find a clearer passage. The area was heavily timbered and with new tree growth over the last few years, it was virtually impossible to muster stock out. Anthony doubted if many people had ventured this far into the ridge for years. Angus had fenced off a square of about sixty acres right in the middle of the ridge in the late twenties. It was a smart solution for it stopped stock from hiding within the timbered environs, although Anthony was at a loss as to why he’d simply not had the timber thinned out a little.
The bulldozers were clearing on a face of about five hundred metres. Eventually Anthony reached their start point and rode around the man-made boundary. It struck him how easily a landscape could change. On his right, trees swallowed the countryside while to his left timber lay on the ground like fallen soldiers. Eventually a glint of metal caught his eye and soon the unmistakeable shape of heavy machinery came into view. The two dozer drivers were sitting in the middle of their handiwork in deckchairs.
Anthony got off his bike and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It was damn cold, but these two blokes were wearing short-sleeved shirts and shorts. ‘G’day. Working on your cruise tan, Bruce?’
‘Almost summery today,’ commented Bruce, the older of the two men, unscrewing the lid on his thermos. ‘Cuppa?’
‘Sounds good.’ Anthony squatted in the dirt as the black tea was poured. Soon he was warming his hands around the lid of the thermos.
‘Five weeks till spring,’ agreed Neville, Bruce’s companion, passing Anthony a milk arrowroot biscuit spread with butter and vegemite.
Bruce took a slurp of tea and licked the topping off his biscuit. ‘Saw that head stockman of yours this morning.’
Neville poured more tea for himself and spread his legs straight in front of him in order to pick up more of the sun’s weak rays. ‘Don’t like him.’
Anthony took a sip of his tea. He could have stood a teaspoon up in it, it was that strong.
‘Yeah, Mrs Kelly wouldn’t have let Ned play with him,’ Neville stated solemnly.
‘He’s not that much of a poor bastard,’ Bruce replied.
Neville shook his head. ‘Met him up at Carlyon’s place before his accident. Wasn’t too bad then.’
‘And now?’ Anthony asked, intrigued.
‘Delusions of grandeur.’
Bruce poured more tea. ‘Well, I don’t mind the poor bastard. He’s got a busted sandshoe for a face and fingers that are no good to any woman.’
‘He’s capable,’ Anthony admitted, draining his tea. ‘And permanent.’ He passed Bruce the thermos lid. The three of them finished up and Bruce packed up his esky, tying a narrow cotton rope around it to keep the broken lid on. ‘Got the ear of your girl, eh? You’ll have to put a stop to that. ’Bout time you two married and had a couple of sprogs. That will keep her busy.’
Neville grinned, displaying a gold front tooth. ‘Ahh, anklebiters. Would have lost an eye for me own little fellas. Course then they grow up and become right little arseholes and you can’t give the buggers away.’
Anthony blinked. ‘Look fellas, I need to stop the work here for a few days.’ It was a tough thing to be pushed into an uncomfortable decision, but if the development was going to cause such a major problem between them, especially with everything else going on, then he would do as Sarah asked – at least for the moment. One of them would have to take a step back before they did further damage to their relationship. Once she returned home he’d talk her around.
Bruce rolled his eyes. ‘Again?’
‘Yeah, the fuel truck’s been delayed,’ he lied. ‘It’s got me buggered, but we’re all out of diesel. And they’re not promising a delivery this week.’
‘Fair enough.’ Bruce heaved his burly frame out of the deck-chair. ‘We’ll go through to knock-off time. Give us a call when you want us back on board. I was hankering for a steak and chips at the Wangallon pub tonight anyway.’
‘No probs. Thanks, mate.’ Anthony shook Bruce’s hand, wincing at the vice-like grip.
‘Got yourself a bit of a fencing job,’ thumbed Neville over his shoulder. ‘Hit a wire back a bit. Old fence?’
‘Yeah, it’s pretty old. We might use that as a bit of a marker and clear up to that. Later on I might thin it out a bit.’
‘No worries. Up to the fencing relic it is,’ Neville confirmed with an excuse for a cough and a string of