Big Sky

by Melaina Faranda

  I put my hands up against its abdomen. Working with swift precise cuts, I castrated the mickey.

  ‘Sometimes the males need to be taught a lesson,’ I said to Jonathan. ‘You want to make a clean cut to minimise bleeding and the possibility of infection.’ I threw the offcuts over my shoulder and a crow swooped down from a nearby gum tree and gobbled them up.

  Jonathan’s face was green beneath his akubra. His smug, curving mouth had straightened to a grim line.

  ‘Bet they never taught you that at the ABC.’ I wiped the old timer on a wattle bush and slipped it back into my belt pouch.

  I slipped the bull strap off the new steer. It wobbled as it rose, shook its head, then staggered off into the bush. Without the mickey to lead a rebellion, the cows came as easily as lambs. The cattle gathered where water was, and the river gave us a good natural barrier to keep the mob in order. I counted fifty or so. That number increased as we picked up more cattle along the way as they grazed on the flattened spear grass that stretched to the river.

  Jonathan rode at a wary distance from me while we funnelled the mob in a wedge shape as we drew closer to the Devil’s Horns. The sun blistered down from the huge blue sky, and the mob started to drag and get cranky. I could smell the heat coming off their fur. Blue Dreamer’s flanks foamed with sweat. Most girls from St Anne’s would have found it disgusting and dosed up on spray-on deodorant. But perfume gave me a headache. I preferred the smell of animals and bush – there was something old and familiar about it. It made me think of the time people lived around fires, sheltering in caves and sleeping beneath the stars. The mob smelled real.

  When we came to a bore I instructed Jonathan to ride around, ringing the cattle, while I checked the bore then let the cattle have a quick drink before we continued on to camp. The Devil’s Horns were still some way off and the last thing I wanted was to spend a night out here swagless and with a hundred feral cattle and Jonathan for company. Given that Jonathan would no longer look me in the eye, I figured he felt the same.

  Aria would have been devastated if she’d thought a guy didn’t like her. Not that that had ever happened. Fortunately, I didn’t feel the same way. Maybe it was because Damien had always paid out on me (except for the time a drunk had groped me at a rodeo and Damien and his mates had dusted him up), or maybe it was just living out here – I didn’t give a rat’s if Jonathan liked me or not. A small, traitorous part of me piped up – Oh yeah? Bet you’d feel differently if it were Dan . . .

  From the scrub shadows, and the deepening red of the Devil’s Horns, I guessed it was about quarter to five when I spotted the blue spire of smoke. I checked my watch: 4.47 pm. Bang on. Even after all those weeks of being cooped up beneath fluorescent lights I hadn’t lost the touch.

  A constant shrilling and hissing of cicadas gave way to deeper cricket and frog song as we crossed the river. The cool earthy smell of the water mingled with the sweet soapy fragrance of wattle flowers. It made me want to lie down and go to sleep.

  Praise be! Elise and Franz were actually waiting on the other side of the creek. At a quick glance I estimated they had about ninety head. Not bad. For me, this was always the part where it took the most self-control, to keep a steady walking pace and calmly drive the cattle to the holding paddock when what I craved was to race into camp, ease my aching bones from the saddle and cradle blistered hands around a pannikin of hot, sweet tea.

  As we neared camp, Dan emerged from the yards before I could shout for help. He opened the gate and the cattle passed into the holding yard, smooth as butter.

  I took a quick sprint around the yard to check the splintery old posts were holding and everything was still standing after the wet. The split rail and posts looked all right. We couldn’t afford to put up steel yards and you never knew the strength of a yard until the mob busted out (or not).

  I longed for the campfire, where already there were bursts of laughter, but I had to check the horses first.

  ‘I’ll come,’ Dan said, guessing my thoughts. He was riding Diesel. I was impressed again with his horse sense. Diesel kept going and going, and would be unfazed at being ridden after a whole day’s walk to the camp, unlike his twin, Petrol, who gave great spurts of energy for a chase then just as quickly ran out of steam.

  I was going to protest that he should stay and get himself a warm cuppa, but at the sound of Aria’s trilling laugh and Jonathan’s rejoinder, I decided he could make up his own mind.

  Dan caught the look on my face when Jonathan gave another sharp bark of laughter. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  I shrugged. ‘Jonathan doesn’t like being ordered around by a girl.’

  Dan peeked out from beneath his Stetson. ‘I dream about being ordered around by a girl.’

  Grateful that my cheeks were already red from heat and exertion, I flicked my bull strap at him. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I castrated a mickey. He’d never seen it done before.’

  ‘No wonder he’s scared of you. Wait till we cook up some bush oysters then.’

  We erupted into laughter and then fell into a natural silence. The horses nickered softly as we approached. They weren’t going anywhere in a hurry.

  ‘My grandmother’s a strong woman,’ Dan murmured as we watched the horses groom each other. ‘She might not look it, but she’s strong inside. Knows what to do. There’s nothing wrong with a strong woman.’

  I smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re on the team. It gives me hope that we just might pull this muster off.’

  The sun’s last rays brushed over us, making Dan’s tawny eyes a rich gold. The silvery gum leaves above shivered. Dusk’s shadows fell around us as the sun slipped behind a limestone ridge to the west. For a moment the rocky outcrops were illuminated with a fine gold thread of light. Blue Dreamer whinnied softly as Dan brought Diesel alongside. The two horses rubbed noses and snorted into each other’s ears.

  The country spread around us like a vast blanket of blue and purple, red and silver and gold. This was where I could breathe, where I was truly myself. And here was a guy who I knew in my heart felt the same. I felt electric, alive, as if my whole body had dissolved into millions of shiny atoms dancing and buzzing in the fading light. It scared the crap out of me. I ducked away and spurred Blue Dreamer back to the camp.

  SEVEN

  Gran had already driven the supply vehicle back – she had to take Dad into Kununurra tomorrow for his checkup. A worn canvas fly had been strung between the old fig tree’s welcoming arms to protect the supplies from dew and the unlikely event of rain. There were still scars in a big snaking root where Damien had carved his initials.

  A crackling fire provided the centre for the camp. Our swags had been randomly dumped around it. Aria and Jonathan chatted on one side of the fire. Silver foil glinted in the firelight. They were taking turns drinking a block of melted chocolate.

  ‘Any chance of a cup of tea, Aria?’

  ‘Oh. Am I supposed to be your servant?’ She turned back to Jonathan.

  ‘Nope, but you are the camp cook,’ I reminded her, keeping my voice low. ‘And I’ve just spent ten hours in a saddle with only a sandwich and a water-flask. I’d kill for something warm and sweet.’

  Aria got up. She filled the blackened billy with water from a drum and stomped over to the fire where she used a long stick to drop the billy into the highest part of the flames.

  Sighing, I straightened from where I’d crouched thawing my stiff hands and took the stick from her to move the billy to a part of the fire that had already died into glowing coals. ‘Stops it from boiling over,’ I explained, relieved to see that at least the camp oven was already nestled into the coals.

  When the billy boiled, Aria poured the tea into a row of stainless steel pannikins. I pulled the sleeves of my shirt up around my wrists and palms and cupped the pannikin in my fingers to melt away the stiffness as I leaned against my swag roll. The warmth kissed away the soreness. It was almost as good as lying in a hot bath. I breathed on the tea to c
ool it. Coils of steam curled upwards as I inhaled tannin, caffeine, sugar. It was miraculous how good a cup of sweet black tea could be at the end of a day’s hard yakka.

  I took a sip.

  ‘Ugh!’ I spat the mouthful into the fire, causing a hiss of steam. ‘What did you put in this?’

  Across the fire, Aria shrugged. ‘Nothing. Tea.’

  ‘How much tea?’

  ‘I only tipped in one box.’

  ‘The whole box?’ She had to be kidding. Surely everyone knew how to make a pot of tea.

  Aria looked away, hurt.

  I poured the pannikin onto the ground and noted that Elise, Franz and Dan had left theirs untouched. Only Jonathan was manfully making a go of it.

  Grabbing the billy, I tipped its contents beneath a bush and refilled it from the drum of spring water.

  ‘Step One in basic tea making,’ I instructed Aria, trying to keep the growl out of my voice. ‘One teaspoon per person and then one for the pot.’ I measured out the spoons and put the billy back onto the coals. When it boiled again, I tipped the others’ tea onto the edge of the fire and refilled each pannikin.

  Aria wouldn’t look at me when I passed a cup to her. Instead, she turned to Dan. ‘You’re so amazing with horses. Which one do you think I should ride?’

  ‘You won’t be riding all that much,’ I cut in. ‘Cook’s job is to keep the home-fire burning.’

  Aria screwed up her nose. ‘That doesn’t sound like much fun.’

  ‘It’s not meant to be fun,’ I said. ‘It’s a job. The cook is one of the most valuable members of the team. You’re the one who looks after us.’

  Aria stuck her bottom lip out. ‘But I want to ride.’

  ‘In that case why didn’t you say that to Gran when you arranged to come on the muster?’ I said quietly. ‘Look, Aria, we’re really hungry. We’ve been in the saddle all day. Do you reckon you could serve us up dinner?’

  Aria walked stiffly to the camp oven. She lifted the lid and acrid black steam hissed out. She used a big metal spoon to scrape out brown mush into our enamel plates. Burned black flakes were mixed into it. The smell alone made me gag. White lumps floated in the thick goo. I poked one with my fork. It burst into white powder – flour. I pushed the plate away.

  Even Jonathan couldn’t eat it.

  ‘What’s in this?’ I asked.

  Aria scratched her head. ‘Some of that meat your dad cut up, and flour and onions like you said.’

  ‘You haven’t mixed in the flour properly, the gravy stinks like rotten roo and the meat is burned. That was fresh meat!’ I exploded. ‘I can’t eat this. None of us can!’

  In the firelight, Aria’s eyes darkened to black. ‘I’m not used to cooking with such disgusting ingredients, not to mention primitive equipment.’

  ‘That’s what campfire cooking is!’ Hunger made me cranky; I wanted to slap her. Instead, I stalked off to check on the cattle. It didn’t help that Aria started to cry and both Dan and Jonathan went to comfort her.

  The cattle were still huddled close to the front of the paddock. Their humped shapes glowed white against the dark expanse of earth. The mob had settled for the night. I knew not to make any sudden sharp noises or do anything stupid that could make the mob rush.

  By the time I got back, Elise was stirring custard and Dan was opening tins of two fruits. Aria sat with Jonathan, laughing with him as I entered the camp.

  Rage choked any words out of me. Dan and Elise had been riding all day and they were doing Aria’s job!

  The custard was smooth and sweet and it filled the hole in my gut that had been gnawing since mid-afternoon. This was usually the best part of the day, the time when we relaxed and told tall stories and gazed into the embers and watched for shooting stars. A dingo howled in the distance and the rustling of night creatures began. There was something primal about sharing the magical, protective circle of light from a campfire. It sure beat the flickering green glow of the hall lights outside the dorms.

  But tonight I couldn’t feel the magic. Aria was my best friend. She was meant to help me, not challenge me or make me feel bad about being the boss. It was hard enough having Jonathan on board. A successful muster requires someone to be in charge. Humans are herd animals, just like cows and horses – they need a leader.

  Elise rinsed the plates and methodically stacked them while I unrolled my swag, at a distance from the fly and the kitchen stores. It should have felt good to lie near Aria, like we did every night at St Anne’s, and giggle into the darkness. But right now I wanted to shake her. The ground was stony and the night air was muggy as I slipped between the scratchy blankets.

  A swag slapped down, not far from mine. Aria was probably too scared to sleep under the fly without me. I pretended to be asleep. As I drifted off, worn out from the long day, I heard Aria’s laugh from across the fire. From the swag close to mine there was a soft, male sigh. My eyes fluttered open. Dan. Then I crashed.

  EIGHT

  The fire had gone out. A streak of turquoise in the east heralded dawn. I groaned, muscles aching from yesterday’s ride, and throat parched. Bleary-eyed, I wriggled from the swag to get some water.

  Beneath the fly was a scene of chaos. Flour drums were spilled. Plates and cups lay strewn around. Most of the meat was gone from the barrel and what remained was mangled in the dirt. There were opportunistic animals out here, but this was definitely not the work of hopping mice or bandicoots. I recognised the neat two-pronged imprint of pig’s trotters.

  The meat barrel’s lid lay on the ground. There was no way a feral pig could have unscrewed it. It mustn’t have been put on properly last night.

  I stomped over to Aria’s swag. She was still asleep, her head down beneath the lip of the swag, tucked in like a joey in a pouch.

  I shook her awake.

  Her dark eyes flew open. ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘We had a visitor during the night.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Not who,’ I said, barely able to contain the tremor in my voice. ‘What. A feral pig. It came in beneath the fly and knocked over the barrel of salted meat. The lid wasn’t on properly.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Aria blinked, stretched and yawned. ‘Oh well, it was gross anyway.’

  ‘It was our food. Our meat supply for two weeks.’

  Aria rubbed her eyes. Her mascara smudged, making her look more like a scaly-tailed possum.

  ‘Do you think you could start getting breakfast?’ I suggested. ‘Maybe help clean up the mess?’

  ‘You know I’m not good at mornings.’ She yawned and burrowed further into the swag.

  I grabbed the scruff of the swag and shook it so that Aria half fell out.

  ‘All right. All right. Don’t have a cow.’

  Hah bloody hah. Stalking over to the camp oven I realised there was no bread either. The oven was crusted with a thick black scab of burned stew. Lovely.

  ‘After you tidy up the supplies you’d better make a damper,’ I snapped. ‘Mix flour, milk powder, water and a pinch of salt to a doughy consistency to wrap around sticks and cook over the fire.’

  I hauled the camp oven down to the spring to scrub it clean. The spring was part of a narrow creek that flowed through a small gorge. Pandanus and acacias shaded the small, rock-lined pool, effervescent water pinging into the air. The surrounding grevillea bushes rustled. A feral pig’s snout pushed through the leafy twigs as it locked its beady pink-rimmed eyes onto me. Our nocturnal visitor. I was so angry at Aria I forgot to be afraid. Instead, I scoured the camp oven, stomped back to camp and gathered dead wood to restart the fire. Once it was crackling, I went to check on the cattle.

  The mob had already woken and clustered around the billabong formed by Gator Soak. This was one of my favourite places on Bundwarra: a stretch of silky water, fringed by reeds and butter yellow and fragrant white lilies. The frayed, hoof-chipped shoreline the mob had trashed last dry season had been smoothed out by the wet. Across the Soak, a family of magpie geese dri
fted through the lilies honking to each other and occasionally ducking their bumpy black heads to root between the lily stems. A breeze rippled the surface, edging a broken, heart-shaped lily pad towards me. I breathed in lily perfume. This is what mattered. This is what was really important. Aria was a city girl. She didn’t know any better. And, for all her expensive toys, she didn’t have this. I was lucky. I made a promise to myself to be nicer to her.

  Admittedly, it was easy to burn damper, but Aria managed to do it in such a way that once we gnawed off the charcoal crust there was only a thin strip of tender crumbs clinging to the stick. Aria’s cooking made boarding school food seem flash.

  While Aria went to wash by the spring, taking her backpack-sized make-up bag, Elise took over tidying up and rinsing dishes with a quiet efficiency while Dan salvaged the last of the edible meat and fried it up with onions to slap into sandwiches for lunch.

  As the aroma of frying onions filled the camp, I knew I had to rethink. Our salted meat was spoiled. If there wasn’t enough to eat, or the food was inedible, then everyone would get tired and cranky, especially once the pressure was really on. It wouldn’t be good for anyone’s stomach or my sanity, or for Aria’s and my friendship either.

  From beneath the kitchen fly, Elise caught my eyes and treated me with a supportive smile.

  I smiled back. ‘Do you think you could be camp cook?’ I asked. I was expecting her to protest. Cooking was the most important role, but it was hardly the most exciting job on the muster.

  Elise’s cheeks bunched up beneath her round blue eyes. ‘I like to cook. Dan says he will show me some bush tucker.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I was relieved. That left Aria without a job. And with Elise out of the action, I’d need her to team up with Franz or Jonathan or me . . .