A Changing Land(129)
Hamish looked intently from the dark current of the river to the trees on the far bank, willing the cattle to show themselves. Removing a rope from his saddle, he borrowed both Harry’s and Angus’s and tied all three ropes together, securing one end to a thick-trunked gum.
Mungo shook his head. ‘Better stay, Boss, mebbe cattle not cross here.’
‘When they cross I want you to return with the cattle,’ Hamish ordered. ‘Join them up with the droving mob on the far boundary. I’ve got Wetherly in charge of them until you arrive, then you’re in charge, Mungo. You’re boss drover.’
‘Me, Boss? What about Luke?’
‘Luke no longer works here.’
Coiling the length of rope, Hamish walked his horse towards the water. The animal shied and reared up, begrudgingly entering the water under tightened reins and the prick of spurs. The horse found its feet on the sandy bottom and cautiously walked out into the deepening swirl. The water inched up Hamish’s thighs and then the bottom of the river slipped away and the water was running over the horse’s back. Hamish urged the animal onwards as his mount swam across, whispering to him, coaxing to him to keep going while simultaneously wondering how fast the water was rising. The rope was still feeding out behind them and although the current carried them diagonally, they landed on the far bank without injury. Hamish egged the horse up the sandy slope and tied the rope around a box tree, ensuring his return. The unmistakeable sound of crunching branches and a rushing tearing sound reverberated along the riverbank. His horse’s ears twitched nervously. Hamish signalled to Mungo. The cattle were moving too fast. Something had gone wrong.
He managed to gallop his horse along the sandy riverbank just as the first of the cattle hurtled towards the water. The leaders ran directly into the glassy surface, while others slowed on approach. Some were pushed into the river by the weight of those behind; others thought better of the task ahead and turned either left or right to run along the bank. Casualties were immediate. Two carcasses were floating downstream while a third animal lay on its side on the opposite bank, the animal’s hind legs kicking at the sand as cattle scrambled over the top. A number of calves were calling out frantically. Hamish caught sight of Boxer and McKenzie as a single rifle shot sounded. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, unsure of the direction it came from, and then headed to where the rope was tied.
The nulla-nulla hit Boxer between the eyes, the impact driving him from his young colt and sending him sprawling in the grass. Hamish watched his old friend fall to disappear behind the moving cattle. Moving quickly to the rope he charged his horse down the bank. Behind him he heard a scuffle and then a yelp. He glimpsed the butt of Jasperson’s rifle and saw a white man drop to the ground.
‘Go,’ Jasperson yelled.
Behind him an Aborigine appeared through the trees. Hamish caught sight of a tall warrior with a skin dragged over his shoulder and spurred his horse down the bank. He entered the water as a spear entered his thigh, the impact shunting him sideways. With the spear dangling from his muscle Hamish overbalanced as his horse was swept from under him. With clenching fingers he held tight to the rope. He glanced over his shoulder. Jasperson was darting through the trees, an Aborigine in pursuit. Then the rope went slack and he sank beneath the surface. Hamish splashed uselessly as the current pushed him towards the last of the cattle crossing the river. His one chance was to grab hold of one of the cows, maybe clamber onto a back or hang onto a tail. His chances were slim. The current was pulling at his damaged leg. He tried to swim and gulped at the muddy tide, felt the water bash at the spear still dangling from his thigh. Then he was pulled under again.
Mungo watched in horror as the Boss went under. He ran along the bank, calling to him uselessly while on the far bank Aborigines were running in the same direction. These men weren’t trackers. They were renegades. A rifle shot sounded. Mungo dived into the dirt, spitting grit from his mouth as cattle bellowed and lost calves cried out. McKenzie appeared on the far bank, chasing the blacks for a few scant seconds before turning his attention to a body. He dumped it in the water and returned with another, hiding the evidence of their crime. A final body appeared on the riverbank. It too was dragged unceremoniously into the water. With a stab of painful recognition, Mungo watched as Boxer floated away and for the briefest of seconds he had a terrible suspicion that his father was still alive. Lifting his rifle he cocked it, pointing the barrel across the water directly at McKenzie’s stomach. Very slowly he squeezed down on the trigger.