Heart of the Country (24 page)

“Go, Harriet.”

He gave her a shove. She found herself running. She arrived breathless at their camp and began to throw their possessions into the wagon. It wasn't long and Septimus was back hitching the horses. They didn't speak, but once he had scoured the area to make sure they'd left nothing, he urged Harriet inside the wagon. She sank gratefully into the soft bags of wool and gave in to the silent tears, letting them run down her cheeks unchecked.

Septimus took extra care with the fire, burying the coals and dispersing the stones. In the flattened area where their bedroll had been he spread leaves and sticks. There was little he could do about the horse and wagon tracks but he hoped that by the time anyone came looking, if they came looking, their camping site would be less obvious.

He'd done his best to disguise signs of disturbance around Burch. The summer sun had already baked the soil hard where he'd chosen his camp, so footprints didn't show. Thankfully the mark left by the firearm handle looked like another blotch on Burch's mottled head. He looked like a man who'd tripped and fallen and hit his head on a rock.

With one last glance around, he urged the horses through the bush to join the road to the inn. He would have preferred not to be seen there but was no way to bypass with a large wagon and two horses.

The inn was busy even though most of the teamsters had already left on their journeys to the mine or south to Adelaide. Septimus hoped nobody would take much notice of a wagon passing by. He'd not planned to stop in there this morning anyway. He suppressed his impulse to urge the horses on at speed until they were out of sight of the hamlet. Then he shouted at Clover to pick up the pace. Septimus wanted to put as much space between them and the inn as he could before Burch was discovered.

Thomas cracked the whip. The lead bullocks picked up the pace. He was confident with them now. He'd taken Bert's advice and discovered the old bullocky had been right. They were dependable and had learned his voice. Only the odd crack of the whip was necessary when one of them slackened off.

They were making good time. He planned to give the animals a rest and water at the inn further up the track. It was probably too late in the day but he hoped he might see Bert there again, as he had on his way to Adelaide. He enjoyed the older man's company and he always had some words of wisdom. Even though they'd only met on three occasions, Thomas felt as if he knew him well.

The trip to Adelaide had been slow with such a huge load of wool, and fraught with the usual difficulties of overhanging branches and crossing the deep cutaways made by streams. Even though it was the second year he'd made the trip, it had been no easier. The bags of wool had to be piled precariously high. Of course this return journey with a wagonload of provisions taking up much less space was a little easier.

He thought back over the day he'd spent with AJ. His employer was a generous man, and a shrewd businessman with a good heart. It was a relief to know Wick and Gulda were assured of work. Thomas wouldn't like a return to his life in the early days without them. He was also glad he didn't have to rely on the Smiths' generosity so much, although he was always pleased at the opportunity to see Lizzie.

He couldn't help the smile forming on his face when he thought of her. With her golden hair and pretty blue eyes, he found it hard to take his gaze from her when she was visiting. And her sharp wit and quick tongue often made him laugh. He had fallen in love with her and he knew she felt the same way about him, but they had little time together and certainly were rarely alone. Dancing with her at the cut-out parties were the highlights of the year. She was soft and supple under his rough hands, and light on her feet. He loved the glow dancing brought to her cheeks and the opportunity to hold her close.

Unlike the rest of her family, Lizzie accepted Gulda. Not that she saw him, but Thomas had told her about him. Thomas was grateful to the native, who made life on Penakie far easier than it might have been. He could ride a horse well now and round up sheep, and he knew the best places to take them for feed and water. Thomas had grown used to his regular disappearances, especially when other people came, like shearers, or the rare time when the Smiths came as a family.

Edmund was never with them. Thomas hadn't set eyes on him since the terrible day when he'd taken Gulda back to Penakie after his whipping. George had come for the cut-out party after this last shearing but Edmund was always the one to stay home.

The horse shifted and pranced beneath him. Thomas glanced across at the bullocks. They continued their steady forward movement. Attached to the back of the wagon was Derriere. Thomas was now riding a fine strong horse – still a little flighty, but they were already getting used to each other. It riled him still to think how he'd been duped by that Whitby fellow. It had cost him dearly. He'd paid his boss back for a horse he'd never owned, not that Thomas had ever told AJ about what had happened.

Every penny he earned had become very important to Thomas. If he could get land of his own, one day George might allow him to marry Lizzie. Thomas couldn't ask for her hand without prospects, even though the thought of her brought a smile to his face and set his heart thumping in his chest.

The horse pranced again. Thomas became aware of the sound of hooves and wagon wheels up ahead. They were approaching at a fast pace. He called the bullocks to a halt. The advancing wagon raced over the hill and hurtled towards him along the narrow stretch of road.

Thomas pulled his horse sideways as the wagon passed him. The man at the reins barely looked his way but Thomas saw his sweep of dark hair, the pointed nose and the glint of eyes that widened for a moment as they drew level … and then the man was gone, his wagon careering on down the road.

Thomas gripped the reins of his horse but the animal had become so agitated it reared up and he was thrown to the ground. He landed with a jarring thud on his backside. It took a moment to test all parts of his body before he scrambled to his feet. His new horse had disappeared up the road and behind him the bullocks had pulled the wagon dangerously close to a wash-away.

It took him some manoeuvring to get them moving in the right direction. He walked beside the wagon, feeling the aches from his fall with every step. Thankfully his horse had stopped not too far up the road but the animal was still flighty. It took Thomas some effort to calm him and get his little procession moving again.

What had possessed the man to drive his wagon so recklessly? Now that Thomas had time to think, there had been something familiar about him. It had only been a glimpse but the sharp look from those grey eyes reminded him of –

“Whitby,” Thomas growled, and twisted in his saddle.

His hair was longer, he had a beard and a thicker moustache, but Thomas was sure. For a brief moment he contemplated leaving his wagon and chasing after Whitby, but at the pace he'd been travelling, the thief would be well gone. In the direction he was headed there was a crossroad and further along closer to Adelaide there were more tiny settlements and roads. Whitby could take any one of them and Thomas would waste precious time trying to find him.

Whitby was a mistake from the past. Thomas knew he wouldn't ever be so easily duped again. He tried to keep his mind on the road ahead and getting back to Penakie with his supplies and the special gift he'd bought for Lizzie, but even though he conjured up her happy face in his mind, the shine had gone from his day. No matter how hard he tried to forget Whitby's trickery, it replayed itself again and again, niggling at him deep down like a festering sore.

1849

The waddy was a well-crafted solid piece of wood. It hit the thick stick Thomas held, close to his fingers. The force jarred along his arms. He grimaced and danced backwards then sideways on his toes, never taking his eyes from the man wielding the waddy. The native was smaller than Thomas, with a wiry frame. He was quick on his feet. They circled each other. Thomas could feel the sweat running down his naked back. It stung as it trickled over the burn from the rays of the autumn sun.

He had caught the native taking a sheep. He wasn't known to Thomas but Gulda had spoken angrily, using his hands to make gestures. There was a loose understanding between Thomas, Gulda and the local group of natives who spent some of their time living near his hut that sheep were not to be pilfered. This man circling Thomas with his waddy was not a local, but Gulda obviously knew him and had brought him forth as the ringleader to be dealt with.

Thomas could not bring himself to use whips or firearms like his neighbours. He'd spent enough time with Gulda to learn a little about the way the natives moved about the land. They stored very little, yet could live easily in the often harsh bush conditions. He'd managed to make Gulda understand that the sheep weren't to be used as food unless earned. He had enough trouble with the wild dogs without the natives helping themselves.

The mournful cry of a large black bird wailed through the morning air. Thomas glanced away. From the corner of his eye he caught the movement of the waddy descending towards his exposed shoulder. He side-stepped then spun and swung his weapon. The hefty blow from Thomas's stick and the native's own momentum propelled him forward and onto the ground. He sprawled there, the wind knocked from his body.

Thomas watched the thief closely even though he was sure the man wouldn't get up and keep fighting. He was the loser and would accept that but Thomas had to make sure he understood not to take the sheep. He took the large tuft of wool hooked on the railing close by and waved it in the man's face. “No sheep,” he said in a gruff voice.

Gulda appeared from the shadows. He added his piece, speaking in a fierce tone to the man. The only words Thomas understood were “sheep” and “Mr Tom”. Gulda waved his hands to the south as he spoke then sent the other native on his way.

“I hope he understands,” Thomas said. He took his shirt from the rails and pulled it over his head. “He can't take the sheep.”

“No, Mr Tom, sheep,” Gulda said solemnly.

Thomas studied the man who'd come to be a great help to him since he'd arrived at Penakie. Gulda had picked up quite a bit of English, enough so that they could communicate, but Thomas knew little about Gulda's language. Except that the word for water seemed to be “wirra”. At least that's how Thomas said it, as he couldn't make the same sounds as Gulda.

Water had featured a lot in their conversation of late. They'd had another long hot summer and autumn had produced some cooler conditions but no rain yet. The creek, as Thomas now called the watercourse in front of the hut, was a dry bed except for the few holes deep enough to still retain water. The sheep were struggling, having to walk long distances to find tufts of grass to eat and access the pools left in the other dry creek beds across Penakie. Deeper in the foothills there were what appeared to be permanent pools, but even they were getting low. Thomas prayed they would receive good rains soon.

He turned at the sound of horses approaching. Wick had ridden over to the Smiths' to return some tools they'd borrowed. He had proved a useful addition to Penakie and had grown from gangly lad to a solid man. He had been helping Thomas make some improvements on the hut. They'd extended the back room out and made a door with a low verandah that faced the outside fire.

Thomas was glad it was AJ who paid the annual occupation licence the government demanded for these northerly runs. He knew others were struggling to pay theirs. The current extended dry was a difficult time for everyone around.

Thomas hoped the sound of more than one horse might mean Lizzie had ridden back with Wick. She nearly always found some excuse to come his way. He rarely went to the Smiths' unless he knew the irksome Edmund wouldn't be at home. He was fairly certain she'd accept if he gave in to his desperate heart and proposed, but he had nothing to offer her. Penakie wasn't his. He'd saved quite a lot of money over his time as overseer but with Wick and him sharing the little hut, Thomas couldn't see his way forward to taking a wife.

He hid his disappointment with a smile when he saw the other rider was Jacob. The Smiths always had plenty of workers between George and his four sons, so Jacob was often the one to come and help out.

Jacob jumped from his horse and strode towards Thomas. “I've had enough of this biding time,” he said before Thomas could even say hello. “We're all tripping over each other at our place; except Edmund, who keeps going off to visit his lady friend and is never there when there is work to be done.”

“Not a lot to do here either I'm afraid,” Thomas said.

“Let's explore further north,” Jacob said. “Few people have been beyond Penakie and there's talk that the government are going to have leases that will last for several years rather than these punishing one-year licences.” Jacob's eyes gleamed and he grabbed Thomas by the elbow. “Just think: we might be able to find better runs in the north. If the leases do come to be, we'll know where to stake a claim.”

“I'm only the overseer here.” Thomas gently shook his head and eased his arm from Jacob's grip. “I do the job as instructed by my employer.”

“AJ has several runs and he's always looking for more. I bet he'd back you.”

Thomas could see the fervour burning in Jacob's eyes but he was free to come and go as he pleased.

“Your family owns your lease. You have time to go exploring.”

“Only to a point. At the moment Father has us building a new hut for whoever marries first. It's likely to be Edmund, and Samuel won't be far behind.” He looked pointedly at Thomas. “Unless Lizzie beats them all.”

Thomas gave a little frown. Jacob was often the one to accompany Lizzie on her visits. The three of them and Wick all enjoyed each other's company.