A Changing Land(60)

‘He steals our water,’ Angus said triumphantly.

‘Exactly. You’re coming to an age, Angus, where you need to have a grasp of how things work in the bush. In the years to come when I’m not around, you’ll have to listen to the advice of others. Listen –’ he tapped his son’s chest, the action sending Angus backwards – ‘However, when you are in charge of Wangallon, you make the final decision.’

Angus rubbed his chest as his father rolled up the large map and secured it with a piece of thin red ribbon.

‘There is only one simple rule to remember. Look after Wangallon, protect her at all costs and she in return will look after you.’

Angus stood back as the bulky frame of his father removed a long key from his trouser pocket. The creak of metal was the only indication that the chest had been opened, for Angus could not see past his father. Seconds later the creak sounded again and the map had been replaced with a thick book, the Wangallon station ledger.

‘You can go now, Angus. Jasperson and I have business to discuss. If you see that brother of yours, send him to me.’





Angus raced out onto the verandah. One of the maids was rushing away, crying, a man’s chuckle reverberating with the encroaching dusk. There was a crunch of gravel and Luke appeared. He gave the straggly youth Angus recognised a sound shove, sending him sprawling to the ground, and was astride the prone body in an instant, his fist raised. The sharp intake of female breath broke his momentum. Both Angus and Luke followed the noise to where Margaret watched.

‘Luke,’ Angus spluttered. Margaret stepped back into the shadows.

Grabbing the youth by the scruff of his neck Luke jerked him towards the verandah. The face before him was of no remarkable feature, except for the line of boils which ran down one cheek. The boy looked at him and gave a sly grin.

‘I’m McKenzie.’ The youth made a show of dusting himself down. ‘I’m employed by –’

‘Mr Gordon,’ Luke interrupted impatiently, ‘considering no one else would likely show at this hour of night without an invitation.’ The boy’s accent was Scottish, reason enough for his father to employ him. ‘I’ve not seen you before.’ Angus joined Luke, clutching at the string of dropped ducks.

‘I’m with Jasperson.’

Luke’s mouth curled downwards with distaste. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking the blacks on Wangallon are easy picking.’ He would have said more except for Angus. The boy stood very close; the ducks at his feet, his hands shoved in his pockets.

‘Apologies, Luke. McKenzie didn’t know that one was taken.’ Jasperson gave a short amused chortle through spindly yellow teeth.

‘Careful, McKenzie,’ Luke warned. ‘My father has no time for troublemakers.’

‘Nor I,’ Jasperson mounted his horse. ‘Half of these blacks should be culled.’

‘Who would do your work for you then?’ Luke retaliated as the two men turned their horses into the darkening night.

‘Who would you be friends with?’ Jasperson mocked. Only the crunch of hoofs on the gravel and the creak of oiled leather marked the men’s leaving.

‘You don’t like Jasperson, do you, Luke?’ Angus asked. There was a smear of blood on Luke’s cheek and the sickly sweet smell of death mingled with the sharp tang of cordite and the staleness of sweat. Angus poked a finger at one of the lifeless birds.

‘Luke?’ Hamish was standing in the doorway, his frame blocking all but a few stray streaks of light from the hall behind him. ‘Come inside.’ Angus bolted around the corner of the house.

Depositing the ducks and rifle on the verandah, Luke brushed his hands on his shirt front and followed his father into the study.





The room was musty and hot as Luke sprawled in the packing-case armchair. Hamish offered brandy, swigging his own down quickly. ‘Must you start a fight on my front lawn?’

Luke picked at the dried ducks’ blood under his fingernails. ‘You have a bad habit of choosing debauched employees.’

Hamish let out a deep belly laugh. ‘And how is your whore?’

Luke flicked a ball of blood onto the floor. ‘I’m not married,’ he challenged.

They stared at each other. ‘I’ll be wanting to drive 1500 head south to market in two months. The feed’s cutting out so it would be best to leave a little earlier while the cattle are strong.’