Published: 16 Jul 2020

The letter to Ashley had been posted a good month previous, relating to Ian’s visit but without disclosing detail and asking Ashley to do him a favour. Lewis wanted some detective work done and seeing it was in Sydney and Ashley had time on his hands he would be the best man for the job.

The previous fortnight Lewis had received correspondence from Ian, admitting to his enjoyment of their camping trip even the horse riding and suggesting that they do so again but next time somewhere on the coast, with a mention that Lewis should, as Jimmy suggested, give up the sad horses and get on with his life. Lewis ignored the suggestion and now with the mail truck a speck along the Croydon road he waited anxiously for Ashley’s response.

Jack Thompson being away for the week and with Stan in Georgetown, Lewis was intrusted with the key to the mail bag, feeling most important even with such a light responsibility. As Hal Tucker alighted from his truck Lewis patted his pocket receiving assurance the key was there and safe. Hal handed the bag to Lewis and hobbled to the rear of his truck complaining with each step but hauled himself onto the covered tray with the energy of a young man.

“Hey Lewis I’ve ordered a new truck.” Hal declared with reservation as he and his old Bedford had become one in spirit, yet even old friends must part and he had patched the bodywork so often that nothing but patching remained. As for the engine it was blowing more smoke than a steam train and used more oil than an oil rig. “It breaks my heart to see the old girl go,” he added while exhaling a long sigh of mixed emotions as his leg hurt even more than usual. He rubbed it and grumbled some more.

“About time I would say Hal. What badge?” Lewis joked.

“Don’t ask me, bloody Jap is all I know. Only a few years back I was fighting the little buggers in New Guinea now I’m buying their truck. Who won the fucken’ war?” Tucker grumbled while passing down a large wooden box of fresh fruit and vegetables to Lewis.

“Dunno Hal I wasn’t born then but I had two uncles in the army, one was a prisoner at Hellfire’s Pass building the Burma rail, the other in the occupation of Japan after the war ended, as he was too young to enlist earlier.

“That was bad; they had it worse than we did in New Guinea.”

“He never speaks of it and you didn’t dare mention the Japanese when he was about.”

“You mark my words they’ll own the bloody world one day, or them friggen’ Chinese.” Hal declared and handed Lewis a second box, “oh I almost forgot I’ve the pumpkins for Joyce to replace the two I lost sometime back and a package for her, it wouldn’t fit in the mail bag.”

“Bring them over to the kitchen and have a cuppa.”

“Haven’t the time,” then after a reload of the empty boxes from the previous visit and a grumbling farewell he was gone into the red dust towards Croydon.

Lewis placed the boxes on the store verandah and returned his attention to the mail bag.

“Funny bugger,” Lewis declared shaking his head as he removed the shiny silver key from his pocket and broke the lock. Only a handful of letters fell out and among them was the reply from Ashley. Lewis placed the Stations mail aside and quickly opened his letter.

Firstly Ashley commented on Ian’s visit and enquired if they got up to their old antics and even if Lewis were to refute he wouldn’t believe him. Ashley also commented Lewis’ Sauna friend was asking Peter how to contact and if it were alright to give him the address, then came the information he had requested. Ashley had progress but still needed time although everything appeared to be in order.

“Good,” Lewis exclaimed and delivered the mail. All but two were station business, while one was for Ivy from her son Wayne, the other was for Bob Kelly. He found Ivy in the laundry and handed her the letter. “Won’t be long now and he will be visiting.” Lewis stated and with Ivy’s agreement and appreciation he left to find Bob Kelly.

Lewis found Bob in the saddlery with Walter Drysdale who was showing him how to breathe new life back into the horse hair stuffing used in the old saddles.

“Letter for me Lewis?” Walter asked, knowing full well it was not. Walter seldom received correspondence but would always ask if there was anything for him, not out of expectations but to give light relief to an otherwise hot and ordinary day.

“No, sorry Walt it’s for Bob and smells of perfume.” Lewis handed Bob the letter knowing it didn’t. Bob snatched at it and checked the hand writing and turned it over. There wasn’t any return address.

“Is it from that filly of yours Bob?” Walter teased.

“You know I don’t see her any more Walt.”

“For Christ sake Bob marry the girl, you can’t marry your flaming horse!” Walter Drysdale growled from a hand full of wet horse hair and displaying a rare measure of play he threw it at Bob, catching him on the face.

“That stinks,” Bob laughed and threw it back.

“He would like to try,” Lewis referred to Walter’s suggestion on Bob marrying his horse, receiving a look of disapproval from Bob who almost commented but refrained; instead he opened his letter and read. He smiled and folded it into his back pocket.

“Okay?” Lewis asked.

“Okay what?”

“Who’s it from?”

“My brother.”

“And?” Lewis asked.

“She’s buggered off with the best man and he’s left Croydon, working further south as handyman on Wattle Ridge.” Bob burst into his gatling laughter, “that’s what marriage does for you Walt” He declared. Walter agreed.

“I thought you liked your brother?” Lewis asked somewhat confused with Bob’s negative response.

“Yea but I never liked her, she was always a mole.”

“Wanna’ go into the pub Saturday?” Bob asked Lewis, “how about you Walt want to come?”

“Georgetown?” Lewis asked.

“Where else?” Bob waited for Walter’s answer.

“No thank you too many black sheilas but you can bring me back a bottle or half dozen.”

“How are we going to get there, both vehicles will be in use.” Lewis asked.

“No sweat mate, George Barnes one of the ringers over at Clancy said he’d pick us up but we will have to stay overnight in Georgetown.”

“Sounds Okay,” Lewis half agreed realising with George Barns it would turn into a grog fest.

“There’s a dance on,” Bob related as if it were the lure to encourage Lewis’ half agreement to go.

“I don’t much like dancing,”

“What about those social nights you spoke of at the hostel?” Bob asked.

“Not much dancing, mostly carrying on, they did try and teach us proper steps but I wasn’t all that interested.”

“Too much hanky-panky under the sheets with your mates I would think.” Bob lightly indicted.

“It was a mixed hostel Bob, we did have girls to partner.”

“Hanky-panky,” Walter laughed loudly, “where did you get that from?”

“I don’t know Walt; I guess you are too old for it in any form.”

“Cheeky bugger,” Walter grumbled and feigned another toss of wet horse hair, “hanky fucken’ panky, what happened to having a good old fashioned root,”

“That as well Walt – if you can get it: Girls these days want a little more than how about a bit and a hand up the skirt before your get to stealing a kiss.” Bob registered.

“I wouldn’t know about all that as in my days it was flowers and a long courtship.” Walter explained.

Declaring he had work Lewis left them to their soggy horsehair to deliver the groceries to the kitchen, where he found Joyce Marshall preparing dinner.

“There’s a package from Hal as well.” Lewis placed the groceries down and passed the package to Joyce, “and I almost forgot, Hal has replaced the two pumpkins he lost some time back, I’ve left them over at the store.

Lewis stood by waiting for Joyce to examine the contents of her package if for no other reason than to pass the time. Joyce put it aside. “Women’s business,” she said of its contents and returned to her work.

“Something smells good Mrs. Marshall.” Lewis declared while placing a second box of groceries on the side bench and taking a deep nose full of cooking smells.

“Pumpkin scones, well pumpkin scones without the pumpkin but fresh from the oven. Would you like one?” Joyce offered and spread a scone with plum jam and home made butter but no cream, for which she apologised.

“No strawberry jam either;” Lewis complained.

“No it’s always appears to be plum, there are a number of huge tins over at the store, in my reckoning they have been there since before the war when people stocked up during rationing and none have labels. Ivy calls it a lucky dip but luck doesn’t seem to work, it’s always plum.”

“Doesn’t matter they taste great anyway, even without the cream,” he then helped himself to a second, “you going away this down season?” Lewis enquired of Joyce while licking the last of the plum jam from his fingers. It was bittersweet and tasted like burnt sugar and vinegar, with a definite past use by date as an aftertaste.

“No I haven’t anywhere to go or anyone to see.” Joyce admitted while obviously trawling through happier memories.

“I won’t be going anywhere either, someone has to entertain Ivy’s kid.”

“Wayne’s not such a bad kid.”

“I know but I promised Ivy I’d keep an eye on him even though I don’t think he needs it.”

“You know Lewis I’m not getting any younger.” Joyce sighed and commenced to fill the sink with hot water boiled in a large urn on one of the two stoves.

“You aren’t that old Mrs. Marshall.” Lewis protested.

“Please Lewis call me Joyce.”

“Habitual Joyce, hard to break”

“What concerns me is I will pass on without seeing my kids,” she added sadly.

“You never know in this changing world anything can happen,” Lewis encouraged.

“But it won’t and the years are flying by.” The cook soaped the water using shavings from a bar of sunlight soap in a wire container on a long wire handle. Soon the water frothed. “That’s tank water Lewis, you can’t get suds like that with bore water,” Joyce declared.

“You can get bore belly,” Lewis said.

“I guess we all should drink beer but I can’t abide the stuff.”

“What you don’t like beer?”

“I’m a gin lady Lewis but not often, it gives me a head. You appear to be inclined to relate another of your stories.”

“Yes, I remember when in Hughenden as a kid, there was only bore water and it treated me badly, I had to beg people for tank water. Also the town’s milk was goat’s milk and they let the goats roam the streets. I remember my Aunt Betty with a broom and cursing language chasing them as they ate the sheets off the clothes line.”

“It sounds like a lot of fun and true to form, goats will eat anything.” Joyce agreed.

“Lewis I’ve been looking for you.” Ivy called from the kitchen door.

“What’s the problem Ivy?”

“Shellite, do you know where the supply is kept; I’ve run out and have a stack of ironing to do.”

“Over at the store, I’ll go and get some for you.”

“Oh for an electric iron,” Ivy released wishful thinking.

“Do you want me to try and set one up, I think the generator could cope as long as you don’t have anything else on, besides it only runs the lights anyway.”

“Na, by the time we got one out here from the east we could have all passed to the other side.” Ivy thanked Lewis then returned to the ironing, while Lewis left to retrieve the Shellie.

“Oh while you’re over at the store, bring me a coupla’ pound of spuds,” Joyce called after as Lewis left for the store, “and some onions, it will be stew tonight.”

With Saturday morning’s chores completed Lewis went to the shower block where Bob was already enjoying the warm flow, while attempting to sing. The song was country and out of tune and the words told of lost love as were most good bush songs, either the loss of a woman or a dog, sometimes both.

“Good voice there Bob.” Lewis teased while stripping. There were two showers heads in the open plan block, which didn’t concern Lewis. He had grown up at the Herberton hostel with its double row of showers and although each shower had its own stall, half the walls were holed and lacked doors and each row opened on to those on the opposing side, being a pervs’ paradise.

Bob on the other hand had grown up at home where privacy was paramount, thus as Lewis stripped Bob turned towards the wall, giving Lewis full view of his alabaster hard arse and as he turned the soap slipped from his grasp bouncing on the concrete floor coming to rest against the backsplash wall. Bob quickly bent to retrieve it, giving Lewis a perfect rear view. He smiled and as the blood flowed into his groin he remembered Will and his perfect figure. He quickly discarded the memory before it became embarrassing.

As their conversation widened Bob lost his inhibitions and turned from the wall to display his well formed appendage.

“What’s going on in town tonight Bob – just drinking?” Lewis enquired.

“There’s that dance I told you about.”

“Dancing,” Lewis answered somewhat innocently.

“Yes dancing, you know jiggling around while ogling you’re partner’s tits as they bounce about. Or in you’re case.” Bob paused and let go his cracked laughter.

“In my case, what case would that be Bob?”

“You did say you didn’t dance.”

“I don’t mind watching and as long as it’s not bush-dancing or classical I may have a go.”

“What’s left if you don’t like those?”

“Rock and roll,”

“Bodgie dancing with your long hair mates;”

“Huh,” Lewis disagreed.

“There are a few good looking sheilas around the district, especially the managers four from Robin Hood and that makes it worth going – and their names all start with the letter R; Ruth, Rose, Roslyn I can’t remember the other one, she was much too young anyway.”

“I haven’t seen them,” Lewis admitted.

“I was working there for a time before coming to Gilbert Downs.”

“When was that?” Lewis asked.

“After leaving school, my old man called in a favour so I could get experience.”

“If we’re dancing I suppose I should dress for the occasion.”

“Yea’ best shirt, best jeans and best boots but we will still look like country hicks.” Bob added and turned off the water, “can I borrow your towel I left mine back at the bunkhouse.

“Sure and there’s a bottle of old spice aftershave that Ivy gave me for my birthday, if you want.” Lewis offered.

“Do you think I stink?”

“No, it was only an offer.”

“Besides I haven’t seen you use a razor.” Bob commented.

“I use a dry razor every couple of weeks.”

“Fucken’ bumfluff;”

Lewis released a laugh.

“What?”

“We’re not a hairy family, my mother never shaved either.”

“Eh?” Bob screwed up his nose.

“It was humour, something you appear to be lacking.”

“I’ll laugh when it’s funny.”

“You are probably correct, I’ve used that one often enough and the best I’ve got from it is a polite chuckle.”

“Anyway only poofs wear perfume.” Bob declared while drying his alabaster arse.

“Then there must be a lot of poofs in the world Bob?”

“Only my cousin and -” Bob paused, “come on Lewis we’ll miss our lift.”

Twelve thirty on the dot and George Barnes arrived in his battered Ford Sedan, with its conflicting coloured doors except for one, which was almost the same colour as the vehicle. Its bonnet, with the R missing from the makers name and the D on an angle, roped down to avoid rising with speed. As for the motor, it leaked a bucket of oil while giving a symphony of tappet noise, backed by a leaky exhaust and rattly muffler.

“Will this get us to town?” Lewis enquired shaking his head in disbelief as George Barnes’ head protruded from the vehicle’s window, displaying a face full of youthful pimples and bad teeth. One of his incisors was broken and the second leaned vicariously to one side, being the result of a pub fight. If it wasn’t for the blemishes, sparse stubble and crooked teeth George could be considered handsome in a rugged sort of way. It would only take a fair orthodontist, a good scrubbing, decent haircut and a prescription of benzoyl peroxide for the acne to bring out his worth.

“Of course it will, besides I’m a mechanic!” Barnes declared, shaking his scraggy long blond hair away from his deep blue eyes, those eyes were his saving grace as they could look into your very essence and shiver you to the toes. “Well I would have been if I had passed the exams but motors are like good women, grease them up with complements, sing sweetly to them and they’ll come across. In ya get, ‘avent all day you know.”

Bob Kelly took the front seat while Lewis sat in the back amongst a mountain of empty beer cans and cigarette packets and in pride of place an unopened pack of condoms. He cleared a space and made himself as comfortable as the vehicle would allow with its weakening rear springs and buggered suspension. Lewis lifted the condom packet from the seat and displayed them in the revision mirror, “hopeful are we George?” he asked.

“Got them on a promise a year back and still the bitch hasn’t come across.”

Lewis threw the packed onto the parcel rack, “large size?” he questioned.

“You need more than a bobby sock to pack in a leg of lamb.” George asserted.

“Who was that?” Bob asked.

“Bloody Gloria Spence from the Croydon pub;”

“I know Gloria my brother was banging her before he got married, I reckon after as well.”

“Shit just as well I didn’t, if Kevin has been there, who knows what I would have caught.”

“I tried,” Bob admitted, “but like you she played me along, cost me a fortune in picture nights and chocolates, never mind the wasted juice from endless wanking thinking of her tits.”

“She’s ain’t worth a fucken’ wank mate,” George declared.

“Hey George have you met Lewis?” Bob introduced over the engine noise.

“G’day Lewis – George Barnes, best cattle man in the north west,” George shoved his left hand over his shoulder towards the back seat which Lewis shook in a fashion, concerning for his safety as the vehicle diverged to the right and almost of the road. George quickly righted the car and laughed, “another thing the steering pinion is fucked, the cog’s missing a coupla’ teeth I reckon,” neither passenger answered; “have Luke Herbert from over Croydon way looking out for parts.”

“I know Herbert he’s going out with my sister, you will be waiting a long time he’s a lazy bugger.” Bob answered.

The trip into Georgetown was fast and dangerous and on many an occasion Lewis found his heart in his mouth. As for Bob he didn’t flinch and with each mishap he laughed even louder, as if he was enjoying a ride in a travelling show.

With the vehicle more abandoned than parked, George Barnes soon encouraged his friends towards the town’s only hotel.

“Who wants a beer then?” George offered on reaching the bar ahead of the others while taking a wad of notes from his back pocket.

“Cashed up George?” Lewis asked and thanked him for the offer.

“More to the point a rich daddy.” Bob advised his tone laced with envy but he still accepted.

“Have you any spare rooms for the night?” Bob asked the barmaid while accepting the drinks.

“Only one a double, there’s a dance on tonight.”

“I’ll sleep in the car.” George declared, downed his beer in one thirsty gulp and demanding another.

“Share it eh Bob what do you think?” Lewis suggested.

“Suppose so, not much choice I’m not sleeping in the car.”

“Where’s the dance?” George asked.

“Over at the church hall but you better get a move on the nights half gone” advised the barmaid while handing Lewis the room key, “are you going?” she directed towards George.

“Shit no these two are; I have too much drinking to catch up on.” George declared loudly.

“What’s your name?” the barmaid asked of Lewis while ignoring George’s exaggerated tones.

“Lewis Smith.”

“I’m Rhonda and Lewis Smith I may see you at the dance later,” Rhonda winked and tilled the room’s payment. Her submission was more to piss off George who was making eye suggestions towards her.

“You’re in there mate,” George declared turning the barmaid’s head with a smile.

“She’s much too old,” Lewis whispered.

“Not that old I’d do her,” George stated and winked at Rhonda, who once again ignored him to attend to other patrons.

“She must be thirty-five if she’s a day,” Lewis protested as he spied Sergeant Davidson watching from the far side of the bar. He slowly returned his drink to the bar as the policeman made effort and approached.

“Lewis Smith if I remember correctly, who are your friends.”

“Bob Kelly who I work with and -.” Davidson cut across Lewis’ answer.

“I know Mr. Barnes,” he said with much authority while Bob and George nodded in nervous greeting and returned to their drinks.

“Mr. Barnes I hope you will behave yourself this time I don’t want any repeat of your drunken behaviour during your last visit.” Davidson advised.

“Sure will Sarge.” George answered with a cheeky grin.

“Are you still riding the motorbike,” the Sergeant enquired of Lewis.

“No I lost it in the creek on my way back to the station that night.”

“Probably just as well the old heap was a death trap.” Davidson nodded to Lewis then returned to his drink and conversation with the general storekeeper, who was pointing his opinion onto the sergeant with a stubby index finger towards a protruding belly while Davidson disrespectfully shook his head against the point.

“What was all that about?” Barnes asked once the policeman lost interest in him.

“The station’s motorbike, he caught me for riding unlicensed and unregistered.” Lewis answered.

“Not that old BSA. In the parts shed?”

“Yes, do you know it?”

“Fucken’ know it, I almost broke my neck on it when I was working there, don’t tell me you’re still riding it.”

“No I lost it in a creek; it’s probably half way to the gulf by now.

“As well, and you complain about my car.”

Lewis and Bob left George at the bar and found their way to the church hall with the music clearly audible to strains of country, accompanied with the occasional whooping and hollering of intoxicated stockmen and pounding of dress boots, their Cuban heels heavy on hollow wooden floorboards.

Lewis faulted at the door but Bob dragged him through.

“You’re not going soft on me Lewis?” Bob asked while paying the entry free for them both.

“No it’s as I said earlier, I don’t know how to dance to this kind of music,” Lewis reiterated his previous admission.

“What you’ve never been to a dance?”

“I’ve never been to a country dance. I can rock and do the stomp and the pride of erin at a push but not to this brand of music.”

“So you said but I thought you were being difficult. No worries you can be a wallflower and watch the pretty girls wiggle their bums – come on.”

To the left of the dance floor stood a bar, consisting of trestle tables topped with galvanised tubs filled with ice and bottles, with a number of the town’s older women playing barmaid, serving overpriced beer from the hotel’s cellar and a red coloured punch laced with potency for the women folk. Sarsaparilla and lemonade for the younger set.

Lewis approached the bar and ordered two beers, handing one to Bob who guided him to where a group of stockmen had gathered in humoured conversation. Lewis didn’t recognise any of the men but Bob knew several and gave introduction. They politely accepted the introduction and returned to their conversation

“Don’t see you dancing Bob.” A tall youthful man noted giving him a cheeky smile. “Where is that cute girl of yours?” the tall youth added while hitching his trousers higher before they descended back down his hipless frame.

“That’s finished,” Bob answered without emotion.

“I thought you two were surely going to marry,” a second added scratching at his dark bristled under-chin.

“Bob only likes horses,” Lewis declared then on receiving a look from Bob that could freeze meat, he realised he had overstepped the boundaries of proper conversation and quickly shied away from his remark. “Want another beer?” he asked Bob hoping it would chip away the icicles.

“In a minute, I’ll get it.”

It worked and Lewis moved away allowing Bob to talk freely with his associates.

There was one girl who caught Lewis’ eye, she had red hair with boyish features and appeared more shipwrecked on the rocks of nervous tension than one enjoying a night of merriment. Her small breasts were covered by a neck high floral dress with fancy edgings around the neckline while passing her knees by a good six inches and obviously not shop purchased but possibly from the leftover of her mother’s curtain material. She sat alone with her eyes cast downwards to the emerald green painted border of the dance floor. On the occasion she would raise her eyes and cast them over the dancers, or towards the group of men gathered across the room. She caught Lewis’ eye and instantly lily white completion flushed pink with embarrassment as she turned away. An older woman came to her and spoke then sat beside.

“Go ask her for a dance.” Bob said close by Lewis’ ear, “want another beer?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Go on, go and ask her for a dance, she’s looking your way.” Bob insisted, giving Lewis a slight forward push.

“I can’t do bush dancing.” Lewis protested while watching the cute redhead, “why don’t you Bob?”

“I don’t do dance,” Bob mimicked, “besides I only dance with horses,” he paused and smiled, “remember?”

“Sorry about that remark it slipped out, I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your friends,” Lewis apologised.

“Don’t worry they are too drunk to understand anyway and in a while I’ll be too drunk to care; I still think you should ask that cute little filly for a dance.” Bob made direction towards the bar table as Lewis downed the remainder of his drink and handed Bob his empty stubby bottle.

“I will have another.” Then the music changed and the band played rockabilly, lifting Lewis’ spirits causing a tapping of his boot, toe to heel toe to heel onto the boards. The music installed courage in him and he slowly crossed the floor to stand before the girl with red hair and floral dress and blushing complexion.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked softly and held out his hand. The woman seated beside her gave a frown but didn’t prohibit. The girl gave a glance to her escort and slowly lifted to her feet.

“I don’t dance well,” she shyly answered.

“Nor do I, so less both dance badly together; my name is Lewis.”

“Ruth.” She answered and accepted Lewis’ hand as he guided her to the dance floor, while the woman who was either Ruth’s mother or chaperone for the night cautiously looked on, watching where Lewis placed his hands, how close he held her and where he cast his gaze.

“Well I’ll be buggered.” Bob declared as he returned with the drinks, “more for me,” he added as he downed his own and commenced to drink the second. Then at dance end the music paused and the band played God Save the Queen and the night’s entertainment came to conclusion. Lewis thanked Ruth while returning her to her chaperone, she smiled, the woman frowned; goodnight and thank you Lewis was offered with a light smile but nothing more.

“You should have asked the cute redhead if you could walk her home.” Bob enforced as they left the dancehall.

“Did you notice the old woman beside her?” Lewis asked.

“Don’t tell me you fancied her?”

“She was her mother and I was lucky to get a dance never mind anything else.”

“Never mind you have the barmaid at the pub to cuddle up to.”

“Nope I think seeing it’s a double bed, I’ll be cuddled up to you.” Lewis laughed.

“Be buggered you keep to your side of the bed,” Bob advised roughly, while shaking his head and dragging Lewis towards the bar door.

“Its closing haven’t you had enough?”

“One more for the road,” Bob demanded, holding two fingers up to the barman, “where’s Rhonda?” he asked of the barman and winked at Lewis.

“Her husband picked her up after her shift why?”

“No reason just asked,” then turning to Lewis, “well you missed out there as well mate.” Bob looked around, “where’s Barnsie?” he asked looking about for George. He turned back to the barman, “did you see a scruffy blond joker with bad teeth and pimples?”

“He left about ten minutes back, said he was going to sleep it off in his car.”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough grog?” Lewis suggested as Bob ordered a second for the road.

“It’s only beer I can handle bear, scotch is the problem.” But he couldn’t and half way through his final drink Bob gave a strange groan and collapsed to the floor. Lewis quickly attended to his friend who farted loudly and broke into uncontrolled giggling.

“You two staying the night?” the barman asked as he wished to tidy up and close.

“Yes,” Lewis answered.

“Have you a room?”

“Yes we booked it earlier,”

“Would you like a hand with your mate?” The barman approached.

“Thank you but I should be able to manage him, come on Bob let’s get you to bed,”

Lewis helped the still giggling Bob to his feet and staggered under his weight out of the bar towards the back stairs and the rooms. Past the rear door Bob lost his load, spraying a gut full of stale beer across the concrete path and into the water starved flower bed. Bob then collapsed onto all four while heaving even more sick into the garden.

“Never again,” Bob groaned and struggled to his feet.

“You said that last time.”

“I mean it Lewis; I really mean it this time.”

“Sure thing, come on and I’ll clean you up and you reckon you can handle your grog.” Bob’s stomach was in knots but had nothing left to expel except for dry retching.

There was a water tap towards the end of the garden where Lewis washed Bobs face and with perseverance half carried him up the short flight of stairs.

“You’re a bloody goose,” Lewis said allowing Bob to collapse back across the bed, his arms outstretched, his face gripped by a supercilious smile, “you’re not going to chuck again are you?” he asked as Bob smacked his lips together and belched.

“Dunno,” Bob roughly answered, the words gravel in his throat.

“Better not,” Lewis warned.

“I wanna’ sleep.” Moments later Bob’s mouth fell open and light snoring escaped.

“Suppose I better get you undressed.” Lewis said rhetorically, receiving an inaudible answer, more an escaping of air as he manhandled Bob across the bed. Another stale beer fart but no apology.

“Bob you’re foul, what you got up there – a dead rat.”

“You’re boots sure are tight;”

The boots fell one by one to the floor, as Lewis progressed to remove Bob’s trousers.

“Nice belt buckle.”

The bull horns unbuckled and the fly broken, then with difficulty Bob’s trousers came away.

“Long-john bottoms I didn’t think anyone wore them anymore. I don’t remember seeing them in the washing or on the line, they appear to be new.”

“They look sexy on you,”

Lewis contemplated removing the underwear but thought better of doing so.

“I wouldn’t admit it when you’re sober Bob but anything looks sexy on you.”

Lewis folded the trousers across the back of a chair and returned his attention to Bob.

“Shit Bob you’ve got an erection.”

The proud head stood unsheathed above the waste band of the long-johns.

“Now Bob that is tempting.”

Lewis smiled and gently and as clinically possible bent Bob’s erection back below the waste band but it sprung back immediately.

“You may not but you dick sure wants attention.”

Lewis sighed and pulled the underwear higher to cover Bob’s privacy. It twitched beneath the material as once again Bob mumbled a number of words. He cleared his throat and repeated the mumble.

“What was that Bob?”

No answer.

“What a waste of an erection.”

Bob again spoke.

“What was that?” Lewis again asked.

“Did I hear Bob mention a girl’s name?”

Bob remained smiling.

“No it must have been his horse.”

“Come on Bob I’ll get the sheet over you.”

More mumbling.

“Stop complaining and move.”

The sheet gave way and Bob was covered.

“You know Bob you actually look cute, laying there with that dumb expression on your face.”

“And I suppose you are going to keep me awake all night with that damn snoring?”

“Shit I’m half pissed myself.”

“Not looking forward for the return trip tomorrow; that bugger from Clancy is mad.” Lewis laughed.

“And that fucking shit heap of his.”

“Mechanic? Huh!”

Lewis stripped down to the sound of Bob’s continuous snoring.

“He couldn’t turn his own nuts.”

“Hey Bob?”

Lewis gave his snoring friend a shove as he climbed into bed beside.

“You know Bob I could have given that redhead at the dance a go.”

“That surprises you huh?”

“And you think I’m a poofter.”

“Well Bob my old mate I could fuck you and you wouldn’t even know it.”

“Yes redheads, I’ve always had something for redheads.”

‘Oh Will I’m sorry for my indiscretion; I still love you,’ that being an unspoken thought.

Bob stirred and flung his arm across the bed catching Lewis’ lip, causing a slight cut to his upper lip against his teeth.

“Fuck Bob watch those bloody arms won’t ya’;”

“Whatya’ upta’” Bob mumbled and returned to snoring and rolled to his side. Lewis gave Bob a shove for good measure.

“Not you mate although you wouldn’t realise so if I did.” With a yawn and a deep breath Lewis commenced to measure his situation.

‘I must admit I am beginning to miss civilization.’ Lewis thought.

‘But what would I do, where would I go?’

‘Not Mareeba, not Melbourne and most definitely not Sydney.’

‘One thing is for sure, I don’t have the bollocks to start another job other than cattle.’

‘Possibly I could take up mum’s offer and run their shop again,’ a rhetorical thought.

Another deep yawn as sleep slowly crept in.

‘I don’t think so.’

“What do you reckon Bob?” There wasn’t a reply and Lewis was asleep.

Oddly the sun had hardly risen before Bob stirred from his sleep and his continuous snoring. He gave Lewis a shove. “Hey wakey wakey hands off snakey,” his voice croaked from a dry throat and a parched mouth.

“I am awake; with your snoring I’ve been awake most of the night.”

“Who undressed me?” Bob exclaimed while lifting the sheet.

“Who do you think?” Lewis snapped, still smarting from a sleepless night.

“I thought it may have been that barmaid you were after.”

“I wasn’t after anyone, besides she is married Lewis answered. “You know Bob for a bloke who doesn’t like girls you sure talk a lot about them.”

“I never said I didn’t like girls,” Bob argued.

“You mentioned it down at the lagoon sometime back, you were also drunk then.”

“I should have said I don’t understand them.”

“Who does?”

“And here I am, in bed with a bloke and in our underwear,” Bob laughed but soon stopped. His head hurt.

“I left them on, didn’t think you would appreciate me removing them.”

“You didn’t touch me, did you?” Bob growled.

“What do you think I am?”

“Is there a shower anywhere?”

“It’s at the end of the hall.”

Bob scratched his balls, “I’ve got a piss fat.”

“Then go and piss, the dunny is next to the bathroom.”

George Barnes remained curled on the rear seat of his vehicle amongst the empty cans and crisp packets and like Bob Kelly good at snoring. Bob shoved his hand through the open window and ruffled George’s hair. “Hey wake up you old pisspot.”

“George lifted allowing a length of drool to run from mouth to the tattered vinyl seat, stretching wide he farted and shook his head. The car stank of sweat, stale booze, cigarettes and now beer fart. Not even the open windows were enough to dissipate George’s gaseous excretions.

“Ready?”

“Yep.” Bob answered.

“Want a shower?” Lewis asked while suffering the acrid air inside the vehicle.

“Shit no, I have to get back to Clancy – work to do. Come on you two or you will have to walk”

“We haven’t had breakfast yet,” Lewis complained.

“You can have it with lunch when you get home.”

Moments later George was behind the steering wheel with the motor running. Lewis hesitated but with no other way of getting back to Gilbert Downs except walking, he tensely placed himself among the empty cans and cigarette packets on the rear seat.

“And off we go!” Barnes hooted and planted his foot to the floor.

“I saw Davidson doing his early rounds,” Lewis warned, believing Barnes would still register half a tank and that with the vehicle’s mechanical shortcomings would be enough to bring a pleasing smile to the policeman.

“Then lets fuck off outa’ here before he spies us.”

George Barnes did get the two back to the station and himself back to Clancy but Lewis decided if the offer was there at a later date he would decline. As for Bob he seemed to thrive on the energy that Barnes radiated and had absolutely no fear for his own existence.

On return Lewis looked in on Horse and how her gestation was progressing. She was large and full of foal and glowing like an expecting mother. On seeing Lewis entering the night horse paddock she quickly trotted up to him and muzzled his pocket looking for sugar cubes.

“None today girl, sorry,” he apologised as she gently head butted him, almost sending him to the ground.

“Hey Lewis how long has she got to go?” Walter Drysdale called on his way to the saddlery.

“Don’t really know Walt how long does it take?” He called back as Walter diverted to the night horse paddock fence.

“Ten maybe eleven months.” Walter suggested while patting Horse gently on the rump from his side of the wire. She stomped a hoof from the annoyance of flies biting at her rump.

“I thought it was the same as a cow?”

“Na, a little longer; cows take nine that’s why we call women cows and why they all act like cows.” Walter declared venomously.

“Then she has about four months to go I should think,” Lewis estimated, while continuing brushing the mare with his hand.

“Dunno she looks a little large for four months.” Walter felt her stomach and shook his head, “much too big.”

“Do you think I should have someone look at her?” Lewis asked with his concern mounting.

She isn’t stressed, besides there isn’t a horse doctor in a hundred miles.” Walter gave the mare a final pat and departed. “She will be fine, how did your trip into town go.”

“Nice night but I don’t think I’ll be taking the offer to go with George Barns again, he drives like a maniac.”

“His whole family is a little off-hinged. I knew his father well when I lived in Croydon, his grandfather made a lot of money selling beef to the mining company way back and if nothing George’s father knows how to hold onto it.”

“George did appear somewhat cashed up.” Lewis admitted

“He flashes it about a little too easy for my liking, one of these days he’ll get knocked for it.”

“Everything alright in here Mrs. Marshall?” Lewis asked from the kitchen door as the cook sweated heavily over the bread dough.

“Eggs Lewis. Walter set the fire this morning but didn’t collect them.”

“Sure are Stan and Mr. Thompson back yet?”

“Stan’s not but the boss is.”

“I have to ask him for a small favour.” Lewis informed while collecting the egg bucket.

“What would that be?”

“I’ll go get the eggs,” Lewis said leaving Joyce’s question unanswered.

“Be a sweetie and bring in some more wood as well.”

“I’ll need to axe an armful first, won’t take a sec’ then I’ll get the eggs.”

Lewis collected the axe from under the kitchen stairs and advanced towards the woodpile. As he went his eyes were about, more concerned with the changing weather than where he placed his feet, also high up in the distance Walter’s eagle was hovering, “that’s right you big bugger, you keep your distance,” he said.

On reaching the woodpile he chanced to look down and quickly pulled his next step. “Fuck,” he cried loudly as a large brown snake slithered between his legs into the woodpile.

“Fuck I hate snakes.”

Nervously Lewis dragged a number of blocks away the pile with axe held high and ready, as there was no way he was going to further rummage around the woodheap that day.

“Bloody big snake in the woodheap;” Lewis shared with Joyce as he returned with the firewood.”

“Did you get the eggs?”

“Oh, forgot them too busy worrying about the snake. I’ll go straight back.”

“Taipan?”

“Dunno’ brown and big, I didn’t hang around long enough to ask its name. It’s somewhere in the woodheap.”

“I wouldn’t worry it will be gone by morning, probably the same one I saw under the kitchen steps yesterday – after bush rats. I do concern for the dogs. Sam isn’t smart enough to realise the danger and has attacked them in the past, he brought a dead one here into the kitchen but a month back, I took it from him and had Walter dispose of it.”

“What Sam brings them into the house?”

“It was dead besides as long as you keep your eyes about they are mostly harmless, they don’t come looking for legs to bite. Also there are a number of green tree snakes in the orchard.” Joyce was obviously gilding the lily somewhat with her snake yarns and enjoying Lewis discomfort.

“I’ve see one of the green snakes in the guava tree hunting frogs, they aren’t very large and quite pretty.”

“They are still snakes – Lewis the eggs,”

“On my way but with the dog bringing them into the house you have me worried. What if they aren’t quite dead and they get under the furniture, worse still into the bed.” Lewis gave a shudder as he returned for the eggs.

“Haven’t you seen the python that lives in the bulldozer shed?”

“What!”

“Walt said it’s at least fifteen feet long and as thick as a thigh and is wrapped around one of the beams under the roof, he said it has been there for most of the year.”

“Then that’s one more place I will put on my never to visit list.”

“It wouldn’t bite you and it does keep the mice away.” Joyce assured.

On his way to collect the eggs, Lewis diverted to the woodpile and while keeping his distance commenced to throw blocks of firewood into the pile, hoping to encourage the serpent to evict to another place and one where he didn’t frequent. While doing so Walter came his way.

“What you doing there?” Walter asked believing the lad had lost his sanity.

“There’s a bloody big snake in there Walt, I’m trying to chase it off.”

“There is a bigger one in the bulldozer shed.” Walter shared.

“Joyce said so,”

“I’ll show you if you like,” there was a measure of teasing in Walter’s tone.

“No thanks,”

“You probably didn’t know Grant Willis?”

Lewis paused his chucking, “who is Grant Willis when he’s at home?” Lewis asked while still holding onto a decent size block.

“He was a ringer here a couple of seasons back, went to his room after work and found a king brown snoozing on the end of his bed.”

“Shit no,” Lewis gave a cold shudder, “what did he do, kill it?”

“He closed the door, collected his pay and left the same hour, said he was going back to deep sea diving, reckoning the sharks were a better proposition.”

Lewis then went for the eggs while attempting to dislodge snake stories from his thoughts but doing so took some time and that night before bed he stripped back the bedding, looked under the bed and every dark corner in his room. Fortunately he found nothing but dust, spiders and a twenty cent coin he had dropped some time previously. He could live with the spiders as long as they stayed in their corners.

Gary’s stories are all about what life in Australia was like for a homosexual man (mostly, before we used the term, “gay”). Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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