at the zip on her jacket until it reached her throat.
Toby’s mouth crooked itself up at one corner until an unnerving grin gradually spread from his cheek to a fan of sun-created wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.
‘We’ll split up.’ Matt gave brief directions on how he wanted the paddock mustered. He pointed out a 30 acre clump of belah trees that ran in a belt across the southern tip of the paddock that could easily hide a canny mob of steers, and gave directions for gateways. Before he’d finished his last sentence, Toby was already cantering away from them, Pancake and a menagerie of dogs in pursuit.
‘Where’s Anthony?’
Sarah hunched her shoulders. He’d left the homestead early that morning without a word and was strangely quiet the night before over dinner. If she’d been in the mood for an argument she would have mentioned the accounting problem, but she knew him too well. Anthony’s quiet mood was indicative of a problem and she wasn’t going to add to his angst, at least not until tonight.
Standing up in the stirrups, Sarah whistled at Bullet. Excitement had got the better of him and in an effort to slow the 50 or so steers that had broken from the main mob he had raced to the front and was now hanging off the nose of one of the steers. Touching her spurs lightly against her mare, Tess, Sarah galloped across the paddock towards Bullet, aware the main mob was eyeing the runaways with interest. Bullet’s one-man war was beginning to look very one-sided and a moment later the dog was airborne as the steer he clung to flung his head from side to side, tossing him skywards. Sarah watched as Bullet picked himself up out of the dirt and then raced back into the fray.
Behind her came the crack of a stockwhip and yells of abuse. The thousand-strong herd of 450 kilogram-heavy steers had changed direction. Intent on joining up with Bullet’s escapees, they rushed the ground, closing the 600 metre space within seconds. Sarah galloped alongside the mob, urging her horse closer to the steers in an effort to turn them to the right. Tess obeyed the tightening rein, Sarah’s leg brushing the hairy hide of one of the steers before a large log forced Tess to jump and veer to the left. Jack’s dog, Rust, sped past Sarah as she straightened herself in the saddle and then Moses, Matt’s musclebound blue cattle dog, appeared.
‘About bloody time,’ Sarah yelled as the dogs disappeared into the dust. Ahead she could see a figure on horseback. Her horse edged closer to the lead. Bullet was still out there and a quick flash of Whisky’s black and white coat suggested Matt was the lone rider up front. Sarah squinted through the midmorning winter glare as Toby galloped past her with five dogs following. There was a break in the mob and he galloped his horse directly into the fray, momentarily diverting the oncoming cattle with a crack of his stockwhip. Then he was out skirting the edge of the mob, riding wildly to the front.
The cattle were beginning to turn as Sarah stuck to their left flank with Pancake and Jack. Ahead she spotted Matt. He was sitting right in the path of the steers, horse and rider as unmovable as statues. Sarah gritted her teeth. There was enough beef heading his way to pulp him into a meat patty. He cracked his stockwhip once, twice, three times from the saddle and Sarah held her breath.
Toby Williams appeared like a wraith out of the dust and a blur of red and white hide. Standing tall in the stirrup irons, he cracked his whip above his head until Sarah felt her own arm grow tired from the effort of watching him. His horse spun and reared upwards, then, satisfied that the mob was calming, he cantered back to the wing. A few minutes later he trotted past Sarah, acknowledging her with a flash of white teeth and a tip of his hat.
Within the hour the now sedate steers were trotting through the gateway and onto the oats, snorting air and panting. Sarah joined Matt at the gate as a dozen or so exhausted stragglers brought up the rear with Jack, Toby and Pancake behind them. Dogs littered the dirt track like bowling alley pins.
‘Toby Williams, where’s he from?’ Sarah asked Matt after she’d taken a quick swig from her water bottle.
‘The Territory. Big run. Fell