DESPITE HER RARE APPEARANCES outside the homestead gardens, Lorna’s absence was subtly felt about Barra Creek. Within days there was a general slackness among the women, and John bawled at the men louder, more aggressively and more often. He was also drinking heavily. In the schoolhouse the children played up more frequently than usual, especially little Alice. One morning she refused to sit at a desk and draw, and instead she crawled around the floor and sat by Sally’s feet. The smoko bell rang out and when Sally went to slip on her shoes, which she always kicked off under her desk, Alice had disappeared with them.
‘Ginger, you go find that Alice. Bring back my shoes.’
Giggling, he ran off and Sally waited while the boys went to the house for morning tea.
She was planning the afternoon’s worksheets when she heard a step and Rob appeared in the doorway.
‘I passed a couple of scallywags playing catchings with these. Don’t walk around bare foot, there are scorpions and hookworms.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m sitting here and not tucking into scones. But thanks.’ She took the gold sandals that she’d bought in Surfers Paradise.
He gave a small smile. ‘A bit fancy for out here. Do you have good boots?’
‘I’ve been borrowing some riding boots. I’ve ordered some sandshoes from the catalogue and my boots are on the way from home. I hadn’t planned on wearing them in London.’
‘You got a bit sidetracked, I hear.’
‘Yes. My girlfriend had to go back home to New Zealand instead of going overseas with me. This seemed like a good idea. I can always go to England,’ she said, putting on her shoes.
They walked towards the house. ‘So, how are you finding it way out here?’ he asked.
‘I like it. I can’t believe how I’ve settled in so quickly. The boys tested me at first but we get on really well now.’
‘They’re good kids. John comes down a bit hard on Ian sometimes. But that’s the cross you bear being the oldest son.’ There was something in his tone, a slight edge that made Sally glance at him and notice the set of his mouth.
‘Yeah. My dad and I don’t see eye to eye about a lot of things. I took off to work for myself. They think I’m wasting their expensive education. I’m a King’s boy too,’ he added. ‘But I do all right. And I like the lifestyle, especially being my own boss.’
‘Will you go back home eventually?’
‘I’m saving for my own place. My brothers are running our station in the Territory. I don’t really know where I’ll end up.’
They stepped onto the verandah and saw John Monroe banging around in the kitchen as Snowy, Harry, Dougie and Gloria came through the screen door.
‘Don’t be looking for bloody scones. The lubras have walked off the job,’ he snapped. ‘It’s tea and a biscuit.’
‘Lazy bitches. Do youse want me to whip up some scones?’ Gloria asked.
‘No fear.’ John knew Lorna wouldn’t want the runners’ woman mucking about in her kitchen. ‘Lizzie can make a cake for this arvo.’
‘Things are falling apart a bit,’ said Sally as she and Rob walked into the dining room. ‘I’d better keep an eye on the lubras. The trouble is they don’t take a lot of notice of me because I don’t speak pidgin.’ She poured them each a cup of tea.
‘John will haul them over the coals. You’d better chase them about doing the housework and the washing. The boys can translate for you.’
‘Lorna doesn’t like them speaking pidgin.’
‘If you ask them to do it, that’s different. They know not to let on to their mother.’
There was a burst of raucous laughter from Gloria and Rob rolled his eyes.
‘She’s one tough bird. They’re due to move back out to the boundary in a day or so.’ He hesitated as if debating whether to say anything or not. ‘Gloria might get a bit out of control, especially when Lorna’s away.’
‘We’ve already had one blue with her,’ said Sally. ‘In fact, I’m surprised John lets her come into the house.’
‘They can all drink, that’s for sure.’ He drained his cup. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’
Rob picked up his hat and went outside. John was talking with the two bore runners in the kitchen, they seemed to be making plans. There had been a lot of noise and laughter coming from the single men’s quarters at night and Sally thought she’d heard John’s voice. He was always up first but was looking very seedy and hadn’t bothered to shave for a few days. He still dressed in his spotless white T-shirts and ironed shorts, though. Sally went into the garden to look for the boys.
‘Ian, can you find the kids from the camp and tell them to send Lizzie and Betsy up to the house? They haven’t done their work today.’
‘Mum won’t let us go down to the blacks’ camp.’
‘You can get the big kids to run a message. Lizzie and the girls had better get up here before your dad does his block.’
‘Dad can handle it,’ said Ian.
Sally decided not to press the point. Ian had his stubborn look and tight expression that invariably led to an argument. ‘Fine then. You boys go back to the schoolhouse. I’m going for the mail.’
‘Can we come?’ pleaded Tommy.
‘Not this week, you’re behind because of the time out at the stock camp. Next week when you’ve caught up you can give Donny your school work to post.’ She tried to sound firm. Again, without Lorna to back her up she was being challenged by the boys.
Donny gave her a thumbs up as he jumped down from the plane.
‘Here you go. What you’ve been waiting for, parcels from home. Two big cartons.’
Sally saw her father’s writing and winced at the row of stamps. ‘Dad must have had a fit at how much these cost to send.’
‘You’ve got your saddle and all your gear now.’
‘Looks like it.’ She felt suddenly homesick.
‘How are things back at the ol’ ranch?’
‘Slacking off. Since Lorna’s been away I’ve had a bit of a hard time keeping the house girls in line. John drinks a lot and disappears after dinner. I reckon he goes and drinks with the bore runners and that Gloria.’
‘She’s trouble, always has been. She banged around the Kimberley and the Territory before landing in a bit of hot water and ended up in the ’Curry. Then she picked up those runner blokes –’
‘Dougie and Harry.’
‘And she left Cloncurry with them. Odd arrangement, a threesome. Guess none of them are choosy.’
‘What sort of trouble did she get into?’
‘She was known for being light fingered and she bashed a young bloke. Near killed him.’
‘What for, did he make a pass at her?’
Donny laughed. ‘That’d be the day she’d carry on about that! Nah, he called her an old slut and a few other choice words, said she’d stolen his wallet. She took offence and slammed him with a broken beer bottle. Flying Doc said he was cut up pretty bad.’
‘No wonder Lorna doesn’t like her in the house.’
‘And how are you getting on with Rob?’ he asked as he carried the mail bag to the Land Rover.
‘He’s been great. He’s really nice. The boys love him.’
Donny cast her a sideways glance and said casually, ‘And you? He’s a decent fellow, hard working, knows his job, well brought up, smart, bit of a loner. Seems like he could be a good mate – or more.’
Sally tried not to smile. ‘You think so? I thought he looked a bit of a hooligan when I first met him at the stock camp. Lorna tidied him up. They seem very friendly.’
‘She’s got a lot of time for him. He treats her as a lady, and she’s a very lonely woman.’ Donny pulled out his cigarettes. ‘Did you bring morning tea as you promised?’
‘You bet. I have a Thermos of tea and some fruit cake,’ said Sally. ‘No scones, Lizzie didn’t turn up this morning.’
‘They’ll take advantage where they can. Try to crack the whip, Sally. Lorna has a lot of confidence you can manage things.’
‘My job has expanded a bit,’ said Sally. ‘But I don’t mind helping where I can.’
‘It’s a way of life out here, Sal. People have to rely on each other. Lorna is very happy you’re here. She thinks you do a good job with the boys and she enjoys your company.’
‘She tells you a lot,’ said Sally.
‘Ah, most of the ladies I drop in on need a chance to bend a friendly ear.’
‘You’re not a mail man, you’re a flying father confessor!’
He laughed. ‘I s’pose I am a bit. Tell you what, why don’t you take a couple of hours off next week? We’ll go for a proper picnic. I know a great place down the track.’
She looked a bit dubious. ‘I suppose I could. The boys could stay with Rob, he’s offered to show them roping calves or something.’
‘It’s a date then. You bring the food and your swimmers. There’s a billabong where we can swim.’
‘It sounds lovely. You’re on.’
He stubbed out his cigarette and handed her the mug. ‘I’m proud of you, Sally. Looks like you’ll make it to the end of your contract.’
‘I’m not a quitter.’
‘And then what, eh?’ He gave her a shrewd look.
‘Crikey, that’s a long way off. Do you know what you’ll be doing in say, eighteen months’ time?’
‘I’d like to have my own plane. Be in love. Might even leave the bush and try for my commercial licence.’
‘Really?’
‘We all have dreams, Sal. See you next week. I’ll bring some drinks, fresh fruit. Don’t forget – food, towel, swimmers . . . or you can forget them if you like.’
‘Fat chance. See you, Donny.’
‘Take care, kiddo.’
The boys ran out of the schoolhouse to see what mail had arrived and Marty demanded Sally open her packages. She’d wanted to go through everything by herself but the boys’ curiosity was infectious. They brought the parcels into the living room and Sally pulled them open. She put the letters from her mother and sister to one side, then pulled out the jar of Paul Duval face cream with a note from Emily Mitchell: ‘Look after your skin in that dreadful Australian sun.’ Next came her riding boots and hard hat, which made the boys giggle. There were the clothes she’d asked for and a few new ones – blouses, skirts and a nightdress chosen by her mother as being appropriate. Sally just sighed. In the second box was her saddle and when she pulled it out and unwrapped the soft blanket protecting the light hunting saddle, the boys screamed with laughter. John Monroe walked in and stopped to see what all the fuss was about.
‘That wouldn’t fit on a bloody jack rabbit!’ he said, looking at the saddle.
‘It’s too small even for Marty!’
‘How’d you be on that all day!’
‘I’m glad you think it’s so funny,’ snapped Sally.
‘Does it make the horse go faster?’ said Tommy, laughing.
‘I know! We’ll enter her in the races at the ’Curry!’ Monroe slapped his knee then looked around. ‘Say, that’s not a silly idea, y’know.’
‘They have ladies’ races, don’t they, Dad?’ asked Ian.
Sally stood up and gathered an armful of her belongings. ‘I might just show the lot of you one day. Any time you want to race, let me know. See how well I can do!’
‘How about tomorrow?’ shouted John Monroe.
‘All right, you’re on.’ She stomped along the verandah and sat on her bed to read the letters. As well as the mail from home she’d received a letter from Sean. It was a sweet letter, he missed her and asked when she’d get a holiday as maybe he could meet her somewhere. The idea sounded very appealing, but she knew her holidays were a long way off. Perhaps Sean could come out here. No, bad idea. She re-read the letter, savouring the sexy and romantic bits, then read the letters from her mother and sister.
By lunchtime the word was out that Sally on Dancer with her stupid little saddle was going to race young Ian on his father’s big bay gelding, Shooter. Sally hadn’t taken the suggestion of the race very seriously but as she walked into lunch Rob said to her quietly, ‘Are you sure about this race idea?’
‘Oh. I guess so. I mean it’s no big deal. Bit of a run down to the river and back or something.’
‘Ian on his dad’s horse. It’s creating quite a diversion, bets are being taken.’
‘Oh hell. Well, that’s all right. Dancer is a great little horse but I’m not going to be responsible if anything happens to Ian. I know he’s a good rider but Shooter is a big horse. Do you think I should call it off?’
‘Up to you. If you want to prove a point, this is your chance.’
‘Fine by me.’ Sally lifted her chin and marched into the dining room.
The news of ‘The Governess Cup’ flashed around the station and the stockmen ambled in and hung around the yards. The runners and Gloria started jibing Snowy to ‘have a go’.
The red-faced, heavy-set musterer started boasting about past triumphs and ended by saying, ‘Ah, there isn’t a horse strong enough to race with me on board.’
Dougie spoke up. ‘’Course there is. That big bastard of a stallion that John keeps in the old yards. He’s been penned for a bit, so he’ll go like the clappers.’
‘Struth, it’s only a kids’ race,’ interjected Gloria.
‘That governess is no kid. Not with those knockers,’ said Harry.
‘Why doesn’t Rob go in it?’ asked Gloria.
Snowy nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. But it’s gotta be worth our while. What’s the prize?’
And so it went from a short sprint between Sally and Ian to an event that promised to be the highlight of the week. John Monroe put up a case of rum and planned the course.
Chilla, one of Snowy’s stockmen, decided to enter when he heard Snowy was racing. ‘I want ta beat that big mouth. Him full of bulldust,’ he said to one of his mates.
The black stockmen watched the activity the next morning with slight amusement and finally Rob threw up his hands in disgust, knowing no work was being done. He went to the schoolhouse and called Sally outside.
‘This damn thing has got bigger than Ben Hur’s chariot race. Snowy is pissed – he started on the rum after breakfast – and he’s insisting on riding that black stallion. Chilla’s gone in it to see Snowy come a cropper and now that John has put up a case of rum Dan is running too. Do you want me to ride in your place?’
‘What for? I’ll do my own riding, thanks.’
‘These blokes take risks and don’t play by the rules. There’s no hunt master out here.’
‘Dancer is smart. I’m more worried about Ian. I think you should talk him out it.’
Rob ran his hands through his curly hair. ‘He wouldn’t like that. Geez, how did this all happen? Let’s hope no one gets hurt. Lorna’s not here to patch them up.’
‘I don’t think we’d be doing this if Lorna was here,’ said Sally.
‘That’s true. Send Ian out and I’ll have a word with him.’
Ian refused to withdraw from the race and Rob saw this was one of those stepping stones towards manhood for Ian. He would lose face with his little brothers if he withdrew, and it was an opportunity to prove himself to his father.
‘Righto. Seeing as how everyone else seems to want to have a bit of a run, do you mind if I ride along?’
‘Go for your life,’ said Ian.
It was a 3 pm start over one mile. John had driven over the track and Fitzi had hammered in marker posts at the half and three-quarter points. The track wound across open country, around the western well, looped behind the small dam, back over the bottom creek, up the rise in the home paddock and down past the closest boundary fence, ending at the stables.
The horses and riders lined up for the start behind a rope held by two stockmen. There was much hilarity at Sally’s small saddle. Her legs were bent high, causing comments about lady jockeys.
Snowy flailed in his saddle, sticking his legs forward and flinging his reins about and yodelling. Dan sat dourly, straight-backed, ignoring Snowy’s mocking remarks. Chilla sat easily in the saddle, grinning from ear to ear. Rob was beside Ian, giving him a few last-minute instructions about safety and keeping out of trouble. Sally had drawn the outside and tried to relax, softly murmuring to Dancer.
John Monroe was the starter and he stood to one side, waiting until they all looked as ready as they’d ever be, facing the same direction in a vague shifting line. He motioned to the men to drop the rope, lifted his rifle, pointed it away from the riders, and fired.
The horses leapt forward from fright or instinct before the riders had registered what was happening. Immediately Sally felt the thrill of the chase that always came during a hunt. Ian broke free, wildly kicking his horse and Rob took off after him, swearing under his breath. Dan hung behind Sally, and Snowy, bringing up the rear, started to shout and curse, whipping his horse as he went after Chilla.
The watching mob scrambled to catch sight of the race as the horses galloped off.
Dan overtook Snowy, then Chilla and Sally, and then went after Ian and Rob, who glanced back over his shoulder to check on Sally. Snowy caught up to her, and in a frenzy of shouting and thrashing, bolted past her, Ian and Rob, his big horse showed the whites of its eyes, ears flattened.
They swung around the small dam in a tight pack and Sally saw Snowy shove between Ian and Rob, cutting in front of Rob and almost causing his horse to fall. She gritted her teeth, muttering, ‘Stupid bastard’, and looked for the right moment to move up with Snowy and Dan, who were in the lead.
Dancer, though smaller than the other horses, was fast and sure footed, and with the light saddle and confident rider began to enjoy herself. Sally could tell she hadn’t reached her limit, there was still a reserve of energy in the horse, so she gave her a nudge to open up a bit more. Dancer responded and flew past Rob, then Ian, to tuck in behind Snowy and Dan.
The ground was open but those in the lead were following the faint track left by cattle and horses. Sally had been over this land a few times and suddenly recalled how she’d tried to take a shortcut back to the homestead but had been foiled by a fence that marked the boundary of the home paddock creek. The creek was dry, although she’d been told it became a small river in the Wet. Their instructions had been to head for the home stables after the dam. She grinned as she wheeled Dancer to the right.
Dan’s horse was tiring and dropped back behind Ian. Snowy was now in the lead and still yelling, cheering himself on, cursing the horse as he belted its hide. Rob glanced back and saw Sally take off across country. ‘No, not that way,’ he shouted, knowing she couldn’t hear him. He looked at Ian, who was gaining on Snowy, his young face showing grim determination.
They were now in sight of the yards and the onlookers were standing on top of vehicles, a shed, in a tree and perched on the rails. John Monroe watched through binoculars. Snowy was just ahead of Ian but when he glanced over his shoulder and saw the boy he yanked his horse directly in front of him to cut him off. The crowd hollered at the dirty trick but despite his horse swerving, losing momentum and some ground, Ian stuck in the saddle. Rob caught up with him and could have overtaken but paced him, calling out, ‘Move away from him, widen the gap.’
Ian understood and wheeled Shooter slightly, making a wide turn which momentarily confused Snowy and his horse. As they started to follow, Ian spurred his horse forward, cutting across Snowy and racing ahead. The mob cheered. Snowy’s horse was labouring but he let it have all, whipping it with the long greenhide reins, kicking in his spurs and flogging the tiring animal to continue. Meanwhile the crowd had spotted Sally cutting across to the home paddock.
‘Silly bitch is going to hit the deep creek bed.’
‘Outsmarted herself this time.’
‘Christ, she’d better pull up, she must see the damn thing,’ muttered John Monroe.
At that instant Snowy’s horse had had enough, and by will or physical exhaustion it staggered, baulked and stopped, sending Snowy flying over its head to hit the ground with a heavy thud. He rolled and lay there. Dan shot past and Snowy’s horse cantered away. Chilla rode straight past the weaving Snowy, his big grin still in place. Eventually Snowy sat up and rubbed his head. Seeing the smug expression on his stockman’s face he shook his fist, shouting, ‘You’ll be sorry, you yella fella!’
Sally saw the creek bed, which was several feet deep with logs at its edge. She leaned forward. ‘Come on, Dancer, we can do this, lift your bloody feet up.’ Without breaking stride Dancer understood and as they reached the creek there was a faint tremble in the horse’s body but Sally had her head down close to her neck, her hips raised out of the saddle and urged Dancer up. And across. The animal kicked her back legs high, stretched out, and they cleared the creek. No one knew that Sally had been training Dancer to jump over logs and obstacles around the home paddock.
There was a moment of silence from everyone watching, then a burst of cheering and disbelieving laughter as Sally raced up to the yards ahead of Ian and Rob, then Dan and Chilla.
John Monroe reached her first and gave her a slap on the back as she dismounted. ‘You bloody beauty. Fooled us all, more style than the jumping at the Royal Easter Show.’
‘Ian rode brilliantly. I thought Snowy was going to dislodge him. Very underhand,’ said Sally as Ian rode up.
‘Ah, Snowy is pissed. A few rums too many before he started. I’m amazed he didn’t fall off sooner.’ Monroe turned away, ‘Hey, send someone to pick up Snowy and get his horse.’
Sally waited for John to congratulate Ian. When he didn’t say anything she called out, ‘Fantastic ride, Ian. You were great, very good reactions when Snowy cut in on you.’
The boy looked sour. ‘I didn’t win but.’
‘No, a bloody sheila beat you. We’d better send you to one of those posh riding schools,’ called his father.
Rob overheard the comment and went to Ian and shook his hand. ‘You had me eating your dust, kid. Good on you. That was a hard race.’
Ian looked mollified and Sally smiled gratefully at Rob.
‘Dancer is a damned good horse. Told you so,’ said John Monroe.
‘She is. Depends who rides her, of course,’ said Sally, smiling.
‘Yeah, well you could have come a bad cropper,’ said Monroe. ‘And if Dancer had been hurt you wouldn’t be laughing.’
‘No. I wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘Any time you want to borrow my saddle, let me know.’
She went to Ian and dropped her arm around his taut shoulders. ‘You were winning, Ian. I’m sorry. I just decided to tackle the creek on the spur of the moment. I shouldn’t have.’
‘S’all right,’ he muttered and shrugged away from her.
‘Don’t be mad at me, friends, okay?’
‘I’m not mad at you.’ Ian glanced at his father who was talking to Dan, and leading his sweating horse, walked away.
For the next few days everything was out of kilter. Everyone found it hard to settle down after the impromptu race. Lorna would be back soon and John Monroe was making a last drinking stand. Harry, Dougie and Gloria were drinking in the single men’s quarters. Rob and his men were working at the yards, separating calves and cows, watched by the Monroe boys.
Sally took the opportunity to have a leisurely shower, shampoo her hair and rub the face cream her mother had sent her over her skin. She wondered what Lorna was doing, quite aware that the race wouldn’t have happened if she’d been home. For a few moments she felt isolated, realising how much she relied on Lorna’s company. They were the only women there who could relate to each other.
When she emerged in a fresh sundress and sandals there was no sign of Lizzie or any of the women preparing dinner. Sally went outside and found Fitzi carrying a pail of milk to the house.
‘Goat milk. Good one make ’um cheese an ’tings.’
‘Yogurt. Where’re Lizzie and Betsy? They haven’t started tea.’
He looked down. ‘Dey be cookin’ at de campfire. Boss doin’ plenny big cook up.’
‘You mean down by the men’s quarters? Sounds like a party.’
‘Dat Snowy and dem bore pellas drink longa time.’
‘Get one of those girls up here please, Fitzi. The boys have to eat properly.’ She didn’t ask whether Rob was with the mob at the campfire shindig.
She took the goats’ milk, poured it into a bowl and set it by the warm Aga stove that was always alight. Lorna had shown her how the girls set the milk on the back of the stove with a spoonful of yogurt culture in it. Idly she opened the fridge, wondering what was there for the boys’ tea.
‘I hope you’re not thinking of cooking,’ came Rob’s voice.
‘Someone has to, we’re a bit short staffed,’ said Sally with more heat than she meant. She didn’t seem to have Lorna’s firm control over the women. ‘John is rather out of it, drinking down at the single men’s quarters.’
‘I’ll go rustle up those lubras. They go to pieces with their men in camp.’
‘Thanks. Er, are you eating with us?’
‘Of course. But I doubt John will make it back up. Your rum is flowing pretty freely down there.’
‘My rum? Oh, the prize. Rescue a bottle for me, would you?’
‘I’ll do better than that. You don’t want to drink that rough cane juice. I’ll bring us something decent for dinner.’
Sally was glad Rob was around as he brought the reluctant boys back to the homestead to clean up for tea and chased Betsy back into the kitchen. To her surprise she discovered Rob throwing steaks on the open fire outside the kitchen and in the living room was Betsy’s salad, mashed potato and bread on the table set for five. A bottle of red wine was open and two good wine glasses stood beside it. Sally picked a spray of wisteria from the vine around the verandah and laid it in the centre of the table.
‘Hey, this is a neat turnaround. I like a man who can cook. And where’d the wine come from?’ she asked as Rob walked in with a plate of steaks.
‘Lorna keeps a secret stash for me. She doesn’t mind a good glass of claret occasionally. John thinks it’s a wog drink.’
‘He would. Though he’s a bit of a contradiction in some ways. He spends so much money on his own toys, only the best will do. He’s damned fastidious about his laundry and Italian leather sandals. But he won’t spend money on other things like the house or the kids.’
Rob handed her a glass of wine. ‘Lorna makes up for that. The “Catalogue Queen”, Donny calls her. Come on, the steaks are getting cold.’ He gave a shrill whistle and the three boys raced in and shyly sat at the ‘big’ table, eyeing the candles, flowers and bottle of wine. Their cold Milo was poured into matching crystal wine glasses.
‘How well do you know Donny?’ asked Sally. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to her that the two men might share information about the household. She’d better be careful what she told each of them. She’d thought of Donny as someone with whom she could share her frustrations and feelings about life at Barra Creek, remembering their last conversation when she’d teased him about being a flying father confessor.
‘So what’s the big deal?’ asked Ian, as Rob served up the steaks.
‘Sally won the race!’ exclaimed Marty, and Ian cast his youngest brother a dirty look. Sally overlooked the use of her name. Lorna insisted on Miss, or Miss Mitchell.
Rob stepped in quickly. ‘It’s a celebration for all of us!’
‘You would have won, Ian, fair and square,’ said Sally, raising her glass to him. ‘I took a short cut and it was stupid of me.’
‘Is that cheating?’ asked Marty.
They all looked at Rob.
‘Well . . . it is if you meant to. The rules weren’t very clear, it was just a spontaneous move by Sally.’
‘What’s spontaneous mean?’ asked Marty.
‘Unplanned,’ said Sally. ‘Come on, let’s finish dinner then we can all have a game of Monopoly.’ She smiled at Rob, including him, but he narrowed his eyes.
‘I might have to check on things down at the camp. Make sure my men don’t get into any trouble.’
The boys looked disappointed. They were loving having Sally and Rob to themselves, being treated as grown-ups, almost.
Betsy hovered at the dining room door and Sally waved her in to clear the table. ‘Tell you what then, how about a quick game? A couple of rounds of snap.’
They sat at the table where the boys normally ate and Sally dealt the cards as Rob poured the last of the red wine. Lizzie was talking to Betsy in the kitchen and there seemed to be some spat ensuing.
‘I’ll go and see what’s going on out there,’ said Rob.
Sally could hear their voices but couldn’t grasp what they were talking about as Rob was also speaking pidgin. The boys glanced at one another.
‘Tonight? They going out tonight?’ Tommy looked at Ian.
‘Sounds like it.’
‘Can we go?’
‘Go where?’ asked Sally. ‘What’s going on? Hey, Rob, what’s happening?’
He came into the dining room looking tight lipped. There was a short explosion in the kitchen as John Monroe lumbered in, shouting to the women to shake a bloody leg. He burst into the dining room and headed for the drinks.
‘Off to bed, you fellas. And stay there.’
‘You going out with them, Dad?’ asked Tommy.
‘Out where? It’s nearly nine o’clock,’ said Sally. ‘What the heck is happening?’
John lifted his glass of rum. ‘Here’s to the little lady jockey.’ He took a mouthful. ‘Fortification. Need it on the river.’
‘The river. Are you blokes going fishing?’
‘You might say that,’ he chortled. ‘With a bloody rope and a gun.’
‘They’re going croc shooting,’ explained Ian, his eyes bright. ‘Dad, can’t we come down and sit in the Land Rover?’
‘Not without me, and I’m not going,’ snapped Sally.
‘Now boys, you know the rules,’ said Rob. ‘Not tonight. I want your word on that. Okay?’ He looked at each of them in turn and they nodded slowly.
‘That’s the way. You are still little blokes. This is men’s business.’
‘Gloria’s going,’ said Ian. ‘Lizzie just said so.’
‘She’s a bloke,’ roared John Monroe, adding with a leer towards Rob, ‘Not that them runners give a shit.’
Sally stood up. ‘Right. Clear the cards and let’s go to bed. You can read for half an hour. And we’re up and out of here early. A ride before breakfast, okay?’ The boys loved to do this so she threw it in to ease their disappointment.
‘Can I borrow your saddle?’ asked Tommy quickly.
‘You think it’s going to make you go faster,’ said Marty and Ian glared at him.
‘Goodnight, fellas. We’ll have that game tomorrow night, okay?’ added Rob.
‘If you catch a big one can we see it later?’ asked Marty.
‘We’ll wake you up, for sure,’ said his father. ‘Might tie it up to the end of your bed. Be careful where you step in the night if you have to take a piss.’ Roaring at his joke he headed down the verandah.
The boys went to get into their pyjamas, and Sally turned to Rob.
‘Are they really going out this late and half shickered?’ she asked. ‘Who’s going with them? It sounds dangerous to me.’
‘Could be. Dougie, Harry and Gloria will go in one boat, John and someone to look out for him in another.’
‘Who’s going to be silly enough to go out in a dinghy with John cockeyed on rum among a bunch of giant crocodiles? Snowy, I suppose.’
‘Me, I’m afraid.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘Snowy’s passed out.’
‘You! What for? You don’t have to do that.’
‘I know, but Lorna would want me to go. Besides, under good conditions, it’s exciting.’
‘What are good conditions?’ asked Sally.
‘Full moon, no wind, sober shooters. And big crocs.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘I know. Say, you want to come?’
‘You must be joking!’
‘Yeah, I am. Another time maybe. It can be quite romantic on the river at night.’
‘Without the crocodiles, thanks.’
‘Well, that’s their territory. We humans are the invaders; you can’t blame them for protecting their turf.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it. What’s the point of this exercise anyway?’
‘Bit of fun for the boys. When the croc hunters come in it’s serious business. The skins are valuable. Ever had a crocodile steak?’
‘No. I’ll stick to beef and lamb. I’ll pass on the snake too.’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing, Sal. See you in the morning. Make sure those boys don’t sneak out of bed.’
‘They gave their word.’
‘Remind them of that. And, Sally,’ he looked at her and was serious again. ‘If you hear any ructions or revelry in the night, ignore it.’
‘Righto. Happy hunting. Be careful.’
‘That’s why I’m going. See you at breakfast.’
Rob walked away from the house hoping Sally would heed his advice. She was impetuous – spontaneous, he grinned to himself and it occurred to him that she might decide to come down to the river to see what was going on. He had been on a few croc hunts and had listened to the croc shooters’ stories around many a campfire. And even separating the exaggerated myth from the truth, danger seemed to be the common thread. The blacks talked of old rogue saltwater crocs living in the quiet upper reaches of the Norman River that were so big they would grab a calf, a dog or a piccaninny.
Croc shooters along with doggers were tough men who made a living from skins and dingo scalps. When they called into Barra Creek to shoot crocs, it was a serious business. The few pounds they got for a good hide seemed little compensation for the risks to life and limb. It was a rough life. If they lost a leg, arm, hand or life, that was part of the business.
At first Rob thought they must be mad men. Yet, more often than not, he found them to be reticent, monosyllabic, careful individuals while they were working. Around a campfire, away from the river, with the rum being passed, they told tales of near escapes, of the hunter being hunted. Some white men savoured well-cooked croc meat, but the smell that seeped from the skin of blacks who feasted on it turned Rob’s stomach. And after his first croc-shooting expedition, he was more convinced than ever that crocodiles were evil. He’d joined several of the croc shooters he trusted who came to the property and he’d watched and learned. He had little choice now but to go and keep a sober eye on the inebriated John Monroe, who considered himself bullet proof no matter what the circumstances.
It was a merry group that unloaded gear and untied the dinghies at the landing on the river. They left the headlights of the Land Rover shining onto the bank as they threw ropes, a harpoon, rifles, wire and heavy spotlight torches into each boat. Gloria insisted on sitting in the rear of a dinghy which sank low to the water beneath her weight.
‘You could get a bite on the bum,’ shouted Monroe.
‘Not from you,’ she retorted.
He muttered under his breath to Rob, ‘That’s for bloody sure.’
‘Since when have you been so picky?’ said Rob, and they both laughed.
Dougie arranged the gear in one boat, John Monroe sipped from a hip flask and watched as Rob loaded their boat. Then they pushed off, talking quietly to each other. Rob and John went ahead, while there was some disagreement between Harry and Dougie, with Gloria arguing from the stern.
The river was sluggish, lit by a pale moon and overshadowed by trees. Some clear stretches of the river bank looked safe enough to pull in a boat. However they all knew better. They paddled slowly past, Dougie in the bow of his boat and Rob rowing the other boat with John standing in the stern peering at the banks. He held his torch ready but for now they were guided by the watery moonlight.
It was Gloria who hissed first. ‘Shit! Over there.’
Harry swung around and saw the two glowing red points.
‘Over there, Dougie. Whaddya reckon?’
‘Not so big. Let’s keep going. He’ll stay around.’
‘Well, how big is big, for Chrissakes?’ hissed Gloria. ‘I want a hide that’ll fetch me boots, bag and bra.’
‘Hard tits and a horny pouch . . . that’d be right,’ muttered Dougie.
‘Who’s gonna skin and tan the bastard? A good skin can fetch a decent price,’ said Harry.
‘Let’s see what we get. Whatever we land, bloody Monroe will want half of it.’
‘So let’s get a fuckin’ big bastard,’ exclaimed Gloria, turning her attention back to the muddy river bank.
Rob and Monroe changed places. John Monroe stroked strongly through the thick water. Rob felt sober and alert watching the dark banks on either side of them. He spotted tiny pinpoints of red but none of the others noticed them so he made no comment.
Slowly, rising to the surface a few yards from the boat, appeared two bright red eyes, gleaming in the torchlight.
Monroe spoke first. ‘Fuck, that’s big.’
‘Yippee, let’s go!’ hollered Gloria.
The second boat was slightly behind Rob and John Monroe and now Harry stroked beside them. ‘So, what do you want t’do?’
‘Hold that light up, shine it straight at him,’ instructed Rob, stepping into the bow, feeling for the harpoon as Monroe drew on the oars.
‘Tell me when, Rob. I’ll shoot him –’
‘If you shoot him now he’ll sink and we’ll never bring him up. We have to get the rope into him.’ He picked up the harpoon with a thick rope attached to the spearhead, which a croc shooter had given John Monroe some time ago.
‘You gotta get it in the right spot. Want me t’do it?’ asked Monroe.
Rob didn’t want to undermine him, but knew he was still swaying from an evening of drinking. ‘I’ll shoot the rope into him when we get him close to the boat again, then put a bullet between the eyes.’
‘What are you blokes doing?’ Gloria’s voice was agitated. ‘That’s a big bastard, longer than the bloody boat. Got t’be a fifteen footer.’
They swung their boat closer.
‘Keep the damned light on him,’ shouted Rob to Dougie. ‘If he thinks he’s outnumbered he’ll take off.’
‘They’re cowards, y’know,’ said John Monroe.
‘Well, I’m not taking any chances.’ Rob took aim as Harry’s torch shone along the broad horny back that was now visible above the inky surface. The massive tail disappeared out of sight. ‘Watch his tail, don’t get too close or he’ll flip you blokes,’ warned Rob.
Dougie took several quick strokes backward, swinging the dinghy side on so the massive croc was between the two boats.
Rob took aim and plunged the harpoon into the croc and instantly the thick rope spun out of the boat as the water churned around the thrashing crocodile. It dragged Rob and John’s boat behind it as Rob feverishly tried to haul in the rope to get it alongside. Monroe had the .303 rifle cocked.
‘It’s going to hit the other boat!’
‘Pull the bugger in!’ screamed Gloria, who was sitting on the gunwhale watching the heaving animal with jaws that were over two and a half feet long.
‘Shoot the bloody thing,’ panted Rob.
‘Wait, if I don’t get it in the head it’ll be madder than a cut snake.’ Monroe took aim.
At that instant, there was a snap and the rope broke, sending Rob and Monroe to the bottom of the boat and the bullet shooting into a tree on the bank. The crocodile, now unrestrained, lunged at the nearest object in retaliation, a move so swift it was a second or more before the horrible realisation struck them.
Gloria’s scream rang along the river above the slashing tail. Harry saw her look of disbelief as he and Dougie reached forward, knowing the animal would take its prey straight below the surface. He clutched a handful of her hair in a desperate tug of war. The crocodile had her by the buttock and thigh in a precarious grip it seemed, for it opened its jaws to take in the entire width of her body. In the moment it loosened its grip both men pulled Gloria up the side of the boat as another shot rang out.
‘Oh sweet Jesus. Did you get it?’ screamed Harry, as he and Dougie struggled to pull Gloria into the boat. She’d stopped screaming and was a dead weight.
‘Get a light. Shit, how bad is she?’ Rob asked, pulling their boat up alongside.
‘Oh fuck. She’s a goner, has to be, her whole leg’s been ripped off,’ said Monroe.
‘Stop the bleeding, quick, tie something around her,’ snapped Rob. ‘Throw me the tow rope.’
John Monroe pulled hard and fast for the bank, towing the boat while the two men kneeled with the flashlight on a seat. Gloria’s blood flowed over the floorboards as they tied their shirts around the severed leg and missing buttock where the croc had rolled and wrenched, sawing through the soft fat.
She was still unconscious as they lifted her into the Land Rover and John Monroe drove like a mad man towards the homestead, Dougie and Harry taking turns to twist and tighten the blood-soaked shirts.
Rob sprinted from the vehicle to call the emergency channel on the wireless for the Flying Doctor.
Sally was woken by the sound of the speeding truck and, hearing Rob’s urgent tone, came into the dining room.
‘What’s happened? Where’s John?’
‘Gloria. A croc got her. Bad. Real bad.’
Sally’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘What can I do?’
‘Not much unless you’re a surgeon.’ He started to give details to the Flying Doctor base.
Or a nurse, thought Sally, knowing Lorna would be better in this emergency. ‘Where are they?’
‘Outside. Grab a sheet.’
She ran along the verandah, ripping the sheet from the nearest bed, and stepped into the garden. The men had Gloria on the ground in the headlights of the truck. John was giving her mouth to mouth. Dougie was pushing a cloth into the bloodied flesh where her hip and buttock used to be. Sally felt her stomach heave and she thrust the sheet at Harry.
In seconds it too was blood covered. Dougie leaned over and put his ear to her chest. Harry picked up her limp wrist then dropped it. They looked at each other.
Dougie was first to shake his head. Sally fled into the house.
‘It’s too late, Rob. She’s dead.’
Rob relayed the message over the radio.
Sally turned around to find the three boys staring at her with ashen faces. Their father came into the room and they gasped at the sight of his blood-stained clothing and shocked white face.
‘What’d they say?’ he asked Rob.
‘Be here about 6 am. Bloody unbelievable.’ He could feel his knees start to shake with delayed shock and a sense of guilt that they hadn’t checked the rope on the harpoon. It was old and had been rotting in the sun for months.
‘Sally, get the rum,’ snapped John Monroe. He went to his room and ripped off his clothes.
Rob took the decanter from Sally, sloshed it into two glasses and went outside to where Dougie and Harry were sitting on the ground beside the wet, bloodied body of Gloria, her face a ghostly white.
Sally poured herself a drink. ‘Boys, go back to bed please.’
‘Will you tell us what happened?’ whispered Tommy.
‘Yes, later. I don’t know much myself.’ She gulped a mouthful of the rum then her head shot up. ‘What the heck is that noise?’ It was a howling moan that rose to a high wail.
‘The blacks. They know someone’s all finished,’ said Ian.
‘They’ll go on all night,’ added Tommy.
‘Well, go back to bed. I’m going to make a pot of tea.’
‘Can I have a Milo?’ asked Marty. He looked worried.
‘Sure you can. I’ll bring you one in bed. Off you all go. Your father has enough to deal with.’
The boys took the hint. It wasn’t a time to get in his way.
When Sally went back to the verandah she found Marty curled up in her bed. She handed him the mug.
‘Can I sleep with you? I’m scared,’ he whispered.
‘Okay. But don’t be scared. It was an accident. A terrible one.’
‘He’s going to have nightmares,’ said Tommy.
‘Go to sleep. Or at least just stay there. I’ll tell you what’s happening.’ She pulled on her cotton dressing-gown and went back inside.
John Monroe and Rob were slumped in the lounge chairs with the bottle of rum in easy reach.
‘Can I do anything for the two men?’ she asked.
‘Leave them be. They’ll be looked after down at their quarters. Snowy has come to, he’ll handle it.’
Sally didn’t ask where Gloria’s body was. She hoped she wouldn’t see it on the lawn in the morning.
Rob looked at Sally distractedly tightening the belt of her dressing-gown. ‘Go to bed, Sally. The plane will be here at daybreak.’
She nodded and turned away.
The boys had put out the light. She slipped into bed and was grateful for the warmth of Marty curled on his side next to her.
How was Lorna going to take the news, she wondered. Sally tried to sleep but was overcome with feelings of inadequacy. It seemed there’d been nothing but dramas and now tragedy since Lorna had left.