Free South of Capricorn by Anne Hampson

shook her head, her mind too clouded in any case for her to be able to find an answer to so difficult a question. He began to speak, rather gently and with what could only be described as infinite understanding. His confidences went in his favour and as he continued she found herself carried away on a tide of helplessness until, in the end, her decision was made and she gave him her answer. He smiled and thanked her; she knew a half pleasant, half disturbing tingling sensation rippling throughout her body.
    Had she made her own decision, or had it been made for her by some subtle mechanism worked by Kane Farrell? More important, had she made the right decision? Gail just had to mention this to Kane, speaking impulsively and with a tremor of anxiety in her voice.
    ‘Yes, Gail,’ he said gently, ‘you have made the right decision. Have no doubts about it; you’ll not regret what you’re doing.’
    She looked up at him, and then down at Leta. The child’s eyes were shining through her tears and a smile trembled on her lips.
    ‘She looks so ... different,’ murmured Gail, dazed and wondering where the familiar mulish expression had gone.
    ‘People do,’ returned Kane in his quiet unhurried tone, ‘when they’re happy.’
    Gail shook her head, more bewildered than ever by this strange man who obviously had two very contrasting parts to his nature.
    ‘I don’t understand how you came to neglect her for so long,’ she just had to say, and in return Kane said, looking directly at her,
    ‘Remember what I said about parts unknown?’ And when she nodded her head, ‘Try to keep that in mind, Gail—it might help you in the difficult task which you’ve taken on.’

Chapter Four
    THE sun was setting and in the garden a couple of kookaburras sat on the forked branch of a white gum tree and growled throatily. Leta, walking with Gail along the path bordering the shrubbery, gave a loud laugh, then complained pettishly when the jackos failed to join in.
    ‘Why don’t they laugh?’
    ‘They will, when they’re ready.’ Gail, enchanted by the marbled effect of light and shade brought about by the ever lowering angle of the sun’s rays, had no ear for the murmurings of a fractious child, even though it was her job to look after her.
    ‘Why aren’t they ready now?’
    ‘They seem to laugh more in the mornings.’ Her eyes wandered to the long line of mountains, the MacDonnall Ranges, rising above the more gentle landscape, their peaks crimson on the sky line. And as she watched there appeared the dark silhouette of a brumby, a magnificent creature with mane flowing as it raced across her line of vision. Nearer to, and with considerably less movement, could be seen two Aborigine stockriders, appearing to glide about among the mob of cattle roaming the plain. Excellent horsemen and mus- terers, their numbers were high on Vernay Downs Station. Kane Farrell always spoke in praise of them.
    ‘I know they laugh in the mornings! But why don’t they laugh all the time?’
    ‘Because they’d get tired. You’d get tired if you laughed all the time.’ The shadows were deepening on the plains and Gail had the impression of a vast sea of darkest blue. ‘Come, it’s getting dark; we must go in.’
    ‘I want the jackos to laugh first!’
    ‘I want - I want - I want!’ The interruption came from the woman sitting on the front verandah, the words being called in a raised tone so that they would be heard. Turning her head, Leta put out her tongue before twisting her face into the most grotesque lines.
    ‘Mind your own business, Mrs. Nosey-Parker! Go in and shut your door!’
    ‘Leta!’ began Gail, then realized that the child’s father was there, having approached silently after leaving his horse, Golden Light, in the tender care of Jimmy, the Abo rouseabout.
    Kane Farrell’s glance was stem, but to Gail’s surprise he made no attempt to admonish his daughter. Instead, he put out a hand to ruffle her hair.
    ‘Happy?’