Published: 10 Jan 2022

It was still dark when Travis was wakened by the sound of a rifle shot coming from up the valley from the house. He quickly pulled on his trousers and without boots hurried into the dim light of breaking day. He could hear shouting coming from distance but could not make out what it was about. Soon after Morris arrived back carrying his rifle and swearing loudly he walked past Travis as if he wasn’t there.

“What’s the problem Mr. Morris?” Travis asks.

Morris continued on for a number of steps and without turning commenced to bellow, “fucken’ blacks that’s what’s wrong,” he turned and loading his rifle discharged it into the air, “the black bastards have settled up the valley, saying the land is their’s and they’re not moving.” He again cursed obscenities towards his trespassers.

“I didn’t know there was a settlement around these parts,” Travis offered.

The man again loaded his rifle but didn’t discharge. The act was most concerning but Travis settled as he again removed the cartridge, placing it into his pocket with others while violently jiggling them about.

“There isn’t – it’s a bunch of half-casts from town believing they have land rights. Give the bastards an inch and they take the fucken’ lot. I blame the bloody government. They’re animals! – filthy fucken’ animals the lot of them, my old man had the right idea. Morris shouted and without further acknowledgment of Travis’ presence headed for the house, not to surface again until well past lunch time.

Being Sunday and his off day Travis decided to take a ride up the valley to investigate what Morris had been complaining about and had no difficulty finding Morris’ mob of intruders. They had set up camp beside a small waterhole but not on Morris property, as that side of the water was crown land continuing far into the hills beyond and beyond.

On inspection Travis recognised one of the squatters to be a school friend of his from Mareeba. To most Rex Gordon would be considered white but even during his school days he had a strong sense of his aboriginality, which often had him in trouble with his peers and teachers. The others, three males and two women Travis didn’t recognise, although the older man did appear familiar, believing he was from the camp on the bank of the Granite Creek near Mareeba.

Their camp typified school-book drawings of a pre-European native camp, although somewhere along the timeline since those days, they had lost the art of humpy building. These structures gave a measure of shade from the hot sun but would never protect even from the slightest rain shower but by being there was enough to give Morris a feeling of permanency and need to move them on.

“Hey Rex what are you lot doing out this way?” Travis called from the Morris side of the water.

Rex Gordon lifted his head from his carving of a long stick, which in a rudimentary way resembled a spear; “Hey there Brownie!” Rex answered bringing attention to his presence to the rest of the mob. Travis directed Titch across the shallow water and dismounted close to where the group was seated.After introductions Travis joined with them beside a small fire, which was obviously more for ascetics rather than cooking as the area was littered with empty food tins, the contents obviously eaten directly from the canister. There were also feathers that appeared to be from a duck.

“Where did you get the duck?” Travis asks.

“Banjo got it,” Rex related and nodded towards one of his associates.

“Shot it?” Travis couldn’t see a rifle about.

“Na, we found it wandering back along the road,” Rex commenced to grin.

“Wandering?” Travis questioned.

“Well it seemed lost and was a hundred yards from that farm back towards Byrimine.”

“You best watch yourselves some of the folks out this way shoot before asking.” Travis warned.

They were a happy lot and their claim to the land was more in protest for past treatment than a rebellion, or something to do while travelling further into the gulf country for work and if it had not been for Morris’ attitude they would not have spoken of such a claim.

“Why did you choose this place?” Travis asked of Rex, who left his answer to be supplied by one of the other in the group. Arthur was the darkest of the group in his late fifties but the harsh northern sun had scoured his skin into wrinkles of one much more advanced in year’s, giving him a permanent frown.

“This used to be our land eh,” he gently replied, “it was our land all the way from Bullock Creek to Forsayth, my old granddaddy was born in those hills,” he pointed towards the top of the small valley where the Morris property ended in state forest, “and his granddaddy before him all the way back to the dreaming.”

“You should be protesting down in Canberra not with Morris, he’s one of those mad enough to shoot someone,” Travis warned.

“He’s mad right enough; he fired at us this morning, put a round right between my legs the youngest of the group answered without lifting his eyes from the dancing flames and a rusted tin he was using to boil water for tea.

“How long are you staying?” Travis asks.

“Not long, were on our way to Forsayth for work and though we would have a look at where the old people camped,” Arthur answered and offered Travis to join them for a mug of tea. Travis declined the offer declaring he had already had breakfast, believing a small lie was more appropriate than getting ptomaine poisoning from their dirty utensils.

“Got any sugar,” Rex asks as he sipped black tea from a battered enamelled pannikin.

“No and I wouldn’t dare ask old Morris for any,”

“I did, that is when he put the round between Brett’s legs.

“On my account stay forever; are you lot walking to Forsayth?” Travis asks.

“Na by train, but we got off at Byrimine and walked over here,” Arthur advised.

“Do you need money for the train?”

“She’ll be jake bro’, we catch the next train the day after tomorrow eh, usually the guard lets ride free as long as we don’t kick up a racket.”

Travis wished the small band of squatters best of luck and returned to the house only to be again accosted by Morris, who was most unhappy with his association with the blacks, even if his visit was during his own time.

“I don’t want you talking to the blacks; it only encourages them to stay.” Morris growled while Travis remained silent believing explaining their intentions would only enflame the situation, “and don’t deny doing so, I saw you.”

“I was only asking how long they intended to stay,” It was obvious Morris had noticed Travis riding up the valley and followed, so there wasn’t any sense in keeping their intentions quiet.

“There has been another break in the top paddock fence; I think the blacks did it. I want you to take a roll of wire up there and fix it,” Morris barked.

“It’s Sunday boss,” Travis protested.

“The cattle don’t wait until Monday to make a dash for it. Go fix the bloody fence now,” Morris was now in full rage.

“Sure boss but I’ll need the tractor to take up the wire.”

“Take the bloody tractor and fix the bloody fence!” Morris shouted then fell silent while the rage drained from his face. He smiled and nodded his head in agreement with his demands and without speaking further returned to the house while his boys stood in the shadows of the steps smirking.

Once Morris was out of sight Travis gently waved to the boys who quickly returned inside, filing in behind their father as if in fear to over take him.

“What have you got yourself into here?” Travis once again gave question as he drove the tractor the short distance to the damaged fence. The tractor stalled but restarted after a number of attempts, emitting a cloud of black-blue smoke.

“This bloke’s as mad as a meat-axe,” Travis assured and laughed at the stupidity of the saying, “well he’s bloody well loony and that’s a certainty,” he corrected as he reached the fence.

“What the hell,” Travis declared on expecting the fence, finding the only problem was the top wire had broken and all it need was to rejoin it using the wire stretcher. A job he completed in an instant.

“The old bugger could have fixed that himself in a minute even without the stretcher,” Travis complained as he rejoined the break.

Once the fence was secure he returned to the house.

“Did you fix the fence?” Morris asks as Travis returned the tractor to the shed.

“Yes boss but the tractor is playing up somewhat.”

“Never mind the bloody tractor, what are the blacks up to?” Morris barked.

“Not much, they said they are off to Forsayth on the next train.”

Morris smiled but did not respond further. Gone was his rage, he now appeared normal, as was his conversation.

“I’m going into Mt. Surprise later; would you like to come along?” Morris offered.

“No thank you boss, it’s Sunday and the pub’s closed and I don’t need anything,” Travis declined, thinking it wise not to associate with his boss more than necessary.

“Are you going up to the house?” Morris asks.

“Only for my lunch Mr. Morris,”

“I’ll have one of the boys bring it to you in your room.”

“If you wish,” Travis agreed.

“You upset the missus,” Morris was again building.

Travis kept his quiet.

“She is a gentle woman and easily upset.”

Morris scratched at his scalp; his sight appeared to be focusing far beyond Travis’ head. He smiled and as quickly lost it then gave a chuckle.

“Is there anything else you would like me to attend to this afternoon Mr. Morris?” Travis suggested believing even if it was his day off, it was best to offer.

“Yes you have your meals in your room, best that way.” Morris convinced himself.

“She is a nervous woman,” Morris repeated about his wife.

“Do you talk to her when I’m away?”

“No Mr. Morris, not at all.”

“I don’t want you talking to the boys,” Morris took a deep breath and buried his eyes into Travis, “yes have your meal tonight at the house but in future have it in your room.”

Again Travis kept to his quiet as Morris became quite contradictory, one breath he warned him away from the house, on the next he was again invited there for his meals.

That afternoon as Travis headed for the shower he heard Morris’ vehicle start and head out. He reached the shower block to find the older boy lurking near the building. He was alone and came closer than either of boys had ever done before. Although he had been warned off talking to the boys Travis couldn’t see any harm in a simple hello.

“Good afternoon,” Travis greeted without receiving response.

“You’re Rodney aren’t you?” Travis asks but the lad remained silent. Yet unlike his usual practice did not retreat.

“Where’s your brother?” Travis asks and Rodney pointed towards the house.

“Can’t you talk?” Travis asks.

“Of course I can.”

“What can I do for you?” Travis asks. He was becoming spooked by the lads lingering, more for what his father would say if he discovered he had been talking to his son.

“Nothing,” the lad answered.

“Don’t you think you should be heading home?” Travis enquired.

“No.”

“Your dad doesn’t want me talking to you boys.”

The lad gave a smile but remained close by.

“I’m about to take a shower,” Travis says and entered into the shower block, Rodney followed but only as far as the open doorway.

Travis faltered while Rodney lingered.

“Rodney I’m about to undress,” Travis says and placed his towel over the wall of the shower stall.

Rodney remained watching from the doorway.

Travis commenced to undress, thinking once naked the lad would take fright and leave. He didn’t and appeared to be intrigued with Travis’ nakedness. Travis shook his head and entered the shower stall. The water was cold and his shower quick. He reached for his towel and glanced towards the door. Rodney had gone.

The following night at dinner with Morris remaining away since the previous day, Mrs. Morris was unusually talkative while serving Travis his meal although her conversation was basic, mostly about the weather and how the aborigines were fairing at the lagoon.

Her words towards the natives were kind and understanding, carrying a measure of guilt towards the loss of their homelands without displaying any sign of repatriation. Morris had not yet returned from Mt. Surprise and Mrs. Morris appeared relaxed away from his influence. He could even hear the boys laughing in the main house and all appeared to be normal but as he finished his meal the sound of an approaching vehicle sent the women into a nervous spasm. Her hands trembled as her entire body gave a shudder.

“Don’t tell him I was talking to you,” She begged.

“No I won’t.” Travis answered softly as the woman now silent commenced to clear the table, her lip quivered at the sound of the slamming front door. She quickly left the room. Moments later an argument erupted. The sound of Morris’ booming voice came clearly over the pleading of innocence from his wife. Not wishing to be implicated in the fantasy brewing in Morris’ head Travis quietly returned to the bunkhouse, carrying with him concern for Morris’ wife, along with the realisation that he could do nothing to relieve her miserable existence.

After a short period the house went quiet. Travis became further concerned so he went for a walk towards the house being sure not to go to close, keeping within the shadows of a large mango tree that grew at the corner of the kitchen; its branches in part stretched across the iron roof and when in season, he could hear the dull thud of fruit on the house roof from his room, as fruit bats had their fill.

As Travis approached the house he heard a loud thud like something heavy hitting the bare boards of the kitchen.

The scraping of a chair leg on floor boards;

Voice, as Rodney called for his brother;

No answer;

Gentle laughter;

Soon Travis heard singing. It was a woman’s voice, pleasant and sounding like a lullaby, then he heard one of the boys laughing.

Then the other boy joined in.

Satisfied he returned to his room. He had only been there a matter of minutes before Morris appeared looming in the open doorway.

“Good evening Mr. Morris.” Travis politely greeted fearing Morris may have noticed him when nearby the kitchen.

The man remained blocking the door without speaking.

“Is there anything you wish me to do?” Travis cautiously asks.

Morris turned and walked back to the house. Once he was certain not to be discovered Travis followed some distance in the shadows as Morris entered into the house. Soon after more laughter and voices, both that of Morris and his wife, then the lights went out and the house fell silent.

Travis returned to his room but was too tightly wound to sleep, he took a further walk in the moonlight to the creek, following it for a short distance until he reached a large flat rock beside what could almost be called a water fall, or if the creek flowed fast enough could be considered rapids.

“What have you got yourself into this time,” he released with a sigh as it was becoming a continual in his thoughts. Travis recalled Bradley’s warning and now wished he had taken notice

‘What should I do?’ he thought.

‘I’ll give it a month and shove off,’

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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