Page 18 of Road to Rosalee

Not accustomed to much conversation from Pothole, nor the serious look now plastered on the old bloke’s face, the whole camp fell silent as they waited for him to continue.

Pothole stood and cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid this will be my last post, you lot. Was supposed to be my last season but my boy’s just given me a grandson, two months premmie but the doc says he’s going to be okay. So I’m heading back home to hang my tongs up, be by my son’s side and retire by the ocean, where I can fish all day long with a beer in me hand.’

Nobody answered for a few lengthy moments.

‘Oh, dang it to losing your cooking,’ Showbags said, breaking the silence. ‘But congrats on the grandbaby.’

‘Well, bugger me dead. What are we going to do now?’ Hasselhoof rambled, his frown lines deepening. ‘I don’t wanna have to explain how I need iodised salt to some new bastard again, or how I don’t like my steak still bloody mooing.’

‘And just when I was getting used to your sorry arse being in the damn way all the time,’ Slim said, his usual banter lightening the sombreness of the situation.

‘I think that’s the fellas’ ways of saying we’re going to miss you, Pothole,’ Zai added to the mix. ‘Big time.’

Blinking a little faster, Pothole remained silent as he puffed away on his pipe.

There was resounding agreement from all, other than Hasselhoof, who was too busy complaining about how nothing stayed the same and how bad this situation was going to turn out for all of them. They might even have to start cooking for themselves, he dared to add as he stomped towards the bushes, a half-flattened toilet roll in hand.

Slim burped loud enough to send tidal waves to Japan. ‘Right, you lot, enough grumbling and pouting. Pothole deserves to kick back and enjoy life now he’s sixty-odd, and to spend time with his family now he’s a grandad, so congratulate the old bloke and let’s get this show on the road.’ He grabbed his weather-beaten hat from his knee and slapped it on his head as he stood. ‘And let’s see if Tumbles can stay in the saddle for longer than two hours today, shall we?’

‘Ha, yeah.’ Showbags pointed his fork at Tumbles. ‘Or maybe you can score a hat trick and knock another one of your teeth out.’

Tumbles responded by giving Showbags, and the rest of the chuckling group, the middle finger. He was met with more throaty laughter.

The men cleared their plates, making sure to wash everything they’d used in the sudsy bowl on the fold-out table, before heading off for another hard day’s work. In appreciation for Pothole’s many delicious meals over the past few years, Zai went the extra distance and quickly dried everything up, so Pothole didn’t have to. Between gathering firewood, keeping the camp clean, packing and unpacking a new campsite each day, and occasionally tackling a drum-load of their washing in dishwashing soap over the coals, Pothole had truly earned his keep.

Dawn had just broken in golden splendour when Zai moseyed past the windmill that pumped essential water to the holding-yard troughs and over to his stockhorse, Sao – so named because the gelding was renowned for nicking the Aussie pantry staple off camp tables and out of hands, especially if there was cheese and tomato on top.

‘Hey, buddy.’ He gave his horsey mate a scratch on the neck. ‘Did you have a good rest?’

Sao replied with a whinny and a nudge of his muzzle to Zai’s shoulder.

Retrieving his saddle and blanket from the rustic timber cattle yards, much to the annoyance of a flock of rowdy galahs, which took flight, Zai got his workhorse ready. After lecturing Sao about sucking in wind when he was trying to tighten the girth strap, he hefted himself up and settled his boots in the stirrups. He enticed Sao into a canter, joining the other men. Surveying the landscape from his vantage point, a smile tugged from the inside. It was here, in the saddle, surrounded by the unforgiving yet momentous countryside and among the repartee of his fellow stockmen where the weight of his father’s unfair expectations lifted from his shoulders. More than anywhere else, this place was where he felt truly home. If only his father could accept this was an integral part of him instead of being bitterly disappointed he didn’t follow in his medical footsteps. He held on to the hope that stranger things had happened – that one day, maybe, possibly, Christopher Wellstone might have an epiphany and accept Zai for the country-hearted man he’d become. Then again, if Zai’s experience was anything to go by, he wasn’t holding his breath when it came to a change of heart from his single-minded father.

In a matter of what felt like minutes but was closer to an hour, the sun had risen to its rightful place in the cloudless azure sky, the cattle had been led out of the holding yards, and they were well on their way home. His hat brim pulled low to avoid the glare, Zai was just starting to settle into the slow but steady pace, but in true style of a muster, it only took one in the crowd to blow the amity. He felt his skin prickle with awareness a split second before a belligerent bull took it upon itself to jab his horns into a cow in front then, using the disruption to his advantage, broke ranks.

As the men snapped to attention, galloping this way and that, the disturbed mob charged off every which way, heading for the scrub or stony ridges. Some greener cows made them work for it, the less cunning ones were easier to chase and pull into line. As for the bulls, the one-tonne beasts were unaccustomed to having to move quickly and could be easily overtaken by a skilled stockhorse – the trick was to pounce on the four-legged brutes before they became too aggressive. Careering alongside the very bull that had caused the mayhem in the first place, Zai pulled Sao to a sliding stop and leapt off, landing sturdy in his boots. Now a few paces behind the fleeing bull, he gave chase – the tyrant wasn’t getting away that easily. It skidded to a stop, spinning to face Zai and pawing the ground, snorting as it considered charging. Unperturbed, Zai thought on his feet and dashed to the side, coming around the rear of the beast. Grabbing it by the tail, he deftly threw it off balance and it tumbled to the ground, momentarily stunned. Zai knew he had to work quickly or risk being struck by the deadly horns. In the blink of an eye, Showbags was at his side, leather belt at the ready. Working together, both of them grunted and groaned as they secured the bull’s hocks.

‘Good job, boys.’ Slim and his horse skidded in beside them. ‘We’ll have to come back in the truck to grab the bastard. I’ll send Tumbles ahead shortly to go and grab it from the homestead.’ Wiping his brow with his forearm, he took off his hat and slapped it against his leg, a cloud of red dust rising. ‘We ain’t letting this one back in there. He’ll just keep wreaking havoc.’

Zai offered a firm nod as he fought to catch his breath. ‘Agreed.’

Showbags gave Zai a hefty slap on the back. ‘Good work, Wellstone.’

‘Cheers for the hand, mate,’ Zai replied between breaths.

‘You’re a goer, Wellstone. Damn near had smoke coming out your butt, you were chasing this bugger down so hard.’ Slim flashed a dust-rimmed smile then looked to Showbags. ‘Righto. Let’s get back to it. I want to reach the homestead paddock before we run out of daylight. I got me a gorgeous woman to see in Mount Isa tomorrow, so I ain’t gonna be stuck here working past knock-off time.’

The next few hours went by uneventfully – thankfully. In the meantime, Tumbles collected the pick-up truck and they got the bull loaded and away. At midday, they put the brakes on and camped out beneath the shade of a couple of gidgee trees. Spam and mustard pickle sandwiches, salt and vinegar chips, packets of gingernut and butternut biscuits, and flasks of billy tea were on the menu, along with copious amounts of water. The cattle loitered nearby as Zai enjoyed the much-needed fodder and rest, while myriad relentless flies swarmed him – swatting them away was useless.

Belly full, Zai rested back against the trunk of a boa tree, clasping his hands behind his head. ‘So, Slimbo, is Sherrie getting excited about your big day?’

Slim grinned like only a man in love could. ‘She sure is, and why wouldn’t she be, marrying a stud like me.’ He held a poker face as he undoubtedly waited for the banter to begin.

‘Ha, yeah right, you’re punching above your weight with that one,’ Showbags chimed in.

‘Too right. I don’t know how you nabbed her, Slimbo, she’s a looker and a real nice chick to boot,’ Tumbles added, grinning. ‘Maybe she needs to go to Specsavers?’

‘I reckon she does,’ Hasselhoof said dryly. ‘Or a shrink, to be marrying the likes of you.’