a boulder.

His team changed from year to year, except for one Blackfella, called Jack Black. Dad reckoned Jack was named after a card game he won when he was a kid. Jack and Reg had worked together forever.

The Pommie was real interested—wanted to know everything about them. So while I fed Buzz, I explained how Reg lived a different kind of a life to most whitefellas. He was about Dad’s age, maybe older, but he didn’t have a wife or kids or anything, and he didn’t like being in the house much. He looked itchy whenever Mum invited him inside—that’s why we always ate outside when he came over, even if we weren’t having a barbie. He preferred to be out at stock camp with the fellas. Some people said he was more like a gin than a whitefella. Dad reckoned it didn’t matter when you were as good at your job as Reg was.

Jack Black was a bit of a legend. Everyone in the Territory had heard of him. He wore this great big black hat and had these teeth, which were whiter than any whitefella’s, but real crooked, like someone had broken a fence up in his mouth.

The Pommie brought the empty calf feeder over to be rinsed and said she wondered why Jack hadn’t come to the house for dinner, so I told her it was because he’s a Blackfella. She didn’t get it, so I told her how Blackfellas didn’t come to a whitefellas’ party. Even when they were mustering, Jack didn’t camp with Reg and the others. She wanted to know why Jack didn’t sleep or eat with the others if he and Reg had worked together for so long. I shrugged and said it was just how it was. I tried to explain that it was like that with Mick and Davy—they never came into the house. They only ever sat outside with Dad. Liz asked if anyone had ever invited them inside. I shrugged. I didn’t know the answer to that. Then she asked about Gil. She wanted to know if he came into the house when he used to come over and play with Jonny. I nodded—they often played together in our room when they were little. I guess maybe because Gil was a kid, and because he was Jonny’s mate, it was different. The Pommie agreed.

She didn’t ask me anything else about Jack, so I told her about how Reg chose his team real carefully. He made sure his men were all decent, trustworthy fellas because of a nasty incident that happened a few years before. Reg had had a fella called Gibson working for him. Gibson was a drinker. Reg didn’t know that, though. Gibson had been drinking whisky this one day and because they were at opposite ends of the yards, Reg hadn’t noticed. They were trucking the animals up the race onto the road train, but Gibson couldn’t count how many animals he’d let through onto the trailer because he was so drunk.

Liz didn’t know what a road train was. I told her it was a big truck with three double-deck trailers behind it. She said they didn’t have them in England.

Getting the cattle onto the trailer could be tricky. They could get scared, so you needed to lead them on slowly, one at a time, to let the drivers load them safely. The cattle stayed in the trailers for days while they were driven across the country to a slaughterhouse, so they needed to be loaded properly. It was a dangerous job being a road-train driver. If you were inside a trailer and a bull kicked off, it was bad news. But that wasn’t the problem on this occasion. It was Gibson’s job to count how many had gone through his section of the race onto the trailer, only he wasn’t really awake. One after another they went into the trailer, faster than the driver could manage them. It was pretty noisy, with all the hooves stamping around and the cattle braying at each other, so no one heard the driver. By the time Reg and the others realized what had happened, the road-train driver was nowhere to be seen, but they could hear him crying out. It took them so long to get the cattle, crammed like sardines, back out of the trailer, that by the time they found him, he’d been trampled to death. The Pommie’s eyes grew wider when she heard that.

I don’t think anyone I know ever asked Reg about it, but the story went that he drove Gibson and the driver’s body back to Alice. The corpse in the front, wrapped in Reg’s blanket, while Gibson was tied up in the back of the ute. Reg dropped the road-train driver off at the funeral home and then took Gibson to the police station. Greg told me Reg dragged Gibson out of his ute and then quietly beat the crap out of him in the street. Greg reckoned the cops turned a blind eye.

I don’t think Liz knew what to say then. Her face turned, like she’d tasted meat. I thought I’d better change the subject, so I told her what I knew about the rest of Reg’s mob. The Barron brothers, Ed and Spike, had come from South Australia to find work after their father’s cattle station went bust. They were new, but Reg told Dad he was impressed with them. Then there was Rick Smith. He was a very quiet man. He’d been in prison, I dunno what for, but he was Reg’s mate’s mate, so he was OK. I guess Rick must have been useful or Reg wouldn’t have kept him.

As well as Reg’s mob we usually hired in one or two Blackfellas to help too. On a cattle station as big as ours, it was always good to have a few extra people on the ground, just to help with anything that came up. But Dad said we couldn’t afford it this year. I guess it was because we had to pay the Pommie and with the baby coming too. I’d heard Mum say babies cost an arm and a leg. I didn’t say that to the Pommie though. I just told her Dad reckoned we’d be able to manage this time just with our fellas and Reg’s.

We’d finished feeding the animals and were on our way back to the house so the Pommie could make our breakfasts. As we walked along I told her how at each water hole on the station, the fellas would set up the yards, using these real big fence panels. That’s heavy work, hot and a bit boring. But then you get to do the actual muster—that’s when you go out in the utes and bull catchers and round up the cattle. That’s when the fun starts. Driving across the desert, taking a big mob back to the yards. It’s the best.

When we got back to the house, Dad was there and he reckoned we could all skip school and go mustering—everyone except Sissy. She was too pregnant to muster. Man, I was so stoked I threw my hat in the air and whooped like a madman.

Dad tipped his hat back a bit, looked at me and smiled. I said I didn’t want to muster with the girls. I was sick of being with the girls all the time. He laughed and said he reckoned there’d come a time when I’d feel differently about that. I got worried then. I thought he was going to make me go with them, but he said the girls could all ride with him in his ute. Elliot said I could be his co-driver if I wanted. I nodded and we all ran out to get in the utes to head to Jaben Point. We always started the muster at Jaben Point, then we moved to Wild Ridge, then Simpson’s Dam, before heading over to Cockatoo Creek, Gum Tree Creek, and last of all Timber Creek.

When we got to Jaben Point, Reg was waiting for us. He rubbed his hand in my hair and called me the camel man. I liked the sound of that. He said I could ride with him in his bull catcher! I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to say. I just nodded. I was totally stoked. I looked at Elliot, to see if he’d mind if I went with Reg instead and I could tell he understood. I couldn’t stop smiling. Reg’s bull catcher was a lot better than Elliot’s old ute.

Lloyd was going to be on one of our motorbikes, and so was Ed Barron. Jack and Rick were in another bull catcher and Spike Barron was in a ute. We got in the vehicles and left the yards like Wacky Racers in convoy. Reg gave the signal and he and Dad led us into the desert. There were some deep ravines in the earth around the Soak, that’s what we call the water hole out there, so we had to be careful. We couldn’t just look at the cattle we were chasing, we had to keep a real close eye on what was around us. Reg revved the bull catcher and we shot forward into the desert.

The team fanned out from the yards all heading south, to see what that part of the desert was hiding from us. Reg grinned at me as we bounced through the grass and dirt. “Here we go, Danny!” he shouted. I was so happy. I couldn’t wait to find some cattle. We ran into a handful nearly straightaway. They were scared of the sound of the engine and started running. Reg swung the bull catcher round the side of them to herd them back toward the yards. As we came in a loop we met Ed Barron on his motorbike, so he spun round and took our cattle with him. That left us free to go into the desert again and find more.

When we set off this time, we went in a different direction. Reg’s hands frantically turned the wheel and we doubled back. We’d only been going for a second or two when Reg had to slam his brakes on. Four wild horses came from nowhere, their hooves like engine pistons against the track in front of us. “Jesus!” Reg shouted and hit the steering wheel. We all hated the wild horses. They were a damned nuisance when we were mustering. If they got caught up in the muster and ended up in the yards with the cattle, they could start kicking and break the fences. That was the worst. It was like getting a crack in a hose—the cattle would run out back into the desert and we’d have lost them and a day’s work.

The horses ran by so fast, their scraggy manes and tails reminded me of tattered sails. They’d gone as soon as they arrived, so I wasn’t sure if I’d really seen them.

We set off again and this time we mustered a good few cattle. We uprooted one cow and then we found another, which ran with it to try to get away from us. Round another bush there were three more, until we had a small herd. As we brought them back toward the yards we saw Dad and Jack bringing a real big mob in, so we joined them in what Reg called a nice little pincer movement.

That big mob of cattle ran along like a dark cloud. It moved like weather, rolling along the earth with its own energy. We followed it. We were traveling slower than before. It was hot and once we had a mob together like that, we didn’t want to stress them any more than we already had by making them run even faster.

Once we got them to the yard, Spike Barron was waiting to open the gate. The cattle were too scared of us to realize it was a trap. As soon as the last one went through, Spike swung one gate shut and then Rick jumped out to close the other one.

“Nice work, fellas. Over.” Dad’s voice echoed from the radio in Reg’s bull catcher. Reg picked it up and replied, “A good mob there, Derek. Over and out.”

We all knew there were more to muster, so we didn’t stop. We headed north of the yards and found Elliot with a small mob of cows and calves jogging along, tired and afraid. Reg said they looked like a sorry bunch of refugees. I didn’t know what that meant, but those cattle looked perished.

We carried on like that all day, going out into the desert and bringing more and more cattle back to the yards, until it was nearly dark and it was too dangerous to muster any more. The fellas agreed to leave the cattle in the yards overnight so they could cool off a bit. There were one or two crazed cattle. They’d gone mad because they hadn’t had enough water. When they got like that they could be real angry, but Dad said it was because they weren’t in their right minds. Dad hoped that if we left them in the yard with the troughs of water they might have a drink and calm down overnight, so they’d be easier to draft and truck the next day. Reg agreed.

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At breakfast the next day, Dad was at home and said he wanted me to go with the Pommie to Jaben Point to help draft the cattle. He reckoned there was a good mob over there, pretty healthy too. He said I had to go to school that morning, but afterward he wanted Liz to take them some lunch. He said the two of us could stay and help take down the cattle numbers as they were trucked. That’s a real boring job, but I was still stoked. I was going to be out with the fellas again—I felt like jumping up and down. Emily said she wanted to go to Jaben Point too. Dad smiled and said she could go as long as she promised to stay out of the way and not cause any trouble. Emily swore on Charlotte’s life—that was her favorite poddie calf—that she’d behave herself.

When our lessons were finished, I ran out of the schoolroom into the hot yard. It felt good, like nothing mattered except cattle and water. Liz had lunch ready and we all bundled into Bobbie’s ute.

When we reached the top of the rise at Jaben Point looking down on the yards, we all breathed in, like we were about to dive into deep water. The yards were bursting with hundreds of cattle. The Pommie couldn’t believe it. As we drew closer her mouth fell open at the sight of all the cattle, the size of the spread, and the amount of dust that had climbed into the air. When we stopped, Dad waved over at us. He was sweating and dirty. The Pommie was so busy staring at the cattle that it was left to Bobbie to set out lunch for the fellas under the shade of a gum tree. The food drew everyone in like a magnet but Liz was in some kind of daze.

While Dad and our fellas got stuck into the food, Reg and his mob brought their tucker over to the tree too. We all sat round, quietly eating and trying to hide from the sun and the flies. I heard Dad say the cattle at Jaben Point were good, pretty healthy and lots of them. He was pleased with how it was going. I could tell.

While Dad ate and chatted with Reg, the Pommie came over to get herself some lunch. With so many people and cattle in one place, the flies were having their own muster. We all smiled when we saw Liz fighting a losing battle to keep them off herself and the food. She twitched and slapped the air like someone had connected her up to a faulty circuit. Bobbie felt sorry for her, so she got up and went to help. Between them, they managed to cover the food and put it back in the ute. When they came back Bobbie said, “If anyone wants a sausage-surprise sandwich, just help yourselves.” Reg liked that, he said, “What’s the surprise? It wouldn’t be the outback raisin, would it?” Bobbie laughed. Lloyd got up and helped himself to more food. The Pommie’s face crinkled like paper when he bit into a sandwich before he’d even checked to see if anything had crawled inside it.

It was then that the rumbling started and we all looked up to the top of the Point where we saw a truck dragging wagons and a cloud of dust behind it. Its horn belched a greeting at us, and for no reason at all I jumped up and down and waved my hat around like we’d won a competition on TV. Dad was on his feet then and looked at me funny, like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh at me or flog me. So I stopped, put my hat back on and smiled at him. I reckon he was just as excited. He pretended to give me a dead arm and said, “Here we go, Danny.”