FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (22 page)

‘Do you think his memory will come back at the same time?’

‘I don’t know, that’s not my area,’ she answered gently. But seeing the disappointment on Saskia’s face added, ‘But I’ve seen some amazing things happen in my time at the hospital. Let’s get his body functioning properly again and being here might well be the prescription for total recovery.’

TR followed the sound of voices and hobbled through the house, pausing to glance around him at the exquisite antiques, paintings and collectables arranged with discreet style. Had he had anything to do with all this? This was like waking up in the middle of a dream only to find the dream was reality.

He paused in the kitchen doorway, unnoticed for a moment, and quickly assessed who
these people might be. The slightly stooped old Aborigine with the thin white hair and deeply wrinkled skin had to be Snowy. The weather-beaten white man with gnarled hands was probably Millie’s husband, Jim. Millie was directing a sweet-faced Aboriginal girl to carry the tray out to the verandah when she noticed TR. The girl gave him a dazzling smile. A silence fell on the room.

‘G’day,’ said TR with a slightly embarrassed grin.

‘You know everyone, don’t you?’ asked Millie bluntly, running through their names. ‘And Ruthie here. Take the tray outside, Ruth, and find Sas. Tell her to bring Jenni down to meet everyone.’

Five minutes later, Jenni and Saskia appeared and Jenni shook hands with each of them, then turned to Millie. ‘Would you mind if we took up some of those scatter rugs? They’re beautiful but TR could catch his crutch on one and trip.’

‘I managed just fine,’ protested TR.

‘You were being careful; when you’ve settled in a bit more you might not pay such close attention.’ Jenni poured his tea and handed it to him.

They all talked quietly about the shearing, and the Quinns, who had called to welcome TR home. ‘They send their best, said they’d be over when you were up to it,’ said Jim.

TR nodded and sipped his tea, trying to work out who the Quinns were.

‘And still no news from your mum,’ Jim commented, trying to make conversation.

‘No. She must be in the boondocks on a horse; she’ll check in when she can,’ said Saskia.

‘If she’s hot on the trail of those bulls she mightn’t touch base for a bit,’ observed Jim.

‘She’ll want to know how TR is, so she won’t leave it too long,’ said Saskia, smiling at TR.

‘Soon as she hears he’s out of hospital, she’ll hot foot it back here, don’t you worry,’ said Millie.

TR looked down and turned his cup around in its saucer and Jenni gave him a sympathetic look. TR looked up at her and they exchanged a swift smile.

Millie paused and looked at them both, then turned back to the tea things, her heart anxious. This was hard for TR and it was obvious he relied on this Jenni girl a lot.

You get along home here, Queenie, she thought to herself. You and TR got t’get t’know each other agin.

Chapter Fifteen

The path through the brigalow trees was marked by fairly fresh tracks. Queenie let Honey slow to a walk. It had been a long day and she had been pushed hard. It was late afternoon and long shadows from the trees stretched across their path, the overripe light fading to sunset shades. The bush was motionless, a contentment settled over it as though each creature, each leaf, each living thing, had spent the day in tranquil observance.

For Queenie it had been a day of solitude; not one of introspection or loneliness, but of peace with herself and the world around her. She and her horse moved in harmony to the cadence of birdsong and the stirrings of the wind. Life was reduced to the simplicity of travelling, to the rhythm of one’s breathing and to the closing of one’s mind and simply being. Anger and confusion had dissipated
into the beauty of the bush around her. Every little thing she saw, from a twisted branch on the ground to the curve of a treetop, seemed a work of art of such magnitude that no designer, architect or artist could possibly match it.

While her dedication to the task hadn’t dimmed, the searching for her missing cattle was put into perspective. What really matters at the end of the day is the ability to be able to live in a moment such as this, she reasoned, and gave herself up to the peace and pleasure of the passing hours.

There was something about travelling by horse rather than the encapsulated speed of motorised transport. It was companionable to be alone and establish a rapport with your horse. And, she reflected, just as pleasant to ride with friends. ‘Spend time in the saddle with a friend and that’s a friend forever,’ her father had told her. And now it came to her why she and TR enjoyed their morning rides so much. It was a time of bonding with each other and with nature, where there was no place for pretence or shallow thoughts or unkind deeds; it was a peaceful way to start a day with good and kind and loving thoughts. But now each morning as she opened her eyes, the realisation of what was happening in her life made her heart heavy and spirit weary even before the day had begun.

Darkness fell, shaking Queenie from her contemplative mood. The track widened and she realised she had found the clue she was looking for. Before her, visible through the
bush, was an empty stockyard made of rough logs and solid posts.

She dismounted and slipped beneath the rails, studying the ground as best she could in the early pale moonlight. The earth was churned and the telltale smell and mounds of dung meant cattle had been held there quite recently. She tied Honey’s bridle to the fence and slipped her rifle from its holster on the saddle. She moved cautiously forward, heading along the track which had been carved into two ruts by vehicles.

She came to two more empty stockyards, and then she stopped. There were no lights to be seen. In the distance a dingo howled and she heard a metallic sound she couldn’t place. She continued walking softly as clouds scudded across the thin slice of new moon, but even in the dimness there was no mistaking the squat shapes of a small cottage and several nearby sheds. No lights were on and, as best she could make out, no vehicles in sight. But her instincts told her this place was not as deserted as it looked.

She edged towards the first shed and peered inside. It smelled musty and unused. She could just make out dark shapes of drums and what were possibly piles of rusty machinery parts. She slipped through the shadows to the next shed, and immediately smelled fresh hay and grain. Feed had been kept in here not so long ago. Clues were beginning to add up.

She headed for the house. Although it was still early evening and the place was dark and
quiet, her skin prickled and she felt she was being watched. She edged around the side of the house to a small window and attempted to peer inside.

She was trying to adjust to the gloom when she was grabbed swiftly from behind and pushed hard against the windowpane.

‘Right, don’t move.’ Her arm was twisted up sharply behind her back and the more she struggled the more it felt as if it was going to snap.

As her attacker grabbed her rifle, Queenie lashed out with her leg, only to be hit across the side of her head. Her hat spun to the ground and her long hair, shoved beneath it, fell around her shoulders.

‘What the hell!’ The man’s voice sounded young. He spun her round, never letting his grip slacken. Queenie gasped in pain. ‘A woman! What are you doing here?’

‘Who are you?’ demanded Queenie.

‘Ado, get out here!’ yelled the man.

Queenie now saw that her captor was a young, tall, thin Aborigine of mixed blood, with a shock of frizzed hair. There was a bang of a tin door — the sound she’d heard earlier — and around the side of the house rushed another youth clutching at his belt.

‘Where’ve you been?’ snapped the fellow holding onto Queenie.

‘I was in the dunny. Sorry, Zero, I had to go. Jeez, you gotta lady.’ He stared in surprise at Queenie.

‘Now listen, you two, just what are you doing? There’s no need to break my arm.
You’e got my rifle, let me go. I’m . . . lost,’ she improvised quickly.

The youth holding her hesitated, then let go of her but stood in a threatening position. ‘Where’re you heading for? This is a bit off the beaten track,’ he said suspiciously.

‘Someone stole a bunch of my cattle, and I reckon they came this way,’ said Queenie with narrowed eyes.

‘Don’ lookit us, lady,’ replied the other. ‘All we know about cattle is how to barbecue steak.’

‘You haven’t seen anything then? How long have you two been around here?’ asked Queenie.

The boys exchanged a swift glance. ‘We don’t have to tell you nuffin’.’

‘So whadda we gonna do then, Zero?’

‘Wait till the others get here.’

‘Whose place is this, can we wait inside?’ Queenie fought to stay in control of her emotions. She had been given quite a scare and was close to tears. Something told her these two young men were not a real threat, but she didn’t trust them.

Zero led the way inside and Ado followed behind her. Zero struck a match and lit an old kerosene lantern. Queenie saw they were in the kitchen, though it was virtually empty. Zero waved the rifle towards the kitchen table. ‘Sit there.’

Queenie pulled out a wooden chair and sat down. Ado sat opposite her. ‘You gonna light the stove, Zero?’

‘You were getting the wood. Bring it in.’

‘Oh yeah, I went to the dunny and then she turned up.’ He looked sheepish and headed back outside into the darkness.

‘So who are the others you’re expecting and how long before they’ll get here?’ asked Queenie with a smile, trying to ease the tension.

‘The rest of the gang should be along in an hour or so. We’re sorta the advance group.’

‘Of what? Escaped convicts, cattle rustlers, runaways?’

Zero almost grinned. ‘One of those is right. You tell me who you are first.’

‘My name is Queenie Hamilton. I live at a station south of here. I have a second property closer called Cricklewood and that’s where my prize bulls were kept, until some sods came and stole them about a week ago.’

‘You rich then?’

‘Depends what you call rich. I wouldn’t bother holding me to ransom — you wouldn’t get much for me. Your turn — tell me about yourself. How’d you get the name Zero?’

‘Guess my parents didn’t reckon I was worth much,’ he shrugged, and then grinned.

‘Ah, then you’re a runaway.’

‘Years back. Been on me own ten years about.’

‘But how old are you? Seventeen?’ Queenie was shocked.

Zero got to his feet as Ado came in with his arms full of kindling.

‘I’ll bring our gear in.’ Ado glanced at Queenie. ‘Where’s your stuff, you didn’t just walk in here like that.’

She hesitated before answering, not wanting to tell these two kids about Honey, but she figured they’d find her quick enough anyway as she was bound to make a noise. ‘I have a small pack on my horse tied down by the yard next to the first shed.’

‘You kin git it later.’

Zero grinned for the first time as he put a match to the fire in the old fuel stove. ‘Ado’s scared of horses.’

Queenie studied them closely for the first time. Zero wore a small earring; Ado had a red, black and gold knitted beanie clamped to the back of his head. Both wore jeans, old running shoes and T-shirts with wild looking rock group logos on them. She realised these were city boys. ‘How did you two get here? I didn’t see any cars or horses.’

‘We walked.’

‘You just fell onto this place?’

‘Course not,’ said Ado indignantly. ‘We’re the advance group; we came here first to get set up. Jeez, we’d better start, eh Zero?’

Ado disappeared and came back with a sugar bag. He dumped it on the table and began pulling food supplies from it. He eyed Queenie. ‘You know how to make damper?’

She nodded. ‘Want a hand?’

He pushed the flour and salt towards her and pulled a battered saucepan from the bottom of the bag.

‘Look around, Ado, there’s probably stuff to cook in,’ said Zero.

While Ado looked in cupboards and found a bowl and a frying pan, Zero opened cans of
stew. The three worked quietly together, and soon a damper was cooking, the stew heating and the billy beginning to boil. They seemed to be cooking a lot of food, but Queenie said nothing, playing it by ear for the moment.