The Great Plains (41 page)

September, 1935 – Condamine Station homestead, Southern Queensland

Wes wiped up the remaining juices from his breakfast of mutton chops and onion gravy with a piece of bread and waited as Tobias went through yesterday's mail delivery. They'd had a late night sitting up drinking rum and talking about life in Oklahoma, and this morning's breakfast had been a leisurely affair.

‘I should be out in the paddock, not drinking tea nursing a headache,' Wes complained.

They were sitting on the front verandah at the table that Tobias had designated their breakfast spot.

‘Rubbish,' Tobias replied. ‘The word delegation was invented for a reason.'

‘Still, I've never been one for idleness and this business has been successful because I'm always out in the saddle.'

‘Relax. The men have their orders for the day, don't they? Another half hour with the boss won't hurt you.' Tobias sifted through the various accounts and other correspondence.

‘How's the girl been?'

‘Quiet. A few more weeks locked up and I'm sure Abelena will begin to be a little more amenable. I haven't been to her room for the last few days and I've told Mrs Brightman to keep her distance. A bit of isolation will tame her.'

Wes lit a cigarette. ‘You seem confident of that.'

‘Why shouldn't I be?' Tobias replied. ‘The girl's only got me and she hasn't spoken to anyone else here except for Mrs Brightman. Eventually she'll have to accept her changed circumstances and adjust.'

‘Would you?' Wes countered. ‘Your father destroyed her family and you've taken her away from America.'

‘Abelena's family destroyed themselves.'

‘Who put Sheriff Cadell on their tail?' Wes took a long drag of his cigarette. ‘I'd be looking at it from Abelena's point of view, that's all I'm saying.'

‘I can't decide if you really dislike her as much as you imply, Wes, or if you're secretly hankering after her. Either way, Abelena is no concern of yours.'

Wes flicked ash over the edge of the verandah. ‘Fair enough.'

‘You never have said if you have a woman.'

‘There was a girl in the village. She had a fine pair of pins and long blonde hair. After two years she started calling me love and then sweetie, in that strung-out nasal voice that only an Australian can have. Eventually she suggested we marry, but a man doesn't marry a good sort. Out here it's all about the right connections. I'll marry when I meet the right girl with the right background.'

Tobias poured more tea. ‘Best you plan a trip to Sydney then.'

‘Now you're here, I just might.'

‘Oklahoma,' Tobias announced, holding up a cream envelope.

‘Good news, I hope.'

Tobias unfolded the letter. ‘It's from the solicitor. I've been waiting on the formalities of Father's will, then I'll sell the newspapers and the house block in Oklahoma City.' He began to read.

‘You're not going back?' Wes asked.

‘Not in the short-term, I'd rather stay here. Condamine Station was Father's dream and I'd like to continue it. You look surprised, or is it disappointment?'

‘Hey, it's your property.' Wes stubbed his cigarette out on the side of his plate and flicked the butt out into the garden. ‘I was only ever an employee, and a friend to your father.'

‘Well, it appears that you were more than that.' Tobias looked up from the solicitor's letter. ‘My father has left Condamine Station to you.'

September, 1935 – Condamine Station, Southern Queensland

The mess was brimming. Fifteen men sat down to dinner at a long trestle table in an oblong room. There were curtain-less windows on opposite walls, an empty side table pushed against tongue and groove walls and hard wooden benches to sit on. Will guessed the aim of such basic conditions was to get the men in and out quickly, but the long, lonely days that their work involved made any gathering interesting. The men lingered on after their evening meal to swap stories tall and true, smoke, and talk about the good old days. After that Sprout told him people's differences began to show and that was when the fights broke out.

‘See that one?' Sprout pointed to a flat-featured sandy-haired man. ‘Loves a grog and then a fight. If you get the chance, put your money on him come next week when the novelty of being in civilisation rubs off.' He cracked his knuckles in anticipation. ‘He'll be after Flash Jack, the fella at the end of the table wearing the singlet, flexing his muscles. He was a stockman with Evan before he was caught doing the ungodly with a ewe.'

Will's eyes bulged.

‘Now he's a boundary rider. Evan reckons, out of sight, out of mind.' Sprout lowered his voice. ‘A man has to have a bit of decency about him. Personally, I would have hung him by his knackers from a tree.'

They were three days into checking eight thousand wethers for fly while another team of men were doing repairs on the woolshed yards before crutching began in early December. Will reached for one of the jugs of cordial placed haphazardly down the centre of the table and poured a glass, drank it and poured another. He'd not seen Abelena since last Sunday morning but in the three-and-a-half days since their meeting he simply couldn't get her out of his mind. Will liked how she looked and how she smelt, like wildflowers and summer rain, but that didn't explain the uneasy sensation that sat in the pit of his stomach. He guessed it was because she came from a different country.

‘Bit dry are you, mate?' Mr Crawley was holding his empty glass.

‘Sorry.' Will filled the man's glass and topped up his own. Spring had brought with it blustery winds and an early hot spell, making the yards whirl with grit. He was sure he'd never get the dirt out of his eyes.

The men talked of the day's events as the cook, Daniels, continued burning whatever their dinner had originally been. Notwithstanding the mixed ages and differing backgrounds, they were generally a convivial lot although some of the boundary riders who'd just arrived from the far west of the station had a wild-eyed look about them. Sprout said they'd been kept out there too long.

‘It was different back twenty or thirty years.' Sprout snatched up a piece of bread and butter and, smearing it with marmalade jam, shoved the food into his mouth. ‘Back then men were used to a couple of months or more out by themselves.' Balled dough bulged his cheek. ‘These days it takes a special kind of a fella to spend days and nights alone in the scrub with only the bush and sheep for company.'

At the far end of the table, Flash Jack was laughing loudly.

Cook walked through the mess with the kitchen gong, a triangle-shaped piece of iron and a length of pipe, and once outside bashed it enthusiastically.

Sprout covered his ears. ‘You'd think he'd just give a head count when the table's near full.'

Evan tapped the side of his head and rolled his eyes as Daniels returned to the kitchen. The men started chanting ‘food, food, food' good-naturedly but Daniels didn't take the jibing well. Laden plates were dumped unceremoniously in front of each man, gravy splattered, food fell from the dishes, the men quickly complained: ‘Lay off, go easy, Daniels, we was only having a bit of fun.'

Will looked down at the dinner before him. There was mutton cut into thick wedgy steaks, boiled cabbage and potatoes.

‘Bread and jam for dessert,' Daniels concluded as he dumped a huge pot of tea in the middle of the table and then walked away, closing the kitchen door firmly behind him.

‘Sociable bloke,' Will commented.

Evan speared one of the steaks with his knife and held up the blackened offering. ‘Gone all out he has tonight. I said,' Evan shouted in the cook's direction, ‘you've gone all out tonight, Daniels.'

Something hard was thrown against the kitchen door.

‘That'll be the frypan,' Evan decided.

The men laughed. They ate quickly and noisily. The meal was less than good. Once the meat dish was consumed, bread, butter and jam followed. In between, the men picked at their teeth to remove the blackened gristle, belched and drank down copious amounts of tea. Refreshing was how Sprout described it. Will thought it would have been a whole heap tastier if it was laced with rum.

‘I saw her,' Nicholson announced out of the blue. ‘Wade's daughter, black-haired, a good sort.'

Although the comment was directed to the usually silent Bob, all the men at the table stopped talking.

‘Mrs Brightman says she's a lively girl but she's not a Wade,' Nicholson explained smugly. ‘She's a cousin or some-such, not purely of their blood either, there's a story there. The girl's got a travelling bag with a smelly piece of cow hide in it covered with drawings and she sleeps on the floor instead of a bed. She's locked in her room most of the time and when she's allowed out someone always has to be with her. Mrs Brightman says the girl is partial to the vegetable garden. She has a liking for sage and ghost-bush and finds it difficult to swallow much meat.'

Sprout gave Will a knowing look. ‘Well, who would have thought Nicholson had lead in his pencil?'

‘And he's found something he wouldn't mind scribbling on,' Evan announced. ‘Unfortunately, mate, she's a bit flash for you.'

‘Who?' Sprout asked. ‘The girl or that old battle-axe Brightman.'

‘Why is she locked in her room?' Flash Jack asked from the other end of the table.

Will piped up. ‘She and Mr Wade are cousins.'

Evan raised a blue-grey eyebrow. ‘Is that so?'

‘I talked to her,' Will continued. ‘Her name's Abelena.'

‘Well, you're not so shoddy after all,' Sprout decided. ‘Here's to the young fella.' He punched Will in the arm.

The men started laughing and ribbing Will.

‘A bit of pepper on your pecker, that'll get you going,' Flash Jack announced.

‘You'd know,' Sprout told him.

The door to the mess was flung open. Wes Kirkland appeared, a stockwhip wrapped over one arm, a rifle in the other. The men at the table stood as one. Will could hear himself swallow.

‘I need search parties. Five in each team, provisioned. We leave in thirty minutes. Where are the blacks?'

The men around the table exchanged querying looks. It was already dark.

‘They haven't been in to eat since the beginning of the week,' the head stockman informed the overseer. ‘Chalk said something about things not being right.'

Wes took a step into the mess. His top lip curled. ‘Find the blacks. I need trackers and I need them tonight.'

The men at the table turned to Evan.

‘Who are we looking for, Mr Kirkland?' the head stockman enquired.

The overseer scrutinised the two lines of men. ‘Abelena Wade. She's on horseback but we've no idea how long ago she left. She was last seen at breakfast.'

The men began muttering about why she may have run away, but more importantly where she would have gone.

‘We'll meet at the stables.' The overseer moved aside as the men filed out the door. ‘You, boy.' He held Will back by the arm. ‘Your dairy was robbed a few weeks back. No-one was harmed but now your mother's poorly. The doctor paid her a visit and wants you to go home.'

‘Go home? But what about Abelena?'

‘Miss Wade to you,' Evan corrected.

‘It's just that I know this place pretty well and –'

‘There's plenty of others that know it better,' Mr Kirkland replied curtly. ‘Take your horse and be back the day after tomorrow, but first find me those darkies.'

‘Yes, sir.' Will left the mess, downcast. He lit a pre-rolled cigarette, blowing the smoke out irritably. Stockmen began appearing from the bunkhouse, swags over their shoulders and rifles in hand. Mr Crawley and Kirkland were still talking.

‘Mr Wade's called the police in on account of the missing stock,' Mr Kirkland informed the stockman. ‘We were missing two thousand after shearing and he wants answers.'

‘I don't blame him,' Evan replied, ‘it's a number to lose. But there's theft aplenty around this district at the moment. Someone appears to be supplying the store in the village with fresh meat on a regular basis.'

Kirkland snorted. ‘I'm not interested in small fry.'

‘You never know what else the small fry are up to,' Evan replied.

‘You know who it is then?'

Will wet his lips.

‘Maybe,' Evan answered. ‘The thing is, where there is a little smoke there is usually a bigger fire.'

‘Fair enough, we'll talk about this more after we've found the girl. In the meantime, bear this in mind, Evan. Out there you're in charge, so you should be keeping a better eye on things.'

‘Well, you're usually keeping an eye on me and my boys so you know I'm doing my job.'

‘That's debatable.'

Stubbing out his smoke Will walked quietly away from the mess and then ran towards the Aboriginal bunkhouse. Fear caught in his throat. Somehow Mr Crawley had found out about his father's bargain with Mr Stevens at the store. Although he didn't want to go home, Will knew he had to warn his dad. The last thing Will needed was to get caught up with his father's illegal doings, or for his father to be arrested, especially when someone was obviously stealing
thousands
of sheep from Mr Wade.

Chalk and Jim were sitting on their verandah when Will arrived out of breath. He grabbed at his side, holding the spot where a stitch was tearing at his muscles.

‘We can't help you,' Chalk announced. He took a drag of his smoke. The tip of it glowed a reddish yellow in the dark.

Will took a gulp of air. ‘You don't even know why I'm here.'

Jim folded his arms. ‘The girl.'

‘How did you …?' Will's question faltered.

‘There are always signs,' Jim said carefully. ‘I told you of the shadow, now the shadow has come.'

‘The eagle?' Will said abruptly.

Chalk nodded. ‘You saw it?' Smoke curled around his face.

‘I saw an eagle but … How did you know?'

‘Your mind is not yet filled with the burdens of life, you are open to all possibilities.' Chalk dropped the cigarette on the timber boards and ground the stub with the heel of his boot.

‘Well, it was eating a crow,' Will told the two men impatiently, ‘and there was no shadow.'

‘The shadow is the eagle,' Chalk explained.

Will frowned. ‘Look, I'm not much interested in eagles. Mr Kirkland wants you two to act as trackers for him. The girl, Abelena, is missing.'

‘The land will not harm her,' Chalk announced, stretching out his legs.

‘She's a girl,' Will argued. ‘You have to help.'

Chalk shook his head. ‘Her spirits are with her, protecting her.'

‘What spirits?' Will grew frustrated. ‘How can you sit there talking such rubbish?'

‘We can't help her,' Jim agreed. ‘The girl is neither white nor black, she is not of our kind.'

‘For the love of God, you can't just desert her!' Will's voice was raised, his fists clenched.

The Aboriginals looked at him. ‘Feel your anger, Will. Do you think that normal?' Chalk questioned. ‘This is your path, not ours.'

‘The girl has touched you, Will. Be careful,' Jim warned, ‘for I fear those who have come before her have touched many as well.'

‘We can't just leave her out there wandering around in the dark, lost,' Will argued.

The two Aboriginals rose from their wooden chairs. Will noticed that their swags were rolled and sitting on the verandah.

‘You'll lose your jobs,' Will warned.

‘It is best to leave while the tree is still falling and has not yet crashed to the ground,' Jim answered.

Father and son picked up their swags and rifles and walked off into the dark.

‘But where are you going?' Will called after them.

‘Walkabout,' Jim replied.