Outback Sunset (20 page)

As she sat opposite Curtis, she said brightly. ‘Let’s have a slap-up, best on the menu meal to celebrate my success.’

‘Why not? I’ve already ordered champagne,’ Curtis advised as he unfolded the cloth serviette.

‘Should we be drinking if we have to fly home before dark?’

‘You can drink. I’ll just have a sip, make the congratulatory toast and I’ll fly us home. You did very well, Vanessa. What did Bren say?’

She smiled. Praise from Curtis! A doubly memorable day. ‘The champagne, it’s a grand idea.’ Then she confessed. ‘I couldn’t contact Bren, he’s somewhere out of range, with Stuart. Diane’s going to tell him for me.’

Then a thought embedded itself in her mind and wouldn’t go away. Bren, not Curtis was the one who should be here, sharing her success. He could have
delayed taking up Stuart’s invitation.
And
he should be here for the entire muster, she added, amazed that she could be thinking such thoughts. She had never considered Bren selfish but his behaviour in this regard was just that. And the more she deliberated over it the more she realised that, increasingly, Stuart Selby was exerting a stronger influence over Bren. They had similar personalities, she acknowledged — though Bren didn’t have his uncle’s prickly nature — and similar outdoor tastes, such as snorkelling and big-game fishing.

As she made a pretence of studying the menu, Vanessa tried to justify the uncle and nephew’s closeness. Was it because Bren missed his father, and in his mind and emotions Stuart had assumed the role of a substitute father figure? Oddly, Curtis didn’t feel a similar closeness to his uncle. If anything, her brother-in-law was quite anti-Stuart, resenting his tendency to involve himself in Amaroo’s business affairs, and his belittling of the modest improvements being made at Amaroo, especially those suggested by Curtis. She and Curtis didn’t see eye to eye on many things, but surprisingly, though neither of them had openly discussed Stuart, they were united in not quite trusting Matthew Selby’s younger brother.

To take her mind off the peculiarity and disloyalty of her thoughts she tried to focus on the hotel restaurant’s menu. ‘What about Lobster Newburg?’ It was the most expensive dish on the menu but … weren’t they celebrating? ‘Where do they get lobsters around here?’

‘They truck in seafood, mostly prawns, from Wyndham on the coast, I think. Wyndham’s about
one hundred kilometres north. It was once an important seaport with a huge abattoir processing plant. Nowadays most cattle trade around here is shipped live overseas from Derby.’ He gave her a penetrating look that seemed to gauge her mood. ‘So, it’s lobster for two?’

The glint in Vanessa’s eyes was nothing if not determined as she smiled at him, and it coincided with the waiter arriving with the champagne.

‘Most definitely.’

It was the last day of the muster. Reg and Curtis, using the choppers, had rounded up the strays in the hills and the numbers had swelled to roughly more than a thousand head: a large mob for four people to control on the ground as they drove them towards better pasture. This year the dry period had been excessively dry and on Amaroo good grazing areas were becoming increasingly rare. So much so, that with the wet still months away, they’d soon have to drop bales and salt blocks to sustain the herd. One intention of this muster was to separate a percentage of mature stock, drive them to holding yards then and truck them to Derby to be sold for the best price possible. Trade to the Middle East was down but stable and slowly recovering. They would realise less profit by selling cattle early, but that was preferable to having a percentage starve to death because of lack of feed.

In earlier days Vanessa had thought she’d never get used to the noises the Brahman and Kimberley Shorthorns — the latter were gradually being bred out — made as they were driven. Their mournful
lowing never ceased, even when the mob was stationary, but she had become so used to the sounds that they failed to register with her anymore. Neither did the constant red dust kicked up by their hoofs as they ambled along choke her as it first had, because she wore a bandanna to keep the dust out of her mouth and nostrils. She reached into her saddlebag for the flask of water. Staying hydrated in the heat — though it was winter everywhere else in Australia it remained hot in the Kimberley — was essential to one’s survival.

For a while, lulled into a semi-stupor by the movement of her horse Runaway, her thoughts wandered to Bren, then to England. It was the month of July and Wimbledon finals time, arguably the best summer month in England. If Londoners were lucky, the weather would be fair, if a little cool.
Cool!
A trickle of sweat slid down her spine. Out here ‘cool’ was a four letter word that didn’t occur very often. Sometimes she daydreamed about being in Antarctica, surrounded by penguins with cool, white-blue ice dominating the terrain as far as the eye could see. She chuckled as she urged Runaway to chase a steer trying to separate from the mob. Kerri would be impressed with the skills she had acquired and she was looking forward to seeing her. She and Yannis were coming to Sydney for the premiere of
Heart of the Outback.

As she brought the steer back to the fold, she remembered something Nova had said to her. Reg now considered her a ‘qualified’ jillaroo, since she had assisted in the birth of a Brahman calf whose mother had been having difficulties pushing the
overly large calf out. It had been a life and death tussle, and being involved in seeing a new life come into the world, watching the calf stand in the scrub and stumble instinctively towards its mother’s nipples had been an experience she would never forget.

Every day she was gaining a deeper insight into what living in the outback, being one with it, was about. And to think she wouldn’t have had these experiences had she not met Bren and fallen in love. But … she was still cross with him for not being contactable after she’d got her pilot’s licence. When she had more experience she hoped to participate in the sky mustering. Getting her licence a few days ago had been an important step and, though she didn’t like to admit it, Bren had let her down. She wouldn’t let his casual behaviour gnaw at her insides when, most of the time, he did everything right.

She screwed the top back on the flask of water and shoved it into one of the two saddlebags which contained items she’d brought on the muster and not carried by the support truck — a change of clothes, underwear, toothpaste, lipstick, comb, soap and toilet paper. God, she’d be first in the shower when they got back to Amaroo, to wash the grime and grit off her body and out of her hair.

‘Vanessa …’

Over the noise of the mob she heard Nova’s yell. It made her rein in as she watched Nova gallop towards her. Cattle, spooked by the fast riding, scattered in three different directions. Then she looked past Nova and saw a cloud — a strange,
reddish brown, swirling cloud — that had materialised out of nowhere.

Nova pointed to the cloud as she pulled up beside Vanessa. ‘It’s a dust storm.’

‘I didn’t think the Kimberley got that sort of thing.’

‘We don’t get them often, but there’s no time to explain the weather pattern or how it occurs. Forget the mob. Ride for cover.’ The urgency in her tone was unmistakable. She pointed south. ‘Over there. Try to ride out of the storm if you can, and go south, not west. Due west from here, a few kilometres away, there’s an escarpment with a sheer drop. Stay away from it. Go due south to where there are rocks and boulders. They’ll give you some protection.’

‘You’re coming too, aren’t you?’

Nova shook her head. ‘I have to warn Warren. He’s driving the truck at the back of the mob and with the dust they kick up he won’t see the storm coming.’

‘But … the cattle?’ All the work they’d done mustering them! As Vanessa asked the question she was adjusting her bandanna, tightening it around her mouth, and ramming her Akubra down hard on her head.

‘Don’t worry about them,’ Nova said impatiently, ‘they’ll scatter but the choppers can round them up again. It’s more important for us to find cover. Gotta go.’ Nova nudged her horse’s flanks and changed direction, racing away at full stretch to the back of the mob.

Vanessa took a moment to eye the ominous red cloud. In the space of their conversation, less than a
minute, it had moved closer and had begun to look menacing. She had never seen anything like it and deep inside a ripple of fear stiffened her back, making the muscles go rigid. She didn’t waste another second. Turning Runaway to the south she began to canter, then she gave the horse its head, moving into a full gallop to cover ground as fast as the sturdy Australian stockhorse would go.

Vanessa rode and rode, hoping she was still heading south, swerving around the occasional gum and clumps of low bushes. Her gaze narrowed to slits as flying particles of red dust caught up with her, stinging her skin from the velocity of the wind that carried them. The wind screamed and squealed like a hundred banshees as it rushed headlong at her, around her and over her.

She couldn’t gauge how long she rode Runaway. Time seemed meaningless. It might have been minutes but from the lather gathering on her horse’s neck and flanks it was more likely to have been over an hour. As she neared exhaustion, she coughed and choked as the dust storm enveloped them and cut visibility almost to zero. She sighed with relief as she glimpsed a clump of rounded boulders. They were close and might afford her and Runaway some protection.

The next instant, on her left, an updraft of wind blew up and it was so powerful that Runaway shied with fright. Instinct made the horse jerk to a stop, then rear. Unable to adjust to the suddenness of the braking horse, Vanessa was tossed to the ground. Her left shoulder hit the earth with a thud that jarred her torso. The pain was excruciating and she
cried out and, instinctively, rolled off her back onto her un-injured side. Oh, no,
I’ve broken my arm, or my shoulder
. A secondary wave of pain made her shudder then, as it intensified, with a quiet moan she passed out.

A contrite Runaway neighed and lowered her head to inspect the woman who’d ridden her. Animal curiosity caused her muzzle to prod the inert body as the dust storm enveloped them both. She neighed again and pawed the ground as the dust storm thickened. Then, as if sensing that her rider needed protection, Runaway did what horses don’t normally do. She got down awkwardly, on all fours, near the unconscious Vanessa, and tucked her head in close, in her own way providing what protection she could with her solid body.

When Vanessa came to, all was quiet. The dust storm had wreaked its havoc and moved on. She found herself covered in red dust, as was Runaway who lay beside her. ‘Yuk,’ was the most expressive word she could think of. As she moved to sit up a shaft of pain travelled from her shoulder down her left arm. It made her remember the fall. The arm was useless. Tentatively she wiggled her fingers and they responded. Maybe the arm wasn’t broken. Protecting the injury as best she could, she sat up and looked around.

She wasn’t wearing a watch but she could gauge what time it was because the sun was low in the western sky. It would set in about an hour, she reckoned. She studied the land around her and began to wonder where she was. In a panic, to
escape the storm, she had ridden the living daylights out of Runaway. Looking at the horse a wave of guilt rushed through her. The lather on her coat had dried, and clumps of congealed dust hung from it because Vanessa hadn’t been able to wipe or shower her down. Continuing to study the land and distant, low hills, she sought to recognise landmarks. Nothing, her heart lurched depressingly, looked familiar. And … the silence, so absolute it hammered home the fact that she was very much alone.

Think, don’t panic. Yet! What are your options?

Runaway stirred, stood up and nuzzled her. Vanessa tried to stand but the injured arm and shoulder made that difficult. By grabbing the saddle’s stirrup she managed to pull herself upright. With great care, because she felt awkward and lopsided, she climbed to the top of a boulder in the hope that being higher would give her a better view. She prayed to see someone riding towards her, or something she might recognise. Nothing.

Damn! Her shoulder was aching like the devil — the slightest movement set off a wave of intense throbbing that made her cry out in pain. She took her bandanna off, shook it free of dust and, being one-handed, it took her several frustrating minutes to retie the cloth around her neck to form a rough sling into which she put her left arm. It helped, a little. The pain kept coming, especially when she moved so, she reasoned it made sense not to move about too much.

Face it
, the thought found its way into her head,
the light is fading and you are going to be stuck here
till morning
. Facing west, she realised that she hadn’t ridden due south as Nova had advised her to. Somehow, in the drama of trying to outrun the storm, she had veered off course and headed southwest. That would mean that those at Amaroo would take longer to find her.

Turning full circle on the boulder she then saw how perilously close the escarpment was, the drop being less than three metres away. Vanessa blanched under her tan. That’s why Runaway had shied — the updraft from the valley below had warned the horse of danger. Dear God! A sickly feeling came over her as she saw how close she and Runaway had come to going over. By the time she got down from the boulder her legs were trembling with reaction. Taking Runaway’s reins, she led the horse five to six metres further away from the edge. Relief, fear, apprehension inside, made her long to scream but what was the point — who would hear her? The situation was bad, but only temporarily, she assured herself. What she had to do was make the best of it. Okay — she tried to perk herself up — get organised before the sun sets.

With easy access to Amaroo’s library, housed in Curtis’s cottage, Vanessa had read a good deal about the pioneering men and women of Australia, about their privations, failures and successes in settling the less hospitable areas of the country. This had led her to greatly admire the fortitude of the women who’d accompanied their men in earlier times. If those women could do it tough for years, some even a lifetime, she, who’d never roughed it in the bush alone, could do so overnight … Of course she could!