A Changing Land(71)

‘Or something?’ Jim mimicked.

Jack retrieved two mugs from the beige kitchen cupboard.

‘You know I’ll get what’s coming to me,’ Jim stated, pulling on a pair of socks.

Anthony dearly wanted to tell him that pigs might fly. He watched Jack fiddling with the coffee and sugar.

‘I just wanted people to be a bit fair about things,’ continued Jim.

Anthony had to give the Scot points. He had some nerve with his surprise visit and genuine disappointment with the welcoming committee.

‘If I had a written history of the Gordon’s at Wangallon,’ Anthony said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, ‘I’d gladly give it to you to read. Then you might be a little more understanding.’

The kettle whistled. Jack added a teaspoon of coffee, then water to each mug.

‘Understanding?’ Jim’s voice was raised.

Jack held up a container of milk. ‘Milk?’

Anthony lowered his voice. ‘I don’t want to argue with you.’ The last thing they needed was a scene in front of the jackeroo. It would be around the district within a few days.

‘I’m sure you don’t. You can’t exactly complain about my rights when you’ve got your share and you’re not even a Gordon.’

At this Jack dropped the mug he’d been about to pass to Jim. ‘Bugger.’

Considering the events of the last few weeks, Anthony could barely contain himself. Only Jack’s presence stopped him from saying anything further. He walked out of the kitchen onto the gauze enclosed verandah. ‘Jack.’

Jack skirted past Jim in a flash. He pulled his boots on and stuck his wide-brimmed hat firmly on his head. Anthony held the screen door open for him as he went through.

‘You’re not welcome here, Jim, and I’m starting to think that Sarah was right. You shouldn’t be entitled to a bloody cent,’ Anthony growled. Having spent the night alone and with Sarah now en route to Sydney, Anthony had little time for the Gordon wannabe.

Jim was a nose length from Anthony’s face in an instant. They remained that way for several seconds, Anthony opposite Jim, young Jack looking up from where he stood on the cement path below.

‘Don’t talk to me about entitlements. You’ve got your share and the grand house and its contents, just for insinuating yourself with the Gordon family. It’s me by rights that should be having this conversation with you, mate,’ Jim spat, ‘not the other way around.’

Anthony’s fist collected Jim squarely on his jaw; there was a crack, the force of the blow sent Jim into a flat spin that propelled him through the gauze of the verandah and out onto the small square of lawn where he landed with a thud on his back.

‘Damn,’ Jack said with reverence, admiring the great gaping hole in the gauze. ‘Damn!’ He walked over to where Jim lay sprawled on the ground. He was holding his jaw, moaning. Take that, Jack thought savagely, itching to throw in the Wangallon Town boot. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he was on Anthony’s side. He ran after him and slid into the passenger side of the Landcruiser.

Anthony stretched his fingers, felt the pain rip into the back of his hand and down his finger and knew his knuckles were broken. The dust spurted out from beneath the Landcruiser’s rear tyres. ‘We better go find Matt and see when Toby’s going to start mustering the cattle to go on the route.’

Jack angled his backside into the seat and smiled. Now this was a good day.





Angus stopped near the entrance to the stables. A brown snake slithered from under a pile of old timber railings, leaving a wiggly track in the soft dirt as it headed towards open country. Its skin was glossy, the body fat. Angus watched until the snake was out of sight. The door to the tack room was open and his father’s saddle was gone. He looked over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone and, selecting a bridle from a peg on the wall, headed to the rear of the stables. Willy was in an adjoining yard brushing one of the mares with a curry comb.

‘Are you meant to be here?’ Angus slipped through the timber rails. He’d not seen Willy since their fight over the slingshot.

Willy turned abruptly, running his hand across a snotty nose. ‘Boxer says I’m to brush down the horses.’

Angus walked up to the boy. He was standing perfectly still now, the mare nuzzling his shoulder. ‘Do you know where they’ve gone then?’ His hand tightened on the bridle. Jasperson once told him a good stripe with the bit on a bridle would stun any man.