A sequel to ‘At the Turning’

Published: 13 Dec 2018

Ralph appeared most excited as he sat at the kitchen table revising his list of supplies. He had taken care of their swags and food, jotting down each item and its approximate weight, so not to overload the horses. Gently tapping his pen against his teeth he released a sigh.

“What was that all about?” Wayne asked.

“What’s the terrain like once over the mountains, I’ve never been there.”

“Nor have I but by my guess it’s off the Tableland and a little on the dry side and the mountains aren’t as high or rugged behind here as they are further north.”

“Water for the horses?” Ralph asked.

“I should think there are plenty of creeks and once across the mountains there are a number of small towns along the way.”

Ralph reached for his map. “I have asked about the track and was told it was passable at most times except in the wet but no one seems to have used it in yonks.”

“We could always cancel and go by car. Biff said she would look in on the horses.” Wayne suggested.

“Nope, I’m looking forward to this.” Ralph folded the map and returned to his list, “I reckon we have everything.

“Kitchen sink,” Wayne asked.

“Should we take a plastic tub or something?” Ralph appeared serious.

“It was a joke Ralph; hey I’ve almost finished the dishes give me your mug.”

“Can you use a rifle?” Ralph quietly asked over the clunking of dish and sink.

“I’ve never fired one – why?” Wayne admitted.

“I have but only a twenty-two and that was target practice down by the creek with my dad, I was only about ten then.”

“Why the question on guns?”

“I found a twenty-two in the shed; I believe Grace once used it to shoot crows.”

“Again why?”

“We should take it with us as a precaution.” Ralph quietly added, now Wayne was beginning to concern.”

“For the third time why?”

“Do you remember I once said there were packs of wild dogs out there?”

“Dingos?”

“Not dingos but crossbreeds and unlike dingos they do hunt in packs. I don’t think I could shoot one unless it was at the end of the rifle barrel but at least firing off a round or two would frighten them away.”

“You are scaring me. Bloody snakes, scorpions, large spiders and lizards in your bed now savage wild dogs ripping out your throat, what next.”

“Don’t be, in all the years I was living rough, I never saw any, only some fella’ in town told me there are a few in the hills behind here.”

Wayne finished the night’s dishes, as Ralph once again milled over their supplies. “Like an old married couple,” he mumbled Biff’s words.

“What was that?” Ralph asked from the confidence in his list.

“I was just repeating something Biff said.”

“And what would that be?” Ralph folded his list and placed it on the table with his map.

“She said that we were becoming like an old married couple.” Wayne repeated.

“What like Lachlan and Stephen were?” Ralph asked.

“Well not quite like them.” Wayne corrected.

“Does that worry you?” Ralph added before leaving to check on the horses.

“No I actually like it. It’s comfortable but I would never admit it to anyone except you.”

“That’s nice, I think I like that.” Ralph quietly answered smirking with satisfaction, “I should check on the horses before turning in.”

Returning from the stable Ralph gave a wry smile, “they’re at it?” he said.

“Who?”

“The Verrocchi’s, you can clearly hear them arguing from the stable.”

“What are they arguing about?”

“I couldn’t say it is in Italian but almost every sentence it is punctuated with fucken’, that I did understand.

“That must be Lui, he was over last night when his dog was injured and it was the same then.” As Wayne spoke there was the distinct sound of a gunshot.

“I don’t like the sound of that, hope the argument hasn’t ended in violence.”

“Come on we better check,” Wayne suggested and soon both were approaching the road and somewhat relieved to find the three boys still arguing in the dwindling light, with Maurice to one side taking aim at the flying foxes as they arrive to strip the last of the fruit from the struggling orchid.

“Best not to interfere,” Wayne supposed and returned to the house.

“I don’t think they are cut out to be farmers, old man Verrocchi would be rolling in his grave.” Ralph admitted and returned to his list of requirements.

“Can you think of anything else we may need?” he asked.

Wayne took control of his list, “I can’t think of anything, you appear to have all bases covered.”

Ralph was early to bed, he wished to get away at sun up but Wayne retired to the verandah and feeling more apprehensive by the minute, while hoping Lachlan or one of the other’s would materialise. He could at least ask their opinion on the terrain they were about to cross, even if the better part of a hundred years had passed since their time.

Past midnight he remained alone, except for the resident green tree snake once again hunting small frogs in the oleander bush at the dull end of the verandah. He bid himself good night with a final thought on Lachlan and the others, ‘possibly I’m trying too hard,’ he perceived to be his failure to make connect, ‘maybe,’ it has to occur on a whim, ‘it needs to be a passing thought without divulging too deeply?’ A smile, ‘how in hell’s bells do you consciously do that?’ Passing Ralph’s open bedroom door he peeped in, finding the lad asleep and obviously free from care. ‘Nothing bothers him,’ Wayne retired with that thought.

It was a restless night for Wayne. Lachlan came to him in a dream but was not at the house, instead appeared to be on the crag of some mountain which Wayne was attempting to climb, while with each advancing step, the apex appeared further away.

“What’s the terrain like up there?” He called, attempting to ascend through a swirling of cloud and mist.

“Is the path rough?’ No answer, Lachlan only smiled and silently beckoned him to continue his climbing.

“I can’t I’m stuck.” Wayne protested but the image of Lachlan continued to encourage.

“My foot is caught.”

“I’m falling,” but one never falls far in a dream, instead Wayne was awake soaking in sweat and most relieved he had only fallen as far as his bed.

“What time is it? Shit two thirty.”

Wayne rose from bed and went to the kitchen for water. On his return he again looked in on Ralph, who as before was asleep and innocently carefree. As he closed the door he remembered his dream and falling. Don’t concern I’ll look after you. Ralph’s guarantee resurfaced with apprehension. Who will look after Ralph?”

With the sun building behind them the two set out towards the dividing range. The first ten kilometres was on metal surface then the main road gave way to gravel but quite serviceable until they reached an area known as Crystal Springs. Here Wayne wished to pause a while. He had read in the journal Lachlan once had a property near the springs, where he kept some of his horses. In Lachlan’s time there was a cabin and a small valley he used as a holding yard. On arrival they found the valley to be as Lachlan described, a good two kilometres long while only a hundred metres wide at the mouth, with a small stream running along its length.

At the end of the valley was a path leading towards the mountains, which Lachlan often used when in the mood to explore but the path was only manageable by foot being much too steep and narrow for the horses. Oddly when Ralph referred to his map he discovered it to be only a short distance from the track he intended to use.

“This is the spot.” Wayne declared excitedly as he stood in the stirrups, his eyes this way and that, while attempting to glean a feeling for the past.

“For a village?”

“No this is where Lachlan had his hut and kept horses.”

Wayne commenced to search the area and soon found a rectangle in stone, which appeared to have been the foundations to the cabin and base to a chimney. Lachlan had written of its design, with a stone base and timber walls, consisting of one room, with stock yards adjoining.

“I guess it does appear to be the foundations to some building.” Ralph agreed.

“For certain this is the hut.” Wayne called excitedly dismounting and further surveying the site. All around there were signs of burning from recent bushfires but no sign of human activity. A hundred years of abandonment had, except for the foundations, all but whipped the slate clean.

Wayne stood in the middle of the clearing while turning full circumfluence, seeing nothing but trees, even a struggling sapling sprouting within the rectangle of stone. “Yes this has to be the remains of Lachlan’s hut,” he pointed, “and there’s the creek coming from up the valley that Lachlan mentioned.”

“So we are standing in his footsteps.” Ralph answered.

“It appears so, spooky eh?” Wayne elated, half expecting to visualise the effigies of Lachlan and Stephen riding together amongst the tall forest trees that had now reclaimed the location, while laughing and giving banter as their emotions intertwined to become as one.

“Did Stephen also come here?”

“I guess so and the two would have used the hut often.”

“Time,” Ralph simply answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Time wipes everything away as if it never existed and speaking of time we should get moving it looks like rain.” Ralph led across the shallow creek and pointed ahead, “I guess that’s the start of our path, did Lachlan write about it in his journal?”

“Only that he walked some track into the mountains, nothing about riding it.”

“I should think our path wasn’t there in Lachlan’s days.” Ralph surmised and pointed to the service road leading up into the forest some distance to the north of Lachlan’s track.

“That must be our way, it’s a service road for about six or seven kilometres or so then the brumby Track begins, which runs for about ten kilometres over the range.”

“That is the ten clicks that worry me.” Wayne growled allowing his mount to follow close behind Ralph. “Did you know there is an aboriginal burial ground somewhere around here?” Wayne had also read about their tradition in the Journal and how Lachlan had respected the site but his father, who had built the hut, had cut down some of their sacred trees for lumber.

“How did they bury their dead?” Ralph enquired as the two commenced along the service track. Wayne declared he wasn’t sure but according to Lachlan and his journal they placed the dead into trees wrapping them in paperbark.

“They would stink a bit eh.” Ralph shuddered, thinking of bones raining down upon them from the forest trees.

“Somehow I have my doubts there would be anything left after all these years, I should think even the trees have died out.”

The two were no more than a kilometre along the service road before the sun disappeared behind a bank of threatening clouds and soon after the heavens opened releasing drenching rain. Fortunately Ralph had had the sense to bring plastic ponchos and pack their supplies into water tight containers, which proved to be more successful than the ponchos and by the time the rain stopped the two were soaked. Wayne gave off a curious laugh.

“What’s the joke?” Ralph asked.

“The rain has found its way under the plastic, down my back into my strides, now with each step that Patchy makes; it is squelching between my wet arse and the saddle.

As they reached the service road’s termination the sun reappeared causing their wet clothes to steam under their plastic rain coats. It was Ralph who suggested they dismount and removed their clothes, as that way the sun would dry them more quickly by hanging on tree branches for a short period than it would while wearing and while doing so they could enjoy a late lunch.

“Do you think so?” Wayne hesitated.

“I used to do so when travelling and caught in a storm.”

“Yea but nakedness is second nature to you, what if someone is around?”

– More hesitation.

“I doubt if anyone would come this far up the valley, maybe the forestry department but you would hear their vehicle from distance.”

“I dunno’, there are a lot of tyre tracks and they appear quite fresh.”

“Come on I’ve seen you naked before.” Ralph laughed and quickly stripped, hanging his clothes on low hanging branches. Wayne was less eager but eventually even he was as naked as Ralph but appeared most coy about the procedure.

“It’s alright for you.” Wayne grumbled while hiding a rising embarrassment.

“Why?”

“You’ve had years of experience gallivanting around the country in your birthday suit. I’m usually alone when naked, or in the company of some chick.”

“Well now you know how I felt while wearing your jeans back in Cairns.”

“That was different.” Wayne explained.

“Why so.”

“You had a bloody pair of pants to hide the fact, not staring you in the face like now.” Wayne was glowing red with embarrassment.

“Oh such a pretty one as well,” Ralph humoured.

“Oh shut up.”

“Think of something else. Are you hungry?”

“It is well past lunch time.”

“What would you like?” Ralph asked.

“Any eggs?”

“We are on horseback how do you pack eggs?” Ralph explained.

“True.”

“I do have egg sandwiches.”

“That will do fine.”

“Curried egg.” Ralph affixed.

“Even better.”

Once they had eaten Ralph checked his trousers, they were still damp and looking down at Wayne’s crotch he laughed, “I told you; see thinking of food did the trick.”

“You surprise me Ralph.” Wayne shook his head in disbelief, retrieving his underwear he quickly pulled them on.

“In what way would that be?”

“You aren’t usually so forward and confident.”

“I suppose you are in my territory now,” Ralph shared and finished dressing,

“I guess they are still damp but body heat will finish the job, we should be moving, by my calculations we should reach the brumby track mid afternoon.”

It was some time before their clothes had completely dried while with the storm they had lost much of the day and seeing they were almost at the commencement of the brumby track Ralph thought it best to camp for the night and manage the cross over with the new sun.

Ralph had packed a flimsy two man tent, the kind that folded into a package of less bulk than an average size back pack. He erected the tent in a small clearing and threw in the swags being nothing but light weight sleeping bags.

Wayne stood by watching, as Ralph busied himself arranging the tent. “You amaze me,” he admitted freely, “where did you get the tent?” he asked realising he had done nothing towards arranging their needs for the trip.

“It was from my early travelling, I found it at an abandoned camp site and seeing it was apparently unwanted and in perfect condition, I kept it.”

“What about the sleeping bags?”

“The old one was from my travelling and the other I got at the hardware store in town last week.”

“So much organization,” Wayne praised.

“Had to, if left to you we would be sleeping on the wet ground.”

“What about crawling things?” Wayne asked, remembering his friend’s stories of everything from lizards to scorpions looking for somewhere dry and warm.

“The tent has a zipper, it’s a little stiff but still works, don’t worry nothing will get in.”

“Pillows?” Wayne expressed.

“No pillows, no pyjamas you’re not at one of your swanky hotels now.”

“I guess not but I do like a nice soft pillow.”

“Have you ever been camping?” Ralph asked realising it was a relevant question and one he should have expressed long before they commenced their journey.

“Only in a toy tepee I was given for Christmas when I was seven and erected in the back yard,” Wayne admitted and laughed, “even then I didn’t make it much past dark. I was joined by a mob of cane toads hopping around inside the tepee, quickly sending me back into the house.”

Once their sleeping arrangement had been attended to Ralph gathered firewood, while Wayne remained idle, his hands planted firmly on his hips and a grin fixed upon his face while feeling somewhat redundant to requirements.

“What would you like me to do?”

“I have it all under control, maybe get some water for coffee from that stream.”

“You have really got this bush living organised.” Wayne complemented, realising he was all but useless.

“You quickly learn to make do with what you have and there was many a day I was thankful for even some discarded sheet of plastic or length of corrugated roofing iron.”

Ralph found enough dry wood to start the fire. Soon he had a billy on the boil and with butter in an old burnt black frying pan he added bacon and tomatoes. They smelt good and for the first time since they had commenced their journey Wayne felt comfortable. Maybe, just lightly possible, he could become accustomed to camping out and for that moment he forgot what was to come with the new day.

It was dark and the sky a mass of stars but beneath the canopy of the forest trees it was the light from their camp fire that danced among the tree trunks in a slow and mysterious reel. Ralph had hobbled the horses and put them to graze on a patch of grass just past their clearing, they appeared content with their feed and settled into the night without problem, while the two sat by their fire, gazing into the flicking devils.

“It’s so quiet; you can almost hear yourself think.” Wayne admitted.

“That won’t last long, anytime now the night shift will be out and about.”

“Night shift?” Wayne asked.

“Yes everything that flies, creeps and crawls all looking for something to eat.”

“You make it sound like Jurassic Park.” Wayne nervously laughed.

“I guess it is Jurassic Park in miniature.”

“I forgot rum.” Wayne’s head turned from the fire demons to his friend.

“I didn’t but you were out of rum so I brought the scotch.”

“You know Ralph; you’re not a bad bloke.” Wayne commented.

“In what way would that be?”

“Every way,”

“That’s nice; you’re not a bad bloke either.” Ralph sounded coy.

“That’s not what I mean.” Wayne was attempting to explain something he couldn’t understand himself.

“I was told something.” The scotch, the night air and the comfort of the fire was beginning to loosen Wayne’s tongue. He was about to divulge what Stephen’s effigy had suggested of Ralph and his feelings towards him but the atmosphere wasn’t yet rich enough to continue. He withdrew his words and no matter how Ralph attempted to extract more Wayne remained demure.

“That is the second time you said you were told something but didn’t say what you were told or by who.” Ralph complained.

“Well I’ll say this, I’ve become quite accustomed to country living.” Wayne substituted.

“What part of it?” Ralph asked.

“All of it I suppose.”

“What about country people?”

“They are more sincere and straight forward than those I’m accustomed to.”

“But do you like them or the idea of liking them?”

“What do you mean?” Wayne questioned.

“Don’t know really how to word the thought but I do know that you are pussy-footing around something and have been for some time. Have you tried just coming out with it?” Ralph delivered somewhat sharply.

“I would if I knew what the answer was going to be.” Wayne sighed.

“There you go again pussy-footing.”

Wayne laughed. “That’s what Louise always accused me of doing – well she would say beating around the fucking bush but pussy-footing sounds much the same.”

“Smart chick that one.” Ralph commented and offered the now half empty scotch bottle to Wayne who thought better of drinking further, seeing they had to cross the mountain with the coming day, to which Ralph agreed. Screwing the top back he returned the bottle to the saddlebag, “I reckon we’ve both had enough for the night.” Ralph admitted.

“That’s another thing Ralph, you never used to drink.”

“Mostly I couldn’t afford to and you’ve been a bad influence.”

“Have I?”

“Na – did Louise drink much?”

“She could, especially with her mates.”

“What was she like when drinking?” Ralph asked.

“It depended on her mood, generally she became argumentative,” Wayne paused and released a soft huffing, he continued, “and aggressive, you think you’re too good for me don’t you, was one of her favourites – that and you don’t love me, that was a constant.”

“She sounds somewhat insecure.” Ralph added.

“Maybe but other times she could be a happy drunk and quite entertaining.”

“A chameleon.”

“I suppose most people can be that way at times.” Wayne thought of his own character and what his grandmother often drummed into his youthful gray matter, being there were two sides to every story, “I must admit sometimes I was at blame, when she was in mood I did stir her a little more that was advisable.”

“My mother didn’t drink at all when dad was alive but after he died she somewhat fell apart.” Ralph’s tone was distant as he took a rare visit to a time he had all but excluded from his life, “it was then and because of her new bloke I swore of booze for life.” He gave an ironic huff.

“So what broke your resolve?” Wayne asked.

“I was once told by a teacher, never say never and I later realised as long as in moderation I would have a glass or so, sometimes it takes the edge off living.”

“What was that?” Wayne nervously took a breath as a screech was heard directly above their heads.

“The start of the night shift, it sounded like a murdering woman owl,” Ralph answered laughing at his friends’ anxiety.

“Oh – what’s that?”

“A bird and doesn’t eat people or murder women.”

“I guessed that – I need to piss.”

Standing, Wayne moved to the edge of the clearing to urinate. As the steady stream flowed noisily onto the leaf litter he realised there was a double flow. Ralph had joined him, laughing as he equalled Wayne’s stream.

“Needed that…”

“I think I’ll turn in.” Wayne suggested while crawling into the tent, checking for anything that crept or crawled before stripping to his underwear.

The night was hot and the atmosphere in the tent close so he lay on top of his sleeping bag placing his clothing under his head as a pillow. Ralph doused the fire with dirt then also retired, taking his place beside Wayne, “Sorry about the lack of space but it is supposed to be a one man tent.”

“No matter.”

“Hey Ralph.”

“Yea?”

“This track across the mountains, what did you discover about its condition?”

“Not a lot. You know that old feller’ who lives in the house near the cross roads?”

“Ray Collin’s place.”

“That’s him, he said he had been over that way some time back and didn’t have difficulty – why?”

“I still think we should have driven.”

“What’s the adventure in driving?”

“Better than falling off some mountain;”

“Don’t worry it will be fine.”

“Famous last words?” Wayne grumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“What you said, they are famous last words.”

“Still don’t get ya’.”

“We had some sayings back in my school days,” searching for an example Wayne continued, “a simple example would be Vice President Johnson warning Kennedy not to go to Dallas and Kennedy replying it would be fine. I guess it refers to a positive answer given moments before an obvious catastrophe.” Wayne explained.

“Clearly I didn’t go to the right schools.”

Again and close by, Ralph’s screaming owl called, “there’s that bird of yours, I hope it doesn’t keep it up all night.” Wayne said and poked his head through the tent’s fly, “it’s mighty dark out there and I can’t hear the horses moving about.”

“I heard them a minute or so ago.”

“Where did you learn about horses?” Wayne asked.

“I told you I had a horse when I was a kid.”

“No I don’t mean the basics; you appear to understand much about them and their ways.”

“Ah, true but even before dad bought me my horse, I knew people with horses and spent much time hanging around the stockmen, also I read a lot.”

“There is something else; you can’t obtain your kind of knowledge from a book. I believe you have a natural gift, something like the American Indians and Aborigines, they were considered horsemen from day one. Horses landed at Botany Bay one day and the natives were riding them on the next.”

“I can’t say,” Ralph concluded – “goodnight.”

“Did I just hear a dog?” Wayne asked, remembering Ralph’s reason for bringing along Grace’s old rifle.

“It was a dingo,”

“Well?”

“Dingos don’t hunt in packs and in general don’t associate with feral dogs, unless looking for a bit,” Ralph yawned.

“A bit of what?”

“I guess a bit of bitch.”

“Where’s the rifle?” Wayne asked feeling most unsure of his friend’s prognoses.

“Beside me along the side of the tent.”

“Anyway even if you had to use it what could you hit in the dark?” Wayne deduced.

“I reckon nothing but the sound of a shot in the air should scare anything away.”

“You used a rifle as a kid?” Wayne asked remembering Ralph’s previous admission.

“Yes dad at one time worked for the council as a shooter.”

“Shooting what?” Wayne asked.

“Anything feral – I suppose dogs, cats, pigs and horses, anything that was running amuck on people’s runs.”

“They shoot horses?” Wayne appeared most surprised, knowing Ralph’s affection towards the animal.

“Dad said you have to be realistic about things, besides most of the time it was because they were starving during drought.” Ralph answered and appeared to be fading from the conversation.

“Goodnight then, you can cuddle into my back if you wish.” Wayne offered without even realising what he had said. Once spoken he felt somewhat embarrassed by the suggestion and wished to retract but instead of challenging Wayne’s offer Ralph brought his body into direct contact, placing his arm around his chest. Wayne held Ralph’s arm and was asleep.

Let Gary Know that you are reading and what you think of his story. Drop an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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