Free Heart of the Country by Tricia Stringer Page B

and AJ had warned him the pleasant spring weather would quickly turn to heat. In the gentle light of the morning, with a breeze almost cold across his shoulders, Thomas took a gulp of tea and tried to imagine the heat AJ had alluded to. Thomas hadn’t experienced summer in Australia but his employer had. It would be prudent to heed his advice and be prepared.
    A bird warbled loudly from a nearby tree and another answered. The breeze swirled and blew ash from his fire into the open barrel he used to store water. Thomas rose from his squat, looked around again at his crude home and made a decision. The sheep work would have to wait a few days. If he didn’t make good his living conditions there’d be no one to look after the animals anyway.
    The thought made him hesitate. He’d felt a pang of loneliness the night after he left Bert and the other teamsters. He’d enjoyed sitting around the fire listening to their yarns. On the track to Penakie he’d come across a couple more small eating houses and had spoken to people there, but he’d been in his new home a week and not once had he felt lonely. Now the thought of his isolation engulfed him. This property was supposed to be the furthest from Adelaide of any in the colony. He hadn’t even seen any sign of the natives who were supposed to inhabit the place. McKenzie’s death weighed heavily on him. What if Thomas took sick? He could die out here like the shepherd and no one would know until AJ checked up on him in a year.
    The bird warbled again and the sun, rising quickly now, was warm on his back. Thomas turned to the hut. His survival and that of the sheep depended on him alone. There was no time to be idle. He pushed the melancholy thoughts from his head and set to work.

Ten
    Several days later, as he trimmed the last of the meat from the sheep carcass for a stew, Thomas pondered his progress. The hut was filled with his provisions stacked on shelves or hung on hooks. Coming back from the stream one morning he had discovered a small furry animal with a long tail hovering on the threshold. He had immediately set too and made a door that would close and hopefully keep such creatures out.
    Down at the stream he had made a rough apparatus to enable him to fill multiple water barrels, rather than the one bucket at a time he’d been carrying up to the hut. A fork-like structure sat in the stream, which supported the barrel on its side to capture the water. A rope thrown over the bough of a tree and wrapped around the barrel levered it up enough for him to fix its lid in place. Once the barrels were full he rolled them up to the dray, using the natural slope of the bank, some saplings and more rope. Then he transported them to the hut, where he stored them outside against a wall with their lids still on to keep out the dirt.
    He’d even built a proper fireplace with a chimney, found a large tree trunk to use as a preparation block rather than the table, and dragged a log close to form a rough bench. Over in the trees, a little way from where he’d hung the sheep carcass, he’d created a hammock for his bedroll like those he’d seen on the boat journey. He hadn’t left himself much room inside the hut and found he’d got used to sleeping outside, although he wasn’t sure how much protection the trees would give if it rained. They had strange trunks with lots of rough bark that changed colour from grey to deep orange depending on the light. The leaves were thick at the top and gave good shade but how well they’d repel water, he’d yet to find out.
    He looked up at the vivid blue sky. He still had no idea what to expect of the weather. The sky since he’d arrived at Penakie had been clear with only the occasional clump of white cloud but he’d noticed heavy clouds forming over the distant ranges that morning. They looked quite dark now though still a long way off.
    He scraped a last sliver of raw meat