options. He wished he had more men. Men like Luke who knew how to move stock and weren’t afraid of a fight. Still he did have Jasperson, McKenzie and Boxer across the river, a unique combination of experience, loyalty and cunning. ‘Keep an eye out.’
They weaved through the trees, the moon shining down through the canopy, illuminating the tree trunks in a ghostly veil. Occasionally they caught glimpses of the river, its black glassy surface paralleling their path. Hamish said nothing of the stretch of water. Boxer’s cautionary reminder of the possibility of more rains up north had eventuated. Rabbits foraging in the quietness scattered as they passed by. Overhead an owl hooted at their approach. Mungo halted. ‘Here.’ The riverbank sloped gradually, allowing easy access to the water’s edge. It was the best place to cross for both man and animal. Mungo frowned. Dismounting, he picked up a small stick and walked quietly down the sandy bank, throwing it into the water. The piece of wood was carried quickly away on the current. Hamish looked at the river and could only guess at the pull of the water under the surface.
The cattle walked slowly across ground made uneven by past flooding. From where Jasperson rode on the wing, there was a clear view of the mob; a couple of hundred head, many of which were cows with half-grown calves. They’d gathered them up from where they wandered beneath the bright night sky as if they were catching butterflies. Jasperson almost considered increasing the numbers they took, though experience taught him otherwise. Once a man got too cocky and diverged one small step away from the original plan, trouble was the only outcome. No, he would stick with Hamish Gordon’s plan and his reward would be success.
Already the moon was past its midpoint. Ahead the cattle continued their onward progression. Their current route was exposed with only a light scattering of timber across an open plain. Jasperson would have preferred to walk the cattle through a more wooded area, instead of the clear, open path they followed which was the best option for getting the cattle across the river and into Wangallon before dawn. Besides, time was getting the better of them. Behind him cows were bellowing for straggling calves. They’d dropped twenty cows and small calves three miles back and some of the old girls left in the mob still bellowed to their young, making sure they were close by. Apart from the noise, which could carry for miles on such a still night, they couldn’t afford the river crossing being marred by cows looking for their offspring. At least Boxer promised the river would be easy to cross, although when they had ridden across the bridge at Widow’s Nest the black had frowned at the moving water and pointed at small bubbles on its surface. Jasperson didn’t need to have the brains of Charles Darwin to realise that it had rained up north. The question was, how much?
Across the mob on the right flank Jasperson made out McKenzie’s slight form. The boy slipped in and out of his vision, obscured by the hovering dust cloud following the mob. He’d proved capable of taking instruction, in more ways than one, Jasperson smirked, and although he wasn’t the most proficient of stockmen, the ability to keep one’s mouth shut was invaluable. Jasperson twisted in his saddle, aware of his space being intruded upon. Boxer was beside him.
Jasperson’s nose twitched irritably. Having told the old black to hold his position at the rear of the herd and to stop shifting about, here he was, ignoring his commands as if he knew better, sidling up to him like some shadowy spectre come to frighten the moonlight.
Jasperson twitched Boxer’s arm with a short wooden crop, the action drawing blood.
‘Can you not obey a simple order?’
Boxer snarled, his thick bottom lip dropping to reveal what remained of his teeth. ‘Trackers.’
Jasperson lifted in his saddle, looked about the flat grassland. The cattle moved at a steady pace. Boxer pointed to the left into the wind. ‘Smell blackfella.’
With the wind in their quarter they had a slight advantage, however there was precious little time. Whoever followed them would come across a trail of dropped cows and calves and immediately know they were out here moonlighting. Their best chance of success was to push the cattle hard towards the river and cross them where they could. Trying to meet up with the Boss was no longer a