TWENTY-THREE

It was Sunday morning when things really started to go wrong.

The first bad thing that happened was when I got to the calf pen. Buzz was shouting his head off. I knew he was trying to tell me something, then I saw what was wrong. Elaine was dead. I dunno what killed her. She’d seemed like a pretty strong little poddy calf, but you couldn’t always tell which ones would live and which ones would die. I felt bad for her. The others were staring at me—probably wondering where their food was.

I opened the gate and Buzz wandered into the yard. He waited there for me to get Elaine out of the pen. I grabbed her back legs and dragged her along the dirt, turning her pretty white hide orange. Her face fell over to one side, and her mouth was slightly open, so her tongue picked up the dirt too. She felt cold and heavy.

As I shut the gate and started to pull Elaine along the ground toward the Old Rover I saw Emily watching me. Once she realized what I’d got, she came running over and said, “Is Elaine dead?” I told her I didn’t know why she’d died, but she was cold, so she’d been dead a good few hours. I said I was going to take her to the carcass dump and Emily said she’d come too.

Buzz followed us to the house and I told him to stay outside. He didn’t like that. When I went up the steps he tried to follow me, so I had to push his nose away so the fly screen would shut. Mum was in the kitchen on the phone. It was Bob, the road-train driver—he was real upset. Nine animals had perished in the trailers on the way to the slaughterhouse from Simpson’s Dam. He said it was dehydration and the shock of being mustered. It happened sometimes. Dad and the fellas were out at Simpson’s Dam taking down the yards. Mum reckoned she’d have to radio to let him know. I felt scared. While Mum took down the receiver and started radioing Dad, I ran through to the dining room and stood on my tiptoes to be taller than the photo of Jonny on top of the piano. I held the frame and gently ran my fingers over Jonny’s face. It was the only thing I could think of to do.

I saw Liz and told her what had happened and how Emily and me were going to the carcass dump with Elaine. She sighed and said, “Oh no.”

When we got to the carcass dump, Emily and me climbed into the back and pushed Elaine out into the desert. She landed on the ground like a couple of pairs of trousers that had fallen off the line. Her white hide stood out like a tooth amongst the dirty old bones of the other dead cattle and horses. She looked so new against the orange desert. It wouldn’t be long until she was just a smaller version of the other old, empty, brown carcasses, picked over by the dingoes and crows. “Poor old Elaine,” Emily said. She looked back at the white carcass as we drove away.

Dad was home when we got back to the station. He was on the phone, speaking to someone about the cattle that had died in Bob’s road train. Dad wasn’t happy, he reckoned it would get Timber Creek Station a bad name. He slammed the phone down and then slammed the door behind him as he went back out to Simpson’s Dam. I knew not to ask if I could stay with him at stock camp.

It was less than an hour later when the radio fizzed and Greg Croft’s voice came through. Seeing as I had my mouth full, the Pommie answered it. Greg asked her if Dad had been out to Cockatoo Creek Dam. That was the water hole on our land that was nearest to their station in the east. The Pommie didn’t know, so she asked me. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t think he’d been out there. Greg said he was real concerned. Gil Smith had shown up at Gold River, worried about Cockatoo Creek Dam. Greg reckoned Gil had been on a walkabout when he’d seen the dam was dry, so he’d run all the way to Gold River, the nearest place to the dam, to raise the alarm. Greg said it was a scorcher and that Gil looked wrung out, so Penny had made him some tucker and told him to have a shower. While Gil got cleaned up, Greg had been to check the dam out and said it was dry as a bone.

Liz looked at me and I felt the sandwich catch in my throat. I started to cough. I dunno if it was because of hearing about Gil or the fact the dam had gone dry. Liz told Greg she’d radio Dad straightaway, but she didn’t have to. As soon as she said over and out, we heard Dad radio Greg. You can do that on the radio—listen in to what other people are saying if they’re tuned to your frequency. Dad had heard everything Greg had told the Pommie and so he said he’d go to Cockatoo Creek straightaway.

To get from Simpson’s Dam to Cockatoo Creek, you have to go through Timber Creek, so Dad said he’d pick me up at the station on his way. He radioed to tell me to make sure I had plenty of water and to have Jonny’s gun ready. His ute tore into the station yard like it was in a race. He blew the horn as I ran down the steps with my water bottle, some bullets, and Jonny’s gun. I’d made sure I touched Jonny’s photo again too.

As we got closer to Cockatoo Creek Dam, Dad blew the horn at a wedge-tailed eagle that was ripping strips off a calf’s carcass at the side of the road. The way it was tearing it to shreds made it look like the calf was made of paper. “That doesn’t look good,” he said. I knew what he meant. That calf had perished, and as we got farther away from the station and nearer Cockatoo Creek, we saw one or two more carcasses in the bush.

It was another scorcher of a day, but I didn’t expect Cockatoo Creek to be as bad as it was. The water had gone and in its place was a big muddy mark on the desert.

With dead cattle dotted all over it—like freckles.