Red Dust

by Fleur McDonald

  'I know exactly what you mean.' Gemma was rushing to get her words out. 'No one to talk to at the end of the day, no one to say, "Was that the right decision or could we do it better next time?" – all that sort of stuff.'

  'Yeah, of course you understand.' Ben nodded. 'Sorry, I'd forgotten who I was talking to.'

  Gemma smiled sadly. 'Yeah well, that's something I do under stand.' She looked at her watch. 'We'd better get a move on or we'll be late.'

  On the way to the restaurant, Gemma found herself confessing her apprehension about the night to Ben.

  'I'm sure I'm just imagining that Brad doesn't like me, but when I met him, Jess was too excited to notice and I'd never say anything.'

  'Don't worry about it,' Ben advised. 'Just try and enjoy the night. I haven't had much to do with him. Bit over the top and full of himself, but I think he's mainly all right.'

  When they got to the restaurant, Jess was sitting at the table by herself.

  'Sorry we're a bit late,' Gemma said as they sat down.

  'No problem, I'm still waiting for Brad.' Jess forced a smile. 'So, good time?'

  'Yeah, lovely. I still can't convince Ben it's important to use genetics that aren't big on growth in this area. It makes for cattle that grow too big and then you can't put weight on them because we haven't got the feed to fill them up.'

  'Like I understand that,' Jess said with a grin. 'Did you talk about anything else other than farming? I'm trying to teach this country bumpkin that there are heaps of different things to do in the world other than farming. Can you help me, Ben?'

  'I'm not sure I know that much more! But one thing I do know about that I've heard you like too is camping. What was your favourite camping trip, Jess?'

  'Ah, well now . . .' Jess launched into an enthusiastic description of a camping trip she'd taken with her parents about fifteen years before.

  'The colours were amazing and there were only certain places you could camp in case you were attacked by crocs . . . The country is so weathered. Everyone says old, but it can't be any older than the rest of the land, can it? Loved every minute. But it was worth spending a couple of quiet weeks with them just to experience the Top End. Never really been anywhere quite like it since. There he is,' said Jess, waving like a maniac to get Brad's attention as he walked in the door. 'Looks like he's had a few. Check out those cute red cheeks!'

  Ben and Gemma's eyes met across the table. Ben raised a crooked eyebrow at her and gave her a small smile.

  'G'day, everyone, how's it going? Ah, my exquisite woman.' Brad leaned down and gave Jess a kiss on the cheek. Going around the table he shook Ben's hand. 'Good goal you kicked today,' he said.

  Brad got to Gemma. 'Mrs Sinclair,' he said smoothly. 'How marvellous to see you again.' He took her hand and bowed over it before kissing it.

  Gemma tried to extract her hand gently, while smiling to hide her discomfort. 'Great to see you, Brad. How was the footy match?'

  'Not bad, not bad. Think I'll have another drink, We're commiserating another loss. Anyone else?' Everyone declined.

  After they'd ordered their meals the talk turned to farming. Brad held forth on what farmers he'd been to see recently, who was a good farmer and who wasn't – his judgement seemed to rest on who took his advice on their pastures and crops and who didn't. The more he talked, the more uncomfortable Gemma felt. She watched Jess, and saw that she was beginning to get annoyed. Ben listened quietly.

  Finally, after ordering coffee, Brad stretched his legs and leaned back in his chair. 'So, Gemma, tell me – how are you finding farming now you're on your own?'

  'Okay. It's great to have Bulla and Garry helping me. Don't know what I'd do without them.'

  'When will you sell?'

  'That's none of your business, Brad,' Jess butted in as Gemma said: 'Oh, no. I won't sell.'

  'You know, I think you'd be so much better off selling.' The tension around the table was apparent to everyone but Brad, who blundered on. 'You're better to take the money now, before you lose everything. Stop trying to prove you're something you're not.'

  Gemma was stunned. She felt Ben's hand come down firmly on her knee in support, and Jess looked ready to explode.

  Pushing back her chair, Jess rose from the table, fury distorting her face and her tone icy. 'That was inexcusably rude. I can't think why you would say such things when you have only met Gemma twice. I think we might call it a night. I expect you'll be fixing up the bill, Brad? Good. Then you had better go and sleep off what you have had to drink. I'm not sure you need to call me again for a while. Ben, would you mind driving us home?'

  Jess invited Ben in for coffee after the silent ride home, but he declined. Jess had stormed into the house before Gemma had even left the car. Ben grabbed at her hand as she leaned in to thank him for the ride.

  'Not everyone thinks like him, Gemma. You're doing a good job under difficult circumstances.'

  She smiled weakly. 'Thanks again for tonight. I really enjoyed the first part. I guess I'll see you out on Billbinya sometime.'

  'I'll be bringing the wool buyer around next week to look at the wool and then the shipper buyer later,' Ben promised.

  As soon as Gemma entered the house Jess said, 'Gem, I'm so sorry, I have no idea what got into him. He's never been like that before. He's usually a very caring, sensitive sort of guy. It was like he was another person tonight. I'm really sorry.'

  Gemma waved her apology away. 'Don't worry about it, Jess. The meal made up for it. Wasn't it beautiful? I'm stuffed, so I think I'll hit the hay. Night.'

  Gemma lay awake for a long time that night, wondering why Brad had targeted her and what she'd done to deserve his dislike.

  Chapter 18

  Jack had finally received the text telling him the truck was on its way. He started his ute and left the shearers' quarters. At the top part of Billbinya, off the worn track in a sheltered place by a creek, Jack kept his two dogs, some sheep yard panels and some wire. It was his sheep-stealing kit. He went there most days while he was supposed to be working, fed and watered the dogs and made sure they were okay.

  'Get up the back, ya mongrels,' said Jack as he let them off the chain and loaded on the panels. 'We've got work to do.'

  The night was cold and the large yellow moon lit the sky. Jack parked the ute near a patch of bush, far away from where the truck would arrive. He would walk to the gateway. It was easier to hide in a bush than to explain why his ute was on the road at a strange time of night, and if someone drove past he didn't want their lights picking up a reflection of his ute.

  The shadows of the trees and bushes made eerie movements on the ground and could have caused him to trip, but Jack moved silently through the darkness without stumbling. This was his world.

  The dogs' breath puffed white as they moved beside him, occasionally sniffing at a bush or stopping to cock a leg. At the call of a night bird they would stop and listen, then move along as quietly as Jack. They settled down under a bush to wait for the arrival of the truck. The truck would reverse through the gate and the stock would be unloaded. The dogs would mob them together and the job would be done. The only noise that would be heard was the truck, and the sound of running hoofs on the damp ground as the cattle were unloaded.

  'Yep,' mused Jack to himself. 'Gemma's about to get those steers she's worried about, for the feedlot contract. It's nice to be able to help out.'

  Jack heard the truck before he saw the lights. At the low rumble of the engine, his dogs tensed, cocked their ears and whined softly. He quietened them with a hand on each head and, as the truck drew closer, he went to open the gate. The driver and Jack didn't even acknowledge each other as they unloaded the truck. The steers, wide-eyed with fear, raced off the truck ramp and out into the paddock. Soon the air was filled with the sound of cattle hoofs pounding the ground, as the cattle ran around the paddock trying to work out where they were. Jack sent his dogs around the runners to slow them down and push them into a mob. His dogs worked quietly,
herding the mob together. They had done this many times. Soon all was quiet in the paddock.

  After the truck left, Jack used a sturdy branch with dead leaves on it to swish away the truck tracks. There wasn't any sign that a truck had delivered these cattle. He knew that it would be obvious that someone had covered them up, but it didn't matter. There wouldn't be any way that the stock squad, if they arrived, would be able to cast tyre prints and match them back to the truck.

  Jack squatted under the bush for a while longer, listening to the cattle. He lit a cigarette and the end glowed in the dark. The steers were slightly restless, milling around each other, snorting and sniffing the new smells. There was the odd loud bellow, but they would settle down in the next few hours. They'd be tired from their long trip and, once they'd had a feed, they would sleep. Jack got up to make his way home.

  Sunday morning dawned sunny and bright. The cold winter winds had subsided and Gemma was heading home. Jess had apologised again and then tried to convince Gemma to stay and go over the books with her. Gemma had flatly refused, saying it was her last free day before two weeks of shearing.

  Gemma's ute was loaded up to the hilt with wool packs, bale fasteners, lice control and dog food. She also had to call in at the pub at Dawns Rest to pick up the food supplies for the shearers' cook. She hoped this year the shearers' cook would be a good one.

  Three years ago, Gemma and Adam had been threatened by a drunken cook wielding a broken bottle and demanding a pay rise. Adam had managed to calm the man down just as Bulla and Garry had come into the shed. They had relieved him of his bottle and his duties. Once the man had been asked to leave the property and put on the mail truck back to town, Gemma went to the shearers' quarters to discover all the meat that had been given to the cook was spread out on the kitchen table, covered in maggots. For the two days the team had been there, none of the meat or food had been put in the fridge and the dishes hadn't been done. The shearers had threatened to walk out but were placated when told that Gemma would cook. They threatened again once they had tasted her first meal! Gemma smiled. Her heart ached but the good memories still made her happy.

  As she drove, she planned the movement of all the sheep. You couldn't just get sheep out of a paddock for shearing. They had to be off feed for twenty-four hours so they emptied their bladders and bowels. There was nothing worse than shearing a sheep and having it wee all over you. All the mobs had to be kept in their age groups so mobs had to come and go without being boxed into other mobs. Sometimes it was a tricky operation – sheep in the yards, draining out, sheep in the holding paddocks ready for the next day, and shifting sheep from outlying paddocks to ones closer. Then after the shearing was completed the sheep had to be back-lined to prevent lice – which decreased the wool's quality – and then taken back out to the paddocks. It was going to be a busy time.

  Once home, Gemma unpacked her supplies and then went over to the shearers' quarters kitchen to put the supplies away there. While she was unpacking, Jack stuck his head into the room and said hi.

  'How're you feeling?' asked Gemma.

  'Much, much better. Jeez, I felt crook. Haven't had a gut ache like that for a long time.'

  'So, are you ready for shearing?'

  'As ready as ya ever are for that amount of work. Can I give ya a hand 'ere at all?'

  'No thanks, Jack. I'm just about finished. I'll catch you tomorrow, okay?'

  Gemma leaned back on her knees after scrubbing out the fridge and wiping off the dust and grime that had seeped through the cracks in the walls. The benches shone, the floor gleamed and Gemma felt exhausted. Jack had kept the place basically clean, but kitchens always needed a woman's touch.

  Thinking of the lonely night ahead, she sighed. Having Patrick and Jess around, even though it hadn't been for long, had eased the loneliness she hadn't known she was feeling. There had been movement in the house, people to talk to, have a coffee with. Gemma had found herself listening at night for the sounds of her house guests. Someone heading to the loo or getting a drink of water. Comforting sounds that made her feel less alone. On the drive home, Gemma had been shocked to realise that she didn't really want to go back to Billbinya. It was isolated and, since the stock-stealing investigation had begun, it was frightening.

  Gemma knew that the busyness of shearing and all the different people around would lift her spirits, but she was wondering how she could get through tonight. She had an idea.

  'Hey, Jack?' she yelled. 'You still there?'

  'Yeah,' came the faint reply.

  'I'm going to give Bulla and Gaz a ring and see if they want to come to tea. Have a barbecue or something to celebrate the start of a great shearing. Interested?'

  'Yeah, that'd be good.'

  'Okay, I'll see you tonight then.' Packing up her cleaning supplies, Gemma headed home to ring Bulla and Garry.

  Gemma held up a glass of rum and Coke and proposed a toast. 'Here's to a great shearing, an exceptional wool clip and great wool prices. Cheers.'

  'Hear, hear,' mumbled the three men. The barbecue was sizzling and the salads were sitting on the outdoor table. Bulla, thankfully, was in charge of the cooking.

  Jack stood back and watched everyone. He could see that Garry and Bulla were very fond and protective of Gemma. He already knew he wouldn't be able to break into this close-knit group or glean any information on Adam from them. Adam was barely mentioned in front of him.

  Jack was used to feeling like an outsider; he had felt like one for as long as he could remember. He'd never fitted into any group at school and never had any close friends. He'd been so excited when he'd met his brother for the first time. A brother! Someone to go shooting with, someone to drink with. Someone to steal with. By the time his brother had come on to the scene, Jack had already been in trouble with the police numerous times. His mother despaired of him and their father had long since disappeared.

  When his brother had first found him, Jack had been overwhelmed to know he had family. Someone who cared. It hadn't taken long for the brothers to forge a strong bond but it was Jack who appreciated it most.

  Chapter 19

  Craig loved the smell of the sale yards, the hustle and bustle. There was always so much going on. Dogs barking, the stock being herded into their pens, the clanging of the metal gates as they slammed shut behind the cattle, auctioneers talking to stockies before the sale started and, without fail, there would always be two old men sitting up on the rails somewhere, discussing the season and stock prices. He had lost count of how many times he'd heard 'When I was a lad . . .' stories.

  Craig watched the cattle being unloaded and herded into their pens. The cattle snorted and bellowed as they ran down the cement raceway, looking for a way out or an open gate. He heard a yell of 'Watch that one, mate,' and turned in time to see a young man leaping for the rails with a Brahman bull close on his heels.

  'Looks like that one's come from up north,' said a man standing next to him.

  'The bull's just being friendly.' Craig grinned and moved on. He climbed the ladder that led to the walkways which lay across the tops of the yards. Sale yards always had steel walkways across the top so the buyers and stockies wouldn't be stirring the stock up every time they walked past. He walked across, eyeing the stock and making notes in his notebook. As a detective, he was attuned to conversation around him. Inter esting snippets could incriminate crooks and blow others' covers. Maybe he would hear something about the wethers here. Keeping an eye on numbers of cattle in each pen, he quietly made his way to the auctioneer to have a quiet word about who was in charge, paperwork, records and the way sales ran in South Australia.

  The smell of cooking caught Craig's attention and his stomach growled. Heading over to the food van, he ordered an egg and bacon sandwich and an iced coffee: standard food for cold sale mornings. He was leaning against a tree when he heard someone greet him. Turning, he saw Ben Daylee, also holding an egg and bacon sandwich.

  'G'day,' said Craig. 'What are you doing here
?'

  'Brought a buyer down to look for some feedlot cattle. What about you?'

  'Ah, just on my way back to Adelaide and I thought I'd stop in for a while and have a look. Being back in the country made me yearn for a few country experiences, so here I am,' Craig invented quickly.

  Ben regarded him quietly then said, 'So how long have you been with the stock squad?'

  He raised his eyebrows, searching for an answer.

  Ben grinned and pointed at him: 'You've been made, fella!'

  'Shit, how the hell . . . ?'

  Ben grinned. 'Saw you leaving the motel with Dave heading to the cop shop. Bit of a giveaway that there are two new fellas in town staying at the same motel and hanging around the cops! Not to worry. I've not been in town long and I don't know who to trust about this business either, so I'll be keeping my mouth shut.'