Author: Graham Wilson
Category: Suspense
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Chapter 15 – Out on the VRD – Day 26
As they drove off Mark said, “We’re a bit later than I meant. But it is hard to get away when the old man gets to telling stories; he knows them all and at least half are true. The blackfellas around here tell me he’s a bit fey and sees spirits. Me, I think the only spirit he sees comes from the inside of a bottle with Johnny Walker written on it.”
An hour later Mark and Susan came over a ridge. In front of them the air was full of dust. There were buildings and yards, and men on horses, and a couple choppers working, along with bull catchers pushing a mob of cattle up a laneway. Over to one side sat six big trucks with double-deck stock crates, each pulling two trailers. Another truck was pulled up to a loading ramp and people were pushing cattle up the ramp into it.
“Well it is a big day today,” said Mark to Susan, “all go at the home station. This below is VRD, properly known as Victoria River Downs Station, same name as the district. Once it was the largest cattle station in the world, before they broke it into four separate parts. VRD is one of my favourite places, and today is a good day to come, even if it is a bit busy. I thought you might like to see some real cattle station action.”
Susan nodded, happy to go along.
Mark continued, “A mighty river runs through this area, the Victoria River, which we’re going on tomorrow. Pity its pushing three o’clock, I had planned for the full afternoon here, but I didn’t know what was on. Plenty it seems. Let’s go over, say hello and see if they want a hand. The manager here is a good friend of mine.”
They parked near the yards, and walked across. Most people were busy but a truckie was leaning on the rail, watching as they loaded cattle onto a truck.
“Hi there,” said Mark, sticking out his hand, “I think I met you at Anthony’s Lagoon last year.”
The bloke stuck out his own hand and shook Mark’s, “Bill. Yeah, I remember those big mad bullocks for Queensland, fresh out of the swamp. They were a handful.”
Mark indicated to the trucks and yard, “Big lift, eh?”
“Yeah,” said the driver, “S’posed to go on that flash new cattle boat, the one that takes five thousand in a go, off to Indonesia, loading Darwin tomorrow. VRD promised fifteen hundred, but I hear they might be a couple hundred shy, they say that they were two hundred short when they mustered the Moolooloo Back Paddock. Still bringing some up from Sanford, as well as a mob of extras from Humbert River; actually one truck may have to go over there to load.” Susan recalled the barman describing the same thing earlier. “Anyway we’re all supposed to load tonight and be in the wharf in Darwin for unloading in the morning. Looks like it’ll be a long night of driving. Thank God I am at the front of the queue. These ones at the back will be lucky to be away by ten tonight and that doesn’t leave much time for sleeping. I’m lucky to be looking forward to a good four hours kip at the wharf before the boat loading starts in the morning.”
“Mark!” came a shout from behind them. A strong looking man hurried over that clearly knew Mark, “Bloody glad to see you,” he said, happily, shaking Mark’s hand.
“You too, how’s it goin’?” asked Mark.
“It’s been one of those days, cock-up after cock-up. Still, we’ll just manage, somehow. Maybe you came specially to help; God knows I need someone to put a shoulder to the wheel.”
Seeming to only just notice Susan, the man turned to her and said, “Well, he always was the last to introduce me to the lovely ladies, thinks I might pinch them, even though I got my own missus who is more than enough for me. Buck’s the name. I’m trying to run things around here.”
Susan put out her hand to shake, “I’m Susan.” She appreciated the man’s directness, he reminded her a bit of her father: total focus, no nonsense and straight to the point.
Buck smiled and turned to Mark, “We’re short and I cut an expensive deal to get more steers from Humbert. Trouble is that they were in that paddock in the far back corner and Humbert stock camp had other work and couldn’t muster them.
“It meant I had to send over a stock camp to do the mustering ourselves. All was going well at first; we’d put the mob together and were walking it back. We decided to use the Wickham Gorge way; you know that rough stony track? But there’s a road for the truck bringing the stores and lots of good fresh feed along the river, so the cattle should have full bellies, going over the weighing scales in Darwin. We had three hundred good sappy steers, just an ideal size. I knew we were short about two hundred and a hundred as spares is handy.
“Anyway, it was going well until this morning, we had maybe fifteen k’s to go till we cleared the gorge and got back into the good open country near this end. Then a mongrel scrub bull got in amongst them and stirred them all up.”
From the frustration in Buck’s voice, Susan figured this was a bad thing. She couldn’t quite follow all the cattle talk conversation, but Buck was easy to read.
Buck went on, “I hear he’s that one that busted away when they did the clean-up in there last year, a big horny red bull, with a big scar on his nose. The head stockman tells me you know him well, as you helped with that job.”
Mark said “Yeah, I should have shot him then, but he’d do above a thousand bucks on the boning room floor, so I let him go, thought he was next year’s pocket money.”
Buck replied, “Well he’s got the bullet now, but not before he split the mob, gone every which way, but at least they’re still in the gorge.
“Then, just for good measure, one of the young ringers, trying too hard to put them back together, got spat off his horse and busted his arm, bad break. So then we had to pull off the chopper that was putting the mob back together and bring our man out. We called in the Flying Doctor and it’s collected him from the homestead just now. So now it’s all go again, but we are down a good man and the day is near gone.
“The agent in Darwin tells me that the boat won’t finish loading until the next morning, day after tomorrow. So, if we can get them steers to the Humbert Station yards and get them loaded by tomorrow afternoon, we should still be OK.
“One good thing is the mob’s been left to settle along the river. With a good feed and drink they should be a bit easier to work now. So I am just getting two choppers organised to go and put the steers back together and get them moving again. I would go myself, but I need to stay here to keep the loading of all the trucks on track.
So, I need a couple spotters to ride with the choppers, if you’ve got the time. It helps to have a second pair of eyes when the pilot is working in that gorge, as you well know. Since your help with last year’s clean up, you know that country better than me. What’re your movements anyway?”
“Well,” said Mark, “just on my way to Timber Creek, job on the river tomorrow, but my afternoon is free. So now I am your spotter, lead me to the chopper. That’s assuming that Susan can ride in the other.”
“My plan in one,” said Buck. “There will be grub up in the mess when you come back and a bed for the night, if you want it. I’ll probably be here till at least nine to get the loading finished. I’ll need to find myself a new job tomorrow morning if there’s any more stuff ups from here.”
Then he asked, “How important is that job on the river tomorrow, can you put it back? Really need an extra in the stock camp to bring those steers along, they were a bit short before, I should have sent one more. But you know how it is, finding enough men for each job, when the pressure is on. But now that they are down one more, it will be a real handful to manage the mob, at least till they come out of the river gorge and make the open going.”
Then Buck turned to Susan, “Don’t suppose you can ride?”
“A bit,” she said.
Buck looked back at Mark inquiring.
Mark answered, “I had a feeling that something like this would come along. I should have been here by late lunch. But you know how they get you in with the stories at Top Springs. I reckon we can fit it in. Just need to be on my way
by lunch tomorrow to get out and have an hour or two on the river before dark.
“And don’t worry about Susan, I have seen her and she can ride just fine. She just needs a steady horse. I don’t want to have to ring her Mama and tell her that she got busted up on a mongrel VRD horse.”
Buck laughed. “I think we can manage that. There’s a real nice four-year-old grey I broke in last year. They’ve worked him in camp for the year and they tell me he’s real steady now. He has a lovely soft mouth, turns on a pin, runs like the wind. I think that’s the one for her.
“When you land tell the head stockman to put him aside, Firefly is his name. Oh and you can have Bushranger, he’s the one that spat Mick today, he’s a big black late-cut colt, you’ll know him by the wildness in his eyes. Good horse, if a bit mad. You’re just the one to set him straight.”
“B’jesus, you are trying to get me killed, surely there’s a real tame packhorse somewhere for me?” said Mark.
“What, gone a bit chicken in your old age?” said Buck, grinning.
They walked over to the choppers about a hundred yards away, and Buck introduced the pilots. Dick was flying the lead machine, with Mark riding shotgun. Susan was to go with Tim who would work the flanks.
There was no delay, the machines were fuelled up and ready and they needed the rest of the day to get it done. Quick instructions were passed from Tim to Susan as the rotor was spinning up.
“This machine is a Robinson, designed for two, though it could carry three at a pinch. You’ll need to look out for cattle on your side, and back behind, also watch out for the tail rotor and tree branches” He showed her how to signal him to go in the different directions.
Then they were off. They soared into the sky, heading straight and low towards the southwest. The pilot pointed out as they crossed the line of the boundary between VRD and Humbert River Stations. Soon the flat country fell away, and they flying over scrubby broken hills, rising ever higher to the west. Then the ground fell away and down below them was the Wickham River Gorge.
Susan and Tim spied cattle in small groups scattered along the river, some standing up to their bellies in the water. The river itself was mainly a series of rocky pools with a few longer open bits of water. A set of wheel tracks ran along the eastern side of the river.
Parked just next to this track was a four-wheel drive with what looked like a mobile kitchen on the back. Four horses were saddled and standing next to the truck. Another few were grazing nearby. There was an open space fifty yards from the truck and they followed the other helicopter in and landed alongside it in this clearing.
The helicopter engines were left running as Mark got out and waved for Susan to come over. Both pilots, the head stockman and Mark engaged in a brief conversation and the riders were given instructions: two were to ride out a few hundred yards to a place where the valley narrowed and there was an open grassy area. They would block the cattle just past that. The other two were to head down along the valley and work with the choppers as they picked up the mobs and put them together, walking them along steadily and not crowding them. As needed one rider could cut out to help the chopper but the other had to stay at the tail of the mob. Then they would bring the mob towards the block up place.
They were off again, the two choppers followed the opposite valley edges keeping high, both for a good view and so as not to spook the cattle. At first there were lots of cattle in sight, then it was just ones and twos, and finally they saw no more. They flew on to the next river bend where the valley narrowed.
Here Mark’s helicopter landed and Mark got out and made his way across the ground, looking down. Tim told her, “Just checking for tracks, to see if any have come back this far.”
They held a slow search pattern as Mark checked, working the valley edges and looking for any sign. Tim explained they needed to keep a lookout for any cattle tracks and dung, as well as the beasts. “Sometimes the cattle will camp in a patch of bushes and, without seeing their signs, you wouldn’t know they were there.”
After a couple minutes the call came, “All clear, carry on.” Their chopper worked the edges of the gorge, sweeping searches from side to side, above and behind the first chopper that focused on the river and valley centre.
Tim pointed to the other chopper and said “He’s most likely to come on the cattle along the river, but sometimes they’ll run up the sides of the valley and try to break back behind his machine. It can be hard to see from down there, close to the ground. That’s why we sit up here and keep watch. We also check the valley edges where cattle are less likely to be found. Seeing as the afternoon is cooling down, a few cattle might start to walk away from the river to the valley sides to feed.”
For the next few minutes there was nothing. Then a call came over the radio, “First mob, five, in river.” The other helicopter dropped down amongst the river trees, hovering and going in lots of directions.
Four cattle burst out of the river, heading straight towards Susan and Tim. In a second TIm had dropped his helicopter to tree top level, zooming in to heel the cattle and turn them down the valley. There was one last straggler that came running out, the other chopper following at his heels. Tim immediately gained altitude, returning to their high side position.
The next two hours were exhilarating. The helicopter was like an extension of Tim’s arm, turning faster than she could see, or think where to go. Soon Susan and Tim were in sync.
She called out, “Two cattle at nine o’clock, fifty yards,” and he broke left almost before the words were out; “One under tree, twelve o’clock, don’t think they have seen him,” and, as the instructions were called, Mark’s helicopter in front was already changing course.
Now they had a good-sized mob, of maybe a hundred, stringing out in front, and the horse riders had taken position. The head stockman was holding the tail and his companion worked the flanks, coming from side to side, much like them. She noticed there was one bull that did not belong. It wasn’t a sleek and shiny like the other cattle. instead it was reddish-brown and scruffy.
“Scrub bull,” said Tim, “Must have come out of the hills for a drink and doesn’t know what’s hit him.”
The bull was pawing the ground, looking to charge the outer rider. Some of the other cattle were also starting to drift back and away, seeing a chance to escape with the distraction.
Then, like a buzzing fly, Mark’s chopper was in the bull’s face. Thebull snorted, shook his head and made a run for the helicopter, which was hovering and advancing just above the ground. A loud boom sounded and the it turned tail and galloped back into the mob, moving right into the very centre.
“They won’t have any more trouble with him now; there’s nothing like a blast of bird shot to put a bull back in its place,” said Tim.
As the sun fell below the hills, they had the whole mob together on the little grassy flat. The head stockman said the count was about right, maybe one or two missing, but it was good enough for now.
The plan was to walk the mob on through a narrow section of valley until it opened out into a small grassy flat where another creek ran in. It would take about half an hour. Then they could settle the cattle and hold them there overnight. In the morning they would walk them the remaining twelve kilometres to the end of the valley and continue on into the yards from there.
The helicopters held position for a few minutes, until it was obvious that all was under control, then they zoomed away to the station, arriving just as the sun was tipping the horizon.
As they touched down Buck ran over to meet them. “That’s fantastic; I hear it ran like clockwork.”
Mark gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder, “I don’t know what you would have done without me, just needed an old pro on the job, now all I have to do is give your blokes a riding lesson in the morning on Mr Bushranger. We will soon see whether he thinks he can really buck or is just a great big pussy.”
Then Buck said, “Why don’t you go and
have a shower and check into the bunk rooms. I’m afraid it will have to be boys and girls separate tonight—no spare rooms. I’ll meet you for some dinner in half an hour. My backup can keep the loading going, it is running well and the trucks should all be loaded by an hour after dark, touch wood.”
They arranged that Tim would ferry both Mark and Susan to the cattle at first light in the helicopter, if he took only half a tank of fuel the weight would be OK.
Mark turned to Susan and pointed towards some buildings a few hundred yards away. “That’s the station homestead. It is like a little town. That building to this side,” he gestured to the right, “is the bunk block where we are staying. Why don’t you walk over and settle in. I need to discuss a couple things with Buck, but then I’ll collect the truck and drive across.” Susan nodded and set out for the building he’d pointed to. Mark and Buck walked back to the yard, talking earnestly.
Susan savoured the soft evening light, the temperature was perfect, neither hot nor cold. The grass glowed golden, and the hills were an orange purple as the light ebbed away. A couple birds winged low across her path. She felt wonderful, so exhilarated from the helicopter dance. She felt a kinship with Mark’s love of this area; she understood when he said he thought God created this one place a little better than the rest.
Dinner passed in friendly conversation and banter; a mixture of male and female ringers, other station hands, a governess, the pilots. By the end she was yawning. Mark saw and said, “You should go to your bunk. I’m not far off mine either. They’ll ring a bell half an hour before it gets light. That is the signal that breakfast is ready.”
Susan lingered a minute, lightly resting her hand on his arm. “It feels strange to be going to a bed without you.” And it was true; this would be the first night they’d spent apart since Melbourne, that many days ago. “I’ll miss you, but I’m sure I will be asleep in about five minutes anyway. Thanks for a wonderful day. It is hard to believe that any day can beat yesterday, or the day before, but I can’t think of any day better than this.”
He touched her cheek, “Me neither, but then yesterday and last night was pretty special too.” He gave her a lascivious look as she rose to leave. She couldn’t help it, her face got hot as the pleasure of remembering tingled in her body.
All too soon a bell was ringing. There was no daylight yet, just a soft lightening in the window. She’d been so tired last night; she’d collapsed into bed. She couldn’t remember sleeping so soundly in a long time.
Mark was in the dining room, his plate piled high with bacon and eggs. She joined him, but contented herself with a coffee and toast, and thieving pieces of bacon from Mark. He pulled a face.
Soon they were both squashed into the helicopter with Tim at the helm. The air was cold as they took off, and colder still as they climbed. Susan tried to hide herself from the temperature by pushing in behind Mark; it was good to have his body to shield her.
“Missed you last night,” she said in his ear.
He replied without turning back. “No you didn’t, I looked in ten minutes after you left, thinking maybe I should join you, seeing as no one else had come back to the room. But you were sound asleep.”
The flight was quick and they were soon on the ground. The other stockmen were already mounted and heading out for the cattle. The two horses that Mark and Susan were to ride, Bushranger and Firefly, were already saddled and waiting. Mark held Firefly’s head as Susan swung up and then he adjusted the stirrups to fit her.
“Just walk him round a few times and get the feel of him. I will go and sort out my horse,” he said.
She gently nudged Firefly and he responded, walking out with a fast but smooth step. She pulled the reins. Too hard, she thought as Firefly stopped instantly—she mustn’t forget his soft mouth. He was incredibly sensitive to her commands and was fluid underneath her; Susan felt that she and this horse were as one.
Mark led his horse out into an open area, making sure that the ground was flat with no rocks or trees. Susan remembered that it had been described as a firecracker. The horse stared at Mark, eyes wild. It was a superb creature, big but perfectly proportioned. But there was a touch of madness in its eyes.
Mark paused and whispered something to it, whatever it was the horse seemed to relax a little. Then, almost before Susan could see him move, Mark had put his foot in the stirrup and swung his body over.
She sensed Bushranger was as shocked as she was, Mark had mounted so quickly. Bushranger bunched his muscles and then, abruptly, he was flying over the ground, head down, back arched, heels kicking behind; one, two, three, four, five bucks. Despite Bushranger’s wild movements, Mark never shifted in his seat; he was grinning from ear to ear. The horse seemed perplexed.
Mark sat astride Bushranger, totally relaxed. “Are you finished now? Are you pleased to get that out of your system?”
Bushranger dropped his head, almost as if nodding. Mark wheeled him around and Bushranger walked placidly over to Susan and Firefly. And that was simply it, a quiet horse and Mark with a big smile.
The morning was a huge thrill. Susan started at the rear, but once it was obvious she could ride well, she was directed out to the flank, to pick up and pull in the wanderers.
Firefly was wonderful; one minute they would be at a steady walk, next minute, as a steer would poke out and make a dash for freedom, Firefly would explode. From a standing start to sudden acceleration in one fluid motion, Firefly stayed in perfect balance and Susan barely moved in the saddle. Then, as he came alongside the steer, he would wheel on a pin, spinning to face the offender if it did not break back. A couple times he used his body to push the animal round. There was nowhere for the cattle to go. After a few seconds they would realise and return to the mob. Susan’s directions were minimal, the horse knew his job to perfection and mostly she just went along for the ride, though, as time passed and her confidence grew, she started to give fine direction and finesse, her balance complementing the horse’s flowing motion. From time to time she waved to Mark, mostly working the other flank, and he waved back, brimming with his own enjoyment.
It felt like no time until the hills were opening, the valley was ending. She felt a twinge of sadness; her time with Firefly was over too soon.
Half an hour later, they came into a large paddock. Just inside the gate were two vehicles, one station-owned and the other Mark’s four-wheel drive. The billy was boiling, there was brownie on a plate, and another man and Buck were walking up to greet them. Susan swung down off her horse, feeling regret at the dismount, she could have stayed at this for hours yet.
“You’ve made good time,” said Buck to Susan, “It is only eleven. I thought another half hour at least.” From the corner of her eye, Susan saw Mark dismount. Bushranger nuzzled into him.
“I see Mark has turned Bushranger into model stockhorse,” continued Buck, “He is one of the best horsemen I have seen you know—a born natural. I have yet to see a horse beat him, and I could swear he enjoys the challenge when they try.
“Anyway the billy is boiled, tea is brewed. I brought the car out for you to save an hour of riding to the station before you could get on your way. And I thought I would like a ride on my old mate, Firefly.” He patted the horse’s neck. “He’s a good horse isn’t he?” he said, the question more of a statement of fact.
“The absolute best,” Susan agreed.