A Changing Land(80)
‘That’s a bit blunt, isn’t it?’
Her voice was tight. Anthony knew he was doing the right thing by deciding to halt the development in the short term. If only she knew how dogmatic she was acting and how oversensitive she sounded. ‘Sarah, I’ve decided to –’
‘If you haven’t stopped the Boxer’s Plains development, Anthony, I want you to immediately. The bank won’t support us. I’ve just spoken to them. They might agree to increasing the overdraft to tidy up anything owing to the contractors – other than that we’re on our own.’
‘I see.’ He scrunched the airline schedule in his left hand.
‘Do you? I can’t believe you didn’t do any budget projections to present to the bank.’ The line was silent. ‘The solicitor agrees that you’ll have to forget about this development of yours.’ Sarah took a breath. She had a foreboding feeling that she was sounding like Anthony’s boss and not his partner and fiancée. ‘Anthony? Hello? Anthony, are you there?’ She looked blankly at the receiver, the line was dead. ‘Damn it.’ Anthony had never hung up on her before.
McKenzie didn’t want to bother Mr Gordon, however intrigue was getting the better of him; that and an empty stomach. Having ridden from Crawford Corner in a flurry of excitement, they soon slowed. The better part of two hours was spent meandering through a grass paddock, after which they trailed the course of the river until midafternoon. McKenzie itched from the heat. When he scratched his hairy arm, dirt caked up under his nails. His stomach was rumbling terribly and his water was near gone. The horses stepped nimbly over fallen logs and then, without warning, they were splashing across a river sluggish from lack of rain. The horses drank for long minutes, slurping up gallons of the brown water, their whiskered nostrils quivering against the liquid.
Oozing mud sucked at their horses as they reached the opposite bank. Then they were urging the horses up the sandy slope and through a path of stringy saplings. A goanna ambling across their path took flight as they approached and scurried quickly up a tree. McKenzie watched the prehistoric beast’s progress. The blacks called them overland trout; reckoned they were good eating. Once or twice he’d tracked a goanna when he was near starving. If you were lucky and the lizard crossed loose dirt, its clawed feet and thick tail left visible impressions. He’d never tasted one though. Never been bitten by one either. The rotting flesh between their teeth left ulcerated, festering sores. Looking back over his shoulder, McKenzie’s imagined feed disappeared as the trees merged and closed in behind him. He figured there would have been a fair chance of hitting him with his rifle. A wounding would do. He could finish the job with a lump of wood.
The day lengthened, layering shadows of light through the scrub. An hour or so would have them back at the station, so he was more than surprised when Hamish announced they would be stopping. They made camp under a carbine tree, tethering the horses nearby. He gathered wood as directed and made a good blaze of it. For once he was pleased to be camping out – there’d be no favours given this night with the Boss about.
‘Have you made a decision?’ Jasperson settled his saddle and blanket by the fire. Pulling a ration of flour from his saddlebag, he knocked up a rough damper with a little water and sat it in the coals.
Hamish removed his jacket and sat, trying to find a more comfortable position. ‘Yes.’ Unfurling a length of calico, he speared a piece of salted mutton and held it over the fire, nodding to McKenzie to help himself. ‘We’ll be taking back what’s ours and a measure of theirs.’
Jasperson chewed thoughtfully on a twig. ‘Times have changed a bit, Boss.’
‘You lost the taste for it then?’ Hamish picked at the shreds of mutton sticking to his moustache.
Jasperson poked at the damper with the twig he’d been sucking.
Hamish spat gristle into the fire. ‘I’ll not be relegated to the common class by a man such as Oscar Crawford. It’s time the Englishman had a taste of what his countrymen did to mine. I will take back my cattle and some of his for good measure and we’ll be doing it this next full moon.’
Jasperson speared the damper with a stick and sat it on the blanket. ‘We’ll be needing Boxer and Luke.’
‘Mungo too,’ Hamish looked at McKenzie, ‘and you, lad.’
McKenzie nodded trying to hide his suprise, his tongue sucking at the dried meat.
Jasperson threw McKenzie a chunk of steaming damper. ‘They’ll be illegal doings.’