Published: 26 Nov 2020

The late afternoon sun carried the nip of the fading winter as it tracked low in the northern sky towards the tall red gums along the river. Smoke from the native camp lazily wound its way through the trees as a gentle breeze brought the scent of burning eucalyptus leaves across the water. It was the time of year when a young man’s thoughts turned to adventure as the first of the spring grass broke through.

Logan was tightening the girth strap as his brother called from his position close to the equipment shed.

“Got ya,” Logan growled as his mount released the gut full of air she held to avoid the tightening. He tried the saddle’s firmness and she gave a kick of displeasure but realised there was little else she could do about the strap.

“What do you want?” Logan answered in equal abruptness and walked his horse in short circles to remove any pinching from the strap. She once again protested against the tightness and tossed her head about but soon realised it wasn’t slackening. Logan held her head to one side as she had tendency to nip your arse while mounting.

Logan’s mount had acquired the name pup as her mother was a right bitch and much of the personality came down through the genes to pup. Yet pup suited Logan and once it was established who was the boss she behaved and of all the horses yarded at Elsie Downs she was the most surefooted.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hamish called.

“Why do you ask?” Logan was playing with his brother’s obvious cranky mood, knowing his answering of a question with another brought irritation to his brother.

“Just answer the flaming question,” Hamish snapped.

“I’m off to the native camp.”

“Why?”

“Edward has asked me to deliver some supplies to the old fellows; do you mind?”

“Then don’t be long you have work to do.”

“What work would that be?”

“Bringing that mob of sheep up from the bottom paddock near the washout for starters, they have almost turned it to dust.”

“I thought you and Ned were doing it.”

“Just get on with it alright.”

Logan gave an undescriptive throaty answer and smiled. It was a half truth as his intention was also to visit Piers’ youngest lad in town. Chance was his friend’s name and given because he arrived past what was considered to be his mother’s childbearing years but most knew the lad simply as Young Piers, or Come-lately, or simply Johnny as in the adage Johnny come lately. This created some confusing as Piers’ second son had been Johnny but he died before reaching his second birthday from complications, when a bout of whooping cough plagued the area. Later that year there was the birth of a daughter Violet, then some years later when it was believed his mother was past fertility, along came Chance to replace the spare lost in Johnny.

Both Chance and Logan were of equal age and found company in their similar pleasures thus being inseparable since old enough to recognise their existence. During the laming season Chance would join with Logan, often camping out with the ewes to avoid night strikes by roaming dingos and as he was surplus to his father’s requirements because of Sam being older and heir, Chance was often found at the Elsie Downs meal table, or joining the journey when the wool clip was delivered to the Sydney docks.

Hamish tolerated the young intruder, often giving him work as Chance appeared more flexible than Logan, or at least he accepted command with less complaining. What Hamish wasn’t happy with was their closeness, as he believed it went against what their father had designed for his boys.

As Hamish watched Logan ride towards the main road, he took a deep breath and held it. “What am I to do with that boy,” he exhaled before continuing towards the shearing shed to commence sharpening the shears for the approaching season. Again he cast his eyes towards Logan as he crossed the bridge, being sure he made a left turn towards the native camp and not towards town.

Once across the bridge Logan waited for the approach of a lone rider from the direction of town. “I have to run an errand for Uncle Edward he said as the two met.

“In town?” the rider asked.

“No to the native camp – want to ride along?”

Without answering the rider fell in beside.

“Well?” his friend spoke once clear of the bridge. Pup made a nipping lunge at the withers of Chance’s mount but was pulled away before teeth met flesh.

“You should get rid of pup. If she were mine I’d send her to the knackery.”

“She’s fine once she knows who the boss is.”

“Well,” Chance repeated.

“Well what Chance?” Logan questioned.

“Did you ask Hamish?”

“I did,”

“What did he say?”

“He said noway until I am of age.”

Before reaching the native camp Logan paused and viewed the river, “the river is down,” he acknowledged.

“What about Edward, what does he think?” Chance asked, disregarding the level of the water.

“He won’t go against Hamish’s decision and Hamish is like an impassable wall and no matter how often I approach I can’t find a way over it.”

Chance gave a huff, “I know a way,” he convincingly suggested.

“How?”

“Don’t try going over, instead go around it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just go, you and I pack a few things and head out. Hamish isn’t likely to send the police after you and dad wouldn’t mind.”

“As simple as that?” Logan questioned as they approached the native camp and a number of native children ran towards them.

“Logie, Logie,” the children called in unison and milled about with excitement, as the arrival of Logan usually meant treats of something sweet.

“As simple as that;” Chance repeated.

“I don’t know; there is always Uncle Edward to consider and he has been like a father to me, I don’t wish to disappoint him.”

“What I know of Edward he would understand,” Chance implied.

“I think Edward knows about us.”

“Has he said something?” Chance asked.

“No, not directly but it is what isn’t said. It’s what he leaves out when your name is mention and how he always wishes to include you in any of our celebrations.”

“That doesn’t mean anything as your lot always did so,” Chance questioned.

“True but as I said it is more what he doesn’t say.”

“What about Hamish?” Chance asked.

“I don’t think Hamish is capable of thinking that deeply,” Logan assumed, “besides he’s always implied that I’m too soft and need hardening, what were his words, a good clip to the ears would soon wake me up.”

“Has he ever shown violence towards you?” Chance asked.

“No, only verbally but I can handle him.”

“Swap ya’, you can have Sam, he is brutal at times,” Chance laughed.

“Sam for Hamish, I don’t think so, I would rather put up with the innuendo and insults from Hamish.”

Chance pointed to a lone native coming from the tall trees a little north of the camp, “someone’s been hunting.”

“Looks like Lluka,” Logan answered and called, “hey Lluka what you got there?”

Lluka waved and approached.

“Logie whatya’ doing over this side?”

“Edward sent some bacca for the old fellows – they look like parrots,” Logan suggested of the brace of white birds dangling from a cord around Lluka’s waist

Lluka answered in Wiradjuri, “Bilirr Logie,”

“Cockatoos Chance translated, having the better ear for language than Logan.

“I know,” Logan admitted.

Lluka again spoke in language and returned towards the camp.

“I bet you don’t know how to cook a cockatoo,” Logan asked Chance.

“Pluck it and put it in the stew pot I guess.”

Logan gave a laugh.

“Well how,”

“Old Ferguson who had the shack over by the school told me when we were in school time.”

“Is it a secret or are you going to share it?”

“He said you pluck the bird then place it in boiling water with a stone.”

“Why a stone,”

“Ferguson said that you boil them both and when the stone is soft you throw away the bird and eat the stone.” Logan laughed.

“Funny,” Chance said.

“Do you think so?”

“More to the truth I should think.”

As the boys reached the camp they were approached by an elderly native with a stooped back and a white unkempt bearded. The old man waved as the children milled closer to the horses. One commenced to swing on Logan’s horse’s tail; her ears folded back, then twitched in readiness to strike. “Don’t do that she will kick you,” Logan warned. The young boy stood away while another cuddled Chance’s mount’s head cheek to cheek. Fortunately it was accustomed to attention and accepted the intrusion. Pup would have taken the kid’s cheek away with a single bite.

The old man approached and spoke, “hey Logie whatya’ upta’?”

“I’ve come to see you Yuka.”

“Is that the young grog fella with you?” Yuka asked as his eyes were failing and hadn’t as yet put Chance’s physical persona to memory.

“Yes it’s Chance but I’ve come with some supplies from Edward.”

“Good fella your uncle, bloody good fella’.”

Logan passed the old man a small wrapped package.

Yuka felt through the material without opening it, releasing a happy smile of expectation.

“It is a supply of tobacco Yuka and some sugar to keep sweet with your woman and tea, also some of that beef jerky you like.”

“Ya’ need more than sugar ay’ Logie,” Yuka answered and opening the package dipped his finger into the sugar to sample its sweetness. “Sugar bag,” he said with a smile as memory of childhood pleasure in finding native bees and their supply of honey came to mind. Yuka was the bravest of them all and could climb the tallest tree to retrieve the sweet treat but now he was troubled in placing one foot before the other.

“Hamish would like some of your lot to help in rounding up the sheep for the shearing.”

“We work for Edward,” Yuka disagreed.

“Then it will be for Edward,” Logan corrected.

“Yes for Edward,”

As the old man spoke the children came to him and beg for sugar. Yuka shared some but kept the most for his woman.

“Then on Monday you will come across for working?” Logan asked but Monday meant nothing to the old man. Noticing the fact Logan reassembled his request. Four days, he said and held up four fingers. The old man nodded in agreement, repeating they would work for Edward and not Hamish or Ned.

“Righto it’s Monday and for Edward,” Logan repeated receiving a confirming nod from the old man.

“Why not work for Hamish?” Chance questioned.

“He is too abrasive with them, treats the old fellows as if they were children.”

“Doesn’t Hamish like the natives?”

“He likes them well enough, it is simply his way, besides he’s the same with everyone,” Logan explained.

With most of the shepherds departed for the southern goldfields it was now necessary to use the local natives as labour but they were almost useless for such work except following the flock and droving in a desired direction. On the occasion when it was attempted to teach shearing the native would endeavour to skin the sheep instead of clipping the wool, so that qualification was soon disregarded.

What confused the blacks was why the white man would wish to remove the wool as they had never seen it used, only bailed and transported to the Sydney docks. It was thus considered that somehow the subjects of Queen Victoria found a way to dine on wool and even after lengthy explanation and showing its weave through cardigans and other items they could not relate the wool to milled clothing.

With his message and Edward’s gifts delivered Logan turned to leave, “you won’t forget – four days alright,” he reminded while again displaying the required number of fingers.

“Four days Logie we come and help old Edward, you tell Edward this many come to chase sheep,” the old man held up all fingers on both hands in agreement.

“Yes that many Yuka that will be fine.”

As the two returned towards town Chance spoke, “come back home I’ve something to show you.”

“What would that be,”

“You’ll see,”

“Hamish want’s me to bring the sheep up from the bottom paddock and I need to ready for the drove to collect the lot over at Longwood.”

“When are you leaving for Longwood?”

“Saturday: Do you want to come along for the ride?”

“Then come by tomorrow.”

“No it can wait there’s enough hours left in the day,” Logan glanced across the river, “besides I see Hamish and Ned moving them now but go the long way back so he doesn’t spot me, or I’ll be hearing about it for the rest of the week.”

There was much activity at the staging inn on the lads arrival, the coach from Bathurst was in as was a delivery of spirit barrels from Sydney. Piers stood counting the barrels and checking their condition as Chance’s older brother Sam did the lifting.

“Typical of you,” Sam called.

Chance dismounted without replying.

“Turning up when the work is almost done,” Sam glanced across to the delivery man for support then across to their father. Neither acknowledged his complaint.

“Once you have stabled your horse, you can help your mother with the meals for the coach,” Piers directed.

“Woman’s work for the little sod,” Sam accused.

“At least I don’t fuck sheep,” Chance quietly asserted as he past by his brother.

“You little – I’ll get you for that,” Sam growled and commenced to progress towards Chance, his fist lifting and like an angered snake coiled ready to strike.

Piers interjected; “the two of you shut it or you will feel my boot – understood.”

Sam gave a low growl and moved away, “later,” he quietly warned.

“Yes later,” Chance teased, knowing Sam was always true to his threats but Chance’s character wasn’t obliging towards subserviency. He would accept a biff or worse and laugh in his brother’s face, raising Sam’s blood to a higher level and enhancing the threat but it never advance beyond a few bruises.

As Sam left for the barrel room Piers approached his youngest, “you shouldn’t provoke your brother; you know he has a short fuse.”

Chance answered his father with a cheeky smile.

“That is my meaning young fellow, “tis your look that gets his goat, one of these days he will more than biff you.” Piers then address Logan who the while stood silently aside watching the developing charade between the brothers. “It’s shearing time I expect young Logan.”

“Yes we start next week and I’ve just come from the native camp to arrange some of the blacks to help with the droving.”

“Tell Edward I would like to help but too much going on here and since injuring my wrist it has slowed me somewhat.”

“He realises Mr. Wilcox.”

Piers gave a smile of memory, “in an earlier time we would have a party during the muster and an even bigger one after the shearing. The entire town would come, there would be roast mutton, beef ribs and the occasional pig on a spit and as much grog as one could hold. They were fine times.”

“I don’t remember much of it,” Logan admitted.

“No you are like Chance, a Johnny-come-lately. They have all gone now, all in the ground up past the big house, even Bahloo and he more entertaining than a mob of travelling performers. Did you ever see him drunk?”

“I didn’t think he touched the stuff.”

“Only once and he was like a frog in a boiling billy, he never touched drink again, said it was a devil.”

“I don’t really remember Bahloo.”

“I guess not. To me the past and present run together, sometimes I have the thought it is to simply cross over the bridge and they will all be there, then I realise the years have passed like weeks and each day is passing even quicker. I only said so to Edward the other day.” Piers gave a grin and shook his head, “well there you go,” he simply said realising he was rabbiting.

“It must have been difficult in the early days.” Logan suggested.

“Difficult yes but memorable. You young fellers’ don’t know what real work is.”

Sam returned from the barrel room and came directly to Chance, his broad chest extended like a fighting cock, his fists clenched and twitching, “you ready for a hiding kid,” he growled and danced about on his toes while shadow boxing and making tiffing sounds with each imaginary hook.

“Thick head,” Chance named his brother.

“You little -,”

“Sam I won’t tell you again you’re not to old to feel my boot,” Piers warned and turned to Chance, “go on the two of you before I loosen the reins on your brother.”

Piers turned back to Sam, “at your age you should be setting an example not carrying on like a kid. How old are you now?”

Sam held his silence.

“What twenty-eight come Christmas?” Piers asked.

“There abouts,” Sam agreed his voice hardly audible.

“Yes twenty-eight going on twelve,” Piers accused.

As the boys departed to stable Chance’s horse Logan spoke, “you appear to enjoy in provoking Sam.”

“Doing so gives me a rush, besides he never follows through, except for a little scrapping; anyway you are as bad with Hamish.”

“Hamish,” Logan simply said.

“Help me with the saddle.”

Once Chance undid the girth strap Logan removed the saddle, “do you want it in the shed?”

“No I’ll be using it later, put it on the top fence rail. Come on lets go see what’s happening in the kitchen.”

The boys entered the kitchen to find Chance’s mother Colleen and sister finishing the dishes, “mum, dad said to give you a hand.”

“Typical of you men, arrive when the works done.”

Violet gave Logan the eye. You know Logan if I were five years younger or you five older I could go for you,”

“Violet!”

“Well truly mother you must admit he’s a good looking kid.” Violet teased.

“Kid!” Logan protested while lowering his voice a register to prove his masculinity.

“What are you now eighteen?” Violet continued with her tease.

“I’ll soon be twenty-one if you don’t mind Violet.” Logan disputed although exaggerating the months somewhat as he had only that month turned twenty.

“There you go but a kid, what do you think mother?”

“Don’t bring me into it Violet.” Colleen paused and gave Logan the once over and a cheeky wink, “I don’t know maybe if I was twenty years younger I could myself.”

Logan burnt crimson as Chance diverted the subject. “We have only just returned from the native camp, Logan was delivering for Edward and arranging drovers.

“How is Edward?”

“Well enough Mrs. Wilcox but is missing the old days.”

“Chance we’ve finished here you two run along not to get under our feet.”

“Yes Chance you go play with your toys,” Violet suggested.

“Come on Logan before I think of something real nasty to say.” As Chance spoke Violet threw a wet tea towel at him, it missed and with a laugh the banter ceased.

With the coach departed and the barrels stored, Chance invited Logan to his room, a lean-to behind the stables and sufficiently isolated for his intent. Once inside he latched the door.

“So what is it you want to show me?” Logan asked.

“This,” Chance laughed and suggestively handled his crotch.

“Cheeky bugger; won’t someone come by?”

“They are busy and dad is finishing with the delivery, as for Sam I don’t think he is smart enough to find his way.”

“What about Violet?”

“She never comes out here.”

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