Free Golden Hope by Johanna Nicholls

enjoy it.’ Rom could not resist a parting shot. ‘Don’t worry, Noni, your secret’s safe with me. Sonny won’t get to hear it from me.’
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    The tank beside the abandoned miner’s right cabin was rusty with age, now a collection of holes held together by bands of tin. Rom wasn’t complaining. The place had become his temporary home, better than sleeping rough in the bush. He hurried down to the creek and plunged into it naked, gasping with the shock of icy water that had flowed down from the mountains. Using his shirt as a sponge, he rubbed the coal soot from his body then hastily washed his clothes in the creek.
    Wearing only his boots, he hurried through the bush to the cabin, allowing the breeze to dry his naked body. Slinging his washing over the line of fencing wire between two gum trees, he dressed inthe only other shirt he possessed plus the moleskin trousers he had commandeered from someone’s unguarded clothesline. A red neckerchief knotted at the throat and his outfit was completed by the well-tailored waistcoat a farmer’s widow had given him from her dead husband’s wardrobe.
    He smiled wryly at the pleasant memory. Women, bless ’em, are so generous when a man takes care of their needs.
    In the process of giving his boots a hasty polish, he spun around to face the source of the familiar growl. The black and tan Kelpie was crouched in the doorway, too proud to beg but determined not to budge until his needs were met.
    â€˜You again, eh? You’re like a shadow that sticks to a man’s heels even when it’s raining.’
    The Kelpie cocked his head to one side as if weighing his chances.
    â€˜Look mate, I’m flat out keeping me and my horse in tucker. Where’s your pride? Kelpies are working dogs. Go find a farmer to give you a job keeping the dingos away from his mob.’
    The dog lay down with paws extended. Panting from the heat, it never took its eyes from him.
    â€˜All right, all right, water. But that’s your lot.’
    Against his better judgement Rom emptied a few remaining scraps of food beside the tin bowl.
    â€˜Consider that your last supper, mate. Horses can go to fight the Boers. Sheep dogs can’t volunteer.’
    He grimaced as he downed half of the Doc’s cough medicine. He didn’t feel quite comfortable about lying to Doc that he was twenty-two instead of nineteen. So what? Lots of blokes jack up their age to volunteer.
    After checking his appearance in the broken shard of mirror, Rom went outside to give Goldie a rub down. Whether or not recruiting officers would accept a mare like Goldie, who didn’t have a saddle on her back, was an unknown factor.
    Tribe’s prize money plus Pius’s measly wage would cover a quality second-hand saddle, stirrups, bridle and all the necessary kit to enlist. Until then it was a case of needs must.
    He rode bareback along the track to Hoffnung Cricket Ground towards a night of wonder at the circus.
    If I’m in luck, I’ll cop a kiss in the dark with that Clytie girl – I reckon she’s over the age of consent.
    The floodwaters appeared to be holding at their highest level, judging by the debris caught like a ‘high tide mark’ along the river’s banks. This backwater arm of the Lerderderg now looked less threatening as it carried the flood’s refuse of branches, logs and traces of domesticity downstream to abandon them before it flowed beneath the log bridge that now lay barely two feet above the creek.
    As he rode Goldie across the bridge, Rom talked gently to give her confidence. He might not own a saddle, but he prided himself he tended her as lovingly as if she was a prize thoroughbred.
    The young roustabout who was planted in the ticket box recognised him instantly and waved him through the turnstile.
    â€˜I know you. You’re the Boss’s guest for as long as we’re in town.