A Changing Land(32)

‘They’re only blacks. They’re here because father lets them be here. He feeds them, clothes them, gives them work to do. Jasperson says that if it wasn’t for father they’d still be savages.’

Luke thought of the bullock speared out of hunger while droving some months back. ‘Did Jasperson also tell you that they were here before us, before Wangallon?’

The boy rode on sullenly.

‘That’s what I thought.’ They rode on silently, reaching the trampled earth that marked the beginning of the final approach to Wangallon Homestead. To the right, the track forked out across to the creek where the blacks camped. Closer lay a row of timber huts housing the black stockmen. A few miles to the left lay the woolshed and adjoining yards and the huts that housed the white stockmen on the property. Ahead the iron roof of Wangallon shimmered in a haze of heat. The early mist had been deceptive; by midafternoon it would be hot. Christmas Day promised to be a scorcher.





‘Luke.’ Mungo called out loudly as his horse trotted from the direction of the creek. ‘Where have you been?’ His blue shirt flapped about his waist where it had come loose from his trousers, a curled stockwhip hung from his shoulder.

‘I’m hoping you don’t need a description.’ Luke reined in Joseph on his friend’s approach as Angus cantered away, scowling.

‘Ah,’ Mungo raised his eyebrows knowingly and grinned. ‘Same girl?’

‘Same girl for the last time,’ Luke replied, watching as Angus entered the Wangallon Homestead yard. ‘Eventually they all become a problem. How’s your mob?’ He dipped his chin towards the camp on the creek.

‘Boxer is a bit old now.’

It was true. Those that were at the founding of Wangallon nearly fifty years ago had long left their youth behind. ‘Like Hamish.’

‘The Boss? I don’t call him old. I call him the fox.’

Luke laughed. Joseph moved his hoofs restlessly in the dirt. ‘And your woman?’

‘She becomes my father’s cousin’s woman.’

He’d hoped that as Boxer’s son, Mungo would be the recipient of greater consideration. ‘I’m sorry.’

Mungo looked ahead to the homestead. ‘It is the second time in her life. She doesn’t go to him until the next full moon. Until then she works in the big house.’

Luke smiled. ‘The big house, eh?’

Mungo pointed at Luke’s shoulder. ‘It is good now, I think.’

Luke moved his arm up and down slowly. ‘I owe you.’

Mungo grinned. ‘I know.’ He flicked his reins, turning his horse away. ‘I must catch her between old men.’ With a swish of his hat Mungo galloped off, riding to a stand of box trees where a slight figure in a pale dress waited. The girl’s long black hair swayed as he helped her up to sit behind him on his horse. Luke lifted his hat in salute.





Sarah took special care with the evening meal. The old family dining table, the scene of Gordon mealtimes since the 1860s, was set for two people. Solid silver cutlery shimmered amid the turn of the century English dinnerware and the cut crystal stemware. She moved the heavy silver candelabra to the opposite end of the table and gave the five-foot-long gleaming mahogany sideboard, with its glass decanters, silver salvers and ancient punch-bowl, a quick polish. Then she boiled potatoes, mashing them up with butter and full-cream milk, and added a teaspoon of honey to the freshly steamed carrots.

‘Smells great.’

Anthony’s hands gripped her shoulders as he kissed her lightly. He waited as she plated up the juicy T-bone steaks.

‘Want me to set the table?’

‘I thought we would eat inside.’ She sensed his frown, knowing his preference would be a can of beer in front of the television.

‘What’s the occasion?’ Anthony followed her into the dining room.

‘Do we need one?’ For a moment Sarah considered forgetting her concerns. ‘I helped Matt and Jack muster the steers this morning.’ She sat the plates on the table. Anthony pulled out her chair so she could sit. ‘You should have seen Bullet. He was the star, after Moses, of course.’

Anthony rolled his eyes. ‘Moses isn’t the wonder dog Matt likes to think he is.’

‘I met Toby Williams, our drover.’

‘Toby Williams? Now there’s a name I haven’t heard for a while.’ He poured red wine into both their glasses. ‘He’s a bit of a ladies’ man, but a damn good drover.’ He raised his glass. ‘To us.’