Published: 13 Sep 2021

Early Saturday morning Travis arrived at Roy’s. It was soon obvious his uncle’s taste for the nicer things did not extend to vehicle, as parked to the front and piled high with supplies and equipment, was the oldest, roughest land-rover Travis had encountered, covered with Tableland red dust and mud, supporting a cracked side window mended with adhesive tape. Even its windscreen was coated with red mud allowing only the area reachable by the windscreen wipers clear for vision.

Travis placed his bag on the verandah and called through the open door, “you there Roy?” As he spoke a voice came from behind. It was Trevor.

“He’s gone into town – won’t be long.”

Travis glanced back at the loaded rover,

“That’s his work horse; he has the jaguar for around town,” Trevor declared; his tone incidental as if it were common practice to have defined vehicles, “he also has a little sports number but it’s in the shed and it’s more for looking than driving, he’s scared of dinting it. Do you like cars?”

“Only as far as they get me to where I’m going.”

“Huh,”

“Are you coming to Bullock Creek?” Travis enquired noticing there didn’t appear to be room for three in the rover. He hoped not; as his short encounter with Trevor did not leave him yearning for more, never mind a long journey over rough outback roads for most of a day.

“No,” Trevor answered curtly.

There was something about Trevor Bailey that instantly grated on Travis. Maybe it was the display of attitude as if he were better than most. Or he appeared to cling to Roy’s every word, or the fact that he seldom made eye contact.

Trevor’s attire was more fashionable than most young men, even leaning towards effeminate but his persona was definitely masculine and his conversation as banal as any of Queensland’s youth, while unafraid to drop fuck into the simplest dialogue, which added to Travis’ adverse opinion and was more than relieved when Trevor declared he would not be joining them.

“Do you want tea or coffee?” Trevor offered.

“No thank you.”

“Suppose you better come in,”

“Do you work for Roy?” Travis asks nervously in a vein attempt to ply conversation out of Trevor.

“No,” Trevor answered while helping himself to a beer, “want one?” he offered without conviction.

“Too early for me,” Travis admitted, feeling his disdain for Trevor increase with each clipped answer.

“How long have you known Roy?”

“For a couple of years – why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Now it was Travis who was clipping his answers while quickly depleting his topics of conversation.

“That will be Roy now,” Trevor declared as the sound of a motor roared up the dirt road towards the house, followed by that of a car door being forcefully slammed in anger and moments later a repeat performance with the front door of the house followed by a tirade of loud abuse.

“What’s wrong now?” Trevor called from the kitchen.

Roy entered his face flushed. “Bloody Jack Johnson, that’s what, he was supposed to have two saddles ready for this morning.”

No one spoke. Trevor as he didn’t seam to care if the saddles were ready or not and Travis feeling guilt for not staying with the saddler for that extra week to catch up on back orders. If he had done so, possibly the saddles would have been finished. Roy sucked in a lung full of air through clenched teeth, removed his hat and ran his fingers through his long dark brown hair, then as quickly released his breath.

“No good worrying about it,” he says throwing his hat onto the cluttered kitchen table, knocking over an uncapped bottle of tomato sauce, which soon glugged a large portion of its contents onto the table top. Neither Trevor nor Roy righted the bottle, leaving Travis to quickly cross the kitchen and do so.

“Not you job.” Roy growled as Travis commenced to mop up the spillage with a tea towel.

Travis apologised but continued to clean up the mess.

“I suppose there is always next month,” Roy suggested becoming calm from his outburst of anger.

“Did you need them this weekend?” Trevor asks but Roy spoke no more on the matter.

“How long are you up for?” Roy asks of Trevor.

“I haven’t set a time.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of days; will you be alright to look after things?” Roy calmly asks.

“Sure.”

“When do you have to be back at work?”

“Thursday of next week,” Trevor answered and helped himself to another beer his second since Travis arrived.

“Do you want me to drive you back to Cairns?

“I’ll be alright, I’ll catch the train.”

“Suppose we should be heading out,” Roy turned towards Travis and winked.

“Are you still sure this is what you want?” he again asks while retrieving his hat from the table and with a cloth wiped a smear of sauce from its rim. It left a stain becoming just one more on its proud and battered surface.

Travis assured he was but for the first time doubt crept into his mind. It was one thing to plan his adventure, to feed from the excitement but to actually take that first step was becoming daunting, yet he was driven to continue.

“Well young Travis, suppose you better throw your bag into the truck and we’ll be off,” Roy says, leading the way towards the front door, followed by Travis and Trevor. At the verandah Roy turned to Trevor.

“You’ll clean up the place while I’m gone?”

“Okay,”

“Sure you don’t want to come for the drive?” Roy offered.

“Nope,”

“Also I want to find most of the grog in the fridge when I return.”

“You’re the boss.”

It was almost two hours and close to Almaden and quickly running out of bitumen before Roy became chatty. All that while appearing as if he had some deep problem that wouldn’t go away, an itch he could not scratch, then like sunshine out of a stormy sky he commenced to whistle a happy tune, followed by a barrage of questions.

“Do you want to drive for a while?” Roy offered as they passed through Almaden, slowing to allow a small mob of cattle to vacate the road ahead. One old girl decided to challenge the vehicle and gave a head butt to the side panel.

Failing to move the vehicle she stood back and loudly bellowed.

“That’s Millie,” Roy explains.

“You know all the local cows by name,” Travis made light.

“That one I do, she challenges me every time I come through here. I named her after your great-grandmother.”

“I thought great-gran was also Margaret like mum?”

“She was Millie Margaret but most knew her as Margaret. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to drive.”

“I don’t have a licence yet.”

“Doesn’t matter there’s no cops to speak of out here and those you encounter never check but we will have to do something about that next time I’m up; can you handle a car?”

“Yes but not on this road thank you,” Travis declined, feeling every bump and boulder that the land-rover chanced upon. Sometimes there was no road at all only a cleared area between the scrub and trees. Conceived as if someone had dammed both ends of a creek and employed its bed as a pathway.

“Anyway how do I get a licence out here?”

“Easy, next time I’m up I’ll take you into Almaden and the cops there will arrange it for you.”

“As simple as that,”

“Yep I know them well, a slab of beer and they would sell you their mother.”

“Crooked are they?”

“No not crooked, simply helpful. That is how your mother got her licence.”

“How so?”

“During the wet back in fifty-four she droved their old ford into Hughenden to visit Jim in hospital and while there decided it was time to get a licence.”

Roy paused and laughed.

“And,”

“It was a little different back then, Margaret went down to the police station and Graeme Fish who was the cop in those days asked if she drove in the night before during the storm. He then wrote out her licence, saying anyone who drove through such weather didn’t need to be tested.”

“As simple as that?” Travis repeated.

“As simple as that, no charge and for life.”

“Things have changed somewhat,” Travis muses.

“You know there’s a better road up through Atherton and Mt. Garnet but it adds at least two or three hours to the trip, yet either way there is a stretch of unmade road towards the end,” Roy explained while slowing down to a crawl as ahead the track disappeared altogether, being washed out during the recent rain. It didn’t perturb Roy in the slightest, instead he headed along a dry creek bed to exit at a levelling in the bank and with a short rush through the scrub, after knocking over a row of red soil anthills with the rover’s bull bar, he was once again back on the main track.

“What did you think of that?” Roy laughed increasing his speed, with the gears grinding at every change.

“Its roads like this that makes me realise I’d prefer a horse,” Travis nervously answered and gripped even tighter to the seat while his teeth chattered together with every bump and pothole.

“I hope you still know how to ride?” Roy asks while slowing for a big red kangaroo, which changed course and bounded along the track beside the vehicle, then across in front of the rover to disappear into the scrub on the opposite side. Roy had sent the brake to the floor as it crossed and with his head and shoulders protruding far outside the vehicle cursed the animal loudly, almost losing control of the steering.

“I haven’t for a couple of years but you don’t forget,” Travis answered the knuckles of his hands white with fear as he continually gripped the sides of his seat.

“You hope young fellow – you hope,” Roy replied. “Smoko, let’s get the dust out of our throats,” he pulled the vehicle to the side of the track, “there’s a billycan behind the seat your side.”

Roy alighted and retrieved a small box from the rear, “do you reckon you can build a fire without burning the bush down?” Roy called and threw Travis a tin of Green-light waxed matches.

After gathering twigs and dry leaves, Travis had a small fire ready for the billy.

“You know Travis in some ways I envy you,” Roy sighed, adding a fist full of tea leaves to the now boiling water.

“In what way would that be Roy?” Travis asks.

“Maybe your youth,”

“Shit Roy you’re only twenty-nine,” Travis declared.

“Thirty and soon to add another year to that score, I’m catching your old man up.”

“Even so,” Travis contradicted believing if meeting Roy for the first time one would assume him no more than in his early twenties.

“You know I remember the day your mother brought you back from the hospital, your dad was still living home then and was all but a lad himself and as skinny as a whippet.”

“I don’t remember,” Travis grinned.

“Your dad had just turned nineteen but in mind going on thirty, always cautions about everything.”

“So you would have been around ten,”

“Around – it was a shotgun wedding you know? Your mum had been carrying you for some months when she walked down the aisle and it showed yet most were too gracious to comment.”

“I didn’t realise, nothing was ever said.”

“It didn’t matter they would have eventually got together. In some ways they are a perfect couple and complement each other with their differences.”

“Dad doesn’t talk about the early days,”

“I’ve notice so, even as a kid he was secretive,”

“Why would that be?”

“No reason, we were all different in many ways. There was a joke about the boys being your dad was from a passing stockman, Bill the travelling salesman with his ginger hair and Kevin the local police sergeant.”

“What about yourself?”

“I suppose I was too young to concern,”

“Was there any truth in it?”

“Na but it was never said in hearing of your Granddaddy or you would get your comeuppance with a good wack and a dose of the Old Testament. Besides if you look close enough you can see the Brown features in us all and most defiantly in you. I have a photograph of me at your age and it in truth could be of you, I’ll show it to you sometime.”

Roy removed the billy from the flame and holding its handle with an old piece of oily rag swung it in circles over his head – Once, twice thrice.

“Centrifugal force if you know your physics and it has to be three times,” Roy commented then checked the beverage ensuring the leaves had settled to the bottom.

They had.

He continued, “Maybe not your youth as such but your innocence and your ability to chase rainbows,” Roy digressed to his earlier account.

Travis didn’t answer, believing Roy’s spoken words didn’t fit his uncle’s character.

“As I said, I once tried chasing rainbows but somehow couldn’t see them as everything had a cash value.” Roy sat on a large flat stone his gaze fixed on a rogue tea leaf clinging to the inside of his enamel mug. “Mind you I’m not a slave to making a quid, it is more a game; it gives me spark.”

“Dad said you are controlled by making money.”

“I guess he would, he can’t see the world through my eyes. As a kid he was the one who dreamed of riches; wanted to be a cattle king with his own string of stations.”

“What went wrong?”

“I guess Jim couldn’t see past the dream and was plagued with caution. As for myself I just go with the flow of it all.”

“It all appears to work for you,”

“Mind you lad I don’t have my head in the clouds, Mr. Murphy is always about and ready to bring you undone.”

“Your meaning?”

“Murphy’s Law; what can go wrong will but if it does than I simply move on, that is where most people come undone, they dwell on failure for too long and lose their game.”

Roy threw out the dregs in his mug with a laugh, “well,” he says with a chirpy tone.

“Well,” Travis answered.

“Pissing about here won’t get us to Bullock Creek, will it?”

Roy stood and looked about, “good cattle country this and onwards right to the Gulf and further into the Northern Territory but fifty years ago you could have it for nothing.

“A lot has changed since then,” Travis flippantly spoke.

“Yes for nothing except you would have had to wrestle it from the blacks.”

“I thought that all happened last century?” Travis questioned remembering his school history lessons that were loaded towards the white invasion.

“Even more recent mate, during the war in the forties there was a shooting of blacks out this way. With the war in progress and white soldiers being killed by the score no one took notice of the killing of a few natives” Roy gave a regretful sigh as he packed away the smoko pannikins.

“I didn’t know,”

“You wouldn’t, they don’t put that in the history books. Anyway let’s make a move.” Roy had one last comment to offer towards Travis’ dreaming, “be sure to keep chasing that rainbow kid,” he advised in a soft and distant voice , “yes but remember to stop when the time comes, that is the secrete.”

Once again travelling Travis became pensive having so many questions he wished to ask but held fear in doing so. There would be time for those in the future but for now he felt estranged to the world and Roy’s stories of family past did nothing towards making the lad feel part of it. Taking a deep breath he released it with obvious intent.

“What appears to be the matter young fellow?” Roy asks.

“Nothing really,’

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“Not at all; I was thinking on what you said about dad and mum and sometimes I feel I don’t belong to this generation,” Travis declared; his voice low and sullen becoming influenced by Roy’s ability to listen.

“Why would that be?” Roy asks.

“It’s difficult to put into words but I feel I would be happier with buggies and horses, without the car and all the trimmings of these days.” Travis explained, his gaze lost beyond the window’s grime to the giant termite mounds and dust covered trees.

“That’s a wonderful vision but you haven’t seen anything yet. Television is on the way, motorbikes and helicopters will do your mustering and everyone will fly everywhere, not only the rich,” Roy laughed at Travis’ archaic wish.

“I realise that but I don’t want it. I want the simple life that our grandfathers had,” Travis protested.

“I hear you mate but that’s life, you can let it pass you by but only for a time. Eventually it will rise and bite you on the arse, so at least be prepared for that day. Besides do you actually want the troubles and hardship of the past and dead at forty from bad food and lack of hygiene?”

“Suppose you’re right in that aspect,” Travis agreed with a second sigh.

“Come on mate you’re on the verge of a great and exciting adventure. Grab it by the throat and shake the fucken’ shit out of it.” Roy advised with gusto as he swung the land-rover to miss a fallen tree.

Travis released a nervous gulp.

“That was fucken’ close,” Roy laughed. That bugger almost got us.”

“What happens if you break down out here?”

“Ya’ walk mate, that’s what.”

“I guess that, have you ever broken down in the bush?”

“Many times and once out in the Gregory Ranges sou-west of Georgetown during the dry, that was a little hairy.”

“What were you doing out there?”

“Gold mate, found a bucket full, as I said that’s how I got started. I had to hide it and return later with a borrowed truck.” Another log, another swerved and the track straightened.

“I thought the gold was worked out,” Travis asks.

“Mostly but there is a shit load out there, you just need to know where to look.”

“I suppose you do.”

“Na’ not really, only the fundamental’s the rest was luck and I’ve always been lucky,” Roy laughed loudly and releasing his firm hold of the steering, pointing across to Travis’ left as a large goanna took fright and headed for a sapling much too small for its bulk, “that’s a big bugger.”

Twenty minutes had passed and their progress slow, then the dirt track widened as the trees gave way to a sea of long grass. “You wouldn’t want to ride a horse through that lot,” Roy warned.

“Why would that be Roy?”

“Flaming grass seed, they are like arrow heads, burrow into everything and fester your legs if you’re not wearing good gear. If it gets into a horse’s eyes its real bother. Get one of those up the crack of your arse you would surely know it.”

“We didn’t have that problem on the Downs, the grass seldom grew more than knee high and the windy season usually flattened it.”

“Different country out there; dryer I guess.”

“Have you been to Cumberland Downs Roy?”

“I visited your father there once but you were away boarding at that hostel of yours, it was a month or so before Jim had his accident.”

“Mum never mentioned you being there in her letters,”

“If it was to do with me then she probably wouldn’t.”

“I never understood that,”

“Na, it’s a women thing, they are strange animals and when you think you understand them they change into something unfathomable. The best thing to do when in their company is complement them and agree with everything, otherwise keep your trap shut.”

It was the first time Travis had heard Roy speak of women in any length and although he wished to question further he thought better of prying into his uncle’s privacy.

“Did you work on the Downs?”

“No, I gave Jim a hand for a month or so but more as a favour. Bill was also there but only lasted a week, he was never one for cattle work. As for horses they scared him shitless,” Roy gave a huff of memory, “that’s the thing about horses, let them see you are scared and they will give you a ride you will never forget.

“I’ve never thought about being scared of them but there was one back on Creek Run that had my measure,” Travis admitted.

“That would have been Stinker?” Roy recollected.

“That was him,”

“Yea I would agree and Stinker even frightened me. Mad he was, even attacked sheep ripping the wool from their back, until he tried arguing with the Mt. Isa goods train.”

“I remember the incident; he came off second best but was alright for a week or so then died. They burnt his body and found a large splinter of rail sleeper in his gut,” Travis reminisced.

“I’m surprised you recall the incident.”

“I can vaguely remember you being there over one Christmas; it was the year the flying doctor crashed near Hughenden killing, the pilot and the doctor’s wife.”

“Yes I remember the accident, I was visiting but you would have only been about five at the time.”

“I should think you would have been in your mid teens and dad but twenty or so,” Travis recollected.

“You’re dad turned twenty-four that year and was quite young to manage a station but as I’ve said before he had an old head on young shoulders and knew more about sheep and cattle than most twice his age.

“Where else have you work Roy?”

Roy commenced to laugh, “I’ve never had a real paying job, always self employed of sorts.”

“I’d like to be like that,” Travis admitted.

“It takes a special type Travis,”

“And you are that type Roy?”

“I guess I am,”

Gary’s stories are about life in Australia as a gay man. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net

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