FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR

by Di Morrissey

  While her dedication to the task hadn’t dimmed, the searching for her missing cattle was put into perspective. What really matters at the end of the day is the ability to be able to live in a moment such as this, she reasoned, and gave herself up to the peace and pleasure of the passing hours.

  There was something about travelling by horse rather than the encapsulated speed of motorised transport. It was companionable to be alone and establish a rapport with your horse. And, she reflected, just as pleasant to ride with friends. ‘Spend time in the saddle with a friend and that’s a friend forever,’ her father had told her. And now it came to her why she and TR enjoyed their morning rides so much. It was a time of bonding with each other and with nature, where there was no place for pretence or shallow thoughts or unkind deeds; it was a peaceful way to start a day with good and kind and loving thoughts. But now each morning as she opened her eyes, the realisation of what was happening in her life made her heart heavy and spirit weary even before the day had begun.

  Darkness fell, shaking Queenie from her contemplative mood. The track widened and she realised she had found the clue she was looking for. Before her, visible through the bush, was an empty stockyard made of rough logs and solid posts.

  She dismounted and slipped beneath the rails, studying the ground as best she could in the early pale moonlight. The earth was churned and the telltale smell and mounds of dung meant cattle had been held there quite recently. She tied Honey’s bridle to the fence and slipped her rifle from its holster on the saddle. She moved cautiously forward, heading along the track which had been carved into two ruts by vehicles.

  She came to two more empty stockyards, and then she stopped. There were no lights to be seen. In the distance a dingo howled and she heard a metallic sound she couldn’t place. She continued walking softly as clouds scudded across the thin slice of new moon, but even in the dimness there was no mistaking the squat shapes of a small cottage and several nearby sheds. No lights were on and, as best she could make out, no vehicles in sight. But her instincts told her this place was not as deserted as it looked.

  She edged towards the first shed and peered inside. It smelled musty and unused. She could just make out dark shapes of drums and what were possibly piles of rusty machinery parts. She slipped through the shadows to the next shed, and immediately smelled fresh hay and grain. Feed had been kept in here not so long ago. Clues were beginning to add up.

  She headed for the house. Although it was still early evening and the place was dark and quiet, her skin prickled and she felt she was being watched. She edged around the side of the house to a small window and attempted to peer inside.

  She was trying to adjust to the gloom when she was grabbed swiftly from behind and pushed hard against the windowpane.

  ‘Right, don’t move.’ Her arm was twisted up sharply behind her back and the more she struggled the more it felt as if it was going to snap.

  As her attacker grabbed her rifle, Queenie lashed out with her leg, only to be hit across the side of her head. Her hat spun to the ground and her long hair, shoved beneath it, fell around her shoulders.

  ‘What the hell!’ The man’s voice sounded young. He spun her round, never letting his grip slacken. Queenie gasped in pain. ‘A woman! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded Queenie.

  ‘Ado, get out here!’ yelled the man.

  Queenie now saw that her captor was a young, tall, thin Aborigine of mixed blood, with a shock of frizzed hair. There was a bang of a tin door — the sound she’d heard earlier — and around the side of the house rushed another youth clutching at his belt.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ snapped the fellow holding onto Queenie.

  ‘I was in the dunny. Sorry, Zero, I had to go. Jeez, you gotta lady.’ He stared in surprise at Queenie.

  ‘Now listen, you two, just what are you doing? There’s no need to break my arm. You’e got my rifle, let me go. I’m . . . lost,’ she improvised quickly.

  The youth holding her hesitated, then let go of her but stood in a threatening position. ‘Where’re you heading for? This is a bit off the beaten track,’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘Someone stole a bunch of my cattle, and I reckon they came this way,’ said Queenie with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Don’ lookit us, lady,’ replied the other. ‘All we know about cattle is how to barbecue steak.’

  ‘You haven’t seen anything then? How long have you two been around here?’ asked Queenie.

  The boys exchanged a swift glance. ‘We don’t have to tell you nuffin’.’

  ‘So whadda we gonna do then, Zero?’

  ‘Wait till the others get here.’

  ‘Whose place is this, can we wait inside?’ Queenie fought to stay in control of her emotions. She had been given quite a scare and was close to tears. Something told her these two young men were not a real threat, but she didn’t trust them.

  Zero led the way inside and Ado followed behind her. Zero struck a match and lit an old kerosene lantern. Queenie saw they were in the kitchen, though it was virtually empty. Zero waved the rifle towards the kitchen table. ‘Sit there.’

  Queenie pulled out a wooden chair and sat down. Ado sat opposite her. ‘You gonna light the stove, Zero?’

  ‘You were getting the wood. Bring it in.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I went to the dunny and then she turned up.’ He looked sheepish and headed back outside into the darkness.

  ‘So who are the others you’re expecting and how long before they’ll get here?’ asked Queenie with a smile, trying to ease the tension.

  ‘The rest of the gang should be along in an hour or so. We’re sorta the advance group.’

  ‘Of what? Escaped convicts, cattle rustlers, runaways?’

  Zero almost grinned. ‘One of those is right. You tell me who you are first.’

  ‘My name is Queenie Hamilton. I live at a station south of here. I have a second property closer called Cricklewood and that’s where my prize bulls were kept, until some sods came and stole them about a week ago.’

  ‘You rich then?’

  ‘Depends what you call rich. I wouldn’t bother holding me to ransom — you wouldn’t get much for me. Your turn — tell me about yourself. How’d you get the name Zero?’

  ‘Guess my parents didn’t reckon I was worth much,’ he shrugged, and then grinned.

  ‘Ah, then you’re a runaway.’

  ‘Years back. Been on me own ten years about.’

  ‘But how old are you? Seventeen?’ Queenie was shocked.

  Zero got to his feet as Ado came in with his arms full of kindling.

  ‘I’ll bring our gear in.’ Ado glanced at Queenie. ‘Where’s your stuff, you didn’t just walk in here like that.’

  She hesitated before answering, not wanting to tell these two kids about Honey, but she figured they’d find her quick enough anyway as she was bound to make a noise. ‘I have a small pack on my horse tied down by the yard next to the first shed.’

  ‘You kin git it later.’

  Zero grinned for the first time as he put a match to the fire in the old fuel stove. ‘Ado’s scared of horses.’

  Queenie studied them closely for the first time. Zero wore a small earring; Ado had a red, black and gold knitted beanie clamped to the back of his head. Both wore jeans, old running shoes and T-shirts with wild looking rock group logos on them. She realised these were city boys. ‘How did you two get here? I didn’t see any cars or horses.’

  ‘We walked.’

  ‘You just fell onto this place?’

  ‘Course not,’ said Ado indignantly. ‘We’re the advance group; we came here first to get set up. Jeez, we’d better start, eh Zero?’

  Ado disappeared and came back with a sugar bag. He dumped it on the table and began pulling food supplies from it. He eyed Queenie. ‘You know how to make damper?’

  She nodded. ‘Want a hand?’

  He pushed the flour and salt towards her and pulled a battered saucepan from
the bottom of the bag.

  ‘Look around, Ado, there’s probably stuff to cook in,’ said Zero.

  While Ado looked in cupboards and found a bowl and a frying pan, Zero opened cans of stew. The three worked quietly together, and soon a damper was cooking, the stew heating and the billy beginning to boil. They seemed to be cooking a lot of food, but Queenie said nothing, playing it by ear for the moment.

  Soon voices were heard outside and the door burst open. Two young girls came in but stopped in shock when they saw Queenie, who was equally surprised at their appearance. These were not the fierce abductors she had expected but two young and unusually dressed Aboriginal girls of mixed blood. One had curly hair tied up on top of her head and wore large red hoop earrings; the other had wild frizzy hair and wore a long T-shirt hand-painted with bright sunflowers. They looked about fifteen. Following them was a large fairskinned Aboriginal woman who stopped and stood looking at Queenie.

  ‘We weren’t expectin’ company for dinner.’ She was a solid build with grey sprinkled through the dark waves of her hair; her eyes were brown and deep-set. She wore a loose fitting floral dress, a sleeveless cotton vest over it and worn, comfortable looking tennis shoes with baggy white socks. She stared hard at Queenie, trying to sum her up.

  Queenie rose to her feet and met her gaze. ‘I wasn’t expecting to be hit on the head and forced in here.’

  The woman swung around to Zero and Ado. ‘You hit this woman?’

  ‘We didn’t know it was a woman, she looked like she was breakin’ in. We jist jumped her; she had a gun, we thought it was someone dangerous.’

  ‘Where’s the gun?’

  A remorseful looking Ado pointed to the corner; Zero looked guilty but still slightly defiant. The woman marched to the corner, grabbed the rifle, swiftly unloaded the magazine and tossed the rifle to Queenie. ‘I’ll keep the bullets for the minute. I’m Auntie Maud and I’m responsible for this mob. Righto everyone, light a few more lamps, get your gear into the bedrooms — girls to the left, boys to the right — and bring some water from the tank to wash with. Food ready, Zero?’

  She spoke with military precision and the four youngsters hopped to it like they’d been kicked. Auntie Maud sat down at the table. ‘Sorry about them springing on you like that. Zero’s a bit hot-headed. You all right?’

  ‘I think so. I’m Queenie Hamilton. I was following what I thought were the tracks of my stolen cattle but they’re obviously not here . . . not now anyway. I reckon they were though. I also thought this place was abandoned.’

  “Tis. We’re just bunking down here the night, then we move on to a camping ground we use a couple of k’s away. I have permission from the local police constable to overnight here.’

  ‘Are you a family?’

  Auntie Maud grinned. ‘Of sorts.’

  ‘Where are you all from?’

  ‘The streets. A few months ago all these kids were wandering around the streets of Sydney’s Kings Cross. Runaways, on the run from authority, families — such as they were — and life.’

  ‘What are you doing out here? Still running?’

  ‘Nope, chasing something mebbe. You’re wondering why there isn’t a bloke around. Well, you don’t know Auntie Maud; I can manage this lot with one hand tied behind me back, isn’t that so?’ she challenged two of the kids who reappeared in the kitchen. ‘Get the others and start dishing up, Raylene.’

  She turned her attention back to Queenie. ‘I’ll tell you what we’re on about. These kids’ve all been in trouble. Before they can start to put their lives together they have to learn who they are. And that’s my job. They’re Koories first and foremost and they have to learn to be proud of that. So I bring groups out here to a property the Land Council bought, and teach ’em what their heritage is all about — how to live off the land and what the spirits mean. They have to learn some of the old ways ’cause by learning how to survive out here and with each other, they’re learning more than they realise. And hopefully it will help them build new lives. We’re on a pretty tough walkabout that ends with a camp. We go for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘It sounds a wonderful idea. Does it work? I mean, do they go back changed or go back to their old lives? How many of these have you done?’ Queenie was genuinely interested.

  ‘I’ve done quite a few. We generally try to place the kids in jobs in the country or back in the city through our connections. People are starting to trust us more and will give kids a chance if they’ve been out with Auntie Maud.’

  ‘You must be a special lady. I’d like to hear your story.’

  As the group dished up their meal on tin camp plates and settled round the table, Maud held up her hand for silence. ‘Whose turn?’ The girl in the sunflower T-shirt shyly raised her hand. ‘Off you go then, Raylene.’

  They all bowed their heads as she softly spoke, ‘We offer thanks to the spirits of our mother earth who gives us food and nourishes our spirit and watches over us’. And with that they all began digging into the stew and passing the damper.

  ‘Now I’ll tell you my story. My mother was a full-blood from the Hunter Valley. My father was white, never knew ’im though. There was four of us kids; I was the youngest. Then came a terrible day when the white men came with a nun from the mission and they took us kids away. I can remember how they pushed my mother aside and how she cried out in her language not to take her children away. Well, we kids was sent away to different places and never saw each other or our mother again. I was in the mission till I was old enough to be sent to a girls’ school down south to train as a servant for white people. I hated it but I was clever and worked hard and was put in service. I managed to save a little bit of money over the years along with what the Aboriginal Protection Board banked for me. I worked damned hard, doing the work of three, but them nuns always taught us that hard work never hurt no one. I was honest and the women I worked for trusted me but as soon as I figured I had enough money I ran away.’ Auntie Maud paused and ate heartily. Queenie ate also, saying nothing, knowing the story would be resumed.

  After clearing the plates and chatting with the youngsters for a while, Maud turned to Queenie again. ‘Well, I went back to the town near our land and I found some of my people who took me and taught me about the old ways. I know the white ways and I know some of the traditional laws and customs, though there’s secret stuff women never know, but I get on in both worlds and feel richer for it.

  ‘I got a job and ended up in Sydney and more and more I kept coming across koori kids with mixed up lives, so I got people to help and I set up a sort of safe house in the bad part of the city. Kids find their way there and we try to straighten ’em out. I wish I could get hold of more of them kids before they get sent to prison. They don’t need gaol, they’re only in there ’cause they got drunk or got in a fight or for petty theft ’cause they needed a feed or grog. They’re not hardened criminals. If they’d give ’em to Auntie Maud instead of tossing ’em in the slammer where they get the heebie-jeebies and do stupid things, we’d all be better off.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Queenie. ‘It’s really great what you’re doing.’

  ‘Look out, she’ll put the bite on you for somethin’,’ said Zero and they all laughed.

  ‘I reckon you could help me out one day. We need help in all sorts of ways — jobs, donations. Give me your address and I’ll get in touch with you. You seem like a lady that’d keep a promise.’ Auntie Maud smiled at Queenie. ‘You help me and I’ll help you. I reckon I know where your cattle might be.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sleek black chauffeur-driven limousine glided through the large white main gates of Guneda and cruised past the first of the lush green paddocks where valuable bloodstock grazed behind white railings. A small white sign was lettered Office while another pointed in the opposite direction to Laboratory and Veterinarian.

  The driver looked over his shoulder to the two men in the back. ‘The house or the office?’

  ‘Of
fice.’

  The office of Guneda Stud was a neat new building, a small replica of a classic bush cottage with narrow front verandah, corrugated bull-nosed roof and fly-screened door and windows.

  The men, dressed in business suits, had city written all over them. They stepped onto the verandah as Mick opened the screen door and greeted the two strangers. ‘G’day.’

  ‘Morning. The boss here?’

  ‘Afraid not. Can I help?’

  They looked at the small Aborigine, wondering about his status. ‘You in charge?’

  ‘Yes. Were you looking for a horse?’ Mick took a stab in the dark, curious as to what this pair with the heavy accents wanted.

  ‘Not really. We have a horse. We want him trained good.’

  Mick grinned. ‘Then you’ve come to the right place. Come inside the office and let me tell you about Guneda.’

  ‘Oh we know about this place,’ replied Tony Cuomo following him inside. ‘We know TR Hamilton’s reputation.’

  Mick waved them to two chairs and sat on the lounge. ‘Unfortunately TR’s had a bit of an accident. Tango has just left to do some business in town for a few days, then he’s going to Tingulla to see him, but he’ll be back in a week or so. Tango is running this place now. So, tell me about your horse.’ Mick looked from one to the other.

  Cuomo did the talking. ‘We have a sprinter that’s won a bit here and there. We think he’s capable of better things. We’d like to bring him here.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Mick wondered about the limousine. They didn’t look like the sort of horse people he was familiar with.

  ‘Tamworth.’

  ‘We’d have to have a look at him, let you know what we think of him. Don’t want to mislead you if he hasn’t got what it takes, as far as we can tell anyway,’ said Mick.

  ‘We understand. Can we have a bit of a look around, get an idea of the place?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll give you a tour and, here, take these with you,’ Mick lifted a brochure off a shelf and handed it to Cuomo. ‘You fellows from Tamworth?’