Published: 28 Feb 2022

Travis arrived at Forsayth midafternoon of the second day and progressed immediately to the hotel where he booked a room. Once done he headed directly to the bathroom to wash away more than a fortnight’s accumulation of lagoon water, sweat and a layer of red dust one would conceive impossible to accumulate.

Later that night at the bar he introduced himself to Robyn Beasley the barmaid and publican’s wife, as to where he could have his clothes laundered. The lady was a fat jolly woman of kindly virtue who had mastered the art of humour to a high degree while calling everyone either pet or dear, no matter their age or gender.

“How long are you in town dear?” The woman asks while pulling him a beer.

“A few days – do you know where I can get some laundering done?” Travis asks.

“Bring it to me I’ll do it for you tomorrow.”

“I warn you it stinks; I’ve been in the bush for a while,” Travis cautioned.

“It can’t be any worse than some of the sheets I have to wash, some go from the paddock to the bed without a shower in between; bring it to the laundry around nine in the morning,” Robyn offered.

Among the few patrons in the bar that night was a police sergeant and his constable and acting in a most threatening manner. The sergeant whose name Travis overheard to be O’Sullivan was the same officer he encountered while returning to Bullock Creek from Mareeba and as then in no mood for friendly conversation. O’Sullivan appeared to be in search of someone and the words ‘kill the little bastard,’ clearly heralded across the bar, while with his unorderly threat came the suggestion, or more to fact demand, to be supplied with free alcohol, which out of self-preservation was supplied without question.

By nine thirty the bar emptied early except for Travis and the two police officers, while Travis attempted to become as inconspicuous as possible proved unsuccessful. O’Sullivan placed his beer on the bar and approached Travis in such away could only be taken as intimidating, while his junior officer sat smirking at the bar.

“You old enough to drink kid?”

Travis had already emptied his glass and was about to retire as O’Sullivan approached but his escape was now blocked by the big man.

“Got a driving licence?” O’Sullivan demanded; his hand outstretched to receive Travis’ identification.

Travis had been licensed while at Bullock Creek, which Roy arranged with the local establishment without a single question on road regulation being asked, or example of his skill required. The simple admittance by Roy was taken as proof of his ability but Travis had misplaced the document before leaving Bullock Creek and had not yet aspired towards a replacement.

“I’m sorry but I don’t drive,” Travis politely admitted.

As Travis replied Robyn spoke from her advantage behind the bar, “Who’s that fellow you’re looking for?” She questioned, taking the policeman’s attention momentarily away from Travis and his lack of identification.

O’Sullivan returned his interest to Robyn allowing Travis to nod his appreciation to the woman and make a quick retreat to his room.

On the following evening Travis returned to the bar and approached Robyn, “What were the cops on about last night?” Travis asks.

“Don’t know a lot, except for what he divulged when I drew his attention from you but he didn’t answer my question, instead demanded a refill. I thought it best to distract him as he’s a real mean bugger and would close us down for two pins if he had opportunity.”

“I must thank you for doing so.”

“They were also in here some time back looking for the same bloke, whoever he is, he must be elusive.”

“Again thank you,”

“No worries pet,” Robyn answered

“Did he say where he is from?”

“Ironhurst Crossing substation; it is out Croydon way.”

“That’s on the Gilbert just past Cumberland Downs, what happened to Ron Finn, he was the Sergeant out that way when my father managed the Downs?” Travis recollected while his tone displayed disappointment as he had fond memories of Finn’s visits to the station and being taken for rides in the police land-rover, which in reality differed little from the station’s vehicles, except it had a blue light and a siren.

“He was killed some time back when his vehicle hit a bullock at the Gilbert crossover. Such a lovely man and leaving three children under ten.”

Travis released a light sigh the so called order of things was changing at an alarming rate and even at his tender age, felt he was being left behind.

Travis found it necessary to hold onto each fleeting moment, to keep the past as present, to have it constantly linger and savoured. A lifetime of experience and friends tightly held in fondness while as each changed or escaped from his influence, he would reach out to reinstate as his own. Yet he was astute enough to realise doing so was not possible and maybe even returning to Cumberland Downs would be a disappointment. However he must try and once his business in Forsayth had concluded, he would continue on to the Downs in hope he would find some existence of sameness from his youth.

During the following day the Ironhurst police seemed to be everywhere; asking questions of everyone; searching seldom used out buildings with little regard for privacy or permission, all on the flimsy hearsay that their adversary had been seen in the district.

Travis again met O’Sullivan in the general store. He nodded politely to the policeman who disregarded his respect with bluntly delivered questions on where he was from, where he was going and how long he would be in town.

It was obvious the police were looking for someone but equally obvious they had no wish, for reasons known only to the belligerent officer, to disclose who it may be. By O’Sullivan’s attitude one would perceive their quarry must be at least a serial killer of some magnitude.

The sergeant’s importunate attitude annoyed Travis who in affable retaliation returned questions of his own. O’Sullivan didn’t reply but by his manner had marked his card, ending Travis’ subtle banter. By late afternoon the ordeal was over and O’Sullivan had gone from town to destinations undisclosed, allowing the simple folk to return to their dreamy, somewhat self-inflicted mundane existence and isolation.

Back in his room Travis discovered that Robyn had not only laundered his clothes but ironed them and folded each item into neat piles in much the way of his mother, shirts with shirts and trousers with their kind. He smiled, no underwear, I wonder what she thought of that?

With the surly attitude of Sergeant O’Sullivan forgotten, Travis took stock of his direction. His goal was now Cumberland Downs but there were two paths he could take. The easier was the longer, via Georgetown and the Gulf road. The shorter was more direct across the hills to the south east of Georgetown and the rough terrain of the western dividing range. His decision was the shorter of the two and the more direct. By Luke’s map he noted that Luke had suggested the longer route so he would be travelling blind and with what little experience of the land he had obtained during his short life.

From his school atlas map Travis believed that the trip should take some three or four days, possibly more without any towns to rely on. There were a number of Cattle Stations in the area but few creeks with permanent water, therefore water could become a problem and without a packhorse he was drastically limited on how much he could carry on Titch.

Travis remained in Forsayth for a longer period than he had planned. Firstly to glean as much information regarding his intended path as possible and secondly to ascertain what cattle stations were in the area. During his enquiries he discovered that few people could supply the information he desired. If most wished to travel further west; to Georgetown, Croydon or beyond they would use motor vehicles and the Gulf Highway. Gone were the days when anyone travelled such distances by horse and what stations existed in the area were situated either one side of the divide or the other and not through the hills and always but a short distance from the connecting roads.

Now his procrastination began to concern him, maybe he should take the longer route and the highway but the longer he took to reach Cumberland Downs, the less time he would have to explore his childhood memories and be back in time to meet Evan on that day in November.

Eventually he settled on the shorter route but did revisit the General Store and purchase two extra waterbags. At least that should double his supply without adding too much weight to Titch. Finally he was ready and after asking the hotel to hold any mail, he again checked his supplies and feeling confident he had done everything possible to avoid difficulty he retired early without visiting the bar but not before penning letters to his mother and Evan.

During his first day out of Forsayth Travis had made good time and closing in on sunset found a rocky creek bed that although dry its sand was moist. Digging into the creek bed but a number of inches he quickly had enough water for Titch but decided to rely on his own supply for himself. The area around his night’s camp lacked fresh grass although there was a good supply of dry fodder therefore it would be water for Titch and not feed that would remain his concern.

With the morning Travis headed out before sunrise hoping to put the miles behind him before the sun became too strong, as during the hottest part of the day he decided to rest. By mid afternoon he was at the foothills of the range. Once there he decided to continue without resting and after climbing the low hills to a height above tree level he searched the horizon for signs of his thief’s campfire but found nothing. That was the third time since leaving Forsayth he had checked for signs but found nothing on each occasion. Maybe his mysterious thief had left the area, intending to return to civilization.

Shortly after recommencing his journey into the hills Travis came upon a brumby path which although not travelling in the exact direction he preferred, could be used at least until he had crossed the rough terrain of the western spur of the Divide, which step by step was becoming more difficult to navigate.

It wasn’t the steepness of the terrain, or its height that impeded his progress but the looseness of stones and the uneven ground. Titch did her best but often rocks slipped from under hoof and descended down the path behind, causing Travis to dismount and lead her up the undulating slope.

Late in the afternoon Travis had traversed most of the hills and found himself once more travelling down but before doing so he again gazed back across the land behind in search of that elusive campfire. Again nothing; except for a haze of smoke far to the west, most probably from a bush fire or some station burning the grass in anticipation of new growth with the coming rain.

Transferring his thoughts from his fellow traveller to finding water for Titch, Travis noticed that the brumby path was now diverting away from his intended direction and appeared to be leading back into the hills.

“What do you reckon girl?” he sighed and stroked Titch’s neck. If he followed the brumby path there was a good chance of finding water but add miles to his journey. If he continued in his intended direction there was the Gilbert River, which would be mostly dry at this time of the year but have a string of water holes, some running for mile at a time with depth and as sweet as one could find.

Travis paused. Shading his eyes against the glare, he scanned the horizon. How far was it to the river? Five miles, ten, he knew his approximate position but not the distance. If he set out towards the river he must eventually cross, as the Gilbert ran the full length of the western horizon. If he followed the brumby path and didn’t find water, it would be too far back to find the Gilbert, with the added possibility he could become lost.

“Looks like we go west towards the Gilbert,” Travis declared and dismounted, “Are you thirsty girl?” He says while pouring the last of his water into his hat he offered it to Titch. She drank deeply from the refreshing fluid. “Well girl that will have to do you for now.” Travis replaced his hat then descended downward through the last remaining hills in the direction of the river, wishing to put as many miles as possible behind him before he lost the last of the daylight.

As the sun sunk into the western horizon Travis found a dry creek bed and decided to rest for the night. He thought it would be best to travel in the cooler hours but didn’t trust his night navigational skills.

Before bedding down he dug into the creek bed but found nothing but moist sand. Leaving the soak open Travis put Titch to the dry grass and called it a night. With the first light he checked the hole, finding a small amount of soak at its bottom, which he gave to Titch, then headed out to find the river. Mid morning arrived and still no sight of the Gilbert and Travis was becoming concerned as by his reckoning it should now be in sight of the river. He had not taken water since the previous day and his parched lips began to crack. It was obvious Titch was also stressing, while with each taxing mile Travis became more agitated leading to panic and panic was the enemy of anyone travelling through unfamiliar territory.

“Settle yourself Travis!” He shouted into the still mid-day air, only to be mocked by the mournful call of crows. His shout settled his nerves and broke the tension twisting at every muscle along his back and neck. He gazed high at the calling crows, “you lot aren’t getting me yet,” he shouted. ‘It can’t be far now,’ Travis convinced and continued westward – always westward.

Two more hours and still he travelled without success. Then after the third hour Titch became restless and appeared to sense something far ahead.

“What is it girl?”

Titch chaffed at the bit, tossing her head up and down, while refusing to travel in Travis’ direction.

“You can smell something?”

She quickened her step.

“You can smell water can’t you?”

Travis gave Titch her head and with that she changed direction taking a half turn to the north and commenced to trot. Travis’ mood lifted as a line of willow came into view. Unknown to Travis he had not been heading towards the river as it had diverted, instead he was following it at a distance and if he continued would never have reached it.

At last they were at the River but it was dry, yet Titch powered onwards along its bank. A short distance ahead the bank flattened out into a patch of fresh green grass and an expanse of water. Without hesitation Titch headed for the water and drank long and deeply, while Travis dismounted and took his fill before soaking his head and shoulders with the cooling liquid. Then with a laugh he plunged in clothes and all.

“You’re a clever girl,” Travis complemented while putting her to grass.”I should have known that, some bushman I turned out to be.”

That night Travis rested with confidence, he had found his river and would follow it all the way to Cumberland Downs. He had ample supplies and even if it wasn’t flowing, there would be many water holes along its way.

How long the trip would take became upmost in concern, he could cut across to the Georgetown-Croydon road, which he believed would add a good day to his journey. If he followed the river with all its twists and turns he was unsure how far he was from the property.

That night it was beans, bacon and scorched damper, all washed down with hot black billy tea. To Travis it was a banquet, followed by a relaxing time watching the image of the moon’s distorted disc on the surface of the water, giving him time to reflect on his travelling since he left Forsayth. As he did so a cold hand touched him; it could have ended in disaster. If he continued on the Brumby Trail what would have been the outcome? If he hadn’t realised Titch had smelt water and continued in his intended direction, would he have reached the river in time or at all.

Travis took a deep breath, deciding not to think more on the issue. Instead he would relax back and breathe deeply from the cool breeze that had sprung up and edged along the length of the lagoon, creating gentle ripple to its surface, giving an even more distorted image to the yellow orb reflected upon its surface.

A short distance behind he could hear Titch as she moved about while feeding, occasionally snorting from the dust brought up by her hooves. He had not tethered her and felt confident she would not stray during the night. He now trusted Titch and considered her to be his closest friend, feeling the friendship return with equal respect. Even so Travis was beginning to miss the company of people and thought of Bradley and Evan, even of Greg and his disregarding attitude.

It was now Evan who returned stronger in his thoughts. He was once again on the Barron River bank and Evan was beside him. He thought he was cute then, now it hurt to call Evan cute as he once heard that cute meant ugly but adorable, ugly could never be installed upon that happy handsome face. Now he longed for their meeting at the Forsayth hotel. All this had no title, he was neither this nor that, yet his thoughts were arousing and gave him a warm sensation that started in the chest and moved with heat downward.

While at Forsayth Travis had acquired a calendar and marked off the days until their meeting. Now the tide that carried him westward was somewhat ebbing and he was no longer sure of his enterprise, yet there was always something to draw him on beyond the next creek or stand of Carpentaria trees. Except that something was dimming to be replaced with his hopeful rendezvous.

Another day passed and Travis still enjoyed the river its turning and many water holes but had not yet recognised any landmark that suggested he was nearing Cumberland Downs. It was a certainty he was travelling on Down’s property as it was a substantial holding with the homestead sited far to the west of its expanse. Then on the morning of the third day the land opened onto the grassy plane that was the Downs, he was now but a short distance from the homestead itself, his heart jumped with pleasure.

Reaching the final waterhole and the road that crossed the Gilbert towards the sub-station of Glendale, Travis smiled, it was here where he once searched for agates and so often rode alone, thinking of the day he would become a cattleman, a ringer by trade and pride. It was a time when his father would take him mustering and teach him the ways of the bush. Now he had returned but even with such wonderful memories there was fear. Possibly those days had gone forever and all that remained were the memories. In Travis’ mind the Down’s was as he left it, the same staff and out-buildings, all frozen in time, never changing; never growing old. It was waiting in that hot western sun for his return but as he stood at the doorway to his past, reality overcome him.

What if there was no longer anyone remaining who remembered him?

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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