Free Absolution Creek by Nicole Alexander

reined in Horse. Balancing the canvas water bag on her thigh she took two Bex powders from her shirt pocket. The powder was gritty in her mouth and it took a good swig of water to wash the medicine down. Swiping her hand across her mouth, she looked out across country she had pictured in every stage of its life cycle for over forty years. The grasses were already drying out with the morning sun. Soon the dewy dark of their stems would grow pale as the cool, dry breath of autumn settled upon the landscape. She tutted Horse into a trot and they padded down the dirt track.
    Four miles on, the corrugated-iron roof of the homestead with its guardian tree shimmered with welcome. Curly and Tripod rushed through the open house paddock gate, barking in unison. Despite Tripod’s missing hind leg – the result of an altercation with a rabbit trap – the collie was only a tad behind his half-brother, Curly, in speed. He made up for his injury with a screeching howl when it suited him and a less than patient attitude towards sheep.
    The dogs did three quick circles around horse and rider, and rushed off towards the stables. En route they stopped at the chook house to bark mercilessly at the strutting rooster. The old rogue never had been much at regular rooster behaviour and could be relied upon to crow night or day, but most particularly when anyone arrived or departed from the homestead. Cora was about ready to put the male renegade out to pasture. You could lay bets that when you wanted chickens he wouldn’t perform, and when you didn’t he was like a warrior going after his own Helen of Troy. She gave a calming whistle, which quieted the dogs but set the rooster off and set the chooks squabbling.
    Horse trotted past the work shed. The bay for the horse float was still empty. Cora just knew it was going to be one of those days and, considering it was only Monday, things didn’t bode well for the working week. At the stables she threw her leg over the saddle with a grimace and waited as her lower spine stretched itself out. Horse bore his unsaddling with customary stillness. Cora carried the saddle, blanket and bridle into the tack room, reappearing with a currycomb.
    ‘That’ll be it then, mate.’ Cora finished brushing Horse down and rested her brow briefly on the bony plate of his head. Digging her hands into her pockets she began the quarter mile walk to the homestead, the dogs nipping at her heels.
    The road leading to the homestead was rutted and narrow. Bordered by a western windbreak of towering native gums planted some seventy years ago by the previous owners, the road eventually split into two. One road led out of Absolution Creek: twenty miles of unbroken straightness until a T-intersection appeared as a sudden reminder of life beyond the property. The second circumnavigated the house and garden like a partial ring road, ending abruptly in a maze of wind-twisted pine trees spilling from a ridge. At the wooden gate the dogs ducked between Cora’s legs and scooted up the cement path to arrive panting at the back door.

    In the kitchen the scent of just-baked scones signalled her housekeeper, Ellen’s, efficiency. Freshly gathered eggs sat on the sink, a leg of mutton was cooling under the domed meat keeper, and the scones were huddled within a tea towel. Cora made a pot of black tea, selected three of Ellen’s doughy concoctions and some cheddar from the fridge, and sat at the kitchen table, placing the revolver at her elbow. She devoured the food, the tea scalding her throat as she drank thirstily. Some habits were hard to break and eating quickly remained one from childhood. It was always a pleasure to return home after her morning ride. Ellen had a knack for domesticity that more than compensated for her spiky temperament. She had always been very opinionated, whether it be about housekeeping or the best way to eradicate Cora’s tree, and over time the two women realised it was best to keep out of each other’s