Brumby Mountain (7 page)

‘This thing work?' asked Luke, nodding towards the bowser.

The man didn't answer but ran his eyes to the back of the ute where Filth and Fang panted, tongues out. ‘They dingo hybrids, mate?'

‘Nah, nah,' said Luke without missing a beat. ‘These are pure-breds, Mount Isa Shepherds.' He gave Filth a rub behind the ears. ‘A new breed from up north, bred to protect sheep.'

‘Oh right,' said the man doubtfully. ‘Got big jaws for shepherds.'

‘Yeah, that's for killing foxes. They do that too. They do look a bit like dingos, though, ay,' said Luke, sounding overly jovial.

The man raised an eyebrow.

‘Nah, nothin' like them, totally different breeding. These guys won't touch your stock.' Luke pointed to the tray of the ute and signalled for Filth to lie down. The big dog obliged, rolling onto his back and growling playfully.

‘They look well-fed enough,' said the man, still not sounding entirely convinced. ‘You see they stay that way.'

Luke winked and reached for the petrol spout.

‘Where are we staying?' asked Jess, remembering that they had only one flimsy swag between them. The western sky was going a pale pinky cream and the sun was quickly disappearing behind a mound of hills. She could feel the temperature dropping rapidly. ‘What'll we do with the horses overnight?'

Luke didn't answer. He finished with the petrol spout and clunked it back onto the bowser.

‘Should we book into the hotel?'

‘Not yet.' After paying the man, and getting some directions, Luke stepped back into the ute.

‘Now where are we going?' asked Jess as she climbed in the other side.

‘I want to find the property,' said Luke. ‘Before Mrs Arnold gets here. I don't want her hassling me.'

He pulled away from the post office and the road dipped down over a rattling timber bridge. The river rushed over rounded rocks on either side and then disappeared around a bend.

On the other side of the bridge was a small township of corrugated-iron houses. There was a white timber church with an orange tiled roof and four perfect square windows along one side. The small belfry reached into a crystal-blue sky. Next to the church was a tired-looking building that Jess guessed was the town hall.

‘Welcome to Mathews' Flat,' said Luke, keeping the ute at a slow crawl. He hung an elbow out the window and cast scrutinising eyes over the various buildings, yards and street corners.

‘This is where you were born,' said Jess with wonder. It was kind of impressive that the place bore his family's name, or a derivative of it anyway. A name that was on a map was pretty cool. She didn't know of any town called Fairley, that was for sure.

‘My parents are both buried here,' he answered. ‘There's a cemetery nearby, apparently.' He steered the car around a corner and continued slowly, still gazing about, drinking in every detail of the place.

They passed half a dozen more houses and continued out of town, heading west. Luke began checking his odometer and after a five-minute drive he pulled over at a rusty forty-four-gallon drum slung on four star pickets. A small wrought-iron gate swung open behind it. Carved into a small timber plank of wood, barely readable, was the property's name:

MATTY'S CREEK

Luke's face was tight as he stared through the windscreen at what lay beyond. He cut the engine.

‘This is it,' he said, almost to himself. ‘This is it.'

7

THE ABANDONED PROPERTY
was little more than a sheep paddock, cradled in the shadow of a huge mountain. The fences leaned every which way and a fibro shack, half swallowed by choko vines, looked as though it might fall down any minute. Grey kangaroos grazed peacefully between the house and the front fence. More lay resting under the wide verandah of the house. Beyond that, a creek carved a deep channel through a treeless field. The only sounds were of birds at the creek and the distant bawling of a calf.

Jess watched Luke. His eyes darted from one thing to another, searching for something that might stir a memory. She followed his gaze, over rainwater tanks, sheets of corrugated iron, coils of fencing wire, tubs, broken machinery.

He got out of the ute. Jess let him walk through the gate and across the yard before hopping out herself and following at a distance. The smells of eucalyptus and dry grass filled her nostrils.

‘Look at all this crap,' Luke said, turning back to her. ‘The place is a junkyard.'

Suddenly he gave a loud mocking laugh. He swore and sank his boot into a tangle of wire that lay strewn across the ground. He kicked over a crate full of empty beer bottles and the sound of their crashing seemed to suddenly fill him with contempt. He laid his boots into everything in his path. Sheets of tin, a stack of old tiles, an oil drum sent rolling, old grease glugging out of it.

Jess stopped the drum and righted it. ‘Stop it, Luke.'

But her words went unheard. He picked up a plank of timber and hurled it against the side of a tin shed. Then he grabbed at anything, bricks, rocks, old bottles, and launched them at the shed, sending loud bangs resonating across the valley.

‘Luke, stop it,' Jess said again. ‘You're scaring me!'

Her words halted him abruptly. He drew a long breath and stared fiercely at the house. She saw him fight for control, mouth tight.

Jess stayed quiet.

‘I don't remember that ugly house,' he said in a bitter voice as he began to walk towards it. ‘Dad lived here by himself. Why didn't I live here with him?' He was ranting. ‘Why wouldn't a man want his son to live with him? I don't get it. Look at all the broken fences. I could have helped him. I could have put new walls on that old shed, I could have propped up that old verandah, strained those corner posts . . . '

He looked at Jess, his eyes whirling. ‘I feel
so
ripped off.'

He began to walk towards the house. ‘When I turned eighteen this all became mine.' He stopped and put his hands on his hips. ‘Bit late now. Why didn't he bring me back here when he was alive? Why'd he even leave it to me at all?'

Jess followed him as he marched to the front door of the house. The verandah sagged dangerously and she leapt back when Luke kicked the door with his boot. It burst open, taking half the architrave with it, and swung limply off one hinge.

‘No need to wreck the joint,' mumbled Jess, waving a cloud of dust away from her face.

Ignoring her and the dust, Luke stooped and walked in. Jess followed tentatively. The place reeked of rat droppings. The hallway was dark and narrow and ended at a small kitchen. There were still old plates in the sink. Luke stood in the middle of the small room and looked about.

‘I remember Mum in here,' he said in a voice that was achingly sad.

He turned back to the hallway and peered through a half-opened door. ‘I remember a Christmas tree and a train set made out of timber. I had a train set.' He was talking mostly to himself, seemingly searching for something that would link him to the place and make solid a vision of a family and a home. He put his shoulder against the door and tried to push it open, but it was barricaded with piles of rubbish.

Luke swore suddenly and Jess saw the thick tail end of a snake slither under a pile of old chaff bags. She swore too and banged against the wall as she turned hastily towards the front door. A chunk of plaster the size of her elbow made a small thud as it fell into the wall cavity, and more critters rustled indignantly.

‘No need to wreck the joint,' laughed Luke as he clambered out after her. Suddenly everything seemed hysterically funny. ‘See the size of that black snake?'

‘Only the tail end but that was enough for me. And there are rats!'

Luke stopped laughing. ‘I want to go back in and have a proper look around, see if there's anything good in there.'

‘You do that,' said Jess. ‘I'm going to see if there's anywhere to put the horses.' Dodger and Legsy had been on the float for hours and she was eager to get them off. She was also feeling alienated from this new and unfamiliar Luke. He was being weirdly erratic and for the first time ever she felt a need to be away from him.

‘I want to have a look around the yard too,' he argued, heading towards what looked like a sheep pen.

The fences were low and blocked in with mesh wire but they were more or less intact and would do for the night. There was knee-high grass, too, which Dodger would appreciate.

‘Wish I'd brought second rugs for them,' said Jess as she led the horses off the float. ‘It's so much colder here than at home.' She was beginning to shiver a bit herself.

‘They'll be right.' Luke pointed to the shaggy black silhouette of a horse on a nearby hill. Its head was up and it was staring intently at them. ‘That one's got no rug and it's okay.'

‘He's used to it,' said Jess. She led the horses to the creek and let them take long, gulping drinks before she closed the gate behind them in the sheep yard. ‘You guys look after each other,' she said to the two geldings. Dodger immediately started pulling at the grass.

‘We'd better get back to the hotel,' said Jess, wanting to leave. ‘Mrs Arnold will be looking for us.'

Jess watched Luke still stalking about the yard, seeming disconnected, hearing only something deep inside himself. He stared across the hillside again, past the shaggy black horse. ‘The cemetery's over the hill there,' he said in a distant voice. ‘See all the headstones?'

‘No.' Jess stared across the property but could only see trees. Then she saw just a few small white shapes between them. Gravestones. ‘Yes. I see them.'

Luke started walking.

‘Do you . . . do you want me to come?'

He shook his head and kept walking. She watched him find a crossing over the river and rock-hop across.

The black horse snorted curiously as Luke made his way up the hillside and stood, feet apart and hands by his side at the top, a silhouette against the fading sky. He was still, tall like a statue for a long moment before he started walking again, slowly, and disappeared down the other side.

Jess made her way back to the car. She was freezing. She rummaged around in the back of the ute, pulled an old blanket out of Luke's swag and shut herself inside the cabin.

It felt so good to lie down along the bench seat and close her eyes, but sleep evaded her. She lay huddled in the blanket, with country tunes murmuring on the radio, thinking of Luke beside his parents' graves.

It was nearly dark when the driver's side door opened and Luke got in. He sat, staring out the window across the hillside.

‘Find them?'

He turned, ran a hand along her cheek and nodded, his face unreadable.

‘Okay?' she whispered.

He didn't answer, but turned and looked back out the window. Jess took in the fading light, the old house, the soft hills meeting at the foot of the mountain. She imagined blue-eyed horses running wild up there. She thought of a small boy, peering out of the window into the night. He was still the same boy, she realised.

‘We've really got to go, Luke,' she said eventually. ‘Mrs Arnold will be ropeable.'

He nodded again and started the engine.

8

AS THEY ROLL ED
into town Jess saw a LandCruiser parked out the front of the pub. Leaning against the dented front panel stood Mrs Arnold, arms folded, mad black curly hair springing all over the place. She had one half-dead ugg boot crossed over the other and an annoyed look on her face.

‘Uh, oh,' said Luke.

‘Thought you two might turn up some time,' said Judy Arnold. She straightened up and marched towards the ute.

Jess groaned.

Mrs A unleashed a diatribe. ‘What the hell are you two playing at?' she stormed. ‘We were supposed to drive down together. I promised your parents I'd keep an eye on you! Why are you so late and where are the horses?'

Fang let out a low-pitched warning growl but she wasn't deterred.
‘Down, you mongrel!'
she snarled, loud enough to bring a couple of locals out of the pub to check what all the palaver was about. Filth whimpered. Fang looked confused.

‘The horses are down the road,' said Luke, stepping out of the car. ‘They're safe.'

‘At your new property, are they?' asked Mrs Arnold, curiosity quickly replacing anger. ‘What's it like?' she demanded.

‘Messy.'

‘Much land?'

‘A bit.'

‘House?'

‘If you'd call it that.'

Jess got out of the car. Behind Mrs Arnold, in the cruiser, she saw Grace with her face hard up against the window, waving and pulling faces. Relieved to have some lighter company, she stifled a giggle.

Judy began marching towards the pub. ‘Get outta the car, Grace. Bring my bags. You guys get a room key yet?'

‘Doesn't look like the sort of place that
has
keys,' said Luke, trudging after her.

The old pub was a small brick building with large timber doors. It was painted cream like the two tin sheds behind it, one of which had
BUNKHOUSE
scrawled on a handwritten sign. It had four doors, each one scabbed from a different junk heap and none fitting properly. It didn't look cosy.

‘This place is unreal,' Grace enthused loudly. ‘I love it!'

Inside, a lively fire danced in the hearth and cast a golden warmth around the lounge. A lone stockman was resting his beer on the mantelpiece, above which hung a huge wood saw and what looked like a shark's jaw.

A small, friendly-faced woman stood behind the bar. She had short cropped hair and earrings that dangled onto her polo-neck jumper. ‘There's only one bunkroom left,' she said. ‘It's got four beds, and it's twenty bucks per person with a continental breakfast. Only one problem, I can't seem to find the key.' She began hunting under the counter.

Both Jess and Luke stifled a laugh.