Haunted Creek (11 page)

‘Please don’t worry Mr Sinclair,’ Erik said as smoothly as he could, and turned the talk to the new buildings in Moe, about which Harriet held definite opinions.

‘Of course, once the railway comes through, we shall have a fine town,’ she said hopefully, as though she wanted him to change his mind.

By the time Harriet was delivered to her father’s house again in a rather sombre mood, Erik was wondering how he could get out of developing the friendship further. She would have certain
expectations
of him, now that she had met his mother. On the other hand, she hadn’t been impressed with his farm, so she might be getting cold feet herself.

Erik plodded home, the buggy pulled by his older and heavier horse Prince this time. The evening light fell softly on the
mountain
ranges and the sunset filtered through the trees on either side of the track. It was strange how little interest Harriet had shown in the countryside. He now realized that she was afraid of the wild
hills beyond the boundary of the town. Would she ever settle down on a farm?

They swung into the Wattle Tree track and Erik sighed. He knew one woman who appreciated this place as he did, a small dark-haired girl who pulled him like a magnet, all the time. He thought of Rose very often, but he knew that he had to forget her. Harriet might have been a diversion. He had hoped so, but after a day in her company he hadn’t been able to get rid of her quickly enough. ‘Rose, Rose, what have you done to me?’ he muttered and the horse wandered to the wrong side of the track. It was Rose he wanted, no other. A married woman.

Something would have to be done. Erik had looked after Rose from a distance when Luke was away, but now the baby had arrived and Luke was at home. Of course Luke would see they came to no harm. Any interference from another man would be – well, it would be immoral. He must keep right out of their lives. Heavily, Erik worked through his problem and reached a conclusion. He would have to go away for a time.

To leave the farm would be painful and it would also put a burden upon Freda, who already worked very hard in the school. But to see Rose with her baby, Luke’s child, would cause him even more pain. His mother had said she was radiant. ‘Rose will be a wonderful mother,’ she’d said. No doubt she would love her husband and now they had a child, they would be a happy family. Jealousy was a bad feeling, but it couldn’t be helped.

Just a few weeks away would give him a respite from thinking about Rose, Erik decided as he stabled the horse.

A
SPELL OF
droving would be the answer to Erik’s problem, as it had been for many a man with difficulties. He would be fully occupied with moving cattle along the Gippsland tracks, making sure they were fed and watered and not stolen or strayed. Droving cattle was something he’d enjoyed from time to time. It wasn’t a case of running away….

Erik leaned on the stable door watching the moon rise, thinking about it. He had been offered a trip that would take him to Melbourne and back over a few weeks, moving cattle and working with a couple of experienced men. Freda would look after the farm, the fences were in good order and he would arrange for a man to do some of the work. He’d be home in time to harvest the autumn crops.

Distance and time, the distractions of the road, would surely dull the ache he felt whenever he saw Rose or even thought about her. In time he would find a wife and he and Rose could be like brother and sister – when they were old, perhaps.

If this was the pain of love, then you were better off without it. It must be better to found a marriage on respect, friendship perhaps, but not this gnawing obsession. It would wear you down if it went on too long.

A trip away might also give Miss Sinclair time to find another beau, if that was the word she used. ‘Miss Sinclair’s not the girl for Wattle Tree, is she?’ Freda commented when Erik walked in after stabling the horse. ‘But I suppose if you love her, it might work out in the end.’

‘You never know, Mother.’ Erik sat down wearily in his chair, not willing to discuss the girl.

Freda handed him a glass of lemonade. ‘Good luck, Erik. Harriet’s intelligent and quite pretty – she might settle down.’ She was probably disappointed that Harriet showed no interest in the farm and so was he, but those little black kid boots were meant to stay in town.

Some mothers would have wanted to keep their sons for
themselves
, but Freda was obviously hoping he would marry the right girl. Harriet was not the right girl. Even if she’d liked the farm, he found her brittle conversation tiring. You couldn’t relax with Harriet.

The next week, Erik went to Moe with vegetables and called on Duncan Black, the stock agent who arranged cattle sales and sorted out the mobs of cattle for drovers to move across the country. The most usual job was to take beef on the hoof to feed the growing population of Melbourne.

Duncan said he was just in time and could start a trip in a few days. ‘Three of you will be enough. You start with fifty or so, head from here and pick up all the way down the track to the Newmarket saleyards,’ he was told. ‘A steady trip, don’t rush ’em. They need to hold their weight or, even better, fatten along the way. You know the drill.’ He looked at Erik. ‘You fit enough?’ Duncan himself was built like a jockey, lean and wiry with shrewd, far-seeing eyes.

‘Of course, Duncan. A Wattle Tree farmer can’t be anything else. Quick or dead, that’s us. The only thing I ask is – if we get a real rogue that upsets the mob, what do we do?’

‘Shoot the bugger and note the brand,’ Duncan said briefly. ‘No doubt you’ll take a gun with you – you might need it. Wild dogs are bad round the Bunyip, I’m told. The money will be here when you get back. George knows all the pickup points.’ He grinned. ‘And say goodbye to the lady friend for a while – you’ll be bringing another mob back so it’s a slow trip each way.’ Erik nodded. At ten miles a
day it would take them several weeks to go to Melbourne and back again. Thank goodness Freda didn’t mind.

Next he called to see Miss Sinclair, not sure how to proceed except to say that he was going away. No doubt she would
disapprove
of droving as a very low occupation, not fit for a gentleman, so if she was not discouraged already this might finish her off. In Erik’s experience drovers were steady, skilled men, but the popular view of them was of drinking, swearing, fighting cowboys.

A drover, even part-time, was not the kind of man for Miss Harriet Sinclair the lawyer’s daughter. Erik never worried about differences of class, or of race. He wasn’t afraid of ‘the blacks’ and knew some of them quite well. And that could be another barrier between the lady and himself. She was a little person of fixed
opinions
.

Harriet kept him waiting for over fifteen minutes, listening to the slow ticking of the dining-room clock. At last she came in, all smiles and with every hair perfectly in place.
Oh dear, she seems pleased to see me
. Erik stood up.

‘Dear Mr Jensen – Erik! I have news for you. I hope you will not be too hurt.’ Harriet looked coy. ‘But I have just become engaged to be married. To Dr Maitland of Sale – do you know him? We have been friends forever, you know, but only yesterday he persuaded me to marry him.’ She looked up at Erik to note his reaction. ‘I do hope you don’t … mind too much.’

Erik stood holding his hat, searching for the right words. A shocked silence seemed to be the proper reaction.
Thank you, Dr Maitland, I’ll be eternally grateful
… ‘Well, naturally, I’m
disappointed
that our friendship must come to an end.’ He tried to look suitably sad. ‘But I wish you well, Miss Sinclair. I do know Dr Maitland. I’m sure the best man has won.’ Was that a little too gallant? Maitland must be about twenty years older than Harriet but the lady loved it and they parted with words of goodwill.

Thank goodness that was over; one look at his farm had been enough to send Harriet into the arms of the doctor. Sale was a
flourishing town, doctoring was a respectable profession and the marriage would suit her very well.
Goodbye, Miss Sinclair, good luck
. He left the house with a weight off his shoulders.

That week Erik made his preparations for the journey. He took out his stockwhip of plaited kangaroo hide and it reminded him of the trips he’d been on before, several summers ago. He unrolled the canvas swag, a bedroll that was carried behind the saddle, and found it needed a few repairs. As he repaired and oiled the swag to make it waterproof he thought about Rose and wondered how she could go about, now that she had a baby. An idea began to form in his mind.

‘The first couple of days are usually the worst, until the cattle settle down to the routine,’ Erik told his mother. He knew Freda was trying to hide the fact that she worried about him when he was on the road. ‘It’s not as if we’ll be in the bush. We go straight down the three-chain road to Melbourne, round the edge of the swamp, grazing as we go, with overnight stops along the way.’

‘Sleeping in ditches, I suppose?’ Freda said casually.

‘Not on this trip – it’s civilized! We stop at places that have cattle-holding paddocks and mostly we can sleep in a bed at night. Places like the Cobb & Co. stop at Toomuc Creek, that has a sort of lodging house. The Bunyip, Brandy Creek – they’re strung out at intervals all the way to Flemington, places where the mail coach changes horses and there’s plenty of water for travelling stock. You could do it yourself, Mother, it’s not too hard.’ He laughed at her.

At the back of Erik’s mind he knew that once the railway came through to Sale, cattle would travel to Melbourne by train and trips like this would be over. The only droving jobs then would be
overland
, bringing cattle from remote places across mountains and bogs to the railhead – much more difficult than this route. ‘There’s very little to go wrong.’

‘Pity I can’t come, but somebody has to teach in school and stay on the farm,’ his mother said ironically. ‘I’m going to ask Rose to come back soon, to take sewing again. She gets the best out of the
children, she has a talent for teaching in her quiet way … but I don’t know how she’ll carry that baby up the track, even though it’s quite small as yet.’

Erik nodded. ‘She’ll grow. I thought of making a sling for her. I’ve got some canvas left. A baby carrier to fit on the back; that’s the best way to carry a load.’

A few days later Erik swung into the saddle, trying not to see the tears in Freda’s eyes. He rode the young horse Vulcan and led another. His two collies, Dan and Sim, trotted at their heels. Prince, the old horse, was left for Freda’s use.

It was a relief to be on the road again. It was not quite a holiday, you had to be always thinking ahead, but it made a change from farming. Several neighbours had promised to help Freda if she needed it, including Luke. It would do that youth good to help someone for a change. Rose didn’t know he was going, unless Luke had told her, and he didn’t want to see the expression in her eyes when she found out. But how could you trot over and kiss a married woman goodbye?

The other two drovers were on time. They had worked together before and knew each other well. George was about fifty, with a grey beard and a gentle way with cattle. Sep was younger and he seemed rather nervous, fidgeting with his girth and adjusting the stirrup length, anxious to be off.

The first batch of cattle was collected without too much trouble, although at 200 head it was a much bigger group than they’d been promised. They were a mixed bunch, three and four years old, some of them red and white Herefords and others darker Longhorn crosses with sweeping horns.

Erik looked the cattle over critically from the back of his horse and his older dog Dan did the same. They were in good condition, quiet already, and after a few days on the road they would be like old friends. The part of droving he hated was when, having got to know the animals and been with them for weeks, he had to hand them over to be killed. But you didn’t mention that thought to
anybody else; tough men were not supposed to think of droving except as a job, although they were good with the animals.

There was plenty of grass at the side of the wide track after recent rain and they drifted slowly west, the cattle grazing quietly as they went. A little traffic passed them on the road, farmers in buggies, bullock carts with supplies and once, the coach from Sale rattled by in a cloud of dust.

The dogs trotted along, looking around them with interest. Dan looked up at Erik from time to time and wagged his tail. ‘It’s good to be back on the road,’ he seemed to be saying. Dan loved tailing cattle, keeping them in a neat group, and he never seemed to get enough of it at home. Collies were bred for the work and they were happy working. It was a pity men couldn’t be the same.

As the afternoon shadows lengthened the animals slowed down, although thirst kept them moving: they wanted a drink. They would settle down quickly in a fenced paddock at Steve’s Creek after being watered and Erik looked forward to a quiet night.

A cloud of dust swirled ahead as another mob of cattle came swiftly to meet them. As they got closer Erik could see that they were probably youngsters intended for breeding, bound for settlers’ farms. They were travelling east and on the right of the track, a bit faster than George would have allowed.

Erik watched for the drovers in charge of the other herd to turn aside on a smaller track, to let them through. That was the rule of the road: if you can turn aside, do so. But not this mob. They kept coming on, at the same brisk pace. What on earth were they thinking of? Erik began to sweat as he saw what would happen, but there was nothing he could do. Their own mob were on the left and were running out of room; they had nowhere else to go because there were no side tracks and a fence ran along the edge of the road.

‘Here we go,’ Erik groaned and George, the older man, swore quietly. They watched helplessly as the two groups met and mingled, with much bellowing and dust raising in a sea of tossing
horns. The cattle seemed to enjoy the drama and made the most of it. Coughing, Erik couldn’t see which was his group for the choking dust. What a thoughtless lot the other drovers must be. ‘They can’t have looked ahead at all,’ Sep grunted.

George had evidently seen this sort of thing before. ‘We’ll turn them into yon paddock, the whole blooming lot,’ he called to the others above the din. ‘You stand by the gate, Erik. We’ll draft the young ’uns out.’ He pointed to a small grass field belonging to some hapless farmer who had the bad luck to live next to the road. They would borrow his field for an hour or so. Watched by the other drovers, Erik and his mates herded all the animals into the enclosure.

Round and round in the small paddock the cattle circled, kept on the move by George, Sep and his dog. Every time one of the
yearlings
came near the gate, Erik pushed it through back on to the road, with his dog Dan holding back the others. It was the only way to draft them out and it was slow, but in time they had their 200 cattle in the pen and about 100 young ones back onto the road again. The men and the dogs were thirsty and covered in dust. The grass in the paddock was trampled into the earth and George would have to offer some cash to the owner.

‘Next time, look ahead, think what you’re doing! You could’ve turned off down the track yonder and saved us all that,’ George growled at the other team as they lounged by the gate. ‘What’s your name, lad?’

‘Sorry, boss,’ the young drover said with a grin. He and his mate had done nothing to help with the drafting. ‘John Smith.’

George growled, ‘Well, John Smith, I’ve got your description and that’ll be good enough for Mr Black to make a note of you. You’d better mend your ways or you’ll be out of a job. You can’t go on like that and get away with it.’ The young men went off, muttering about greybeards telling a man what to do.

By this time, the cattle needed to rest and so did their drovers. ‘We’ll never make Steve’s Creek stock paddock tonight – we’d best
stop as soon as we can,’ George decided and the other two agreed. They soon came to a spot where the grass verge widened out, with a small creek for the cattle to get water. The herd drank gratefully and then they gradually sat down to chew the cud in a fairly tight group. They were settled for the night.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Erik tied up the horses to trees. When all the horses were fed, the men rolled out their swags by the side of the road and ate bread and cheese to save cooking. Erik lit a fire to boil the billy and as they sat round it, drinking strong black tea, he found that he was looking forward to the trip. The setting sun lit the track ahead to a blood red and then sank to an orange glow, promising more fine weather.