A Changing Land(31)
Luke reined in his mare, and steadied the other two horses he led. He squinted against the glare made more ferocious by the recent shelter of the ridges’ thick canopy. His eight-year-old half-brother Angus was struggling with a black boy a good foot taller in height. Luke leant back in his saddle and grinned in amusement as Angus managed to free himself from the boy’s grip. A sharp chase followed. Angus ducked and weaved away from the older boy but Luke was soon clicking his tongue in disappointment as the black boy dived, catching Angus around the ankles and bringing him crashing to the ground. Luke touched the flanks of his mount, walking forwards. The boy’s hijinks had developed into a good scuffle. The wiry black boy now had Angus pinned by one shoulder and as Luke neared the twosome he could see Angus’s legs kicking out fiercely as he screamed furiously. The black boy was rubbing sand in his face while Angus spat, kicked, yelled and spluttered.
Seconds later, Angus was whacking his torturer in the ear with a broken belah branch. Luke winced at the sting the raspy, thin plant would deliver. Finally Angus managed to push the boy off him. He took advantage of the altered odds quickly and straddled him long enough to deliver two sharp blows with the branch, but the win was slight, for soon Angus found himself receiving a series of hard shoves that sent him reeling to the ground. Luke was beginning to think better of his decision to wait for the final outcome. The black boy was laughing and mimicking Angus as he dragged himself up from the ground. Luke’s fingers felt for the rawhide stockwhip curled at his side. He broke his horse into a trot. Boxer’s tribe in the past had always been fairly reliable, however now they were no longer comprised of the pure blood relatives of past decades. Intermingling had occurred and, as the inhabitants of Wangallon had discovered, such mixing of blood could and did lead to violence. The black youth was dancing around Angus now, kicking sand in his little half-brother’s face, his straggly limbs dancing wildly as if he were partaking in some type of deranged corroboree.
Feet away, Luke dismounted and unfurled his stockwhip. Angus was throwing something and Luke could only watch as the black boy, struck in the face, tottered on his spindly legs and then fell to the ground.
‘Angus!’
Angus lifted his fist above the fallen youth, a smooth rock clearly visible in his grasp. Luke cracked his stockwhip. The sharp snap echoed loudly through the ridge. Birds, stilled in the noon day heat, flew with a rush from nearby trees. Kangaroos camping beneath the shade of a nearby gum tree hopped away. Angus dropped the rock immediately and turned in the direction of the whip crack.
‘What do you think you’re doing, boy?’
Angus’s face turned from a concentrated red to a wide grin as he left the boy lying on the ground and ran towards him. ‘Luke, Luke, you’re back.’
Luke held the eight-year-old at arm’s length. Beneath the filthy clothes and grimy face the boy had grown during his eight-month absence. His arms and legs were reasonably thick for his age and his young frame had all the makings of the barrel chest that marked the Gordon men. ‘What are you doing out here?’
Immediately the boy grew defensive. ‘Nothing.’ Angus kicked at a tuft of grass. Feet away the boy was beginning to stir. He straggled upright into a sitting position, obviously dazed. A line of blood oozed from a cut above his right eye and one side of his face was slashed red by the belah branch.
‘I’d get a move on if I were you,’ Luke said good-naturedly to the youth. ‘I’m reckoning the boss, Mr Gordon,’ he emphasised, ‘won’t be too pleased when he hears about this.’
Angus drew a mouthful of spittle into his cheeks and spat in the dirt. The boy glowered back.
‘Go.’ Luke backed his words with a gentle flick of the stockwhip. As the black boy walked off, Luke pointed to one of the pack horses. ‘Hop up, Angus.’
‘That’s Willy. We had a fight. He stole my slingshot.’ Angus held the slingshot proudly aloft.
‘Ah.’ Luke ruffled his kid brother’s hair. Angus tucked his head deep into his shoulders to escape. ‘The spoils of war. Well next time I’d be doing the fighting a little closer to home, just in case you need a hand.’ Considering the height and speed advantage of young Willy, Angus’s win was impressive.
‘I would have managed,’ Angus answered petulantly.
‘With a stone? You think killing the boy would have been the answer?’ They were riding side by side, Luke’s three spare horses trotting obediently on a lead behind his mount.