Published: 21 Feb 2022

Moving on wasn’t difficult, only deciding what direction to travel. Travis removed Luke’s map suggesting where to find fodder and water, noticing that the closest was a half day’s ride towards the Mt. Surprise – Georgetown road in the direction of Einasleigh and by his reckoning he should be able to reach the location by sundown. Also there was a gem field close by. Agates were in abundant in a dry creek beds that lead into many of the western rivers which at that time of the year would be but a string of lagoons and waterholes.

Travis had seen agates as a child while holidaying at the property his father managed on the Gilbert. Then he had little interest in the semi-precious gems, thinking they were pretty but when it came to it they were still rocks; coloured stones with no other use but to be broken down into shapes, polished and hung around the necks of women, or made into rings or broaches. As for a revisit to Cumberland Downs, that was a must in his travels. Ever since leaving he had an urge to return, not for the agates but to relive the sentiment of his youth as he had held that emotion dear since leaving.

At the Downs the stockmen had treated him as if he were royalty, placing him high on his youthful pedestal, taking him mustering, duck shooting, even allowing him to heat the branding irons once the calves were of age. Furthermore it was the Downs that gave Travis the love of the open outback and not his earlier time on Creek Run, as then he was much too young to appreciate.

There were also memories of the kill as it was known and appearing somewhat barbaric to city folk, who believed meat came in plastic trays from supermarkets and not from some unfortunate animal. Once a month or so depending on the season and how many men were in for mustering, the station would dispatch a bullock for fresh meat, most of which would be salted and stored. Travis smiled while remembering the kill, again reflecting on when he had to dispatch chickens for Morris and how he found it difficult to do so but had little qualm about the despatching a bullock. Back then during the station’s kill he was a spectator and not the man pointing the rifle at the animal’s head, or lifting some unfortunate sheep high by the back legs on some rudimentary gantry to have its throat cut. So how would it be if he felt need to shoot a kangaroo or a wallaby? He shuddered at the thought, believing in such an incident necessity would pull the trigger and left that decision for a future day, if at all.

From his advantage Travis scanned the horizon and with a gentle boot and tongue clicking encouraged Titch to move on. Travis was on a search but hadn’t an inkling what it may be. All he knew was something was missing from his short life and whenever he paused to review his thoughts an urge would build deep down inside once more driving him on. Now the feeling was so strong he believed he could almost touch his future and was beginning to realise it was a rainbow he was chasing and soon, quite soon he would end his quest but possibly not before understanding what was missing deep down in the pit of his gut.

Once again Evan came to mind, as did Bradley and he was missing them all, even Greg but the old Greg with his assertive brashness and confidence, even if it was but a facade. He could settle down, he knew that now but until that day there was one last path to follow, one more line of Carpentarian trees to reach before accepting his reality.

Late in the afternoon Travis reached the first of Luke’s watering holes. It was a pleasant pool stretching for a good half mile with a dry rocky creek bed at each end with only a trickling of water to continue its way to the next waterhole. The banks were green with fresh grass from the recent rain and embellished with Giejera willow trees, their branches drooping to kiss the cool fresh water. Travis was pleased and soon set up his camp.

“Lovely spot Titch,” Travis says and set her onto the new grass. She quickly commenced to feed while Travis built a fire as he checked his supplies.

“Bully-beef, beans, bacon; what do you recon girl, baked beans and bacon?” he asks of Titch and continued to prepare his suggested meal. “No eggs,” he suggested once again.

After his meal Travis checked the water level using a stick he had found floating near the bank. Removing his boots and clothing he waded into the water testing the depth as he went. The lagoon was quite shallow even at its centre, perfect for swimming. On entering the water he remembered Luke’s statement about crocodiles and shuddered, even with the recollection of Luke’s guarantee that they were harmless and seldom reached more than a couple of feet in length.

Luke also implied that they were timid creatures and it was possible to be in the same waterhole as a dozen of them and not realise they were there.

Standing waist deep in water Travis scanned the horizon and the undulating country about.

‘I could settle here,’ he thought, “build a small house over on that bank under those trees,” he softly uttered giving a slight nod of self assurance towards his chosen spot. He pointed to his chosen spot as if the body was attempting to convince the mind.

‘A nice vegetable patch, no radishes I hate radishes; carrots yes,’ he thought.

‘It’s too humid for tomatoes,’

‘A dog.’

‘I must have a dog.’

‘Max would be too old,’

Travis thought of home and his own dog. Max came from country life to town after Jim’s accident. He was borne on Creek Run and was inclined towards sheep but being more Travis’ pet and companion he was introduced to cattle but their size and nature frightened him. It was Margaret’s opinion to leave Max on Cumberland Downs but because of his advancing years it was a certainty Max would have been put down. Travis therefore won the day with promises to be a good provider but once in Mareeba he was soon found lacking in Max’s care.

‘A pup – yes a bouncing new pup, possibly a Kelpie like Max.’

“Huh,” Travis huffed, remembering Nola and her bouncing basket of puppies and his night with her. He thought of marriage and children playing about his imaginary home by the lagoon, their cries of happiness as they swam in its water. There wasn’t any stress in his dreaming as all was idyllic and continuous like his flat-lining approach to life. She would be the perfect woman fitting for his simplistic nature and his children angles of manners.

“Could I marry?” Travis muttered softly.

‘I guess so,’ he thought and attempted to visualise his imaginary wife attending to their vegetable plot close by along the bank of the lagoon. He could picture the children all boys, he warmed to the thought but could not visual the woman, she was there in his mind in body but had no face while those of the children all appeared like Bradley and Evan. He laughed loudly towards the absurdity of it all. Almost immediately the notion dissolved and he was again alone without further inclination towards such dreaming.

The following morning Travis went for a walk along the lagoon, crossed over at its end and returned by the opposite side only to discover more foot prints in a mudded area. They appeared old and partly washed out by the previous rain storm while leading to the water then back into the scrub. He attempted to follow losing the prints after a short distance among the leaf litter and the baked earth. Travis returned to his camp and moved his supplies closer to his swag, hoping if the prints’ owner returned with intentions to steal he would be disturbed at the slightest touch.

That night Travis slept well without fear. He believed his thieving stranger to be only after food and not his life, as there had many previous chances to cause injury if that was the stranger’s intention. Who could he be, possibly he was a hobo as suggested by Joey? Also there were still a number of Aborigines living rough in the back country but they usually moved about in groups, not as a single identity and would be more than likely be after grog while in the habit of settling before your very eyes, with a cheeky smile and nonchalant attitude, sneaking about in the dark of night was most defiantly white man’s trait.

The morning sun was hot on his back while Travis searched the rocky creek bed beyond the lagoon for agates. Here and there chips of red and orange stone shone brightly in the sunlight but none were worth the keeping. Eventually he found one about half the size of a chicken’s egg. He pocketed the stone for remembrance of his visit. Standing upright to stretch the stoop from his back he noticed a weak column of smoke rising above the trees to the west and hardly distinguishable against the hazed sky. At first there was concern as it was almost bushfire season and with the grass long and brown it was ready for burning.

Travis climbed a small rise for a better view.

The smoke appeared to be from a campfire and most probably a good seven miles distance. “That must be my thief,” he loudly accused and mused a while considering his identity but settling on none.

“Oh well, as long as he stays at distance,” Travis discounted as he returned to the pond for his daily swim.

The following morning before the heat haze distorted his sight, Travis climbed the rise in search of the previous day’s smoke. It remained but had shifted more to the south west and at a greater distance and after referring to Luke’s map, believed it close to Talaroo Station’s homestead, therefore he considered the thief was now their problem and would find more choice in that station’s store than in his meagre supply. Each morning Travis would climb his hill and search for the smoke. It was missing for three days then on the forth returned in much the same position as before and on the fifth had once again disappeared from the hazed skyline.

Travis had been at the waterhole for more than a week and had become accustomed to its beauty. Often he would search for agates in the dry creek beyond the lagoon but seldom found anything he wished to keep. He would sit in the cooling shadows of the willows or take to the water, swimming the pools length. He even put his hand to fishing but damper was not to their taste, especially the doughy imitation of bread he chanced to create in the coals of his fire. He did catch one bony-bream and by its struggle against the line, with its silver glittering in the sunlight it appeared much larger but once in hand was found not worth the pan and was again released.

With the sunrise on the eleventh day, or was it his twelfth Travis was now loosing track of time, he was once more being drawn onwards towards a better lagoon and greener pastures, besides Titch had grazed most of the fresh grass from around their camp, making it necessary to move her further away each day to feed.

Travis collected his map and Luke’s sketch and once again climbed the hill. The smoke was back and after checking his directions it appeared to be coming from the spot marked on Luke’s map and his next destination. Luke had also marked the approximate distance between each site but to Travis the smoke appeared to be slightly further than Luke’s suggestion. According to Luke it would take most of a full day’s travel to reach the next lagoon, also it was across the main road and somewhat towards Forsayth, which meant he could replenish his supplies there before moving on towards Georgetown and Cumberland Downs.

Travis rose early and was ready to move out before the sun. He could feel the season’s change, no longer did the pre-dawn bring the crispness it had only a week previous. The northern dry was becoming spring, which swiftly ran into summer with the only difference being the wet. Then with the monsoon season the dry creek beds would become torrents that often turned the country into vast inland seas, leaving behind a carpet of green once the water found its way to the gulf. With the wet he would again need to return to civilization as many of the rivers that lay across his path would be all but impossible to manage except along the main gulf road. Even then that road was often cut for days, even weeks at a time.

Travis thought of Evan and his November promise and smiled. Absence from Evan’s company had increased his fondness for the lad; now instead of disbelief in their rendezvous he had developed a longing for the event.

“What day is it?” Travis spoke loudly, his hands clasped behind his head while stretching the stiffness from his back. He was loosing track of time. He knew the month but pondered on the date or what day it was. By counting back to when he was last in Mt .Surprise he believed it to be Wednesday but what was the date?

“Hey girl what date is it?” He asks while gently stroking Titch’s neck. She snorted at his touch. “Some help you are,” Travis complained. Mounting he headed out towards the south east and his next destination.

“I’ll have to get myself a calendar,” Travis assured while moving through the long brown grass towards the direction on the road, allowing Titch to snatch a feed as they travelled.

The sun was overhead when Travis reached the road. It was at the crossing of a small creek that ran in the same direction he was travelling. He rested Titch and himself beside the narrow ribbon of bitumen when in the distance a noisy speck approached. The speck drew closer displaying the words Tableland Freighters in large letters across the cattle transporters bonnet and side panel. The driver brought his rig to stop close by where Travis was resting giving Titch concern but the sound of Travis’ voice and a gentle touch soon brought her to calm.

“G’day.” The driver greeted and jumped down from his cabin. Travis nodded.

“I need to piss.” The tall thin man declared and walked to the side of the road. Soon a steady stream of urine was flowing into the bulldust, splashing the light powder into the air with force.

“Ah I needed that, what’s you name?”

“Travis Brown,”

“Well Travis Brown; meet Malcolm Larson.” The driver declared, offering one hand to Travis while shaking the last few drops to the dust with the other without the slightest concern for modesty. Finished he re-buttoned his fly, removed his battered akubra hat and complained about the heat.

“What are you doing out this way Travis?” The driver asks. A broad smile crinkled lines at the corner of his mouth while forming crows-feet around his small royal blue eyes.

“Just travelling no where in particular,”

“Doesn’t the heat get to ya’?” the driver asks.

“Not really it’s most probably cooler out here than in your cabin and I don’t have to put up with the stink of cow shit,” Travis answered pointing at the load of restless animals on the trailer and the slop excreting from the bottom tray.

“They’re no worry – when you’re on the move the stink stays behind, it’s the dust that gets into everything, after a week off you can still taste it.” The truck driver ran his hand through his thinning brown hair and wiped away his brow’s sweat with a large square of dark blue cloth from his rear pocket. “Do you live around here?” he asks.

“No Mareeba, who do the cattle belong to?” Travis enquired, checking the stock through the gaps in the trailer’s side but could not view their branding.

“A fellow the other side of Mareeba – Roy Brown.”

“Well what do you know, Roy is my uncle.” Travis proudly announced.

“Then you must be Jim’s lad, my old man worked as bookkeeper for your dad back on Cumberland Downs,” the driver declared with equalled animation.

“Now I know who you are, I thought you appeared familiar. You came up to the station one Christmas while I was home for the holidays. I was around seven or eight and you were in your mid teens.

“Yea maybe a little older and you were a bloody little pest; followed me around like a pet dog, I couldn’t get rid of you,” the driver proclaimed.

“Was I that bad?” Travis asks.

“Not really, I liked it; made me feel important,” the driver checked the time; “suppose I better hit the road, if I don’t get this lot to water soon they will be in strife.”

He climbed back into his cabin.

“Tell Roy you saw me and everything’s alright,” Travis says as the giant rig burst into life and jolted forward throwing some of the cattle from their stand.

“Will do mate and when you’re back in Mareeba call in and we can chat old times; Roy will give you my address – see ya’.” Then with a volume of dust and spreading of cow muck, Malcolm Larson was gone.

Travis had lingered far too long at the Georgetown road in conversation with the semi-trailer driver and realised he would not reach his destination until after dark, so decided to camp close by for the night, setting out once more with the early morning.

He placed his camp close to the creek and a small holding of water among some large boulders, using them as a back drop with his canvas sheet as a cover. Travis stood back and admired his work but what he didn’t bargain for was how close he had camped to the narrow wooden bridge across the creek. As he drifted off to sleep he was awakened in fright by what sounded as if the entire universe collapsing about him. It was the bridge and the trucks that passed along the so called Gulf Highway. Firstly it was the lights from the trucks reflecting off the granite walls of his camp, followed by the roar of their engines as they braked before hitting the bridge, while the bridge appeared as if its flimsy structure was collapsing on top of him, as loose planks gave a merry dance under the weight of the cattle trucks wheels. Eventually that long and restless night turned into a new day and he was once more on his way.

Travis’ new destination was almost as tranquil as the last, with its cool water, willows and banks of green grass, he could not have asked for a more ideal spot and silently thanked Luke for taking the trouble in drawing his map. There was one difference from the last water hole and that was evidence of a deserted campfire in the most idyllic spot. Travis felt the ashes, believing it had been abandoned for at least a full day, while nearby were three empty food tins, two burnt black by fire, the third still holding its baked beans label. Travis shook his head and smiled, “I suppose your need was greater than mine,”

‘I wonder who you are.’ Travis was developing empathy towards his thief rather than anger as he searched about for footprints and finding many, eventually leading away from the camp in a westerly direction.

“Where are you heading fella’?” Travis quietly questions.

“Forsayth but that isn’t the most direct direction, you are heading deeper into the Gulf Country.”

He took the empty tins and placed them close to where he decided to locate his own camp, with intention to bury them with his rubbish when he move on.

After setting his camp Travis surveyed the area. There was ample grass and water and his supplies were holding, so he wouldn’t have to relocate for a while. He was satisfied but his interests returned to his thief. Looking around for some advantage he found none but there was evidence of a rise some distance away and crowned with boulders that would give advantage as a viewing platform.

Being late in the afternoon Travis decide to explore the rise the following morning when the air was cooler before the heat haze of the day, besides his thief would be more likely to light a fire in the early morning than during the day.

The following morning the walk to the hillock proved to take longer than he anticipated. The way was undulating with steep gullies of loose boulders and fallen trees, with a lage area of dry waist-high grass, begging for a lightning strike to create an inferno.

“Snakes!” Travis cried out loudly realising the long grass could be a haven for them.

“I hate snakes!” he exhaled with a hiss without actually seeing any but in his mind they were there; slithering around in the long grass, coiled in pensive mood under his next step, while waiting to strike. His imagination saw their shiny brown colouring under every step. Those small evil eyes and tempered dispositions. His heart pounded as he continued towards his advantage, realising that a strike by any one of the countries ten most famous would be fatal so far from help and if it happened to be a taipan probably within half an hour, a king brown a little longer. Once past the grass the going became easier and he soon forgot his fear of snakes but did decide to skirt that area on his return.

Travis’ destination was a small rise crowned with a stand of boulders, some as tall as two men and piled high with little access to its top. At the rear of the cairn a tree had long ago found root in a gap between two large monoliths splitting them apart as it grew to maturity then died, giving a place to climb by using the gnarled roots as a ladder.

Once at the top, the pile gave way to a sizeable, mostly flat surface providing good advantage as he could see uninterrupted and panoramically but there wasn’t any smoke and it was obvious he wasn’t the first to visit his platform, while by the age of the litter it was long past, with a scattering of what appeared to be three-o-three rifle shells. Travis remembered stories of soldiers learning bush survival skills during the previous war believing it was at that time his hilltop had been occupied.

Travis felt disappointed as he had become somewhat attached to his thief and the stories created in his mind on who he may be.

‘What would I say if we meet?’ Travis gave thought.

‘You thieving little bugger.’

“That’s telling him,” Travis laughed.

‘No really what would you do?’ he continued with the thought.

‘Most probably I’d do nothing.’

Travis remained scanning the horizon for a time until the heat reflected from the granite boulders commenced to bother him so he climbed back down and returned to his camp, his thoughts remaining with his thief’s wellbeing.

Once back at his camp Travis began to think the worst, possibly his thief was laying somewhere injured from a fall; or a bite from one of those imagined snakes. Whatever he concocted there was nothing that could be done except climb the rise and look for a campfire. This Travis dutifully performed for two more days, while skirting the long grass, without success. Then he became disinterested in his daily routine and no longer climbed the monolith in pursuit of smoke.

Two weeks had passed and Travis’ supplies were dwindling. He had on a number of occasions attempted to shoot wallabies but his aim was bad and after one final attempt he managed to wound a small kangaroo, which bounded into the undergrowth.

After an extensive search for the wounded animal and without success, Travis decided against living of the land while missing a hot shower, as lagoon water was giving his skin a tinge of colour and a distinctive bushy odour.

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a lone bushman after all, I miss my hot showers,” he declared loudly from a deep feeling of remorse towards the wounding of the kangaroo. Yet that spark of adventure remained strong enough to drive him on. Besides he had not yet returned to Cumberland Downs and there was always something interesting to be found past that next horizon’s tree line.

After the wounding of the kangaroo, with supplies low and the constant reminder of his developing odour the Forsayth hotel was becoming a beacon of civilization and by his reckoning Travis believed he was at least a day and one half’s ride away from comfort.

Early the following morning and after checking once more for smoke and finding none, Travis broke camp and was about to head out when disturbed by the arrival of a small mob of cattle and the shouts of a women obviously not in control and both cattle and rider were almost on top of him before they noticed his presence.

Coming over the slight rise the lead animal caught sight of Travis and Titch then lead the mob away along the creek in the opposite direction.

“Hey!” The young woman shouted at Travis while giving up on following the cattle.

“Hey yourself,”

“What do you think you’re doing her?!”

“Camping I guess,”

The woman, her long auburn hair tucked high under an akubra hat and hanging about its rim in unkempt whispers, leant forward in the saddle patting the sweat foaming neck of her mount. She took a deep breath and settled from her frustration with the mob. She had a masculine appearance, her jaw much too strong to be considered feminine while her clothing was most definitely preferred towards the dress of a cattleman.

“You shouldn’t push him so hard in this heat,” Travis advised.

“And you know horses?”

“I do,”

“What’s your name?”

“Travis,”

“Travis what?”

“Travis Brown,”

“Do you realise you are on private land Mr. Brown?”

“Am I and whose land would that be?”

“My father’s, you are camped on Jiemba Creek property.”

“Anyway I’m moving out in a few minutes, I haven’t herd of Jiemba Creek before.”

“Well you have now and before you go douse that campfire, I don’t want the country burned.”

“I was about to; I do know how to use a fire. By the way your cattle have cleared out further up the creek, would you like a hand mustering them back?”

“Would you know how?”

“I was brought up with sheep and cattle, I should. Dad managed Cumberland Downs for a while and my Uncle Roy has properties north of Mareeba.”

“Roy Brown, I know him.”

“There you go; I’m not such a bad bloke after all.”

“I’m Jenny Wilson and no, I will catch them up when they run outa’ spook,” once spoken she smiled for the first time, turned her horses head and slowly advanced along the creek bed.

Still within range she turned and called. “Hey Travis Brown if you are passing Jiemba call in for a meal, or a shower, you look as if you need it.”

“I just may do that,” Travis answered while once again realising the great expanse of outback Queensland was but small when it came to the family of country folk.

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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