Heart of the Country (49 page)

“I know that,” she said gently, her fingers back on his shoulders. “Henry, go and clean your slate and make sure there is wood in the box by the kitchen fire.”

Henry looked from his mother to his father with eyes that slid quickly from side to side. Harriet gave his head a quick pat. He turned and slipped from the room on silent feet.

Septimus noticed the door to the kitchen swung shut behind him but didn't latch. The boy was always creeping about, listening at doors, peering around corners. Above all, he was never far from Harriet's hand. Septimus found it hard to believe he'd sired such a pussy-footed child. The stupid woman made far too much fuss of him, of course. It was time Septimus took him in hand – and yet he held back.

If he took Henry with him he wouldn't be able to spend time with Dulcie, and he was planning to ride to her that very day. He always made sure his travels took him via his hut in the hills. Except for that one time last year, Dulcie was always waiting for him and happy to accommodate his needs. Septimus didn't want Henry peering about at the hut, nor Harriet. He'd leave off a little longer before he took the boy with him. In a few more years he could go without his mother.

Besides, Septimus wasn't sure how long he'd be gone this time. He might have to stay away longer if things took a turn for the worse with Pell. Perhaps he would divide his time between Smith's Ridge and the inn and keep a closer eye on his investments.

1858

“This outside room of yours is most certainly a wonderful innovation.” Anne sat under the shade on the bank above the creek, nursing her new granddaughter. “If only we had a similar outlook at home.”

“We spend most evenings here in the summer. We sometimes get a gully breeze and the flies leave us alone as the sun goes down.” Lizzie patted her husband on the shoulder. “Thomas has rigged the canvas so we can move it to suit the season.”

Thomas sat just in front of her on the bank, looking down at the creek. There was still a good amount of water trickling past, even though it was late October. Below him Jacob and Zac were building a castle out of sand, rocks and sticks with Joseph. The structure was so well built he imagined it would stay there until the next big rain sent water roaring past. George Smith was stretched out beside Thomas on the bank, his hat over his face; his gentle snores were the only noise he'd made for an hour or so.

“Well, you've all worked hard. I think a day off has been a very good thing,” Anne said.

“A day off,” Lizzie scoffed. “I've hardly done a minute's work since you arrived, Mother.”

“And neither you should, with this dear babe to look after.”

Thomas twisted his head to see his mother-in-law gazing at baby Ellen. Touches of grey wove through her faded blonde hair and wrinkles creased the corners of her eyes but she was as capable as ever. He was so grateful to her for making the journey to stay with them. Lizzie carried the baby full term, but she was born just before shearing. The Smiths had finished ahead of them, so the team George had employed came on to Wildu Creek, bringing Anne with them. Lizzie had still worked but not the long hours she would have had her mother not been there.

“Look at those fat little cheeks,” Anne said. “You're doing a good job, Lizzie.”

“I'm so glad you're here,” Lizzie said. “We haven't been together for such a long time. It reminds me of Christmas. Especially with you bringing us all new hats. I love this straw with the wide brim.” She turned a cheeky smile to Thomas. “The bonnet you brought me was lovely but I think I've worn it out.”

“I'd be happy for you to burn it.” Thomas wished she'd never found the battered bonnet. It always reminded him of losing Annie. “I think your mother's choice is far more practical.” He adjusted his own new broad-brimmed felt hat. Anne had been very generous.

“It would be lovely to spend a Christmas together, wouldn't it?” Anne said.

“Perhaps one day,” Lizzie said.

Both women fell silent. Travel in December was so hot, and entirely out of the question while Ellen was small. Thomas would not allow anything to jeopardise his children. And there was a growing number of stock to attend to.

He was thankful the Smiths had made the journey to visit their daughter. Thomas and Lizzie had travelled south on several occasions but this was only George and Anne's second visit to Wildu Creek. He knew George had struggled to recover both financially and emotionally from the deal he'd done with Wiltshire. Lizzie had agreed never to mention the close call they'd had escaping the blackguard's clutches. Given Wildu Creek's proximity to Smith's Ridge, it was a reminder of something they all had good reason to forget. However, George had shown no regret and had ridden out with them every day, looking over the property and checking sheep.

Just at that moment the old man lifted his hat from his face and sat up. “We have to return home soon,” he said. “There's much to do on our own property.”

Thomas felt a little guilty that Zac and Jacob preferred to work with him. Jacob went home from time to time to lend a hand, and he kept saying he was going to move on, but then he'd return to work at Wildu Creek. Thomas was grateful for their support.

“Edmund and Samuel can manage,” Anne said.

“If one of them hasn't murdered the other by now,” George said. “They both think they're in charge. One's as stubborn as the other.” He turned to Thomas. “You were happy with the shearing crew I sent this way?”

“Yes, and thank you,” Thomas said. “Of course I refuse to have Fowler and his men back here. It was getting so late and I was having trouble finding another team.”

George met his gaze and nodded. Thomas was pleased to see some spark in his eyes again.

“We didn't find any unmarked bales this year either,” he went on.

“Nor last, and we had Fowler then,” Lizzie said. She was very fair-minded, his Lizzie.

“He would have had word that our specially marked bales had been discovered in that shed at the port. He would have been cautious. He'd only need to steal a bale or two from different sheds each year to turn himself a pretty penny.”

“Whatever happened to the man the police caught with it?” George asked.

“He disappeared before they could get any information out of him. They found all sorts in that shed, from wool to tools to bolts of fabric, but they never found out who was responsible.”

“Surely it was the man that got away,” George said.

“The constable I spoke to said they were sure he was only the go-between.”

“Well, at least all of this cut should make it to the commissioning agent,” George said. “And it should fetch a good price.”

The sound of hoofbeats drew Thomas's attention to the track leading to the house. Timothy had offered to check the boundary fence and he'd been gone most of the day. Now he was pounding towards them on his horse. Thomas could see the young shepherd's customary smile had been replaced by a deep frown. As the horse slowed, Thomas went to meet him. Timothy slid from the saddle.

“Sorry, Mr Baker. I did what I could.” Timothy was puffing and his horse was in a lather.

“What's happened?” Thomas took the reins.

Timothy glanced around and Thomas became aware the whole family had come to stand beside them.

“The fence is on fire.”

“Fire?” Thomas squinted his eyes against the bright blue of an almost cloudless sky. Past Timothy, above the distant ridge, dark smoke smudged the air. How had he not noticed it before?

“How could it catch fire?” Jacob asked.

“I can guess,” Zac growled.

“I was at the waterhole and I saw the smoke.” Timothy lifted his new hat from his head and tugged at his matted hair. “I couldn't stop it.”

“The whole damn thing will burn,” George said.

“I think I've saved a bit,” Timothy said. The young shepherd had black smudges on his hands and face. “I got in front of it,” he said. “I knocked down a piece. The wind's blowing the fire towards the creek end. The northern end is moving slowly.”

Thomas left the horse and strode away to his own.

“What will you do?” Lizzie called after him.

“I've got to try to save the rest.”

“We'll all come,” Jacob said and Zac was right beside him. George was moving to his horse as well, although not as quickly.

“I'll get a fresh horse,” Timothy called.

Thomas stopped. “You stay here,” he said. “You've done a good job but you're as exhausted as your horse. If we four can't save the remaining fence then it won't be saved.”

He didn't wait to see if the others were ready. He mounted his horse and urged it away at a gallop.

By the time they reached the fence it was a smouldering heap but Thomas was thankful for Timothy's quick thinking. He had dragged away a large piece of fence ahead of the fire. Everything between there and as far as Thomas could see was still standing. They rode north along the blackened fence line to the point where the fire was still spreading slowly against the wind.

As Timothy had done at the other end of the fire, they broke down the fence then followed the smouldering line south again. They dismounted where the fire ended. There were no longer any flames to jump the break Timothy had made. There was nothing else they could do.

“All that work,” Zac lamented.

“Do you think natives did this?” George asked.

“No,” Thomas, Jacob and Zac chorused.

They stared over the smouldering ruin of the fence towards Smith Ridge.

“Rix would have done it,” Thomas said.

“On Wiltshire's orders,” Zac said.

George kicked a rock with his boot. “That man continues to thwart us,” he said.

“There must be something we can do about him,” Jacob said.

Thomas punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. “He never gets his hands dirty. There's always someone to do the job for him.”

“Neales isn't happy working there,” Zac said.

Thomas turned to his brother-in-law. “You've spoken with him?”

“A few times in the last year. We sometimes end up checking the same boundary. He's not like those others, I don't think.”

“Perhaps he's worth cultivating,” George said. “You might get information out of him about what's going on over there.”

“I doubt he'd say much. He's as frightened of Rix as I was Terrett. I just know he's not happy.”

“George is right,” Thomas said. “It may be worth having him as a friend if we want to catch Rix out.”

“Good job, Rix.” From high up on the ridge, Septimus cast his gaze along the blackened remains of the fence. They'd arrived in time to see four men from Wildu Creek ride away. “It will take them a long time to fix that. You should get a good go at the waterhole this summer and any of their strays that wander this way.”

“We'll have to be careful a while,” Rix said. “Black ash will coat any animal that walks that way. Hopefully we'll get some more rain and the wind will disperse the rest. Then we can cross back and forth as we like.”

They stared out over the plain to the black line that was Baker's fence.

“You know Fowler didn't get the shearing job at Wildu Creek this year?”

“I heard,” Septimus said. Not that it would have mattered as far as syphoning off some wool went. After the police raid and Pell's disappearance, that little sideline had dried up.

“He allowed his men to be a lot rougher there,” Rix said. “Baker was always down some extras by the time Fowler's crew had finished.”

The thought gave Septimus some small satisfaction. He did what he could to line his own pockets with the money from the wool he'd been able to steal and then the stock that made its way to his land. He also encouraged Rix to do whatever he could to undermine their neighbour but still Baker seemed to prosper.

“Your profits will be up this year,” Rix said. “We've had few stock losses and a lot of wool sent to the port.”

Septimus eyed his overseer. He was angling for something. “You already get a bonus for every sheep that's shorn.” It was only small but it encouraged Rix to keep stock levels up. Neales was always complaining they were overstocking but even he had been silenced by the returns of the past year.

“I was going to suggest some improvements,” Rix said. “If we're going to carry this many sheep, the shearing shed and yards need expanding.”

“Isn't that what I pay you for?”

“The three of us are busy enough with the stock. Neales isn't much help with building. I suppose Pavey and I could tackle it, only …”

“Only what, Rix?” Septimus snapped. “Spit it out man.”

“Well I've heard there are some hut builders in the area and we could do with some decent lodgings. A place for Neales and somewhere big enough so you could have your own room when you stay.”

Septimus opened his mouth to squash the idea then closed it. He rarely returned to Port Augusta these days; he spent most of his time on the road. The inn was still not returning the profits he'd hoped for. He'd gone back to hawking in the district well south of Port Augusta and travelling to Adelaide to stock his wagon. When he needed a break from that, he stayed with Dulcie or came north to Smith's Ridge. He was always comfortable with Dulcie, but the basic hut on the Ridge was barely big enough for two to sleep in, and there was no proper kitchen. Baker had built a decent hut but perhaps Smith's Ridge could do better.

“I'll think on it, Rix,” he said. “A few more Wildu Creek sheep should help your cause along.” Septimus gave a mirthless laugh and walked his horse down from the ridge.

1860

“This might take a few years,” Jacob said as he looked back along the wire fence.