A Changing Land(98)
‘What have you got for me then?’ Edward scrambled up atop the railings and looked down at the processed steers. ‘Nice even line. What are the weights like?’
Sarah scanned the clipboard. ‘418 to 515.’
‘That heavy fella can go in. He’ll lose those extra 8 kgs in the yards overnight. The trip up in the road train will fix any kgs left over.’ He climbed down the yard slowly. ‘Matt told you about my offer?’
‘Sounds good,’ commented Sarah. ‘I’ll have to check the competition though, Edward.’
Edward scratched the back of his hand. His sunspots were giving him curry today. He glanced at Matt. ‘You won’t find better.’
‘The rural news is talking up cattle prices,’ Sarah continued. ‘And as you said they’re a fairly good line and there’s another four hundred of similar weight ready to go within the next fortnight.’
He narrowed his eyes, pulled out his red notebook and pencilled a few calculations. ‘Four hundred you say?’
‘Give or take.’ She fiddled with the monitor, made a show of checking the leads. ‘By October there’ll be more coming up.’
Edward scratched his groin, walked over to the processed steers and took another look. ‘The spring mob will be on oats?’
Matt nodded. ‘These early ones are not quite finished to ensure we’ve got enough oats for the rest.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘He won’t like to miss out on anything,’ Matt whispered.
Sarah rolled her eyes at Jack. There were only fifteen head left to put through but the cattle needed to be walked back to their paddock and she figured the men had been out in the cold long enough already.
‘Two cents extra a kilo.’ The skin around Edward’s mouth puckered. ‘Tops.’
Sarah shook his hand. ‘Done.’ She offered him hot tea and homemade biscuits that she didn’t have, knowing he wouldn’t stay. He hadn’t stayed since her grandfather had passed.
Edward hesitated. ‘Next time. I’ll be having some of those scones your grandmother used to make.’
After Edward had off with an escort of barking dogs, Matt shook Sarah’s shoulder. ‘Sharp as your grandfather. But you’ve started something now. You’ll be feeding him for the rest of his life.’
‘Maybe not. He hasn’t tasted my scones.’ Sarah laughed.
Luke made camp down on a bend in the creek. The day’s gradual unravelling had been similar to the course of the sun across the sky. Having started softly with a promise of clarity, it had turned poker hot, eventually becoming unbearable. He gathered long strips of bark, prising them free of their sturdy trunks with a small axe. The action helped to calm him. He rested the bark lengthways against a three-piece frame, the centre branch of which was wedged into a gouge on the trunk of a large tree. Each movement helped to dislodge the anger inside him. He pictured it fragmenting, wished it would disappear, knowing how unlikely it was that he’d ever be free of it.
Tying the bark at the top, Luke surveyed his rough dwelling. It was open at both ends and high enough to crawl into, but it was a shelter of sorts. Satisfied, he unstrapped his bedroll from Joseph’s rump and tossed it into the lean-to, unsaddling Joseph so he could feed. His two pack horses were not so trustworthy. Ned and Ellie were known wanderers, so having unpacked their respective loads of cooking utensils and stores, he walked them to a grassy verge where the tree-edged creek bank bordered patches of sweet herbage. Here he hobbled them and let them be.
He was just beginning to start the makings of a fire when Mungo appeared like a wraith out of the timber.
‘Live here now, Luke?’ He pointed at the rough shelter and shook his head disbelievingly.
‘It’ll do.’ He only needed a bit of protection from rain for he was more inclined to sleep under the stars. From around the corner of the creek five women approached, their melodic voices carried by the breath of air hovering above the water. They were bare-breasted, their loins covered in short skirts. At the creek’s edge they squatted and began scraping up mud. This they placed in lengths of bark that was then carried to the lean-to. They set about slapping the mud onto the bark, effectively sealing the gaps and cracks with the sludge from the creek. Luke gave his thanks amid a women’s gaggle of laughter as they squatted at the creek to wash themselves free of the caking mud, flicking their hands dry before straggling back to prepare evening meals.
Mungo sat cross-legged by the unlit fire after removing his riding boots.