Suddenly they were with me: Jack lying low on Hunter’s neck and Tom behind him, galloping out of the dust cloud.
‘Whoa!’ Jack shouted. Buster heard his voice. The horse’s ears flicked up. His eyes bulged wildly. He laid his ears flat again and dodged away from Hunter’s outstretched nose. Jack urged Hunter on and they pulled ahead of us. They wheeled across our path, but Buster was trained to muster cattle and dodged away with ease.
Tom appeared on our other flank. He was shouting for more speed from his horse, Reg, who finally pulled alongside. Tom had looped one of the lead ropes into a lasso. He flung it at Buster’s head. The first throw fell uselessly on Buster’s neck. It hit my hands and stung my knuckles, but my fingers were still twined tightly in Buster’s mane.
Jack brought the galloping Hunter in close. Buster, who was now hemmed in by Hunter on one side and Reg on the other, jerked his head. Tom tried again. The flying noose fell short. Tom gathered it back into his hand and flung it hard and fast. On the next throw the circle of rope fell over Buster’s ears.
With the rope tightening on his neck the runaway horse slowed and propped. I was almost thrown from the saddle, but managed to sit up with a jolt. Buster snorted and tossed his head up and down. I gathered the reins into one hand and grabbed hold of the pommel with the other while Jack and Tom brought their horses close so he couldn’t get away again.
‘That was some ride,’ Jack said as he fastened the lead rope to his own saddle. I grinned at him. My face was flushed and wind-burned and my legs were shaking, but I could still feel the excitement of flying across the countryside.
We walked all three horses back towards Hope’s Hill. As we got closer, Tom rode on ahead, angling away towards the rise. He had left Emily heading for the well-known picnic spot and was anxious to get back to her.
As Jack and I rode side by side, I noticed a prospector’s camp, well away from the others that were clustered together on the edge of the flat plane.
‘That’s Arthur Bayley’s camp,’ Jack said when I asked him about it.
‘Why does he camp so far out?’ I asked, with the memory of the sinister chief engineer, Baron Swanston, still fresh in my mind. ‘Is he up to no good?’
Jack laughed. ‘Not everyone around here is a murderer, you know. His mate, Will Ford, camps with him. Arthur Bayley has a reputation for being able to smell gold.’
I nodded. ‘He finds gold in places where others have walked right by and never noticed it,’ I said. Jack looked surprised. ‘My Pa was a prospector. I grew up on goldfields,’ I explained.
‘Ah, so you will know about the claim jumpers who steal other people’s finds then,’ Jack said.
‘Yes, my father and his mates talked about them. But I know nothing about Arthur Bayley.’
As the horses moved rhythmically beneath us, Jack told me how, a few years ago, a prospector named Andy McPherson and an Aboriginal boy called Toobey had staggered out of the desert. They were more dead than alive. Their cheeks were hollow, their tongues black and swollen. Bayley and Ford took them in, gave them food and water, and a place to sleep. When he had recovered enough to talk, McPherson told Arthur they had found plenty of gold out there in the desert, but no water.
‘Now the rumours are flying,’ Jack said.
‘What rumours?’ I asked.
‘Arthur Bayley is buying horses. We sold three of ours to him yesterday. I reckon he’ll be off soon – out bush to look for that gold.’
The low, rocky bulge of Hope’s Hill came into view and we saw Emily waving to us. She had spread the picnic rug in the shade of the trees, and set out the food, but had not unwrapped it because of the flies. She and Tom stood waiting for us.
‘Everything okay?’ Jack asked.
‘No sweat,’ Tom said, smiling at Emily. ‘Very calm, considering her sister had disappeared into the desert on a stranger’s horse.’
Emily shrugged. ‘I was worried, of course, but what else could I do?’ She did look a little pale, nevertheless.
I was shaken by my wild ride, but determined not to show it. When Jack asked if I wanted to go back to town straight away I said, ‘What, and miss lunch? I’m starving!’
Jack grinned. He leaned over and took the reins, making sure that Buster stood still while I slid down off his back. He walked both horses over to where Tom had tied the other two in the patchy shade of a gum tree.
Our sandwiches were made from Mother’s fresh bread. They were filled with ham cut from the bone, and pickles Mary had made from the small, tough-skinned desert tomatoes. Mother has a saying about hunger making a sauce that will enhance any meal and I believe her. These sandwiches tasted better than any I had eaten before.
Jack teased me about spilling some pickle on my blouse and passed me his handkerchief to wipe it away.
‘You were always such a messy baby, Clara,’ Emily laughed. ‘You never wanted to sit still and eat properly.’
‘Mother despaired of me, I know,’ I said, and reached for another sandwich.
After lunch, Emily and Tom decided to go for a walk. Jack winked at me and we stayed, sipping our billy tea and watching the patterns of light and shade that moved and changed as the breeze swayed the gum leaves high above us.
The afternoon passed too quickly. Jack was interesting to talk to, and I felt so relaxed in his company we could have been old friends. He said he was nineteen, the same age as my older brother Billy, but he was funnier. He made me laugh a lot. We strolled over to the nearby gnamma holes where the Aborigines come for water. He carefully lifted some of the bark and leaves that covered one of the holes. The water underneath looked brown and undrinkable.
‘It’s only good for washing in, unless you boil it,’ Jack said. ‘But when the rains come it will be clear and sweet.’ He and his father knew a lot about water and had great respect for the Aborigines who had shown them where to find it in their harsh, dry country.
In the cool of the evening, Emily and Tom came back and we all rode slowly into town. The horses walked in pairs while we chatted to each other. The dramas of the day were already receding into the pattern of outback life. As we rode, Jack and I sometimes lapsed into long, comfortable silences and I realised how much at home I felt with him. Even though we had only known each other for such a short time, I already had a feeling that he would be an important part of my life.