Published: 19 Feb 2018

Lachlan paused at the place where the western road reached its zenith. To him it was a barrier between the civilised world and the unknown. His gaze fixed across the downing, to the spot where Stephen Henderson had pointed the day they departed company and almost a year previously, a year in which much had happened and at time his friend was truly missed.

His heart jumped while thinking he would soon once again meet his friend and sunk as quickly in fear for what he may find. Often when in contact with timber men or fossickers who had been west, Lachlan would enquire if anyone had chanced upon Stephen but most had not travelled in that direction. One such fossicker had heard of a young fellow running cattle near what was known as Wattle Creek and living rough close by a small group of natives but lacked any news on his well being, although they had seen cattle with the brand mark of S/L.

From his advantage Lachlan was searching for smoke from a hut or camp fire. There wasn’t any. A cold chill came over him as not for the first time he feared for his friend’s life. Ahead the country was flat and stretched forever. The further west you travelled the dryer the land became until there was only sand and mulga scrub and precious little else but that was far away, many hundreds of miles.

“I should have gone with him.” Lachlan told his mount while gently patting her neck; she snorted under his touch and tossed her head up and down chaffing gently on the bit. He took a deep breath and repeated his words, “bugger the old man, I just should have gone. If anything has happened to Stephen, I will never forgive myself.”

“Well I guess it best if we move along.” He said as he pulled on the lead rein to start his packhorse downwards behind him as slowly they descended into the grasslands, all the while anxious for what he may find.

Lachlan had asked his father some weeks earlier for permission to visit his friend but had not been given a decisive answer, receiving the usual we’ll see. So when his day of departure arrived and still without word from his father, Lachlan waited until the old man was in town and simply told his mother his intention and left. As for William, he gave his usual disapproval being more concerned for the trouble he would be in for not preventing Lachlan from leaving.

Before his departure Lachlan had sold a number of his horses to a group of fossickers heading west in search of their Golden Mountain. His price was high but under the circumstances reasonable and accepted without question, as he had the only stock for sale anywhere between Cairns and Townsville. Then he buried his cash in a water tight biscuit tin in the cottage garden, along with his previous savings and a number of papers relating to his horse sales, unless one of the brothers chance by them and related his business to their father.

Before leaving Lachlan penned a note to his stash’s whereabouts and sealed it into an envelope for Daniel, as a precaution lest he met with some mishap. He trusted his brother not to open the envelope unless it was necessary but not enough to keep quiet if verbally informed.

There was an office of the Bank of Queensland in McBride’s Point but its manager was a personal friend his father, therefore Lachlan believed he couldn’t trust banking his substantial savings without the old man finding out and if he did so, it was more than likely he would put a stop to his little enterprise.

Half way down the western side Lachlan began to have second thoughts about leaving without his father’s permission but his concern for his friend’s safety now over rode this anxiety and he continued with a heavy heart.

As the land flattened out to become grass plains, Lachlan noticed the signs of Aboriginal presence all about. Many years of visiting and living with the Gulngai had taught him how to read the land and the passage of animals and humanity across it. There were many signs relating to hunting and along the road until the southern turnoff were the tracks of the mining group, loud and obvious.

There was something else. They were being followed by a small group who clearly did not wish to be discovered. Being barefooted and by their skill, Lachlan understood them to be natives. As the road divided and the tracks of the miners took the southern route, he noticed that the native also followed and by his reckoning were close behind. He concerned for the fossicker’s safety but realised there was nothing he could do; besides their passing had been a good week previous, so if they had come to harm it was much too late for him to intervene.

Some distance past the turnoff Lachlan encountered two bullocks. By their S/L branding he identified they belonged to Stephen and to Lachlan’s belief, were a good twelve miles from where he expected them to be. Then a short distance on he found a dead steer that had been speared and partly butchered in the stile of the natives, taking only the choicest cuts. This also bore the S/L brand, which added more to his concern. His heart raced as he quickened his pace.

It was growing late and the stunted trees cast long shadows, making it difficult to distinguish between them and any native who chanced to wait in ambush, so Lachlan decided to bed down for the night but without fire as it would be too drawing. Aborigines could smell a camp fire for miles and its glow would not only blind him against his surroundings but give camouflage to anyone stalking him.

Usually Lachlan would hobble his horses and let them graze but this night he kept them close while resting sitting upright his back against a large tree in the centre of the biggest clearing he could find. It was a sleepless night and for the first time while living rough, he heard footsteps where there were none and voices in the shrieks of birds. With the returning sun he was ready to move, relieved he had survived the night without incident.

A short distance beyond the clearing Lachlan encountered a slight rise possessing a bald crown, which he used to find his bearings. Once above the tree line he noticed he was only a short distance to another rise beside a large creek, the very one Stephen had pointed out to him on his departure. Also a bend in the creek where it sharply took a northern turn, being the spot Stephen thought to be a place to camp. Alas there was still no smoke depicting a breakfast fire and once more Lachlan’s fears increased as he hurried into the morning.

By midday and more by chance than by luck, Lachlan had discovered where Stephen had settled. In a large clearing, its back to the creek he found a small rudimentary hut and some out buildings and a rough timber stockyard but no signs of life. On the far bank of the creek there were the obvious signs of native encampment and by appearance had been in use for a period of time but recently abandoned and by calculations garnered from the camp ground, within days.

The hut itself appeared to be quite sturdy but parts of its split post wall cladding had been torn away and the door loose from its leather strapping hinges. To the river side of the hut was a line of twine strung between two trees which was used as a clothes line and the torn remains of a shirt and a pair of long johns were flagging in the light afternoon breeze.

All around there was signs of destruction as if something or someone had taken out their frustrations on anything that appeared to belong to civilization and to the side of the hut a fire had been set but had not taken, only scorching some of the timbers.

“Jimbo!” Lachlan gasped in terror.

“Christ Stephen where are you.” His body shook as the blood drained from his cheeks leaving a prickling sensation of dread. He quickly searched the clearing before entering into the hut.

Within the confines of a destroyed stock yard lay the decaying carcasses of a number of bullocks and a dead horse and was most definitely Daisy. All cruelly speared as if done so in revenge or sadistic entertainment and wearing the S/L brand but still no sign of Stephen. Now Lachlan’s fears increased. Had he been wounded and wandered off into the scrub or had he been carried away by the raiding natives?

Lachlan called his friend’s name but there was no answer, only the irritated disturbance of crows as they lifted with the sound of his voice from the scattering of decaying carcasses.

“Stephen!” Lachlan called while turning in directions to broadcast his cry into the scrub of trees. “Cooee,” He called and repeated over and over, while pausing in hope for some response. There was none.

Closer to the hut Lachlan noticed there had been even more damage and numerous signs of a native attack, with a number of war spears, their shafts broken and their barbed heads imbedded in the timber cladding of the hut and the open door.

“Stephen!” Lachlan called and pushed aside the hut’s broken door as he entered. There wasn’t any answer but once inside he noticed a lack of supplies and what remained was rancid and scattered across the harden dirt floor. It appeared by the decaying food and decomposition of the speared animals, the attack was four, maybe five days previous, now Lachlan’s concern was turning more to despair.

To the far corner in a dark alcove was a rough bed made from two poles and sacking to create a crude hammock, while the bedding was scattered and rented.

“Stephen!” Lachlan called once more, feeling doing so was fruitless, believing his friend had wandered into the bush and perished.

As Lachlan was about to exit the hut he heard something. At first he thought it may have been a bush rat he had disturbed but then it came again. It appeared to be the muffled sound of a human voice. It was defiantly a human cry.

Back inside Lachlan deduced the sound to be coming from somewhere beneath the bed and on inspection discovered there to be a hole dug under the bed and covered by stringy bark. Lachlan quickly peeled away the layers of bark as a coughing fit met him.

“Stephen!” Lachlan gasped with relief as tears of relief commenced to form; He fought them back as he removed the bark.

Once Lachlan had extracted his friend from his hide he realised Stephen had broken his leg and had been hiding for so long he didn’t know if it were night or day. Also he had not eaten or had water since he went into his hide and was close on death. Another day, a matter of hours it would have been too late.

Lachlan soon supplied nourishment and strapped his friend’s leg and after making him ready to travel he set fire to the hut. This action appeared to concern Stephen even with his delirium but Lachlan declared it to be necessary. The fire would be seen for miles and if the rogue band of blacks was still in the area then they would be drawn to the fire and not to their homeward passage.

Before departing Lachlan dumped most of his supplies, keeping just enough to nourish his ill friend, then with much difficulty mounted Stephen into his own saddle while he rode the pack horse bareback, while taken his mount in lead. Stephen found riding most strenuous but as Lachlan declared, the sooner they were away from the area and back over the mountains the safer they would be and a little discomfort was preferable to death.

During the morning Stephen drifted in and out of consciousness, causing Lachlan to often pause and administer water to his friend, also finding it necessary to secure him to the saddle with a length of rope in case he fell but by the afternoon he appeared to have recovered enough to keep his own balance and converse enough to relate his story.

At first all went well and the local natives were friendly, going as far as helping him build his hut and the out buildings. He had found a small herd of clean skins and quickly branded them, then some weeks previous the natives no longer visited, while being led by a tall mean black who called himself Jimbo who spoke perfect English. From that day they turn malicious and mostly did Jimbo’s bidding.

Firstly they simply shouted insults in their own language and threw rocks. When this no longer amused Jimbo, he led his party of blacks who speared most of the stock, including the horses, while the remainder of the cattle took to the scrub. Finally they turned on Stephen himself and attacked during the late afternoon.

At the time Stephen was working on some damaged stock rails and when the first attack occurred he slipped and one of the upright posts fell across his leg causing his injury. Oddly some of the natives from the local settlement managed to talk Jimbo out of completing the attack and they retreated back to their camp across the creek but in time the renegade turned their heads and they agreed to do his bidding.

Being close to the hut he managed to drag himself inside and into the hide he had dug as a precaution some time earlier when Jimbo first arrived on the scene. He had read about such preparations from a story from South Africa when a farmstead had been attacked by Zulu tribesmen and thought it may work if his situation became precarious.

Unfortunately although he was able to drag himself back into the hut he soon realised he had left his rifle leaning against a stockyard post and Jimbo soon found it. At one stage the renegade pointed the rifle at the hut and applied the trigger but the shells were still in Stephen’s pocket as the post had fallen on him before he had opportunity to load the rifle. Finding it useless Jimbo took the rifle back to his mob as a prize and threatened them to do his bidding or he would shoot them.

During that night Stephen could hear the blacks around the hut but they didn’t appear to be close, then with the sun they came in force. Firstly knocking down his barred door, once inside they ransacked the hut but as the corner where he hid was dark they didn’t see his hole.

While the natives ransacked the hut and stole anything they valued Stephen lay silent, his heart beating at such a speed he felt they may hear it. He could hear their voices; close and threatening as they destroyed everything. Then Jimbo declared in perfect English that the white bugger must have escaped during the night and decided to search elsewhere. They never returned again, which made Stephen believe that Jimbo became bored with him and looked for other entertainment.

Once the two reached the top of the Jump-over and away from the influence of the natives, Lachlan felt secure enough to stop and let Stephen rest. It was late afternoon and long shadows fell about, while the western plains were aglow with the dying light. Lachlan looked upon the land and its beauty in wonder how such magnificence could be so hostile but had no intention of ever passing that way again.

By this time Stephen had regained enough strength to speak coherently and sit up without support, although his injured leg sent stabs of sharp pain whenever he moved it.

“Well have that fixed for you in no time.” Lachlan promised as he prepared the little food he had not jettisoned.

“They speared Daisy.” Stephen sadly disclosed.

“Yes I noticed.”

“It was Jimbo; he crossed the creek alone and did so right in front of me, laughing as he aimed the spear towards her soft under belly at close range.” It was obvious Stephen was hurting badly from the memory, as he had hand reared Daisy from a spindly legged foal.

“I did notice and she was a grand lady.” Lachlan sighed.

“I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t arrive.” Stephen continued while rubbing at his aching leg.

“I have some more bad news for you my friend.” Lachlan placed more wood on his camp fire as the night commenced to chill. He continued. “You house burnt down and your parents have gone to Emerald Creek to your Uncle’s property, they asked me to find you.”

“Oh.” Was all Stephen could rally, so much had occurred over those past days, his thinking was numb and the news became just one more dulling event.

“Dad wants the land but will have to buy it from the bank at auction.”

“Lockie your dad wants everything.” Stephen complained.

“Sometimes my friend I don’t think he is my father but some devil placed on earth to madden civilisation.” Lachlan admitted.

“I suppose I should somehow find my way up to the Tablelands.” Stephen suggested giving a deep remorseful sigh.

“You will stay with me until you are well and then you can think of your future, I will get a message to your parents in the meantime.” Lachlan demanded.

“You are a good friend Lockie.”

Soon Stephen was asleep. His face illuminated by fire devils was now calm and peaceful, although smudged with grime from his ordeal. His hair matted and long, hung parted at the middle and in need of attention, as months of isolation had depleted his need to attend to his image, while his clothes were ragged, barely functional, hardly fit for protection against the elements. He was a man who had gone beyond his capability, with only the drive to succeed remaining. To look at him it was obvious that even without the attack he would not have survived much longer in his wilderness condition.

Lachlan sat gazing down on his friend’s now peaceful features for an eternity while smiling at his condition, remembering the carefree youth he once knew. It was still there beneath the grime, needing only time to bring it back and for certain a good feed and a bath. This would all come later, for now he was happy he had arrived in time and as he watched a cold shiver came over him, what if he had waited for his father’s permission, or delayed his travel another week, even an extra day. Another chill overcome him as he chased the thought from his mind and with the fleeting thought came another, he would in future be his own man, making his own decisions regardless of what others wished of him.

Now in that half awake half asleep state Lachlan once more smiled and attempted to analyse his feelings for Stephen. He recalled Toby’s question while they were with his horses. Had he ever been in love? What he felt for Stephen was love but beyond the love a man has for a friend. He laughed when remembering Daniel’s words, ‘you should marry Henderson.’ He laughed again with the thought, if it were at all possible he would.

He was asleep.

Lachlan awoke with the warm sun on his cheeks and Stephen’s hand shaking his shoulder.

“Hey wake up sleepy.” Stephen said once more shaking his friend from his sleep.

“You’re awake early.” Lachlan said yawning and stretching the uncomfortable slumber from his body.

“Sun has been up for a good hour and I’ve been sitting here watching you sleep. By the way you snore.”

“Why would you do that Stephen Henderson?”

“You look cute when you’re asleep.”

“Cute?”

“Well peaceful at least.”

Lachlan blushed and thanked his friend, then emptied his bladder into the dying embers of the night’s fire. Stephen struggled to his feet, using a stick as a crutch and a tree trunk for support, joined Lachlan as two steady streams of yellow piss hissed and sizzled among the embers. They both laughed and like two juvenile children crossed their flows in a piss fight until their bladders were empty and the movement brought pain to Stephen’s leg, making him retire from standing.

“You ready to ride?” Lachlan asked as he cleaned up their camp sight and doused the remanding coals with dirt.

“It will be a struggle but I guess it’s now or never.”

“The sooner we get you home, the sooner I can get the doc to attend to that leg of yours.” Lachlan directed as his friend baulked at returning to the saddle.

Although they were only three hours or so from home, Stephen’s condition doubled that time and both felt relieved as they reached familiar territory. As they passed close by the Henderson property, Lachlan asked if Stephen would like to view the damage but both decided it would be better not to do so, besides what was there to see but a burnt dream.

On reaching the cottage Lachlan sent Daniel for the doctor and commenced to bathe his friend. First he had to cut away Stephens clothing and had him stand one leg in and one out of the tub. At first Stephen attempted to bathe himself but couldn’t withhold his balance, so Lachlan took control of the sponge and soon had the grime running in streams from his friend’s undernourished body.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight.” Lachlan detected.

“I guess so.”

“But that hasn’t shrunk,” he commented amusingly as he sponged his friend’s crotch area, feeling a slight rise under the softness of the sponge.

“Sorry.” Stephen apologised.

“Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone.”

By the time Brice Henning the town’s doctor arrived it was dark and Stephen sat in Lachlan’s kitchen wearing nothing but a shirt that was three sizes too large and a table cloth wrapped loosely around his girth and as long as he didn’t place pressure on the break was moderately comfortable, while sipping at a large brandy Daniel had retrieved from their father’s supply.

“Good evening Mr Henning.” Lachlan greeted and showed the doctor into the kitchen.

“I hear you’ve got yourself into a spot of bother there Henderson.” Henning acknowledged as he examined the fracture.

“Only a little.” Stephen answered as the brandy commenced to give a numbing effect to his leg and his head.

“Good brandy?” The doctor asked, noticing the bottle and its label.

“Dunno, I don’t usually drink spirits, Daniel brought it down from the house.” Stephen answered.

“If it’s from Jock’s cellar than it would have to be good. Nothing but the best for Mr. McBride.” The doctor suggested somewhat acerbically as Stephen commenced to giggle from its effect.

“How bad is the break?” Lachlan enquired, while holding the lamp close as plaster was being applied to the leg.

“It’s a clean break and being young will soon mend but Mr. Henderson, I think you should get some tucker into you, what have you been up to?” Henning asked once the application was completed. Stephen released another brandy induced giggle without explanation as Lachlan gave rendition of his friend’s ordeal.

Once the doctor departed Lachlan put Stephen to bed in his own, while he once again retrieved the stretcher from the house. No sooner had Stephen’s head touched his pillow he was asleep and Lachlan closed the door, taking himself outside where he relaxed bathed in moonlight. He took a deep breath and for no reason he could give began to sob and could not stop.

Two weeks passed and then a third and Stephen’s leg was well on its way back to normal although the doctor said the plaster would have to remain for at least eight weeks. Stephen had also gained most of his lost weight but was becoming somewhat restless around the cottage, while constantly attempting to scratch a deep itch beneath the plaster cast with a long broom straw. “You know Lockie; no matter how you try, you can never reach it.” He complained.

“Reach what?”

“The bloody itch beneath the plaster and if you manage to reach it there’s another somewhere else and even more difficult to scratch.”

“I guess you will have to put up it for a few more weeks, think of something else that should take it away.” Lachlan suggested.

“Yea, like what?”

“Are you ready to go over and see your old place?” Lachlan asked.

“I think so.”

“I must warn you, it won’t be a pretty site.”

Lachlan harnessed the trap horse to the buggy and brought it around to the cottage and they were off. Firstly they visited Martha who once again tried to have Stephen transferred to her care but the lad was more than satisfied with Lachlan’s attention, having no wish to chance upon McBride if he returned unexpectedly.

Once at his home farm emotions overpowered Stephen almost to tears but soon became anger, thinking McBride would now have his will and the land would become a matter of acres within the man’s ever growing estate. “You know I love this little farm,” Stephen sadly declared, “as did mum but not dad – he said it was too much work for to little return.

Lachlan remained silent.

“What do I do now?” He turned to Lachlan. “Has your father bought it?”

“It hasn’t gone to auction yet and is in the hands of the bank.” Lachlan answered.

“Shit Lachlan what should I do?”

“For a start you can stop worrying, I will look after you and you can live at the farm for as long as you wish. Besides we could always do with extra help once your leg’s better.”

“Your kindness overwhelms me.”

“It isn’t kindness you silly bugger, haven’t you realised yet?” It was then Lachlan lost his guard and the words fell from his mouth before he could real them back to once again become only private thoughts. “For Christ sake I love you Stephen and you scared the crap out of me, going out there.”

As he realised what he had unintentionally uttered Lachlan felt his face prickle with embarrassment and fear but before he could clarify his statement Stephen answered.

“I know Lachlan and have always known.”

“Sorry Stephen, I didn’t mean.”

Stephen cut him short.

“I know what you meant and I feel the same but was always too frightened to say anything.”

The moment transformed and nothing more was exchanged on the issue, instead they both inspected the damage, coming to the realisation that the house could not be rebuilt, only demolished and another built in its place. Still if McBride were to take control of the three hundred acres it would become just an addition to his multitude of acres and another feather in his proud unjust headdress.

“So the Henderson name is to disappear from the land registry.” Stephen sighed while making his way back to the buggy.

“How much do you think it will go for?” Lachlan asked.

“It’s not good land for cropping, that is why father found it difficult to make ends meet but for live stock it is very good, I should think around one pound per acre and without a house, maybe even less.”

“That would be a fine price and one my father could pay out of his petty cash.” Lachlan added.

“Oh well, it is out of my hands, I guess I’ll have to learn to live with it, besides even without the fire the outcome would have been the same, only not as soon.”

Stephen gave a light sigh as reality overcome shock, “Come on Lockie, best we be away from here, it only makes me sad.” At the gate he gazed back on his three hundred acres and the destruction that was his home, believing it may be the last time he would visit.

“Have you thought of the future?” Lachlan asked as they entered the cottage. He had wished to ask that very question all the way from leaving the scene of the fire but was anxious, as his friend’s decision may once again separate them.

Stephen was slow in answering. Firstly he thought he must follow his parents to the Tablelands, maybe he could find work there but dearly he would like to remain in the McBride’s Point district to be with Lachlan, yet could not contemplate the possibility.

“As I said you could always stay here at the farm.” There were footsteps at the door and without knocking Daniel entered.

“Rat, you’re walking.” Daniel commented.

“Sort of, it’s called the one legged waltz.”

“What do you want?” Lachlan snapped at his brother, for interrupting during what he considered to be a most important conversation.

“I have just come from father and he was talking about the price for the rat’s farm and arranging its purchase.”

“I don’t think I want to know about it.” Stephen sighed as once again his loss became apparent.

“Has there been any decision when the auction is to be held?” Lachlan asked as Daniel, without invitation commenced to make himself coffee.

“Any of that cake left?”

“A little but I’ve saved it for Stephen, you had more than enough on your last visit.”

“No go ahead I don’t mind.” Stephen suggested.

Daniel finished the last slice of cake. “As for the auction, the bank’s a little slow at the moment; father said there are other more important properties to be dealt with first. You do realise there is a recession coming?” Daniel explained.

“And father is definitely interested in purchasing the land?” Lachlan asked.

“He even appears to be excited about doing so, I don’t see why,” Daniel turned to Stephen, “what do you think rat?”

“I think I would rather not know about it – and Daniel, the name is Stephen it’s about time you learned to use it.”

“I guess so Stephen.” Daniel smiled while continuing with the coffee making, “would you like a mug of coffee Stephen?”

“Not at the moment, I guess my gut is churned from seeing my home burnt.”

“Another thing, dad knows the rat, sorry I mean Stephen is staying here at the cottage.” Daniel sipped his coffee while waiting for response.

“What did he say about it?” Lachlan asked, expecting the worse.

“Oddly not a lot, I think it gives him pleasure, a sort of control over Stephen’s father to have his son reliant on him.” Daniel appeared to enjoy his analysation of their father.

“That is why I can’t stay here.” Stephen responded hurtfully but Lachlan soon interjected, assuring his staying was at his invitation and not his father’s and not to do anything rash until they both had thought it through.

“I guess there isn’t a lot to think through.” Stephen answered.

“Well firstly we have to get you back on your feet.”

“One more thing Lockie, William has been looking for you and he was in a foul mood.”

“That’s nothing new, what does he want?” Lachlan demanded.

“The usual, you were supposed to be working on the irrigation this morning and not running around with the rat – sorry, Stephen looking at burnt out houses.”

“Oh I forgot about that, there is always tomorrow.” Lachlan suggested.

“With William? No brother of mine with William there is always today but I wouldn’t worry too much he has gone into town, so I guess I can give you a hand this afternoon and maybe the r- I mean Stephen can help.”

“That would be appreciated.”

Gary really wants to know if you are reading his story. You may let him know, by dropping an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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