Authors: Margaret Tanner
"Go on, try it. Everyone else might be scared of the big boss man, but not me."
"Harry," Gil pleaded. "Stop it."
"Why should I? He's been on my back ever since we arrived. Who the hell does he think he is?"
"I'm the big boss man, as you so elegantly put it, and you're fired."
That stilled the angry retort springing to her lips.
"You can't fire me. I've given you good value. I've worked my guts out for you."
"You've caused me nothing but trouble. You're insolent, scruffy and untidy. In fact, pretty boy, the sight of you sickens me."
The blood drained from her face. She literally felt it ebb away. A roaring sound pounded her eardrums and from a hundred miles away Jack said, "For God's sake, what's wrong with you? You wanted cattle. Harry got them for you."
"Go to hell," Ross snarled. "All of you." He spurred his mount into a gallop.
"You've done it this time, Harry," Gil said. "I suppose we're fired are we, Jack?"
"I'll speak to Ross when he calms down. I don't know what's got into him."
"I'm sorry, Jack. I don't want to leave here," Harry said. "I shouldn't have spoken as I did, but he made me so angry."
"That temper of yours will get you into a lot of trouble one day, lad."
Harry shook like a leaf now, and Jack patted her hand.
"I'll speak to him, but stay out of his way. I don't know why you two strike sparks off each other."
"Thanks. We like it here." Gil grinned. "Harry has always been hot tempered. We're a team. If one of us goes the other does too."
"Come along you two. Let's get these cattle back to the holding yard so the men can brand them."
"You're branding them?" she asked.
"Ross wants them done in case they get mixed up with another mob at the rail head."
For the rest of the day she did exactly as Jack asked. Ross ignored her very existence and she convinced herself she didn't care. At their smoko break she sat next to Stan, a scrawny, middle-aged man who rarely conversed with anyone. Gil sat with Jack and Ross. From under the brim of her hat she watched Ross. Sullen lines etched his face, but at least he spoke to Gil. She cursed her hot temper and impetuosity.
Mid afternoon, Jack came up to her. "Ross wants you to return to the outstation to prepare the evening meal." As she made ready to leave, Ross rode up to her.
"Here." He shoved a sack at her. "Parrots for the pie," he grunted before quickly riding away, as if he couldn't bear to speak to her.
So, her ears had not been playing tricks; she had heard gunshots earlier on. With a wave to Gil and Jack, she started down the mountain. I've still got a job until tomorrow at least. However, one problem remained. How on earth could she repair the damage and get back into Ross' good books?
In the kitchen, she plucked and cleaned the parrots, chopped them up with a few vegetables, put them in a deep baking dish and covered them with pastry, then started on dessert. Jam tarts and apple dumplings might redeem her in his eyes. Only because she needed the job. Why else would she want to heal the rift between them?
With her elbow propped on the table, she was sipping a mug of tea when Ross limped in.
"Something smells good." He gave an appreciative sniff and eased himself down in a chair.
"Your parrot pie. I'm sorry about this morning." Automatically she poured him out a mug of tea and cut him a piece of the still warm jam tart. "I lost my temper."
"Me too, but I need to maintain discipline. I can't have men going off half-cocked, doing whatever they feel like."
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm a bit impetuous."
"A bit? Now's there's an understatement, if ever I heard one." He drained his mug and stood up.
"That bandage on your hand is filthy, it needs changing."
"It's dirty like the rest of me. I'll go back to my hut and have a wash. I've got some bookwork to catch up on before dinner."
"There's plenty of hot water here. Have a wash and I'll dress your hand. You can put on a clean shirt when you get back to your hut."
She emptied a kettle of hot water into a tin dish, one eye on him as he shrugged out of his shirt. Whorls of dark brown hair covered his muscular chest, the perfection of his sleek tanned skin marred only by the jagged scar. It started on his cheek and ended an inch or so above his nipple.
While he dried himself, she fetched warm, salty water. Unwrapping his hand, she gently bathed it, smoothed on a fresh coating of salve and wrapped it neatly in a clean bandage.
"You'd better do my leg while you're at it. Help me out of my pants."
She nearly screamed at him to put his shirt back on so it would cover his manhood. Her hands trembled as she eased the bandage off his thigh.
"Sorry," she muttered when he winced with pain.
One glance at his virile maleness caused the breath to catch in her throat and she almost suffocated.
"Do you like what you see?" he taunted.
"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"
She applied the salve before putting on a fresh bandage, winding it carefully around his hard, muscled thigh. If her hands slipped they would touch him. She broke out in a cold sweat. Her face burned. Her heart thumped like a tom-tom.
"Not so bloody smart now are you?" he sneered.
"You're a pig."
Surprising her, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Turning his back, he pulled up his pants and limped away, leaving her fuming. Deliberately, he had set out to humiliate her, and he had succeeded more than he would ever know.
How embarrassed would he feel if he knew he had purposely exposed himself to a woman? The temptation to call him back and tell him was almost beyond endurance. But she couldn't. They needed this job, or at least Gil did.
One day I'll pay you back. See if I don't.
* * *
At sunrise they left for the railhead with four hundred head of prime cattle. Once again, she missed out on riding with the men. She had to drive a small covered wagon, loaded with food, bedding, spare saddles, bridles, hobbles, cooking pots and all manner of other goods. Grudgingly, she admitted Ross came prepared for any eventuality. He had even thought to bring along a couple of tents in case it rained and the men could not sleep out under the stars in their bedrolls.
Stock whips woke the early morning stillness, the echoes bouncing off the mountains. The scent of the eucalyptus mingled with the smell of horses and cattle. She sniffed the air, inhaling it deeply into her lungs. Even the most expensive French perfume couldn't smell this good.
It took all her skill to navigate the rutted, steep and treacherous track. Ferns and wattle scrub growing right to the edges scraped against the wagon before springing back with a swishing snap. As the cattle could walk only three abreast, it slowed them down and she was glad to be in the lead.
By early afternoon they made it out of the high country. Miles of shimmering plains stretched out like a brown empty vista in front of her. Ross rode up. How grand he looked on a horse, arrogant but princely. His skin was tanned, the ugly puckering scar had faded to a deep pink now. Why should I care what he looks like? But she did. To her horror she cared a lot.
"A couple of miles up the road there's a creek. Get there as quickly as you can and get a fire going. There's plenty of driftwood around. I don't want to waste much time. Rustle up some food for us."
"Yes, boss." She saluted.
His mouth tightened. "None of your lip, either."
It gave her a perverse kind of pleasure getting under his skin, but she must not overplay her hand. What would he do if he did discover her gender? Fire her immediately. It went without saying. Turn her into the law for being an imposter and taking money under false pretences? Her mouth dried at the thought, and her hands on the reins became suddenly clammy. What would become of Gil if Ross banished them from Devil's Ridge?
"Gidd'up," she yelled at the horse, giving it a couple of quick slaps on the backside to increase its pace. "Can't keep the boss man waiting for his mug of tea."
She gnawed her lip. She hadn't seen Gil since they left the mountains, and every time they were separated it worried her. He always appeared pale and drawn now. Little wonder after nights of fitful sleep, because his nightmares were becoming more frequent and terrifying for him. He would cry out pitifully for the stretcher-bearers, or beg his friends not to let him die. Finally, he would wake up shaking and drenched with perspiration.
Will he ever get better?
Sometimes he seemed to have lost the will to live. Other times he acted as he had been before Gallipoli shattered him, but these occasions were becoming rare. She didn't know what to do about it. She could not let on to Ross the true extent of Gil's condition or he would fire them. He treated Gil well, was very understanding, in fact, but it wasn't fair to expect him to continue employing a man who could not do a full day's work.
I'll speak to Jack. He's a kindly sensible man. She wanted to weep for her once dashing, laughing brother, but could not allow herself the luxury. Boys never cried.
The other men treated her with indifference, obviously not bothered by what they must think was standoffish behavior. The swearing and lurid language they used without a qualm in front of her confirmed that they considered her one of them.
They acted kindly towards to Gil, making sure he did the easiest jobs, not complaining if he rested from his labors sometimes, or if he wandered off to brood on his own. She knew they had covered his absences from Ross on several occasions.
When he was in one of his good moods, they chafed him good-naturedly, but when he became silent and withdrawn they left him in peace. She tried to show her gratitude by making an extra special effort to feed them well.
A creek came into view. Almost hidden by trees, she could easily have passed it without noticing. The wild ducks alerted her to its whereabouts first, then came the calls of other water birds. She pulled the horse up in a clearing. Picking up a kerosene tin by its wire handle she filled it up with cool, clear water and lugged it back to the wagon. The men could replenish their water bottles from here in case the cattle muddied the water when they came down to drink.
"Tea ready yet?" Jack came up to her. "Ross wants to keep the cattle moving. The men will have to come in relays. Once we've eaten we go back to the cattle and relieve the others. All right, boy?"
"Yes. Where's Gil?"
"He's all right. Be here in a minute. He can help you." He winked. "Get him to have a rest in the wagon for a bit. Let him come back with the second bunch of men."
"How you doin', Harry?"
"Good, thanks, Archie." She grinned at the stockman who sauntered over to light a cigarette with a twig from the fire.
"What about the cattle?" She poured tea and filled plates up with bacon, eggs and beans for Jack and Archie. "Are you going to water them now?"
"No." Jack took a spoonful of beans. "Plenty of water along here. That's why Ross chose this route. It's longer but an easier drive. Doesn't want the cattle to lose any condition. The army pays top money, but only for prime beasts."
Gil rode in and slowly dismounted. Though pale and sweating, he flashed her a grin.
"How do you feel?" She handed him a mug.
"Oh. Not bad."
The cold hand of fear clawed at her throat with cruel fingers as she noticed the glazed vacancy in his eyes. She shivered in the heat. Gil might be here with them physically in the Australian bush, but mentally he was back on Gallipoli with his fallen comrades.
He gazed at, but obviously did not see the creek or the bush. She sensed that the water he stared at was the Aegean Sea. The landscape belonged to the scrubby cliffs of Gallipoli. He did not hear the squabbling of the water birds, only heard the sounds of gunfire and the cries of wounded or dying men.
She gave him a plate of food, worriedly watching as he picked at it before putting it down.
"You haven't eaten much."
"I'm not hungry."
He had lost weight over the last week or so, his face sharpened by thinness, his movements nervous and agitated.
"Eat a little more," she pleaded.
He picked up the plate and listlessly shoveled in a few more mouthfuls.
Jack shook his head behind Gil's back, telling her not to force him to do anything he didn't want to.
"You stay here, Gilbert. Give Harry a hand for when the others come in. Catch up with you later."
"Thanks." Harry smiled at the old man, who touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgement.
"Yeah, thanks, mate, see you in a while," Gil said.
"Why don't you have a lie down until the others come," Harry suggested.
"No, I'll sit here in the shade for a while."
He sat under a tree with his knees drawn up under his chin, nibbling absently on a blade of grass, as she prepared food for the other men.
The sun's rays burned fiercely from the deep blue sky. How she would have loved to take the waistcoat off. She dared not. Perspiration ran between her breasts, the damp shirt clinging to her skin would have clearly outlined her female form.
Ross strode up followed by a couple of men "Food ready yet?"
"Yes."
His gaze drifted over to Gil.
"Jack told him to wait here and give me a hand to pack up when you've finished."
"All right." He took the plate and mug of tea.
"I collected some water in a kerosene tin if the men want to fill their canteens. I thought if the cattle come down to drink they would muddy the water."
"I'm not going to water them now. I want to keep them moving. Why don't you take off that bloody waistcoat?"
"I like it." She shrugged. "It's comfortable."
"You're a dirty little bugger. I've got a good mind to strip your clothes off and throw you in the creek."
"Try it," she said, flaring up and forgetting her vow to control her temper in front of him.
"I've never met anyone as grubby or smelly as you. Didn't your mother teach you cleanliness is next to Godliness?" he asked harshly.
"No," she lied.