by N. R. Walker
Billy was an Aboriginal man: dark skin, black wiry hair and a smile that took up half his face. He was also a bloody good stockman who knew his way around cattle and he understood the nature of this land. He’d worked here for about seven years, and I’d be lost without him.
When everyone was seated, the questions started, aimed at the American man seated to my left.
“You can ride a horse?”
“Yes.”
“A motorbike?”
“A motorcycle? Yes.”
“How old are ya?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Live on a farm?”
“Yes. Near Austin, Texas.”
“Well, you’re already better than the last guy,” Mick said with a snort. “Poor guy from…where was he from?”
“England,” I answered.
“Poor kid,” George said. “The sun near cooked him. That was a few years ago now though.”
“Couldn’t ride a horse when he got here,” Fish said. “Funniest thing I ever saw.”
“What was he doing here?” Travis asked. “If he didn’t have a clue?”
“It was a student placement thing,” I said. “He was studying agricultural science and wanted to know how farmers lived in the desert, apparently.” Then I added, “I wasn’t here.”
Ma walked into the room then, carrying a basket of freshly baked rolls. It was always the last thing she put on the table before everyone dug into their grub.
“Thanks, Ma,” everyone said in unison.
“Looks real good, Mrs Ma,” Billy said. He gave her one of his disarming grins and she patted his shoulder.
“Okay” was all she said, and it was cue for everyone at the table to eat.
I must admit, Ma’s general rule of manners at her table was a godsend. Yes, these people earned their dinner. They worked hard, and they sure worked up an appetite, and I’d be certain to think if Ma wasn’t there to keep ’em in line, they’d eat with their hands.
But civility—as much as the Outback allowed—prevailed. They ate with cutlery, asked politely for plates to be passed down, for someone to pass the butter, and there were even pleases and thank yous.
We were quiet as we ate and when everyone had had his or her fill, the conversation slowly started. Travis answered politely if asked something, but for the most part just watched and listened as everyone was getting excited about the coming final muster of the year and the promise of the wet season.
Rain.
It meant busy times for me and my workers, but we’d had a good season, and I had a real good team. I demanded 110% and they gave it. As reward, they got looked after. That’s how things out here worked.
After Ma had served the afternoon-made scones with jam and cream—which were quickly devoured—they left and the house was quiet. I went into the office, while George took Travis out to the front veranda to watch the sun finally call it a day.
As I caught up on some paperwork, I could hear parts of their muted conversation. Not that I was listening on purpose, but they were sitting near my window.
“It’s really very beautiful,” Travis said. His accent was intriguing. “Not sure I’ve ever seen a sky that colour orange.”
“Yes, it is beautiful,” George answered. After a short silence, he asked, “How you findin’ it so far?”
“Everyone’s great,” Travis answered quickly. “I will admit, I was expecting Charlie to be older. I didn’t think the boss of a place like this would be about my age.”
My ears pricked up at the mention of my name, and I put the papers in my hand on the desk and listened.
“He’s a real good man,” George said. “I worked for his dad before him and will work for Charlie for as long as he’ll have me. He’s a tough boss. He doesn’t take shit from no one and he expects a lot, but he’s fair. When he first took over, a lot of men wouldn’t work for him. Nothing against Charlie, in fact, just the opposite; they thought he was too tough. It just meant the men who had the balls to stay were the best.”
I smiled at that, but I tuned them out and concentrated on emails, invoices and the mail. It was my least favourite part of my job, and a few hours every night after dinner I would try and keep on top of the paperwork side of the station.
It was getting kinda late when I shut the laptop down and headed to bed. As I walked into the foyer on the way to my room, I noticed the front door was still open. I stuck my head outside to see if I wasn’t about to turn the lights out on anyone when I saw Travis sitting by himself on one of the seats on the front veranda.
I opened the door slowly, wondering if something was wrong. “Everything alright?”
He looked over at me and smiled. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “It’s just so nice out here.” I sat down next to him, and he was quick to add, “I’m not keeping you up, am I?”
“Nah,” I said, leaning back in the chair, and I let out a sigh. “It is nice out here this time of night.”
“It’s incredibly quiet.”
“You jet-lagged or something?” I asked.
“No, no,” he said. “I had four days in Sydney before I flew out here. I slept the first day.”
I nodded, not sure what to say. I never was very good at making conversation.
“You’ve got a good team,” he said. “They seem like a good group of people.”
“They are. They might try and see if you’re worth your salt, but they mean no harm.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I looked out into the darkness, not sure if I’d like his question. “Sure.”
“What’s with the nicknames?” he asked. “Everyone’s got a weird name.”
I laughed. “Dunno. Just what Aussies do. If we can’t shorten a surname, we’ll shorten it anyway. Like Fish is short for Fisher. But Ernie’s real name is Chris. I dunno where in the name the Ernie part comes from.”
“And Bacon?”
“Well, he comes from a pig farm…”
He threw his head back and laughed. It was a deep rumbling sound that made it impossible to not smile. Impossible not to look at him. “And Trudy’s the only woman?”
“She is,” I said with a nod. “But don’t be fooled. She’s the toughest of the lot and has a helluva right hook.”
Travis’s eyes went wide. “She punched you?”
“Not me. But I’ve heard about it. In town once, some guy was thinkin’ he could say something to her that was outta line, and well”—I shook my head—“they really shouldn’t do that.”
He laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So tell me,” I said, changing topic. “A degree in Agronomy?”
“Agricultural science, yes,” he said. “Soil properties, climate, production, that kind of thing.”
“If you’ve studied the ecoregions of Texas, what made you want to come here?” I asked. “I mean, we have different soil types, different climates, different crops, weather patterns, production systems. I’ve never been to Texas,” I admitted, “but I’d imagine the human dimensions of interaction with the land here are far removed from what you’ve studied.”
Travis looked at me, like really stared. A slow smile spread across his face. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
I scoffed. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not just a red-dirt junkie.”
“You studied agricultural sciences?”
“I did,” I answered. “I didn’t graduate though. I had to come back here to run this place.”
“How far’d you get?”
“Did three years out of four.”
He made a face. “Oh, man. That sucks,” he said softly, but then he looked back out into the darkness as though he understood something about responsibilities. “I graduated,” he said. “And you talk about differences in soil diversity and productions like it doesn’t make sense for me to come here where it is so different from what I studied. But that’s why I came here. Because it’s different.”
Then he started talking a
bout learning how to think outside of what he knew. He claimed he already knew about farming Texas land, and the science behind it was academic. What good was learning what he already knew, he said. But he couldn’t learn in any book how we farmed the desert out here. What he really wanted to learn, he said, was how to achieve the same goals using different rules.
I asked him why he’d need it. “If you’re only going to farm Texan land, what difference does it make how we do it out here?”
“I know how to achieve maximum yield back home, theoretically,” he said. “But if I can see how someone else might achieve the same while faced with different circumstances, it has to be beneficial to how a ranch is run.” He was quiet for a while, like his words had run out of steam. “I guess I’m just trying to be lateral in my thinking.”
I smiled at him. “Well, I hope to learn as much from you as you from me.”
He leaned back in his chair and lifted his wrist to his face. “Shoot! Look at the time!”
I checked my watch. It was almost one in the morning. Jesus, we’d been talking for hours.
Travis stood up. “Sorry to have kept you up.”
I stood up too. “Don’t apologise. Not your fault.”
“What time do we get up?” he asked.
“Five. I usually do a bit before breakfast.”
He nodded. “And I shouldn’t be late, yeah?”
I smiled and held the front door open for him. “No, you’re working with the boss tomorrow, and he’s a cranky bastard.”
Travis smiled, knowing I was talking about myself, and walked inside. “Goodnight.”
I turned the veranda light off, walked into my room, stripped down to my undies and climbed into bed. I found myself smiling as I lay there, thinking of Travis—of someone who I could talk to—and told myself not to see what wasn’t there. Despite my thoughts, I was quick to sleep and dreamed of a man with a Texan drawl and eyes the colour of the morning sky.
CHAPTER TWO
There’s a rule in the Outback—don’t mock a man’s hat. Don’t touch another man’s hat, either, and you most certainly don’t go wearin’ another man’s hat. Yeah, right. One day…he’s been here one fucking day.
I was up before the sun, just like always, despite the lack of sleep. I was in the kitchen getting under Ma’s feet, just like always, when Travis stood at the door. He was dressed and ready for the day, even if he still looked a little sleepy. I gave him a nod good morning and suddenly found what Ma what doing very interesting in hopes that Travis couldn’t somehow tell I’d dreamed of him.
“Get the boy a cup of tea,” Ma ordered me.
I looked at Travis then and had to clear my throat so I could speak. “I think he might prefer coffee…”
Ma spun to look at him. “You don’t like my tea?”
“Um, it’s not that I don’t like your tea…well, I…” He looked at me for help.
I snorted out a laugh. “Americans don’t drink hot tea like we do, Ma. They drink it cold.”
“Cold?” Ma said. “Why the hell didn’t you say something, boy?”
“Um,” Travis said hesitatingly. “I didn’t want to offend anyone.”
Ma stared at me. “Well, what are you waiting for? Make the man some coffee.”
I quickly spooned a teaspoon of instant coffee into a cup and added boiling water from the kettle. “Milk or sugar?” I asked him.
“Both.”
Right. Why the fuck was I nervous? I put the coffee cup down on the table and took a spoon off the serving tray, but before I opened the sugar bowl, Ma clucked her tongue at me. “Just take the whole tray out,” she said with a sigh. “Get out of my kitchen, please, love. The boys’ll be in any minute and you’re in the road.”
Travis pressed his lips together like he was trying not to smile, and I rolled my eyes. “Here,” I said, handing him his cup. I carried the tray into the dining room, and he followed me in. Putting the tray on the sideboard, I sat the milk jug and sugar bowl on the table near his seat.
His seat.
Jesus. He hadn’t even been here a day, and I’d already given him a seat at the table.
The seat right next to mine.
“Been up long?” he asked, obviously trying to make small talk because I was lost in my head overthinking shit again.
“Yeah,” I said, standing at the sideboard, making myself a cup of tea, figuring it would calm me a bit. “I’m always up with the sparrows. I let the dogs off and feed ’em some breakfast. People tell me I spoil ’em, but I don’t. I just look after ’em.”
“What kind of dogs?”
“Kelpies. I’ve got four of ’em. They do the work of ten men in the paddock so of course I look after them.” I sat down in my seat, next to Travis, and sipped my tea. “You sleep okay for your first night?”
“I did, thank you,” he said, then sipped his coffee and made a face.
I laughed. “I’ll tell Ma to add nicer coffee on the list?”
He nodded but laughed quietly. “Or I could just drink swamp water.”
George walked in and went straight for the sideboard for a cuppa. I thought he might have something to say about me smiling before breakfast, but he thankfully kept it to himself. The other guys soon filed in, followed by Ma and dishes of eggs, bacon, snags, fried tomato and toast.
We talked about what needed doing while we cleaned up everything Ma served us, the dining room cleared out as soon as it filled, and we all got on with our day. I picked my hat off the rack in the hall on my way out and put it on. Travis was staring at the top of my head. I grinned at him. “What?”
“What the hell happened to your hat?”
I pulled the old Akubra off my head and looked at it. Travis, on the other hand, poked it with his finger. “Hey,” I said. “Don’t knock my hat.”
He was still staring at it. “How does it keep in shape? Not that it does very well.”
“Well, it’s old… I wear it every day.” I turned the hat over, looking at it from all angles. The felt was now dirty, stained and had holes across the brim and crown. It was barely holding together. “Plus it’s been stomped on, stood on by man, bull and horse, pulled out of a river, ridden over, lost, found… I dropped it out of the helicopter once.” I looked at his hat. “Actually, that cap you’re wearing is no good for the sun out here.”
I looked at the hat rack. There were three hooks on a strip of painted timber, head-height in the hall near the front door. The hook on the left was where George kept his hat, mine was the middle hook, and the hook on the right, closest to the door, had sat bare since my father died.
“I’ll get you a better hat,” I said, disappearing into my room. I pulled my old-old hat from the back of my wardrobe and took it out to him. “This is my old one. It’s a bit worn,” I said, dusting it off.
“It’s in better condition than yours,” Travis said, eyeing it dubiously.
“Yeah, but this one”—I pulled on the brim of my hat—“is my favourite.” I handed him the old hat. “See if it fits.”
He took off his cap and tried the old Akubra on. It fit him okay. He pulled on the crown of it, shufflin’ it ’til it felt right. “Better?”
I gave him a nod. “Much.”
He looked again at my hat and shook his head. Then his eyes narrowed. “You dropped it out of a helicopter?”
“Yep. Use one for mustering and I must have leaned too far over…” I gave him a smile. “I was going to take you up in it today, actually.”
“The helicopter?” he asked. “You have one here?”
“Yep, lots of stations have ’em for mustering out here. Mine’s just a secondhand one, but it goes real good.”
Travis looked a little surprised. “You want to take me up in it?”
“Yep. It’s good for you to see the land from above, landmarks, that kind of thing. It’s hard to gauge distances from the ground, but when we’re mustering next week, it’ll give you a better understanding of where you are and where we need to go.”
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“Okay. Cool.”
After all necessary checks on the helicopter, Travis was excited as we climbed into the small chopper. “It’s a Robinson R22,” I told him. “Thought you might recognise them actually. They’re American made.”
He put on a headset. “Some of the big ranches have these, but not where I’m from.”
“Been in one before?” I asked. He shook his head, and I grinned at him. “Don’t worry, we’re not mustering today so no fancy moves or death-defying stops, rolls or turns.”
His eyes shot to mine and I laughed. “I said we won’t be doing that,” I said, putting on my headset. “Can you hear me?” I asked, looking at him.
His voice sounded in my headset. “Depends. Are you gonna kill me in this?”
I laughed again. “I’ll take it easy on ya.” He looked at me disbelievingly. “I won’t do anything!” I said again. It probably didn’t help that I laughed yet again. “I don’t wanna clean vomit off the dash.”
With a wave to George, I took the chopper up; Travis’s smile got wider the higher I went. Normally when mustering we’d stick close to the ground—the skips would be just a metre or so off the tops of the trees and saltbush—but not today. I took us up about ten metres and headed north.
I loved flying. Yes, it was a faster mustering method that saved me hundreds of man-hours, but it was where I could really see the station for what it was: vast, very red, mostly arid, peppered with patches of gum trees and saltbush, rocky outcrops and ridges; it was beautiful.
“Wow,” Travis said. I don’t know if he meant to say it out loud, but I heard him through my headset.
“I know,” I agreed. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“It really is,” he said, looking at me. His smile was huge, as were his eyes.
“Beautiful, and equally brutal,” I said. “This land has left more men broken than bull-riding ever could.”
He looked at me and smiled, and it was like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Instead, he looked out his side window. “Yeah, I’d imagine so,” he mumbled.
We rode in silence for a while, the vast spans of red dirt passing underneath the glass floor of the chopper. I wondered what he was going to say, but had chosen not to. I wondered why he didn’t say it. I almost asked him, but figured it was best to keep conversation along the lines of why we were up here.
