noticed Irish at the yards a few metres away. Both hands were holding the rail above his head and his face leant in towards the gap. The cattle had bunched up on the other side beneath the shade of a tree.
âThem cattle no good,â he said when she came up to stand beside him.
âMake bad mothers. If a dingo attack a calf. That mother she gone like that.â He drew his head back and brought his hands down from the rail to slap his palms together. He looked at her for the first time and she noticed his skin was flecked like light-coloured granite.
âOld Billy Carsen, he had some over his place. He reckoned if you didnât wean them real young they suck the old girl right through until she has the next calf and it starves the next calf.â
He shook his head again. âTheyâre terrible cattle.â He spat into the yard. âThey reckon a brahma cow will suck herself and the bulls will suck her. Or you get a cow with a calf and the young bulls following her around. That calf âs buggered then.
âThe last fella brought in a couple of bulls,â he continued.
âFew years back. They lost them. In the hills. Scrubbers now with a bit of brahma in them. The only way to get them out is with a bull catcher.â
âReally,â she said. How did you catch a wild bull? She looked through the gaps in the rails at the animals with doe-like eyes and long lashes.
The afternoon sun cast shadows in the gullies that ran down from the hills. The windmill behind the yards groaned and a gust of wind rattled the scraggly leaves of the nearby tree and it sounded like rain. The driver climbed down the side of his
Texas truck and walked over to where they were standing. He could have been any age, wearing small black shorts, faded grey, and a sleeveless shirt revealing ropy muscular limbs.
âA member of Johnnyâs new team eh?â He grinned and took a packet of cigarettes from the top pocket of his shirt and held them out towards her. âThe nameâs Steve. Here, have a tailor.â
His nails and hands were dirty.
She shook her head. âNo thanks.â
His attention shifted to Irish.
âWhatâs happening, old fella?â
Irish leant up against the yards, spitting before he spoke. âMustering that bloody black soil country. Heâd be a couple of men down I reckon after those fellas pulled out a few weeks back.â
âYeah I heard he got Texas and his mob working for him.â
The driver turned to face her and pushed up the greasy brim of his hat. She crossed her arms over her chest. He responded with a lazy smile.
âJohnny and the jillaroo. Where do you hail from?â
âLondon. Iâm travelling around Australia,â she said. âIâm just here for a few weeks to see what itâs like on a station.â She didnât like the way her words sounded. Then she realised what heâd said and looked away.
âAnd now you know eh? Just plenty of heat and dust and flies. Ainât that right, old man?â He flicked the butt on the ground and stepped on it. âWell I better get going. Gotta get this rig out to Morrison by the morning.â
She heard the truck start up and it moved off, chugging through its gear changes. The cattle had spread out in the yards, some reaching the water. Irish shifted his weight forward and inclined his head towards her. She realised he hadnât finished.
âYou know thereâs a bit of water in that creek over there.
Catch a few fish when it starts getting hotter. They got plenty of fat on them then.â
He shuffled his feet around until he was facing the direction of his camp. He seemed to be a man who didnât mind talking, as long as it wasnât about himself.
III
Mealtimes were awkward, eating with strangers, although it was easier tonight since John was apparently spending the night out at the stock camp. She told Susannah what Irish had said about the