Free Freedom's Land by Anna Jacobs Page B

the other letters. My deputy can bring the food back in the cart this afternoon after he’s dropped you.’
    Pete had turned slightly sideways to hide another grin, which was nearly Gil’s undoing.
    When the others had gone, Gil closed his eyes and spent a minute or two listening to the birds and humming insects, letting the warmth of the sun soak into him. That cheerful chorus calmed something inside him.
    It’d not be peaceful here for long, though, not when the settlers arrived and found nothing ready for them. They’d be angry – and they’d have a right to be.
    Opening his eyes, feeling refreshed by those few peaceful moments, he decided to reconnoitre the whole area and see if there was anywhere better to set up camp. They’d passed a few of the blocks as they drove in, and he’d been glad to see that someone had cleared the first twenty yards or so next to the track. They must have planted it with grass, too, because you didn’t get stretches of grass like that occurring naturally. The track continued past the camp. He strode along it as it wound its way through more of this group’s twenty farms.
    Farms! There was a long way to go before you could call them farms, these pieces of mainly forest. The only good thing about how the blocks were arranged was that they were in a fan shape, and most of them seemed to have fairly short frontages, then to broaden out at the rear, so that people wouldn’t have too far to go to see one another. Well, it’d seem a long way if you’d grown up in towns, but for those raised in the country, it was close, walking distance instead of driving distance.
    The main camp ground was fairly central, which was another good thing. This land, the clerk had said, was to house a school one day. Gil would make a start there and then think about whether to build their temporary humpies or shacks all together or out on the blocks.
    Hang what regulations said. He’d do what was best for his group.
    As he walked, he checked the map he’d brought with him, muttering the numbers of the blocks to fix them in his mind and scribbling notes about the characteristics of each on a piece of paper with a stub of pencil. There were rough markers for each farm, wooden posts with numbers painted on. He reckoned the surveyors would have marked all four corners – they usually did, but he’d check that another time.
    He’d expected fences and temporary shacks, at least. And though land had been cleared at the road edge of each block, there were some damned big trees further in on some of the blocks, trees that would take two men’s arms outstretched to span the lower trunk. And there were a hell of a lot of smaller trees too. No wonder the Board paid settlers three pounds a week to clear their own land and do work for the group. They’d have to go on paying out for a while here, so much needed doing.
    As he was allowed, he chose the block he’d take for himself. It had some higher ground and a little creek running through it, even now after a long spell of hot dry weather. Not all creeks ran in the summer, when there was very little rainfall, so that would be a big advantage.
    After that, he stood for a moment looking at his land, feeling surprised at how good that made him feel. He hadn’t been sure he even wanted to stay until now. But something about the huge trees, dappled light and birdsong was getting to him. This would be a good place to live one day, with hard work. And he’d never been afraid of hard work. Mabel would have really loved it here—He cut off that thought firmly. He’d spent enough time reconnoitring, time to get back to the camp ground.
    First thing he did when he got back was set a couple of traps for possums, which weren’t the best eating, but were all right. He’d be able to shoot kangaroos too. They were better eating, but you needed a gun to get them. The settlers probably wouldn’t have guns, but he did.
    He gobbled down the food he’d had the foresight to