A Changing Land(55)
‘I’d be happy to do that,’ Wetherly offered, shadowing Hamish as he parted wool over a ram’s shoulder.
Hamish brushed the wool closed gently with the palm of his hand. ‘I’m classing out thirty of the better rams to be joined with a mob of maiden ewes.’
Angus regarded Wetherly with a doubtful incline to his head and repeated what his father had recently told him. ‘They’re a particularly good drop.’
‘And you’re figuring on some growthy lambs by the spring after the ewes are shorn,’ announced Wetherly, inserting his foot between father and son so that he slipped in beside Hamish.
Hamish spat dust from his mouth. ‘Keep your head clear, Angus. Plenty of men have been injured in the past, either having been knocked over in the yards, as you well know, or headbutted while leaning over the race.’ Behind Hamish, McKenzie followed with the raddle. ‘Give it to Wetherly,’ Hamish barked. That would take the new stud master down a peg or two. Wetherly marked a line of blue down the muzzle of the selected animal. Hamish parted the wool on the side of a large ram and beckoned Angus closer. ‘Good staple length and colour. See that whiteness?’
‘Good growthy size and height about him too,’ Wetherly added.
Hamish continued on down the race to the end. Boxer then drafted the classed rams out the top end through a pivoting gate, sending the selected rams to a yard on the left and the remainder to the right. Once the race was empty, McKenzie, Andrew and Harry filled it from the adjoining yard at the other end. Hamish classed six pens of rams and, finally satisfied with his selection, ordered them to be walked back to their new paddock at dust. He didn’t intend joining them until March but was a stickler for rotating mobs of sheep. He believed rotational grazing assisted with nutrition, disease prevention and stopped paddocks being eaten out.
The men moved the selected rams into another yard. There was little talk between them as they whistled their dogs up, pushing the disgruntled rams through a narrow gateway. The last twenty head ran in the opposite direction, stamping their feet in a combined show of anger and agitation. McKenzie walked in the opposite direction to the way the milling rams needed to head. The sheep ran back and quickly joined the mob.
Hamish gave the slightest of nods. ‘Well, McKenzie,’ he asked, ‘what did you learn?’
‘They should be tight in the race so as not to cause injury, Boss. But not so tight that they might go down and s-suff-’
‘Suffocate?’ Angus finished.
‘Yeah, suffocate,’ agreed McKenzie.
‘There’s a bit more to it than that, boy,’ Wetherly pronounced.
Hamish looked McKenzie up and down. ‘Speak to Jasperson about some decent boots.’ Half the sole appeared missing off one. ‘And when you get them, polish them. The leather will last longer. And don’t leave them out in the sun – quickest way to ruin them.’
‘Yes, Mr Gordon.’
‘So that will be all?’ Wetherly asked with an imperious tone. His face carried a streak of blue from the raddle.
Hamish grunted. ‘You, Tambo and Andrew can walk the rams back.’ Across the yard one of the Aboriginal stockmen fell over in the dust of the yard. McKenzie was laughing, his stocky leg stuck out like a low hurdle.
Hamish wiped at the dust layered across his face and sat down at his desk. There were papers to be locked away, including the thick envelope on his desk. The letter written with the unstudied elegance of an educated man outlined the circumstances of Lorna Sutton’s demise. Luke’s grandmother had passed in her sleep, having partaken of a five-course dinner the preceding evening. Hamish lifted his brandy glass in mock salute. It was nearly fifty years since he’d first set eyes on Rose Sutton, Lorna’s only child. Mistakenly Hamish believed that the young girl would give him a measure of respectability, instead Lorna had played him at his own game: Rose was the daughter of a whore.
The fabric of their marriage was unceremoniously revealed when Hamish learnt of his mother-in-law’s activities and Rose gradually became aware of how her new husband was acquiring his wealth. Yet Hamish still believed the marriage could have endured were it not for Rose’s unforgiving nature and delusions of grandeur. And then of course she formed a child’s attachment to an Afghan trader.
Leaving his reflections behind, Hamish returned to the letter. The solicitor outlined in detail Lorna’s substantial legacy. There was the fine brick residence in Ridge Gully, a large number of household items including solid silver cutlery, candelabra, crystal stemware and no less than two fine English dinner services, as well as a collection of oil paintings. The inventory extended to her immaculately maintained stables: three geldings, four mares and a fine buckboard. Hamish inclined his head upwards to Lorna. His decision to make her the owner of the emporium and provide her with his Ridge Gully home had not been ill-advised. She had been well paid for the service requested of her following Rose’s departure to Wangallon.