Free Heart of the Country by Tricia Stringer Page A

tracks. Thomas followed them across open ground to some thicker trees. There the tracks stopped. Not far above his head a thick branch jutted out. He could only assume the rider had connected with that and been knocked from his horse to be dragged to where Thomas had found him.
    By the colour of his hair and the greasy clothes, Thomas was guessing he was AJ’s shepherd, McKenzie. Whoever he was, he needed to be buried without delay. He was already starting to smell. Thomas mounted Derriere and went on to find the shepherd’s hut.
    He passed through the trees and around the dangerous bough and continued along a low ridge until he found the hut on a flat area a hundred feet or so beyond. A gust of wind swirled the ash from the dead fire into his eyes as he climbed down from his horse. The hut looked even rougher than his own; it was hardly more than a box with a sloped roof of bush and sticks. He poked his head in the open space that passed as a door. As he had expected there was no one-there. He found a shovel by the fire and headed back to McKenzie.
    It took him half a day to dig a hole he deemed deep enough. He covered the body and marked the grave with three large rocks. He had no idea if McKenzie had family or anyone who would mourn his loss. Thomas looked down at his work and said a prayer. The sun was getting low in the sky by the time he’d tidied up around the hut. He collected the few items of food that he had room to carry. The rest would have to wait. McKenzie appeared to have had few personal effects. Thomas would have to get word to AJ to see what should be done.
    Two days later, with the sun once again low in the sky, he reached his homestead. It hadn’t improved any with his absence. Thomas was tired and hungry, and more than that, McKenzie’s death weighed heavily on him. Nevertheless he dismounted and took stock: there was no help for it but to keep going.
    First he dealt with the horses. McKenzie’s had been useful to carry extras. Earlier in the day Thomas had found a young sheep trapped in a waterless stream bed, tangled in a clump of tree roots. Its leg had been broken so he’d put it out of its misery. He’d made sure he recorded it in the little book he kept so that he could report everything to AJ.
    Now he made a fire in the crude stone setting at the back of the hut. He dragged the table out and cut up the sheep. While the meat roasted he pondered his predicament. How was he to manage without a shepherd? AJ had an enormous flock, though by Thomas’s count they were a few short. He was determined not to lose any more.
    He studied the map in the light from the fire and re-read the notes he’d added. What he’d noticed about Penakie was that, even though it was a vast area, there were stretches of land with low vegetation bounded by the long arms of ridges rolling down from a band of hills. It was in these natural paddocks, not far from the trickles of water that flowed in the streams, that he’d found larger numbers of sheep gathered. The sheep were a mix of old and young, some in better condition than others.
    The first thing he needed to do was sort them. If he could break them into three flocks it would be a start. On the flat between the house and the stream was a small yard built from roughly hacked timber. He put the horses in there at night. It was the only other structure here besides the hut and far too small for what he had in mind. He needed a large drafting yard for this many sheep.
    With a belly full of meat and a plan forming in his head, Thomas crawled into his bedroll and let sleep claim him.
    The next morning, Thomas woke refreshed and keen to map out his plan for a yard. The sight of his camp in the early light made him stop. He had another problem: his stores and water. He hadn’t unpacked many provisions from the dray because there was nowhere to put them. There was plenty of water in the stream but it was quite a walk from the hut,