Crocodile Spirit Dreaming - Possession - Books 1 - 3

by Graham Wilson

  “And don’t worry about Susan, I have seen her and she can ride just fine. She just needs a steady horse. I don’t want to have to ring her Mama and tell her that she got busted up on a mongrel VRD horse.”

  Buck laughed. “I think we can manage that. There’s a real nice four-year-old grey I broke in last year. They’ve worked him in camp for the year and they tell me he’s real steady now. He has a lovely soft mouth, turns on a pin, runs like the wind. I think that’s the one for her.

  “When you land tell the head stockman to put him aside, Firefly is his name. Oh and you can have Bushranger, he’s the one that spat Mick today, he’s a big black late-cut colt, you’ll know him by the wildness in his eyes. Good horse, if a bit mad. You’re just the one to set him straight.”

  “Bjesus, you are trying to get me killed, surely there’s a tame packhorse somewhere for me?” said Mark.

  “What, gone a bit chicken in your old age?” said Buck, grinning.

  They walked over to the choppers about a hundred yards away, and Buck introduced the pilots. Dick was flying the lead machine, with Mark riding shotgun. Susan was to go with Tim who would work the flanks.

  There was no delay, the machines were fuelled up and ready and they needed the rest of the day to get it done. Quick instructions were passed from Tim to Susan as the rotor was spinning up.

  “This machine is a Robinson, designed for two, though it could carry three at a pinch. You’ll need to look out for cattle on your side, and back behind, also watch out for the tail rotor and tree branches” He showed her how to signal him to go in the different directions.

  Then they were off. They soared into the sky, heading straight and low towards the southwest. The pilot pointed out as they crossed the boundary between VRD and Humbert River Stations. Soon the flat country fell away, and they were crossing scrubby broken hills, rising ever higher to the west. Then the ground fell away and down below them was the Wickham River Gorge.

  Susan and Tim spied cattle in small groups scattered along the river, some standing up to their bellies in the water. The river itself was mainly a series of rocky pools with a few longer open bits of water. A set of wheel tracks ran along the eastern side of the river.

  Parked just next to this track was a four-wheel drive with what looked like a mobile kitchen on the back. Four horses were saddled and standing next to the truck. Another few were grazing nearby. There was an open space fifty yards from the truck and they followed the other helicopter in and landed alongside it in this clearing.

  The helicopter engines were left running as Mark got out and waved for Susan to come over. The pilots, head stockman and Mark engaged in a brief conversation and the riders were given instructions: two were to ride out a few hundred yards to a place where the valley narrowed and there was an open grassy area. They would block the cattle just past that. The other two were to head down along the valley and work with the choppers as they picked up the mobs and put them together, walking them along steadily and not crowding them. As needed one rider could cut out to help the chopper but the other had to stay at the tail of the mob. Then they would bring the mob towards the block up place.

  They were off again, the two choppers followed the opposite valley edges keeping high, both for a good view and so as not to spook the cattle. At first there were lots of cattle in sight, then it was just ones and twos, and finally they saw no more. They flew on to the next river bend where the valley narrowed.

  Here Mark’s helicopter landed and Mark got out and made his way across the ground, looking down. Tim told her, “Just checking for tracks, to see if any have come back this far.”

  They held a slow search pattern as Mark checked, working the valley edges and looking for any sign. Tim explained they needed to keep a lookout for any cattle tracks and dung, as well as the beasts. “Sometimes the cattle will camp in a patch of bushes and, without seeing their signs, you wouldn’t know they were there.”

  After a couple minutes the call came, “All clear, carry on.” Their chopper worked the edges of the gorge, sweeping searches from side to side, above and behind the first chopper that focused on the river and valley centre.

  Tim pointed to the other chopper and said “He’s most likely to come on the cattle along the river, but sometimes they’ll run up the sides of the valley and try to break back behind his machine. It can be hard to see from down there, close to the ground. That’s why we sit up here and keep watch. We also check the valley edges where cattle are less likely to be found. Seeing as the afternoon is cooling down, a few cattle might start to walk away from the river to the valley sides to feed.”

  For the next few minutes there was nothing. Then a call came over the radio, “First mob, five in river.” The other helicopter dropped down amongst the river trees, hovering and going in lots of directions.

  Four cattle burst out of the river, heading straight towards Susan and Tim. In a second TIm had dropped his helicopter to tree top level, zooming in to heel the cattle and turn them down the valley. There was one last straggler that came running out, the other chopper following at his heels. Tim immediately gained altitude, returning to their high side position.

  The next two hours were exhilarating. The helicopter was like an extension of Tim’s arm, turning faster than she could see, or think where to go. Soon Susan and Tim were in sync.

  She called out, “Two cattle at nine o’clock, fifty yards,” and he broke left almost before the words were out; “One under tree, twelve o’clock, don’t think they have seen him,” and, as the instructions were called, Mark’s helicopter in front was already changing course.

  Now they had a good-sized mob of maybe a hundred stringing out in front, and the horse riders had taken position. The head stockman was holding the tail and his companion worked the flanks, coming from side to side much like them.

  They noticed there was one bull that did not belong. It wasn’t a sleek and shiny like the other cattle, instead it was reddish-brown and scruffy.

  “Scrub bull,” said Tim, “Must have come out of the hills for a drink and doesn’t know what’s hit him.”

  The bull was pawing the ground, looking to charge the outer rider. Some of the other cattle were also starting to drift back and away, seeing a chance to escape with the distraction.

  Then, like a buzzing fly, Mark’s chopper was in the bull’s face. It snorted, shook his head and made a run for the helicopter, which was hovering and advancing just above the ground. A loud boom sounded and the bull turned tail and galloped back into the mob, moving right into the centre.

  “They won’t have any more trouble with him now; there’s nothing like a blast of bird shot to put a bull back in its place,” said Tim.

  As the sun fell below the hills, they had the whole mob together on the little grassy flat. The head stockman said the count was about right, maybe one or two missing, but it was good enough for now.

  The plan was to walk the mob on through a narrow section of valley until it opened out into a small grassy flat where another creek ran in. It would take about half an hour. Then they could settle the cattle and hold them there overnight. In the morning they would walk them the remaining twelve kilometres to the end of the valley and on into the yards from there.

  The helicopters held position for a few minutes, until it was obvious that all was under control, then zoomed away to the station, arriving just as the sun was tipping the horizon.

  As they touched down Buck ran over to meet them. “That’s fantastic; I hear it ran like clockwork.”

  Mark gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder, “I don’t know what you would have done without me, just needed an old pro on the job, now all I have to do is give your blokes a riding lesson in the morning on Mr Bushranger. We will soon see whether he thinks he can really buck or is just a great big pussy.”

  Then Buck said, “Why don’t you go and have a shower and check into the bunk rooms. I’m afraid it will have to be boys and girls separate tonight—no spare rooms. I’l
l meet you for some dinner in half an hour. My backup can keep the loading going, it is running well and the trucks should all be loaded by an hour after dark, touch wood.”

  They arranged that Tim would ferry both Mark and Susan to the cattle at first light in the helicopter, if he took only half a tank of fuel the weight would be OK.

  Mark turned to Susan and pointed towards some buildings a few hundred yards away. “That’s the station homestead. It is like a little town. That building to this side,” he gestured to the right, “is the bunk block where we are staying. Why don’t you walk over and settle in. I need to discuss a couple things with Buck, but then I’ll collect the truck and drive across.” Susan nodded and set out for the building he’d pointed to. Mark and Buck walked back to the yard, talking earnestly.

  Susan savoured the soft evening light, the temperature was perfect, neither hot nor cold. The grass glowed golden, and the hills were an orange purple as the light ebbed away. A couple birds winged low across her path. She felt wonderful, so exhilarated from the helicopter dance. She felt a kinship with Mark’s love of this area; she understood when he said he thought God had created this one place a little better than the rest.

  Dinner passed in friendly conversation and banter; a mixture of male and female ringers, other station hands, a governess, the pilots. By the end she was yawning.

  Mark saw and said, “You should go to your bunk. I’m not far off mine either. They’ll ring a bell half an hour before it gets light. That is the signal that breakfast is ready.”

  Susan lingered a minute, lightly resting her hand on his arm. “It feels strange to be going to a bed without you.” And it was true; this would be the first night they’d spent apart since Melbourne, that many days ago. “I’ll miss you, but then, I’m sure I will be asleep in about five minutes anyway. Thanks for a wonderful day. It is hard to believe that any day can beat yesterday, or the day before, but I can’t think of any day better than this.”

  He touched her cheek, “Me neither, but then yesterday and last night was pretty special too.”

  He gave her a lascivious look as she rose to leave. She couldn’t help it, her face got hot as the pleasure of remembering tingled in her body.

  All too soon a bell was ringing. There was no daylight yet, just a soft lightening in the window. She’d been so tired last night; she’d just collapsed into bed. She couldn’t remember sleeping so soundly in a long time.

  Mark was in the dining room when Susan got there, his plate piled high with bacon and eggs. She joined him, but contented herself with a coffee and toast, and thieving pieces of bacon from Mark. He pulled a face.

  Soon they were both squashed into the helicopter with Tim at the helm. The air was cold as they took off, and colder still as they climbed. Susan tried to hide herself from the temperature by pushing in behind Mark; it was good to have his body to shield her.

  “Missed you last night,” she said in his ear.

  He replied without turning back. “No you didn’t, I looked in ten minutes after you left, thinking maybe I should join you, seeing as no one else had come back to the room. But you were sound asleep.”

  The flight was quick and they were soon on the ground. The other stockmen were already mounted and heading out for the cattle. The two horses that Mark and Susan were to ride, Bushranger and Firefly, were already saddled and waiting. Mark held Firefly’s head as Susan swung up and then he adjusted the stirrups to fit her.

  “Just walk him round a few times and get the feel of him. I will go and sort out my horse,” he said.

  She gently nudged Firefly and he responded, walking out with a fast but smooth step. She pulled the reins. Too hard, she thought as Firefly stopped instantly—she mustn’t forget his soft mouth. He was incredibly sensitive to her commands and was fluid underneath her; Susan felt that she and this horse were as one.

  Mark led his horse out into an open area, making sure that the ground was flat with no rocks or trees. Susan remembered that it had been described as a firecracker. The horse stared at Mark, eyes wild. It was a superb creature, big but perfectly proportioned. But there was a touch of madness in its eyes.

  Mark paused and whispered something to it, whatever it was the horse seemed to relax a little. Then, almost before Susan could see him move, Mark had put his foot in the stirrup and swung his body over.

  She sensed Bushranger was as shocked as she was, Mark had mounted so quickly. Bushranger bunched his muscles and then, abruptly, he was flying over the ground, head down, back arched, heels kicking behind; one, two, three, four, five bucks. Despite Bushranger’s wild movements, Mark never shifted in his seat; he was grinning from ear to ear. The horse seemed perplexed.

  Mark sat astride Bushranger, totally relaxed. “Are you finished now? Are you pleased to have got that out of your system?” Bushranger dropped his head, almost as if nodding. Mark wheeled him around and Bushranger walked placidly over to Susan and Firefly. And that was simply it.

  The morning was a huge thrill. Susan started at the rear, but once it was obvious she could ride well, she was directed out to the flank, to pick up and pull in the wanderers.

  Firefly was wonderful; one minute they would be at a steady walk, next minute, as a steer would poke out and make a dash for freedom, Firefly would explode. From a standing start to sudden acceleration in one fluid motion, Firefly stayed in perfect balance and Susan barely moved in the saddle. Then, as he came alongside the steer, he would wheel on a pin, spinning to face the offender if it did not break back. A couple times he used his body to push the animal round. There was nowhere for the cattle to go. After a few seconds they would realise and return to the mob. Susan’s directions were minimal, the horse knew his job to perfection and mostly she just went along for the ride, though as time passed and her confidence grew she started to give fine direction and finesse, her balance complementing the horse’s flowing motion. From time to time she waved to Mark, mostly working the other flank, and he grinned back with his own enjoyment.

  It felt like no time until the hills were opening, the valley was ending. She felt a twinge of sadness; her time with Firefly was over too soon.

  Half an hour later, they came into a large paddock. Just inside the gate were two vehicles, a one station-owned and the other Mark’s four-wheel drive. The billy was boiling, there was brownie on a plate, and another man and Buck were walking up to greet them. Susan swung down off her horse, feeling regret at the dismount, she could have stayed at this for hours yet.

  “You’ve made good time,” said Buck to Susan, “It is only eleven. I thought another half hour at least.” From the corner of her eye, Susan saw Mark dismount. Bushranger nuzzled into him.

  “I see Mark has turned Bushranger into model stockhorse,” continued Buck, “He is one of the best horsemen I have seen you know—a born natural. I have yet to see a horse beat him, and I could swear he enjoys the challenge when they try.

  “Anyway the billy is boiled, tea is brewed. I brought the car out for you to save an hour of riding to the station before you could get on your way. And I thought I would like a ride on my old mate, Firefly.” He patted the horse’s neck. “He’s a good horse isn’t he?” he said, the question more of a statement of fact.

  “The absolute best,” Susan agreed.

  Chapter 15 – On a Big River with Crocodiles – Day 27

  Mark said it was a two hours’ drive to Timber Creek. There they would be meeting a small aeroplane to fly them to an airstrip, out towards the mouth of the Victoria River. Again this would be a new experience for Susan whose flying experience was limited to big airliners.

  They had crossed the Victoria River yesterday, near VRD homestead, at a place called Dashwood Crossing. Here it was a big river, but running fresh water. There was only a low flow as it was the middle of the dry season, and it hadn’t rained for four months.

  Susan had marvelled as Mark pointed out a place, high up in the trees, where driftwood was trapped in the branches. He explained that this had
come from a big flood a couple years ago, when eight hundred millimetres of rain had fallen in just two days; the remains of a cyclone come inland. Susan said that was more rain than fell in England in a year.

  It was hard to conceive so much water flowing down this placid stream. She realised the Northern Territory was a place of hidden surprises; things outside her imagination, here the unleashed power of nature was part of regular life.

  They would be heading down the river, to a place near where it met the sea. There the river was huge, approaching a mile wide. Mark told her how, over the next few hours, the tides in the sea, just beyond, would rise and fall by more than twenty feet. Then, as the water in these huge estuaries adjusted its level, it became a white water river, as seen in movies: running out of mountains and racing through a gorge; except here it was huge, brown, full of silt and salt and the land was flat. She gathered it was also full of crocodiles, saltwater ones, built on the same gargantuan scale as their river.

  As they drove, Mark told her about their plans. It was clear what they had to do, but less clear why, or who they were doing it for. They were investigating the down-stream reaches of the river, measuring rates of tidal water flow. There was currently satellite data, and flow modelling. Now they needed to cross check the computer predictions against real data from the river at a time when the biggest tides flowed.

  So they had to be on the river one or two days before or after new or full moon tides. During new moon tides the sun and moon were in a direct line on the same side of the earth, pulling the oceans together and this gave the greatest flows. People called these the king tides.

  The new moon was in two days, so this meant either tonight or tomorrow was ideal to collect data. Mark decided to do it tonight; the time of the tides in relation to daylight was best. He also said he didn’t want this job to interfere with having a final day with Susan in Kakadu and on the Mary River, before taking her to Darwin to catch her plane.

  They were to measure the flow rates both in and out in the five hours before and after the high tide. It was to be done in a particular stretch of river, near the river mouth. High tide tonight was ten o’clock, so they needed to be on the river from 5 pm to 3 am.