Free Blackpeak Station by Holly Ford Page A

on the ridge above her. The early spring sun was warm on her back — it was only the first week of September, but already the snow had gone from all but the deepest pockets of the foothills, and down on the flats the willows were greening. Below, out of sight, she could hear Jen’s dogs as they picked up the mob her own team had sent scurrying down.
    Carrick Fergusson and one of his shepherds were over from neighbouring Glencairn Station, making six hands in all for the Blackpeak muster. Glencairn’s ewes were already moving through the shearing sheds, and by the time this muster was over, the shearing gang would be ready to move on to Blackpeak. Charlotte looked at her watch. Kath andZoe would be in town by now, stocking up for the twenty hungry mouths about to descend. She grinned. The gangs loved the Blackpeak shear — Kath’s tucker was famous.
    The thought of it made Charlotte’s stomach rumble. It was only half-past ten, but she’d eaten her breakfast four hours ago. Still, at least there was a good meal to look forward to tonight — that was the good thing about the spring muster. The sheep were low on the winter blocks, and even those musterers on the top beats could get back to the homestead at the end of every day. And in the meantime, of course, there were Kath’s sandwiches to see her through.
    As she watched Tinks work the ewes down from the ridge, she felt a glow of pride. Tinks was the least experienced dog on the hill, but she was going like a champion today. Charlotte raised the radio to her mouth to let Jen know the next mob was on its way, and smiled as a string of abuse crackled up after the ‘okay’.
    ‘Get away back! … Shit! … sorry, Charlie.’
    ‘Mob coming down the left ridge, Charlie.’ Carr Fergusson’s voice cut in.
    ‘Okay, Carr.’ She scanned the opposite ridge. ‘Yep, got ’em.’ She whistled Tinks down and sent her winging up the gully to get in behind the descending sheep. Tinks knew enough to do the rest herself.
    ‘Last mob before lunch,’ came Carr’s voice, an hour and a half later. ‘Coming through the gully.’
    The sheep came down quickly. Charlotte made a rough mental tally. That made about four hundred for the morning — not bad. And all of them looking fitter and fatter than she could remember. The winter had been unusually mild. It was going to be a good year. She called the last mob down to Jen and settled herself down on the springy tussock, stretching out her legs and rummaging for her lunch. Thedogs crowded round, panting and eyeing the food.
    She was woken from her lunchtime nap by a chorus of frenzied barking — the signal that work was about to get underway. Up on the top beat, Carr would bark his dogs up when he was ready, and each musterer down the hill would repeat the signal for the next man. They could, of course, have used their radios — but there were few enough of the old traditions left, and besides, you couldn’t accidentally switch your dogs off.
    Charlotte counted through another four hundred ewes during the afternoon, which, if Rex had managed about the same on the Rough Creek block, put them right on schedule for the three-day muster. The light was starting to fade as she began the long trek down. Jen, Matt and Owen, Glencairn’s other man, were waiting at the utes, their dogs sprawling exhausted in the grass. In the paddock in front of them, the day’s take grazed easily. The merinos were at their most docile at this time of year, used to people and dogs after months of feeding out and with no lambs at foot yet to fear for.
    Charlotte greeted the cold can of beer Matt handed her like a long-lost friend. She could see Carr and his dogs coming down the beat now, and she bet Rex wasn’t going to be far behind. He might be the oldest man on the hill, but he was as fit as any of them.
    ‘Pretty good day,’ observed Jen, propped up on one elbow on the back of the truck.
    ‘Yep.’ Charlotte grinned at Owen. ‘You’ll be home by