Red Dirt Country Read online

  Off to the side, the flick of a tail caught his attention. A mob of about twenty red Brahman cattle were camped in a grove of shrubs, their heads down, eyes closed, with their ears and tail continuing to twitch, keeping the flies at bay.

  He turned the wheel to drive up for a closer look.

  That’s contentment, he thought, smiling as a cow opened her eyes to look at him, assessing the danger, then shut them again.

  They were holding their condition well, considering the lack of decent feed, he decided, before driving on.

  A few kilometres of rough track and creek crossings further on, he pulled up at one of the troughs in the large paddock. He could see that the water was lapping about an inch below the rim. Full.

  Kevin swung the door open and jumped out with the energy of youth and stretched as he looked around the land. There was fresh cattle shit near the trough and tracks that the wind hadn’t yet covered. The cattle were happy coming in here to drink. And he could see the dirty rub marks and hair on the posts of the fence that surrounded the tank, which trickled water into the trough. Cattle loved to scratch.

  Smiling, he felt the same kind of satisfaction that he imagined the cattle would be feeling. He’d made a difference to this land, this station, since he’d come back here. The Elders had put a lot of faith in him when he’d won the scholarship to study agriculture down south. The decision had been controversial with some of the community. But the ones who hadn’t been in favour were beginning to come around now, seeing the improvements Kevin had made. There was, however, still a long way to go.

  Deciding he should check the levels in the tank, he jumped the fence and walked over, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin. He adjusted his hat and sunglasses before climbing the ladder to check inside. The steel was hot to the touch and he glanced up at the sky, wondering what the time was. About two-thirty in the afternoon, he guessed. Just time to check here, then the solar pump about another forty-odd ks down the track and get home again.

  Peering inside, he saw the tank was full.

  The windmill was in good working order too; even so, he walked around it just to make sure it was pumping smoothly and everything was okay. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance with the weather warming up and the cattle needing to drink.

  Back in the ute, he felt another surge of fulfilment. Who would’ve thought that when he’d left his homeland to go to that fancy school in Perth, he would’ve ended up back on Spinifex Downs as the manager? Of course, that had always been the plan, but he’d been unsure it would eventuate exactly as the Elders had hoped.

  Kevin had copped a bit of flak from the fellas he’d grown up with when he’d got back home. ‘Don’t go bringing all your fine words and education back here, brother. You’re no different to the rest of us, no matter what they say.’ That had come from Morgan, his best mate when he’d been a kid.

  Sure, it had hurt him, but he’d been prepared for a backlash. His father had warned him it would happen. ‘You won’t be seen as one of us anymore. You’ll be an outsider now.’

  Kevin had ignored the comments. He knew he was doing the right thing by his people. Improving the herd, the station, their land. They would all see it in time, but it would take just that. Time. Once he’d united them all again, given them a purpose and dignity, then he’d be accepted.

  And time had begun to work its magic in the last couple of months. Kevin could feel and see the difference in the community. Just little steps, but that was all he was asking for. The kids were happy, and Morgan had started to talk to him on the same level again. His jackaroos Cyril, Charlie, Jimbo, Harry and Nicky were happily working the cattle and maintaining Spinifex Downs the way Kevin had hoped they would.

  Spinifex Downs was an Aboriginal lease linked to a community. There were fifty women and children who lived just back from the creek in small houses that had been built by the government. There were about the same number of men, along with one young white woman, Paula, who taught the kids.

  Kevin lived in the homestead, about half a kilometre from the community, with white lime-washed walls and high ceilings, and fans that gently swung while the generator was on. The homestead also housed his office. He would never admit it but he missed living among his people, down along the creek banks. He missed being involved with his family and the friendships; the kids, laughing and barefoot, kicking the footy on the dry, dusty ground; the smell of wood-fire smoke and the chatter of the women while they cooked the meals.

  Kevin knew, though, his purpose was more important than everything he missed. He was going to take his people forwards. Help keep their culture, beliefs and land strong. Give them pride. He knew he was making progress.

  He dusted his hands on his already dirty denim jeans and adjusted his hat again, before getting back into the ute. Another forty ks and he’d be on the boundary of Spinifex Downs and Deep-Water Station, where there was the last lot of water he had to check today. Cotton Bush Bore.

  Looking at his diary, he saw that Jimbo and Harry had checked it last about a week ago. They were good lads, and they were getting better under his guidance, so he hoped he wouldn’t find any problems when he got there.

  As Kevin drove, he hung his arm out of the window, enjoying the feeling of the warm breeze on his skin. The ranges rose in front of him, catching the afternoon sun, glowing ochre red, and he could see the black dot of a wedgetail eagle riding the thermals. The bush and spindly white-trunked trees grew to just before the summit, where the barren rocky outcrop took over, reaching towards the sky, turning the ranges the colour of maple.

  Kevin couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. During the eight years he’d spent in Perth, he’d felt like he’d been ripped away from all he loved. When he’d first arrived in the city, the noise had almost driven him to distraction. There wasn’t quiet or stillness anywhere—no silent corner for him to escape to and think. No place to hear the birds and feel the wind. He’d missed his family and the space. Holidays were the highlight of the terms, and the homesickness had never really left him until he returned to Spinifex Downs.

  The two-wheel track, which Kevin was following, ran along the fence line, ducking and weaving through the scrub that lead to Cotton Bush Bore. As he drove, he thought about the next few weeks. The muster was finished and all the cattle intended for market had been sold. They were now in maintenance mode; making sure that all the waters and fences were in tiptop shape before the Wet came. He didn’t want any of his cattle straying onto his neighbours’ properties during the big rains.

  He knew there were a couple of internal fences that needed tightening and floodgates to be erected in at least one of the deeper river systems. He’d made a note that he wanted the boundary fences ridden by men on horses to make sure they were as tight and in good condition as they could be.

  When the top of the windmill, gently circling, came into view, it took him a moment to realise what he was looking at, he’d been so lost in his thoughts.

  He ran through the facts about Cotton Bush Bore and the part of the paddock it watered. There should be five hundred cattle in this twenty-thousand-hectare paddock. It had eight watering points, five of them were new ring dams and the rest were still the old version of troughs and windmills or pumps.

  When he’d returned home three years earlier, building more dams had been the first priority. The men hadn’t been maintaining the mills and often the cattle were left without water for days. During the Dry, that was unacceptable.

  He scanned the landscape but didn’t see any of the herd of red cattle he’d painstakingly started to build back up again. They’d be around somewhere, he knew. Sometimes they were like dingos—they blended in with the landscape and were hard to see. Laughable really, with how large cattle were.

  As he drove closer to the trough, he noticed there weren’t any cattle prints or fresh shits around. The dirt wasn’t disturbed as it would have been if the cattle had been coming in daily for a drink, and there were a couple of dead birds nea
r the tank. Even without getting out of the vehicle, Kevin knew there was something wrong with this bore.

  ‘Musta got a bit hot for you,’ he muttered to the birds as he drove past. ‘At least, that’s what I’m hoping.’

  He pulled up next to the trough. The cement was dry and the mud in the bottom was crumbly and cracked. Didn’t appear as if there had been water in it for a few days. He looked around quickly, scanning the landscape. The trees and bushes hadn’t been eaten, the way they had back at the previous watering point. The only good news at this point was that he couldn’t see any dead cattle. That would mean they’d worked out there was another watering point and gone there.

  Jumping out of the ute, he ran to the tank and tapped the side. It echoed hollowly and Kevin swore.

  Empty.

  The creaking and groaning from the old mill caught his attention. All old mills made noise, talking to the empty landscape. With this one, there was movement and noise, but the water wasn’t being pumped. A quick glance at the column showed Kevin the pump rods were undone.

  ‘Bastards!’ he spat and jogged over to the fence to look around. With his boots jarring on the dry land, he walked the fence line, occasionally stopping to tug on the wire. It felt tight for the first one hundred and eighty odd metres, then he saw it.

  The dirt was scuffed up and Kevin could see cattle tracks on either side of the boundary fence. He pulled at the bottom wire and it came away easily in his hand.

  ‘Damn it to hell!’ he yelled, and his words bounced off the ranges and echoed around him. ‘You bastards!’ He knew his cattle were now on the neighbour’s place and he was sure they weren’t there by accident.

  Back at the ute, Kevin rummaged around for the video camera he kept with him at all times in case he found things he wanted to show the community. He jogged to the sabotaged areas and recorded footage of the tracks and fence. Not that he would be able to do anything with it. His father’s words were already sounding in his head: ‘They won’t take any notice of what’s going on out here, boy. The law won’t help us, so don’t involve the coppers.’

  The burn of anger made him try to get over the fence more forcefully than he normally would and he tripped on the top wire, tumbling face first into the red soil. ‘Bastards,’ he muttered again, getting to his feet and wiping his hands on his jeans.

  Kevin followed the cattle tracks for the first kilometre then realised the sun had started to sink behind the range. It would be dark very soon and he shouldn’t be out here alone.

  Kevin pulled up at the homestead and looked at his father, who was still sitting outside by the fire. Charlie, another one of the ringers, was sitting next to him and they were both working on leather whips.

  ‘Workin’ on some new ones,’ Jackie said as Kevin walked over to them and sat down in the dirt. Kevin was holding a brand-new football and was tossing it up and down.

  ‘Need some for next muster, for sure,’ Kevin said. The frustration was burning in his chest, but he had to keep it in until Charlie had gone. He sat down next to them, putting the ball in his lap, and reached out to look at the leatherwork.

  ‘Pretty good there, Charlie. You making it for yourself?’

  ‘Yeah. Broke mine when we were mustering out in Lemongrass paddock. Got caught around a bull’s horns and he ripped it from my hands. Bloody thing.’

  ‘You should have it finished well enough in time then. Where’s your boy, Charlie?’ Kevin asked, letting the leather fall from his hands and taking the piece his father handed to him, twisting it around his fingers.

  ‘Probably playing footy down at the creek. Footy mad. And that Miss Paula, she gets right in there with them. All the kids love it!’ He grinned, his white teeth flashing.

  Kevin grinned and held up the football. ‘I’ve got this for him and the rest of the kids. Signed by David Wirrpanda.’

  Charlie’s grin got wider. ‘Good on you, Kev. They’ll like that.’

  ‘You can take it to him now if you like.’ He handballed the footy over to Charlie, who caught it and turned it around to see the signature. He ran his weathered fingers over the black texta marks, then handballed it up in the air a couple of times, catching it nimbly.

  ‘Cheers, boss.’ Charlie got to his feet. ‘See ya, old man,’ he said to Jackie, who just nodded and kept working.

  The ringer sauntered away, whistling and twirling the ball in his hands.

  Jackie looked up at Kevin, a question on his face.

  ‘They’re at it again.’ Kevin spat the words out.

  Jackie didn’t say anything, but looked down and continued to weave the leather quietly.

  ‘We’ve got to put a stop to this, Dad!’ Kevin threw the leather onto the ground and ran his fingers through his hair. What he really wanted to do was get up and pace—that’s how he thought things through, by walking. It wasn’t done like that out here though. He knew he had to stay sitting down. And try to be calm.

  Jackie shook his head. ‘Let’s not cause any trouble.’

  ‘Dad, are you going to let them win all the time?’

  ‘There’s to be no trouble, boy.’ Jackie put down his leatherwork.

  Kevin noticed how intense his father’s eyes were as they looked at him steadily. ‘It’ll be the third time they’ve stolen cattle from us,’ he said.

  ‘Just so long as they leave us some.’

  ‘If they keep doing this, there won’t be enough cattle to make money! We have to stand up to them. Go to the police.’

  ‘No! I’ve told you. This has happened before. You don’t know what it was like back then, Kevvy. Don’t stir up trouble. That’s all there is to it.’ As if that put a stop to any further conversation, he returned to his leatherwork, refusing to look at Kevin anymore.

  Kevin reached over and grabbed a log from next to the fire and threw it onto the coals. Sparks shot into the copper-coloured sky, just as a mob of screeching corellas came in to land on the gum trees nearby.

  Kevin lowered his voice and chose his words carefully. ‘Dad, the coppers, they’re here to help us. They—’

  ‘The coppers aren’t interested. Look, we just want to live the quiet life out here. Raise a few cattle and live on our land. You want to go stirring things up? We can’t do that. Let it go. It’s the way it’s been for generations, no point in trying to buck the system.’

  Kevin looked around, clenching his fists. ‘I didn’t come back here to let this go on. I came back to recreate the pride our people once knew. Letting these bastards get away with taking our cattle isn’t helping the pride. We need to do something.’

  The fire crackled and sent cheery flames licking either side of the wood. The laughter of the kids drifted over from the makeshift dirt oval near the creek. Jackie looked straight at Kevin again, but this time he brought his hand up and pointed his finger at his son.

  ‘I’m telling you again. Don’t go to the police. Don’t cause trouble.’ He looked back down at his leatherwork and didn’t say another word.

  Chapter 3

  The phone rang and Dave snatched it up, hoping it was the call he’d been waiting for. ‘Burrows.’

  ‘Dave, it’s Kelly Dalton. I’ve just reviewed your notes after our last appointment. I think you’re right to go back to work.’

  Dave shut his eyes and clenched his fist. Thank god! If his counsellor had been in front of him rather than on the other end of the phone, he would’ve hugged her. Instead he cleared his throat and said, ‘Great. Thanks.’

  ‘I know you’re still getting the nightmares, but they have decreased, so I’m happy. I think another strategy would be to do some meditation before you go to bed, or some yoga perhaps. It may help clear your mind of some of the bad things you’ve been dreaming about.’

  Dave rolled his eyes. You’ve got to be kidding me, he thought, but found himself agreeing anyway.

  In the other room, Dave could hear Bec singing to herself. ‘Twinkle, twinkle …’ He refocused on the conversation.

  ‘Again, y
ou’ll need to keep up with the exercises the physio has given you—not only for your arm, but because exercise is great for mental health. I spoke with Rachael just before I rang you. She’s happy with your progress as well, but stressed not to forget that the strengthening exercises are as important as the mobility ones. And to keep up the low-impact gym work you’ve been doing.

  ‘If the nightmares increase, or change, or if you find you’re not sleeping, you’ll need to come in and see me. Otherwise, let’s make your appointments fortnightly now.’

  ‘No problems.’ Kelly’s words were like balm. He was going back to work.

  ‘Right-oh. I’ll get my receptionist to send you through an appointment schedule. Feel free to change any if they interfere with work.’

  Dave hung up and stood for a moment, thinking about the phone call and feeling his shoulder. For once there wasn’t an ache, as if the news about going back to work had taken the pain away. It had been six months since he’d been shot.

  Six months. How his life had changed in that time.

  ‘Daddy?’

  A warm glow began in his stomach, coupled with a bubble of excitement. He was going back to work! He swung around and saw Bec standing behind him. Swooping down, he picked her up and tossed her in the air.

  ‘Daddy’s going back to work, princess! Isn’t that good news?’

  Bec screamed with laughter as Dave caught her and put her back on the ground.

  ‘I think we should go to the café down the road and have a hot chocolate to celebrate, don’t you?’

  Bec nodded. ‘And a piece of cake.’

  ‘I think we can stretch to one of those too. I just need to make a phone call and then we’ll go, okay? Can you get your shoes?’

  Nodding again, Bec ran out of the room and Dave picked up the phone. He dialled Spencer’s number and waited as it rang.

  ‘Spencer Brown.’