older cow. One who’d managed to sneak in a calf before she could be sold, and was now struggling to maintain condition due to the combined effects of age and the simple fact that she was cooking for two.
After only a few hours in the cold water of the drain, the cows usually lost strength and movement in their hind legs, any longer and hypothermia set in. Anthony took one look at the old girl, with her wild-eyed stare and shaking head, and thought she was a goner. Mud was piled up around her from repeated struggling and the bore water ringed the dark red of her hide. Taking a heavy chain from the Landcruiser’s tray, he attached it to the vehicle’s roo bar and approached the cow. She bellowed and snorted, twisting her head repeatedly so that every time Anthony tried to loop the chain around her horns, he missed; the chain dropping into the mud of the drain. Finally he managed to get the chain secured. He reversed the Landcruiser slowly. The chain grew taut, the cow bellowed. Anthony kept reversing until the cow was clear of the drain, then he drove forward quickly to slacken the chain, jumped out and removed it from her horns. To his surprise she clambered to her feet, snorting mucus into the air. Her scared eyes met his, her body shook uncontrollably and in an instant she was charging him. Anthony scrambled into the tray as she looked at him for a long minute before finally walking away. Further along the drain a calf appeared and mother and child were reunited.
Brushing mud from his hands, Anthony continued towards the pit. They would have to start regular drain runs to ensure they didn’t lose any other cows, which meant, he begrudgingly admitted, that they should have opened the pit earlier. Sporadic trees punctuated the otherwise open country and within minutes he was nearing the silage pit that rose like an ancient burial mound from the flat landscape. The sky was dulled by cloud and out towards the west, a mist of rain fuzzed the tree line.
Outdoors everything seemed so simple. The bush was labour intensive yet it rewarded you if you weren’t averse to risk and you were savvy management-wise. So why wasn’t his personal life as easy? On his arrival at Wangallon as a young jackeroo, Anthony had found himself drawn to Sarah and her brother, Cameron. And while his self-esteem grew commensurate with his journey up the management ladder, from the beginning a sense of belonging permeated his days on Wangallon. It was his desire to remain on the property that helped salve his dismay at Sarah’s leaving after Cameron’s death, and his attachment to the Gordon’s great mass of land almost compensated for Sarah’s long absences from the property. Once or twice he considered leaving, although the property had seeped into his veins. And then there was Sarah and the simple fact that one day she might return.
While Anthony could never fathom Angus Gordon’s manipulative personality he did understand the magnitude of good fortune that lay in the shape of the thirty per cent share of Wangallon bequeathed to him. He was very much aware of his responsibilities and had been running a tight ship for a number of years now. He could only see disaster ahead if Sarah began questioning his management style and Matt continued on his ‘delusions of self-importance’ path. Matt was a good bloke and capable, however he was only an employee. Taking advantage of Sarah’s weak spots to further his management aspirations, or wangling his way out of station work by pleading a perpetually useless hand weren’t endearing qualities.
Anthony pulled up some feet away from Matt’s vehicle as rain flecked the windscreen. Matt couldn’t wait for the fine weather expected tomorrow. He had to prove a point. The excavator had removed the top layer of dirt from the pit and was now filling two tip trucks with chopped sorghum. The scoop swung from the mouth of the pit across to the first truck and dumped its load in the back. The truck shuddered at the weight, the rear tyres bulging and then resettling.
Matt walked around the side of the tipper, kicking at the rear tyre as if checking the air pressure, his signature cigarette looking like an eleventh finger. Anthony nodded at the spits of rain. They couldn’t afford for the silage to get wet. ‘There are tarps in the back,’ Anthony pointed over his