Published: 11 Oct 2021

Roy arrived around sundown on Saturday with the land-rover weighed down with supplies, including the two saddles he had ordered through Jack Johnson that weren’t ready for a previous trip. After dumping the saddles on the verandah Roy withdrew two brown envelopes from his shirt pocket and handed one to each the boys.

“What’s this?” Travis asks inquisitively as they collected the supplies from the vehicle.

“Your pay,” Roy explained, “I’d love a beer,” he declared as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, across the bridge of his nose and tickled until the itch caused him to remove the sweat with his shirt sleeve, “it’s bloody hot,”

“By the verandah thermometer it’s one hundred and three,” Bradley informed.

“It’s been that for the last three days and at midnight last night it was still eighty-seven.” Travis commented as if to say it was always hot.

“Did you bring any beer?” Bradley asks.

“A truck load,” Roy declared pointing back to the land-rover, “but I think it will be near boiling.”

“Were out – but I got a couple of cold long necks from the pub especially for you,” Bradley offered, as Travis pocketed his envelope.

“I haven’t done anything that deserves payment,” Travis protested feeling somewhat fraudulent as a wave of embarrassment came over him. Bradley accepted his envelope with a smile and a nod then commenced to carry the boxes of supplies into the house. In going he turned to Travis, “come on kid they won’t travel on their own.”

Travis followed close behind with a box of groceries and still smarting from embarrassment for receiving a pay packet.

“You have according to Bradley, he said you do more than your share,” Roy divulged. “Come on I want to wash the dust out of my throat.”

Climbing the stairs Roy noticed the wobble had gone from the hand rail, “who fixed the rail?”

“The kid,” Bradley answered arriving with a glass of cold beer for Roy,” he turned to Travis, “if you want one, you will have to wait until the new supply has chilled.”

“No I’m okay.”

“There you go Travis you fixed the rail for a starter,” Roy praised

“That was ten minutes work,” Travis timidly admitted.

“Don’t let him bullshit you Roy, he spent all of Thursday afternoon on it – bloody little professional,” Bradley backhandedly credited.

“I hear you’ve chosen yourself a horse?” Roy says while stretching his travel weary legs across the verandah steps. Removing his hat he once again complained about the heat.

“Yes and Bradley broke her in, she’s a real beauty.”

“What are you doing for a saddle?”

“One of the old saddles from the shed; It’s a bit worn but it does the job.”

“When are you heading bush?”

“Don’t rightly know, suppose I’m half way there already, besides I like it here but as I said I feel somewhat of a fraud.”

“You know your mum was on my back about you,” Roy finished his beer, “she’s a little concerned.”

“I don’t know why, it isn’t as if I’m living rough.”

“I think you should take a few days and visit her,” Roy suggested.

“Yes I was saying the same to Bradley only yesterday.”

“You can come back with me if you wish,” Roy offered.

“Na, I’ll give it a couple more weeks and catch the train; I want to get used to the horse first.”

“What did you call her?” Roy asks as Bradley came from the kitchen.

“He called it fucken’ Titch, Roy – what kind of dumb name is that?” Bradley interjected.

“Titch, wasn’t that the name of your mate sometime back in Mareeba?” Roy asks Bradley.

“It was and she has as much fire in her belly as he had.”

“Yes I remember Titch, got Peggy Mitford up the duff and married,” Roy gave a smile, what he remembered of Titch, or Robert Planter being he was what was colloquially known as a greyhound, all cock and ribs and proud of the fact and it was often suggest he should be arrested for indecency for his trouser display.

“She’s small, it’s a good name.” Travis protested as Bradley returned to the kitchen.

“It’s a good enough name; I guess she won’t mind what you call her. I once had a horse called Pup,” Roy divulged.

“Why Pup?”

“Its mother was a right dog.”

“I remember that bitch, she threw me almost every time I tried to ride, never did break the brumby out of her – dinners ready,” Bradley called bringing Roy to his feet.

“We should be going in, by the way the darker saddle is for you, can’t have you riding around on that old junk from the shed, besides it wouldn’t be good for Titch.”

“Shit Roy I don’t know what to say.”

“You can say you will look after it, I still haven’t forgotten the treatment you gave to your saddle back on Creek Run.”

“Oh yes, I do remember and boy did I cop it.”

“Yes you and the Smith kid from Clunes, swimming your horses across the dam, besides it was a miracle you weren’t drowned, at a guess I would say neither of you knew how to swim.”

“Was as well our horses did,” Travis gave a grimace towards the memory. It had been Ronald Smith’s idea and they floated beside while holding onto their saddles but worse of all they almost wrecked the leather and it took many hours of saddlery skill to bring them back to useable.

“It was Ron’s suggestion, anyway you weren’t there how did you know?”

“It was in December and if you remember I visited Creek Run with your Uncle Bill that Christmas.”

“I was only five at the time,” Travis protested.

“A country boy should know how to look after his equipment at any age. As for blaming the Smith kid, I don’t think you can blame him for what the two of you got up to among the wool bales.”

“Oh you heard about that,” Travis became quite coy.

“Your mother told me. I believe it was called playing horses,” Roy laughed.

“It was only a kid’s game.”

“Without any clothes,”

“That was a long time ago and I never saw Ronnie again. I often wondered what happened to him.”

“I saw him in Cairns last year he is past twenty now and has joined the navy and works on the patrol boats out of Cairns. I guess the navy is the best place for that sort of action.”

Travis quickly digressed to his unexpected gift, “I will look after it but I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“You’re worth it kid, you’ve always been the pick of the bunch.” Roy gave a smile and patted his nephew on the shoulder, “besides I see myself in you when I was at your age and it makes me feel young again.”

Travis felt heat build in his face as his embarrassment returned. He shook his head and repeated he didn’t know what to say while his simple words of appreciation appeared shallow for Roy’s generosity.

The following morning Roy went to find Jack Arnold for more information on the sale of stock horses, while Bradley once again disappeared. Travis watched as he slowly crossed the paddock towards to the creek before losing sight of him within the trees. It was then Travis decided to follow but on reaching the creek lost track of Bradley. He stalked along the creek for a short distance, being sure to be undercover at all times, then thought better of his clandestine activity, deciding to break off in fear of Bradley’s return and catching him spying. Instead he would on another occasion wait hidden along the creek before Bradley arrived then follow under the cover of the scrub.

With the suggested sale of stock horses to Einasleigh Station Roy extended his stay at Bullock Creek and after a number of days he drove over to Einasleigh Station to enquire of their needs. During that time Bradley was not inclined to take his morning walks, so to a degree Travis forgot about following. Besides he was much too excited with his new saddle and its fit to Titch to concern.

“Immaculate workmanship,” Travis announced as Bradley returned from the yards finding Travis oiling his new saddle.

“What the fuck does immaculate mean?”

“It’s a word Jack Johnson would use towards a good job.”

“So what are you finding immaculate?”

“The stitching on the saddle – nice piece of work that, if I don’t say so myself.”

“And you would know good work from poor,” Bradley doubtfully suggested.

“I should, you see the stitching on the girth strap – I did that.”

“Looks okay, I didn’t know you could do leather work,” Bradley appeared most surprised, believing his friend somewhat lacking in any form of craftsmanship.

“I was almost apprentice to Jack Johnson the saddler but decided it wasn’t what I wanted.”

Bradley scrutinised the stitching, “Not bad at all, well I’ll be buggered – pity you’re cooking wasn’t as apt.”

Roy arrived back late from Einasleigh Downs on the Friday declaring that he had to return to Mareeba the following morning, as the sale had not been successful, as the manager of Einasleigh had found stock elsewhere and it had only been a suggestion to Jack Arnold and not a request to arrange a sale. To Roy it mattered not as it gave him a reason to visit and re-establish his friendship with Sid Fisher, the property’s owner.

Once settled Roy spoke to Bradley, “when you see Jack, you give him a piece of my mind,”

“I’ll do that Roy,” Bradley agreed, wishing he hadn’t given the man’s information creditability.

“Never mind, it was worth the trip, I’ve arranged cartage of some of Einasleigh’s bullocks to the Mareeba yards, so the trip wasn’t an entire waste of time.”

“What do you want me to do with the horses I cut from the mob?” Bradley asks.

“Release them back, I’m working on another deal but won’t know for a week or so.”

“What deal would that be?” Bradley asks.

“A couple of kids riding horses for a family over near Paddy’s Green,”

“More breaking work,” Bradley supposed.

“Are you up to it?”

“No worries Roy, I like the challenge.”

In the course of that night’s meal Travis notice something about Bradley he had not before. During Roy’s visits Bradley became unusually quiet and somewhat submissive in mood. Gone was his sarcastic humour, not once referring to Travis as wife or complain about his cooking. Bradley had also dressed for dinner, discarding the trousers with the rent across the arse, through which it was obvious he seldom wore underpants. Also missing was his favourite blue checked shirt with the yellow paint stain across the shoulder. His dress sense remained with jeans and checks but laundered and although not ironed as neat as a country boy would wear to impress the girls at the local dance.

Later that night after they became devoid of conversation, when the further consumption of beer would only dampen the mood, Roy declared he had to leave early and retired. As he did he gave Bradley a subtle nod of the head. Travis’ attention was away from the two but chanced to turn his head as the nod was instigated.

Within a minute of Roy retiring Bradley also retired. He gently pushed his empty beer glass to one side then departed without speaking further. Travis finished his beer then sat alone in the kitchen while the primus lamp above his head depleted its gas. It dulled. He reached for the lamp giving it two sharp pumps, immediately the air became heavy with the smell of kerosene and the light’s silk bag burst into a brilliant white glow.

Travis remained in the kitchen long after with his thoughts on Bradley’s submissive behaviour. “I wonder,” he mumbled while gazing along the dark passage that led to their bedrooms. His thoughts drifting back to innuendos of past family gatherings and comments made by Greg Stanley and others. “Na,” he huffed while breathing deeply from the smell of kerosene in the air.

‘Wouldn’t care if it were so,’ he thought and decided to retire.

Two steps towards his room Travis paused; turned and after removing his boots, crept silently along the hall towards the bedrooms, allowing curiosity to overpower his respect for his uncle’s privacy. The hall was dark but enough moonlight streamed through the open door of a spare bedroom to guide his way. Firstly he reached the bedroom of Bradley. The door was closed, he listened but there was no sound. Bradley was inclined to snore, yet the room was quiet. Outside the distant barking of the hotel’s dog delayed his progress. Slowly he crept towards his uncle’s door; also closed. Travis nervously approached releasing a squeak from a loose floor board.

The squeak was soft and almost inaudible.

He had heard it; then could Roy or Bradley have also?

He waited, thinking what his excuse would be if either door opened – he had none.

Neither door opened.

Travis placed his ear to his uncle’s door.

Did he hear a sound?

Was it the whispering of words or the squeak of a bed spring; did he note footsteps across bare floor-boards of the room?

He listened further while holding his breath, hearing nothing but his pulse pounding in his ears. Then as guilt prevailed Travis quickly returned to his room, avoiding the squeaky floor board as he went. “You’re imagining things,” he scolded himself as he reached his bedroom. ‘Could it be,’ he overrode his sensibility and as quickly suppressed the thought.

Roy was ready to depart before sunup. As he was leaving he woke Travis from a deep sleep and a dream he could not remember, yet its haunting was to remain with him for most of the day. Whatever the contents had been it was distressing enough to linger and occasionally he would have a glimpse, a flash across the passive mind but then it was gone to that place deep within where dreams hid.

“I won’t be back for a month or so,” Roy advised from the bedroom door but lingered as if he had concern.

“No worries.”

“I’ve told Bradley if you have need of anything telephone from the pub and I can send it up on the Forsayth goods train.”

“Thank you Roy, I’m sure we will be fine.”

“You’re still alright with it all?”

“No worries Roy,” Travis repeated.

“What are you doing about visiting your parents?” There lay Roy’s concern as only the day before he came down Margaret had been on the telephone to him complaining about Travis’ lack of contact, while her tone was laced with blame towards her brother-in-law.

“Soon, probably next week,”

“Would you like me to come and collect you?”

“Na she’ll be jake – I’ll catch the train.”

“You be sure you do – okay,”

“I said I will Roy don’t concern.”

“Alright you arrange it with Bradley – and be sure to see your parents, I don’t want your old woman on my back again?”

“I will Roy, I promise,”

Roy turned and placed his hat firmly on his head, pushing it back from his brow. “See ya’ then kid,” he concluded then left. Moments later the land-rover roared into life and with it came the cacophony of bird sounds, as the first rays of sun light brought forth the dawn.

Breakfast with Bradley was quiet. His mood somewhat akin to one who had just been told a close family member had died, while even Travis’ attempt at conversation didn’t bring him out of his downturn, answering each question with as few words as possible.

Once breakfast was finished, Bradley went to attend to the horses. Firstly to feed their riding mounts then to send those he had yarded pending the sale back to their mob in the top paddock. Travis followed down to the yards.

“Does Roy run stock freighters?” Travis asks.

“Why do you ask?”

“When he was talking with you, Roy mentioned he was arranging to truck cattle for Einasleigh to the sale yards.”

“He has a half share in Tableland Freighters,”

“An iron in every fire,”

Bradley let Travis comment pass.

“You seem quiet this morning?” Travis commented as Bradley opened the yard gate to the paddock.

“Just something Roy suggested but nothing to worry over.”

“I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Travis offered.

“As I said it’s nothing.”

“What would you like for lunch?” Travis asks as the last of the horses bolted back to the main mob.

“Usual I suppose – whatever,”

“Then whatever it will be; whatever with boiled spuds and cabbage.”

“No more flaming cabbage Travis, I’ll turn into a rabbit and it makes me fart like a trooper.”

“Rabbits eat carrots.”

“So I’ll turn into something that eats cabbage, maybe a cabbage moth.”

“Seeing you’re in a mood, I’ll go tidy the kitchen.”

Bradley forced a smile, “yes you do that and empty the scrap bucket it is stinking the place out.”

“Will do,”

While doing the breakfast dishes Travis remembered his escapade from the previous night. Assuring himself that Bradley was not around, he quickly stole along the passage towards the bedrooms. Firstly he opened the door to Bradley’s room. The bed was unmade and the bedclothes somewhat scatted as if slept in by someone who had a restless night. On to Roy’s room, the bed was also unmade but otherwise the room was orderly. He closed the door and returned to his dishes. As he did Bradley returned to the house, his noisy boots heavy on the back stairs.

“Hey Travis, leave that for the moment, I need your help down in the feed shed,” he requested.

“Is everything alright?”

“I need you to help in shifting something and you can give me a hand with the feeding.” Bradley answered.

“I’ve almost finished,” Travis answered from the kitchen sink.

“Come on haven’t got all morning. You can finish your wifey work anytime.”

It appeared whatever had bothered Bradley had lifted from him and as Travis helped move the newly arrived stock fodder, Bradley once again become chatty; still it was obvious something had settled on Bradley and would not completely lift.

Slowly over the following days Bradley came out of his darkness but not once had he taken his morning walk. Travis had attempted to discover what troubled Bradley but either he was too subtle with his questioning or Bradley was pretending not to understand so the answer remained covert.

On their return from that Saturday’s afternoon at the pub, Travis decided it was time to advise Bradley of his intention to visit Mareeba.

“Take as much time as you wish, as I have said on a number of occasions there isn’t enough work for both of us. Besides you don’t have to ask me if you can go.”

Bradley’s shrugged answer somewhat cut Travis believing they were bonding but no matter how hard he tried he could not break through Bradley’s solitary manner.

“Even so you’re the boss, besides Roy wants me to pass it by you -,” Travis paused, he was about to admit he was becoming fond of Bradley and thought of him as close as any but decided such a statement may not come out the way he wished it to, besides Bradley wasn’t one for meaningful conversation and would shrink from any encounter that could bring sentiment.

Travis had once heard from an Italian farmer while picking beans during a school holiday that Italians stood at elbow distance while conversing, while English were at arm’s length, advance closer and their private space was invaded. That’s what causes wars, the farmer inferred, the English end up against the wall with nowhere else to go. It sort of made sense but Travis couldn’t comply with it as a precursor to hostilities. With Bradley it was even further and no touching physically or verbally.

“Then as your boss I say you should. Have a good time and take a few extra days as well. When will you be leaving?” Bradley smiled and appeared to return from his dark side.

“After the weekend, I thought I could catch the train. Would you like anything brought back,” Travis offered.

“A bottle of scotch would be nice; I’ll give you some money.”

“No need, you’ve shouted enough at the pub.”

“Will you be seeing Roy?”

“I wasn’t intending to do so, do you have a message?”

“Na, I was just asking.”

Bradley opened the refrigerator, “get some real milk, I’m sick of powdered.”

“If you wish but I think in the heat it would sour by my return.”

“I guess so; we should ask Roy for a milking cow, can you milk a cow?”

“I have done but a long time ago but without much success,” Travis commenced to laugh.”

“What’s got your funny?”

“You have reminded me of something that happened years back when I was a kid on Creek Run.”

“Pray tell.”

Travis commenced –

At the time some of the stockmen decided to take the little tacker with them on a muster as a mob of cattle had broken through a fence and were muddying the waters of a bore drain, causing the drinking water to spoil. Creek Run was mostly sheep but being on the north-south boundary of sheep and cattle country it ran both.

During the late morning the men called smoko and time to boil the billy, while sharing out some corned beef sandwiches Travis’ mother had made for their lunch. Once the water had boiled a good handful of leaves was added and with the usual ritual centrifugal swing to send the leaves to the bottom of the billy the tea was ready. Mind you only three times around one’s head to keep with tradition. A tradition that had become the norm wherever one was to travel through the vast outback.

“Where’s the milk?” the young Travis had asked.

“Milk? You can’t take milk on a muster in this heat lad. It would curdle in no time.”

“But I always have milk in my tea,” the lad protested.

In unison the men laughed, while the head stockman pointed to Travis’ mare that had recently given birth and its foal was not yet weaned. “There you are lad, there’s your milk – off you go.”

Travis being somewhat gullible took the men at their word and having a little understanding of milking a cow, climbed under his mare and commenced to produce an amount of milk into his pannikin of strong bush tea. Roany, his mare appeared most surprised but allowed his invasion to her udder and soon Travis’ tiny hands had produced enough milk to at least lighten his brew, bringing much merriment among the stockman.

At stories end Bradley shook his head and laughed “so if I have a mare that need’s milking then you’re the man for the job. I guess you have a shedload of such stories in that head of yours.”

“Many, but I should think you would also,” Travis realised Bradley seldom shared his past and when so it was but a line of little substance.

“Na,” Bradley discredited, “but there was a time.”

“Go on,” Travis became interested.

Bradley commenced to laugh.

“I was having a lend of you kiddo’,”

“I’ll have to ask Roy,”

“You do that and while about it, don’t forget my scotch.”

“What label?”

“You be the judge I don’t mind.”

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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