Free Texas by Sarah Hay Page A

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.
    â€˜Them cattle no good,’ he said when she came up to stand beside him.
    â€˜Make bad mothers. If a dingo attack a calf. That mother she gone like that.’ 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.
    â€˜Old Billy Carsen, he had some over his place. He reckoned if you didn’t wean them real young they suck the old girl right through until she has the next calf and it starves the next calf.’
    He shook his head again. ‘They’re terrible cattle.’ He spat into the yard. ‘They 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 ’s buggered then.
    â€˜The last fella brought in a couple of bulls,’ he continued.
    â€˜Few 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€˜Really,’ 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.
    â€˜A member of Johnny’s new team eh?’ He grinned and took a packet of cigarettes from the top pocket of his shirt and held them out towards her. ‘The name’s Steve. Here, have a tailor.’
    His nails and hands were dirty.
    She shook her head. ‘No thanks.’
    His attention shifted to Irish.
    â€˜What’s happening, old fella?’
    Irish leant up against the yards, spitting before he spoke. ‘Mustering that bloody black soil country. He’d be a couple of men down I reckon after those fellas pulled out a few weeks back.’
    â€˜Yeah I heard he got Texas and his mob working for him.’
    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.
    â€˜Johnny and the jillaroo. Where do you hail from?’
    â€˜London. I’m travelling around Australia,’ she said. ‘I’m just here for a few weeks to see what it’s like on a station.’ She didn’t like the way her words sounded. Then she realised what he’d said and looked away.
    â€˜And now you know eh? Just plenty of heat and dust and flies. Ain’t that right, old man?’ He flicked the butt on the ground and stepped on it. ‘Well I better get going. Gotta get this rig out to Morrison by the morning.’
    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 hadn’t finished.
    â€˜You know there’s 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.’
    He shuffled his feet around until he was facing the direction of his camp. He seemed to be a man who didn’t mind talking, as long as it wasn’t 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