Published: 27 Sep 2021

Bradley had breakfast on the table as Travis joined him, “did you sleep alright?” he asks.

“Except for the birds,” Travis yawned rubbed his hands together and took seat at the table.

“You will get used to them.”

“Where’s the bathroom?” Travis asks.

“There’s a washroom out the back and some tubs. Tank water so don’t run the tank empty,”

“Cold?”

“Do you think it’s the Ritz? If you like take a dip in the creek it will more than likely be warmer than the tank. The dunny is a long-drop out the back but I usually piss of the verandah, I’ve already killed the geranium near the steps and have started on the lantana. If you don’t like the red-back spiders under the toilet seat, then do what I do and crap up the back of the first horse paddock.”

Travis laughed.

“I’m not joking there is a plague of the red little buggers this year, probably because of the late rain, so watch where you go poking your fingers in your room as well.”

“I’ll give it all a miss for now and wait until the sun is up.”

“If you do crap up the paddock, take a shovel with you, I don’t want to be standing in it.”

“I get ya’ meaning,”

“Hope you like sausages, fried eggs and baked beans,” Bradley asks, placing a plate of toast alongside the teapot, “Only powdered milk, Roy forgot to bring the real stuff, besides if he does it only lasts a day in this heat even in the refrigerator,” Bradley explained pushing a large tin of Nestles milk powder towards Travis.

“That’s okay, I don’t mind, that’s all we had most of the time on Cumberland Downs.”

Breakfast smelt good and Travis had an appetite.

“So you know the bush?”

“Dad managed stations but that was some time back,” Travis admitted.

“But you didn’t live there except for holidays – correct?”

“How do you know that?”

“You were at that hostel in Herberton for some time.”

“You appear to know more about me than I do of you, again how so?”

“Just – as for the cooking we will share breakfast and dinner but you can do lunch.”

“Okay – what else?”

“Dunno really, I don’t know why you’re here, there isn’t enough for me to do as it is,” Bradley repeated his previous complaint as he helped himself to a slice of toast and broke into the yolk of a lightly done egg, “I like my eggs runny and lightly turned.”

A second slice of toast brought out further conversation from Bradley. “I don’t know why Roy bothers with Bullock Creek, he doesn’t need the cash. Besides he could find better land closer to Mareeba, or move the horses to his cattle station out by Paddy’s Green, or his other property up Maryfarms way.”

“Where are you from?” Travis asks noticing that Bradley was commencing to release his hold on conversation.

“Mareeba,” Bradley answered in an obvious tone.

“I never saw you around town,” Travis showed surprise.

“I saw you but in those days you were at Herberton and on holidays staying with the Kingsley lot,”

“So you know the Kingsleys’?”

“I was at school with Terry and Barry Kingsley,”

“How long have you known Roy?”

“I can’t remember not knowing him. Seeing my mum died when I was young and my dad was a fuckwit, Roy sort of brought me up from my early years.”

“Funny the family never mentioned you,” Travis says. Then the conversational leak dried as Bradley realised he had given more information on himself than he wished to.

“Roy can’t have been any more than in his teens himself.” Travis declared, coming to the realisation that there was a side of his uncle he did not know, while his opinion of Roy was developing into that of respect and empathy.

“I’m going to check the horses, so you can do the dishes and clean up the kitchen,” Bradley declared pushing his empty breakfast plate aside. He downed the last of his mug of tea. Standing he reached for his hat, “you can join me after if you wish, I’ll be down at the yards.”

“Anything else you want done around the house?” Travis asks.

“Can’t think of anything, as I said I don’t know why you’re here.”

Once Travis tidied the kitchen he explored the house. It had once been the homestead for Bullock Creek cattle station but bad management bankrupted its owner and the bank, not being able to sell it as a going concern, broke the large property into smaller holdings. Roy had purchased the house and two thousand acres on a whim, then having affinity with horses decided to breed them, more as a hobby than a business.

The old house had five bedrooms excluding Travis’ which was an afterthought by closing off one corner of the front verandah and except for a door at each end blocking an otherwise covered and continuous covered walk around the house. Each room, except for the kitchen and a small dining room, had its own exit to the verandah. Two of the bedrooms had become storerooms; one contained a multitude of livery parts, mainly old and useless saddles and a number of yokes used when bullock drays were employed to cart timber and mining machinery, while the other room was crammed with furnishings, half drums of paint and objects of unrecognizable usage. At the rear were the last bedrooms, the first had a single bed and by its contents was that used by Bradley. The bed was unmade and piled high with washing while more clothing was discarded across the floor, mixed with magazines and the occasional western novel and leaning against the far wall an old and shabby guitar. ‘Messy little bugger,’ Travis thought as he closed the door.

The final room lacked character and was void of possessions except for a wardrobe, with its open door displayed a hanging of clothing. While against the wall, beside the door to the verandah stood an ancient marble top washstand, displaying a scattering of objects. The only other items of furnishing were a double bed, unmade and adorned with two oversized pillows and a small table and kitchen chair.

On the table was a scattering of documents, some newspaper cuttings relating to the demise of a young stockman from the district and a jam jar containing a number gold nuggets each no larger than a fingernail, mixed with what appeared to be foreign currency, obviously the result from someone not bothered to scrutinise their change. Beside the jar was a scattering of currency and a crumpled ten shilling note. Travis thought he should make the bed but decided it best not to admit he had been into the privacy of the bedrooms. He closed the door and went to look for Bradley.

At first Travis didn’t find Bradley. He found the closest paddock holding a number of mares with new foals and some out buildings and the creek but no Bradley. At the horse paddock he called Bradley’s name but there wasn’t an answer, only the whinny of a colt as it trotted towards him. Realising Travis to be a stranger the animal paused, turned, snorted and at speed returned to its mob kicking its hind legs up in youthful play.

Travis called once more for Bradley, again no answer only the distant cry of crows, remorse and plaintive. A hot breeze blew from across the top paddock bringing with it the stench of some dead animal. Once again Travis called then without success he returned to the house.

It was past midday before Bradley surfaced carrying a rifle, coming from the thicket of bush some distance beyond the creek.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Travis declared feeling somewhat guilty for his morning’s lack of activity.

“I was trying to find a brumby stallion that’s been hanging around here of late.” Bradley threw himself into a cane chair at the top of the verandah and demanded a beer.

Travis obeyed without complaint.

“I could get used to having a maid,” Bradley laughed and drank deeply. “It’s bloody hot; you could fry an egg on the ground out there.”

“It’s always hot,” Travis contradicted.

“You wait until the dry then you may change your mind. I’m telling you it gets nippy out this way and you need more than two dogs that’s a certainty.”

“Two dogs?” Travis questioned.

“Yea you need two dogs to keep you warm at night. Don’t you want a beer?” Bradley offered.

“Too early for me; but you will have to let me know what needs doing.”

“That’s the thing Travis; as I keep saying, I don’t know why you’re here as there isn’t much to be done at all.”

“Yet I’m here and willing,” Travis states the obvious.

“That is also a certainty,” Bradley says and burst into a grin, “and I guess I’ll have to get used to that as well.”

“I won’t be her long; I want to travel for a while,”

“What do you mean travel?”

“I’d like to go back and have a look at the station my father managed,”

“Then what?”

“That will look after itself;” Travis hopefully pledges.

“It may or it may not. There you go.” Bradley says as he pulls the shutter down on Travis’ travelling.

Bradley fixed his gaze across the tree line towards the distant red rusted roof of the Bullock Creek Hotel. “Suppose we could do something about the break in the front fence, or if you are that eager to work, tidy up the house yard,” amused with that thought he continued, “you could do my washing.”

“Suppose I could,” Travis answered without hesitation, although washing wasn’t his specialty as it was a chore his mother appeared to cherish, almost stripping the clothes from his back on washdays. Underwear was a worrying and continuous embarrassment to Travis, as Margaret wasn’t backward in comment and as Travis was prone to not wearing underwear, he would often offer up a clean set on demand. If he did wear any he would assure there wasn’t skid-marks before offering them up for the wash as Margaret wasn’t shy in sharing their condition with visitors.

“I was joking Travis.” Bradley paused as he had run out of ideas, so he returned to the coolness of his beer.

Travis appeared to be evaluating Bradley’s suggestion, “how do you do washing, I haven’t seen a machine?”

“Machine?” Bradley laughed.

“You know what I mean,”

“Boil the copper out the back but half the time your gear comes out dirtier than when it went in.”

“We used to boil the copper for bathwater at Creek Run but at Cumberland Downs we had a boiler,” Travis recollected.

“I know of the Downs but where is Creek Run?”

“Out Hughenden way,”

“Sheep country,” Bradley suggested.

“Borderline, we ran cattle as well.”

“We also boil our bathwater in the copper but it’s a hassle and quicker to use the creek,”

“I have an idea,” Travis issued with a cheeky smile,”

“What would that be?”

“As Roy suggested you could choose a horse for me to ride.”

“Good point but I will have to break it in first,” Bradley agreed, “want to go to the pub for a couple of drinks this arvo’?” he offered.

Travis agreed believing it time he should meet the locals.

“While I was looking for you I got the scent of something dead up the paddock,” Travis says as the memory of rotting flesh returned to his nostrils.

It was one of the brumby’s that was trying to pinch our mob,” Bradley declared incidentally.

“What happened?”

“I shot it last week.” Bradley bluntly answered and smiled while aiming an imaginary rifle at Travis head, he pulled its imaginary trigger. “Bang! – Right between the eyes.”

Travis felt a sympathetic tug over the animal’s demise, taking him back to his day’s at Cumberland Downs. Of a brumby mare and its colt and his father as he shot the mare, then took aim at the colt. It had gravely upset the young Travis although he realised his father had little choice. Brumbies stole the working stock and were most difficult to break. As for the colt it was much too young to survive without the mare.

Bradley put away his imaginary rifle, “what you can do is give me a hand to build a bonfire over the carcass to get rid of it.”

“Won’t the crows and wild dogs do the job for you?”

“Yes but it will stink for weeks if left, also it is the main direction of the wind.”

It was a week before Bradley finally warmed towards Travis, yet he still kept his thoughts private and only spoke of the property and the horses and sometimes of Roy, while Travis’ opinion of his young boss was softening. Still Travis had not been given permanent chores although he had willingly taken on most of the cooking and housework. Doing so brought wit from Bradley who had humorously taken to calling Travis Wife but in such a way that didn’t insult, or make Travis feel his masculinity was in question.

“What’s for tea?” Bradley asks while coming in stinking of horseshit and sweat.

“Boots thank you, I’ve just mopped the floor,” Travis demanded as Bradley left dollops of muck across the kitchen linoleum.

“Ops, sorry wife; what’s for tea?”

“Stew, Travis declared with a wry smile.” As it was nearly always stew.

“Good I like stew,” Bradley declared and removed his boots; “satisfied?” he asks holding the dirty culprits up for inspection before placing them by the door.

“You’re socks stink worse than your boots!” Travis complained holding his nose in protest.

“Get used to it.”

“Suppose I’ll have to, by the way I went down to the pub for the mail – there is a letter from Roy for you.” Travis dished up the stew and placed a large loaf of bread in front of Bradley. It was somewhat burnt at one end but when sliced smelt and tasted as bread should.

“You are getting better at bread making,” Bradley congratulated, as he cut away the burnt end, placing it gently onto a plate he handed it to Travis.

“Funny Boy,” Travis grinned and binned the burnt portion.

Bradley opened the letter.

“What’s Roy got to say?”

“He’ll be up on the twenty-fifth, has a potential buyer for some of the foals.”

Bradley refolded the letter then slipped it into the unused and tarnished toast rack at pride of place mid table, “I suppose I better break you a horse.”

“Speaking of Roy – you’re not blond,” Travis stated somewhat humorously.

“What do you mean by that?” Bradley retorted, not understanding where Travis was leading.

“It’s a family joke, they say all Roy’s workers are young and blond,” Travis enlightened.

“Still don’t get it.”

“Doesn’t matter, just something his brothers say,”

“You know Travis you should show a little more respect for Roy, he’s a top bloke.”

“I do, I was only repeating the family opinion.”

“Then your family don’t know Roy,”

“A truer word never spoken and since I’ve been here I have come to see your point.”

“Good keep it that way.”

True to his word the following morning Bradley cut a bay filly from the mob and isolated her in a yard closest to the house and was parading her as Travis approached.

“What do you think of her?”

Travis didn’t answer.

“What’s up – wrong colour? Bradley fired from the yard, while keeping his distance as he examined her gait and character. It was obviously a battle of will and for the moment the bay filly had the upper advantage.

“No she will do, besides you know more about horse flesh than I do.”

“Right, I’ll have her ready for you in a week,” Bradley promised.

“What method do you use?”

“Method?”

“Have you heard of horse whispering?” Travis continued.

“Horse whispering – horse shouting, I’ll get on her bloody back and stay there until she is sick of trying to throw me,” Bradley growled and left the yard, “Horse whispering what next,” he grumbled loudly.

“It was only something I read,”

“You read too much,” Bradley noticed the hurt expression on Travis and negated his insult, “no really I only know one way and that is slow and cautious, eventually they come around to my way of thinking.”

“Who was your teacher?” Travis asks.

“Roy, he has a way with horses as if he can read their every mood. He can cut a horse from the mob after breakfast and be on its back and out mustering stock by teatime.”

“One more thing to add to the unknown about Roy,” Travis admitted while displaying surprise.

“And I would say there are many more.”

The following morning Bradley called Travis down to the yard as he wanted him to be part of the breaking.

“What are you going to call her,” Bradley asks exiting from the yard through the slip rails.

“I hadn’t giving it a thought – dunno’.”

“You can’t call a flaming horse dunno’,” Bradley joked.

“There is a racehorse down south called Anything,” Travis relates.

“Why Anything?”

“Equal to your dismissal of dunno’, the new owner was questioned what it should be named and he said, I don’t know, call it anything.”

“Huh,”

“I’ll eventually think of something.”

“Right we eat first, I can’t work her on an empty stomach.

Travis left Bradley at the yards while he prepared their meal.

Lunch was simple, cold roast beef and chutney sandwiches and two mugs of tea. Bradley wished for coffee but they were also out of Maxwell House which was always put aside as a not so pleasing emergency. So after two mugs of black tea and a piss over the back verandah onto the failing lantana bush below and Bradley was ready to face Travis’ new filly.

At the yard Travis noticed the filly had a halter attached.

“Did you have much trouble with the halter?”

“A little, I spent the time you were making lunch with her so at least she is accustomed to my company, or to point has come to the conclusion I’m not going away.”

Entering the yard Bradley collected the halter reins then after walking the filly around for a time he held an old sugar bag at distance from her head. She behaved but it was obvious she was cautiously eying the intrusion. After a number or circles of the yard he then placed the bag closer, sending her into frenzy.

“Settle girl.” He whispered then removed the sack, only to return it on the next rotation of the yard.

‘Woo – settle girl,” he again whispered.

“You are a horse whisperer,” Travis called from the top rail. Bradley didn’t respond but repeated the procedure with the sugar bag for a good half hour.

“That will do for today.” Bradley declared and gave the filly some oats as a reward for relatively good behaviour.

The second day Bradley placed a saddlecloth over the horses back; she bucked and lashed out with her hind legs, dislodging the cloth and narrowly missing the nimble Bradley.

“That is something you have to be aware off. They have enough power in their back legs to break every bone in your body, so always approach from the front and if they turn on you then back away.”

Travis listened attentively to Bradley’s advice. Although he had ridden many times before, all his mounts were well broken and at a state one could crawl all over them without upsetting their nature.

On the third day the halter was exchanged for a bitted bridle, giving the filly one more experience of which she liked less than the saddlecloth, yet after a measure she accepted the inevitable. Then came the saddle and on the following day the girth strap was tightened sending her into a session of pigrooting, kicking about in every conceivable direction.

“She’s a feisty one; do you think you will be able to handle her?”

“I reckon so,” Travis cautiously admitted while feeling the need to brag about an episode from long past. “I never told you but I won second prise at the Hughenden show for riding.”

“Stacked out in fancy kit I suppose,” Bradley ridiculed.

“Not at all,”

“Go on what then?”

“I was all of five at the time and awarded a red ribbon inscribed with second prize.”

“What did you have to do?”

“Not a lot, my horse bolted into the arena, I lost my hat and she almost knocked over one of the judges. They settle her down and spoke a few words of praise to me before giving me the ribbon.”

“Huh,” Bradley discredited.

“What did deflate my ego, a couple of years back I reminded mum about the incident and she said all the boys of my age were given second prize.”

“Got a name for her yet?” Bradley asks while trying to settle the animal and disregarding Travis’ prize.

“Not yet.”

“Better hurry, you’ll be on her back in a few days.” She calmed as Bradley spoke. He continued, “Tomorrow I’ll get on, so I want you around in case something goes wrong.”

“I feel a little guilty putting you through all this.”

“It’s my job Travis,”

“Maybe so but I was expecting there would be a horse broken within the stock,”

“Only Roy’s old nag and my riding horse Grogan but I don’t usually let anyone ride him, besides if you are travelling you will need one of your own.”

“I knew a fellow called Grogan at Herberton.”

“John Grogan I should think.”

“That’s him; his family was from Mareeba at one time.”

“I know John; and Grogan is named after his brother Eric who was a mate of mine, both have that evil look about them but in the most are easy going. Bradley recollected.

“John could be a bit of a bruiser with a short fuse.”

Bradley gave a cheeky smile.

“What was that for?”

“I soon doused his fuse,”

“Go on,”

“He tried it out on me and I set him down, only took one punch, he whimpered like a girl.”

“I didn’t have you marked as a fighter,” Travis questioned.

“Only as a last resort but if you push anyone hard and long enough, they will eventually come out with their fists up.” Again Bradley released a smile, “even you Travis, I reckon there is a little fire in you if push came to shove.”

“Not really I haven’t had the need. There were a couple of times at the hostel, as you suggest, push came to shove and I had to react.”

“As I said,”

Bradley was up early and unlike him appeared to be a little nervous of what he was about to perform. Although in his short life he had broken many horses, Murphy’s Law was always present, what can go wrong – will and if so they were a long way from help.

“Are you alright?” Travis asks as they walked to the holding yard.

“A little nervous but I’m always like that for the first mount,” he calmly responded.

“Sure you want to go through with it?” Travis asks.

“As I said it’s my job, besides it’s a challenge, my will over hers and I always win.”

At the rail Bradley paused while paying close attention to her mood. It was like two cats eyeing each other for advantage and most obvious the filly knew what to expect, or most of which as she wouldn’t relate to having Bradley upon her back.

Firstly came the ordeal with the bridle, then the saddlecloth and the saddle and as expected the bay rejected the girth strap but as before she soon settled. Then came Bradley’s foot into the stirrup and a measure of weight, which was repeated a number of times without actually mounting, each time receiving the same negative reaction.

At last it was time.

Bradley once again placed his foot in the stirrup and the bay didn’t protest.

“Are you watching?” He called over his shoulder to Travis.

“Firstly hold the reins tightly and her head slightly away.”

“Why away?”

Bradley removed his foot from the stirrup, “So she can’t turn her head and bite you on the fucken’ arse while you are trying to mount,” he growled and replaced his foot into the stirrup.

“I’ve suffered that,”

“Then you know what I mean.”

Without further ceremony Bradley hoisted into the saddle and prepared for the inevitable

– And it came.

Firstly the bay snorted and reared, then kicked both hind legs outwards clipping the rail close to where Travis was seated, he quickly dismounted the rail. Then came the buck and the pigroot and the sidewards shy and more bucking but Bradley remained seated as if he was glued to the saddle. Eventually she calmed and stood as if she was a statue; sweating and exhausted, with Bradley also sweating profusely and shaking. He dismounted and slowly walked the animal around the inclosure, then once again mounted, receiving the same treatment as before but with less conviction.

Bradley repeated the exercise for a good hour, before leading the bay to her stall where she was given a rub down and rewarded with a feed of oats.

“That will do for today.” Bradley declared while storing the saddle. He returned and called to Travis, “come here and give her a brushing so she gets to know you.’

Travis collected the brush and started at her neck. She twitched and swished her tail as her ears folded back.

“Talk to her as you brush,”

Travis spoke gently close to her ear and brushed further along her back. She appeared to settle under his stroke.

“You’re a hero mate,” Travis continued with the brushing.

“Just a job,”

“No that takes guts, I couldn’t do it,” Travis added but Bradley shrugged the praise away without answering further although by his expression he appreciated Travis’ accolade.

It was a week and three days before Travis was given the go ahead to ride his new mount and under supervision he repeated the procedure that Bradley had explained. The animal flinched slightly as Travis mounted but responded to his every command and after a short trot around the yard he brought her back to where Bradley was waiting.

“She responds well to you,” Bradley admitted, “you’ll have to ride her every day for a while to keep her willing,” he added as Travis walked her around the yard, “how does she feel to you?”

“I agree she does respond well,” Travis ran his hand along her neck then gave her a gentle pat,

“Maybe I can award you second prize.” Bradley suggested.

“Funny fella’,”

“I didn’t say at the time but what your mother said was somewhat cruel. A parent should never deflate a kid’s ego like that.”

“No really I didn’t mind, although I did throw the ribbon away after she told me but it was somewhat moth-eaten by then and most of the gold lettering had worn away.”

“Still, that is something your Uncle Roy would never do. He would build you up not knock you down.”

Travis walked her about, finding she responded at the slightest touch.

“I’ll tell you what I have film in the box brownie, I’ll get it and take a picture seeing it is your first ride on her.”

Soon Bradley returned with his camera, “Ready?”

“Okay,”

“Hold her still or you will blur the picture and turn around so I can get the creek in the background.”

Travis changed his position and posed.

“Are you ready?”

“Again ready,”

“Give me a smile you look like you swallowed a lemon.”

Travis gives his best smile.

“Got it, I’ll take a second for good measure and have Roy take the film for development when he is out next.”

“Have you made up your mind what to call her?”

“She’s a little on the small side,” Travis responded.

“She’s big enough for you and strong.”

“Titch,” Travis declared.

“Titch what kind of fucken’ name is that?” Bradley shook his head with feigned disgust and commenced to return to the house, leaving Travis to water and feed Titch.

That night after tea with a cool breeze from the east the boys found comfort in the moonlight on the front verandah. They had decided to play a game cards but the light brought every conceivable insect and beetle for miles so it was instead a beer and conversation.

“Titch,” Bradley says and gave a huff out of an extended silence.

“What’s wrong with Titch?”

“I knew a kid once,” Bradley recollected, “he was a skinny little fella’ half the size he should have been. He was called Titch; well that is what we called him.” Bradley finished his beer. “Want another?”

“If you’re shouting,”

Bradley returned from the kitchen with two beers, “we are almost out,”

“There is always the pub,” Travis says.

“He was a right fighter.”

“Who was?” Travis asks.

“Titch – he was like your filly, a real fighter.”

“What happened to Titch?”

“Nothing extraordinary, he got a sheila up the duff when he was but fifteen, she was eighteen and they were given special dispensation to marry.”

Bradley laughed.

“Where does the humour come into the telling?” Travis asks.

“He was five foot nothing and she six-one,”

Gary’s stories are about life in Australia as a gay man. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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