Published: 14 Mar 2022

Late in the afternoon Travis reached his destination. The map showed a large permanent lagoon, fed by an unnamed creek with two hillocks on the east side of the road and a track leading to Dunleigh Station, all of which well marked by Luke.

As Travis neared Luke’s campsite he discovered it had two drawbacks. The first, in his opinion it was too close to the road, while the second, it appeared occupied as smoke from a campfire was visible through the trees, giving him good reason to move on to the next site, or maybe travel directly to Georgetown but first he would investigate.

Approaching the site Travis thought he saw movement, someone disappearing into the scrub. The campfire was burning low to coals and among was a scattering of baking potatoes, while the area around was strewn with empty tins, mostly beans. Close by under a lean-too he discovered a sugar bag, crafted into a toe-sack carrying someone’s meagre belongings.

Travis dismounted, noticing that all along the muddy bank of the lagoon were foot prints and the size of those of his thief, while in pride of place was his stolen can opener.

“I’ve found the little bugger,” he declared loudly while scanning the undergrowth for signs of life.

There wasn’t any.

“Hello,” Travis called into the direction he had previously seen movement, sending a flight of ducks skywards from the far end of the lagoon.

“Hello,” He repeated more loudly, without response.

“Come out, I won’t hurt you, I only want to talk to you.”

Still the only answer was the whisper of breeze in the trees above and the shriek from a cockatoo as it flew by.

“You may as well come out because I’m not leaving and you will have to collect your gear sooner or later and share the lagoon with me,” he called once more while exploring the area and finding a suitable site for his own camp a short distance away from the stranger’s belongings.

Travis set up camp and put Titch to the abundant fresh grass. It did come to mind the stranger may attempt to steal her but felt confident as since Bradley had broken Titch no one except himself had ridden her and she became somewhat nervous around strangers.

Travis slung his tarpaulin under a grove of trees and placed his swag and supplies close by then set to building his own campfire. He smiled while placing a pan to the heat, adding bacon and a tin of beans – enough for two. “If this doesn’t flush him out nothing will,” he assumed as the cooking smell of bacon filled the air to drift in the slight breeze towards the thick undergrowth.

Moments later the form of a half-cast youth stepped from the scrub to stand at a safe distance from Travis. He was somewhat emasculated and his long hair had became knotted almost to the extent of dreadlocks, while his clothes were threadbare and unwashed. The lad’s stand was feeble to the state of collapse as the potatoes he had in his fire were the last of his stolen supply from a nearby property.

“G’day’,” Travis greeted, beckoning the lad to join him.

“What’s you name?” Travis asks without receiving an answer.

The youth was more European than he was native, although the deepness of his eyes and the colouring of his hair declared his bloodline.

“I’m Travis are you hungry?”

The lad remained silent as Travis placed the cooked beans and bacon with some bread baked fresh by the Cumberland’s cook onto a tin plate and offered. Not receiving an answer or action Travis placed the plate of food to the opposite side of his campfire.

“I won’t hurt you, get your potatoes, they must be ready by now and we’ll both eat.” Travis suggested.

To his surprise the lad obliged, returning expressionless with his cooked potatoes, avoiding their heat with carefully placed eucalyptus leaves.

“What’s your name?” Travis asks again as the blackened potatoes were placed beside him but still at a safe distance.

“Noah,” The lad answered nervously.

“Then Noah let’s eat.”

The lad devoured his meal with eagerness while keeping a cautious eye on Travis.

“Slow down there is plenty more. How old are you Noah?”

“Eighteen, I think.”

“Are you the one whose been stealing my beans?”

Noah lowered his eyes and slowly nodded his head, “sorry,” he apologised, his voice hardly audible, “I’m not a thief but -,” the lad’s revision of character admitted need had vanquished honesty.

“That’s alright, I got over it. Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,”

“Haven’t you go family?” Travis offered Noah more beans and bacon. It was accepted and quickly consumed without giving answer.

“Tell you what Noah, I’m going to be around this lagoon for a few day, you are more than welcome to share my food. Do you mind sharing the lagoon with me?”

Noah slowly shook his head and forced a smile, “it’s not my lagoon,” he admitted.

“True but you were here first,”

“It don’t matter,”

Throughout the afternoon Travis gradually gained Noah’s trust, if not his conversation. By the time they shared the evening’s meal and readied for bed Travis wondered if the lad would still be there come the morning, or would he abscond with his supplies. Travis decided to trust the lad and left his supplies open to the night but not his rifle and ammunition. These he kept in his swag beside him.

Travis’ trust was validated and with the morning found Noah already up and building a breakfast fire.

“Morning Noah,” Travis greeted while joining him beside the fire.

Noah smiled without speaking.

“Breakfast time,” Travis suggested while watching a small group of wallabies drinking at distance down the lagoon.

“How long is it since you had fresh meat?”

“A long time,”

“Can you shoot, as I couldn’t hit the side of a shed with a bucket of rice?”

“Yes.”

“How about shooting one of those wallabies?” Travis pointed to a small group at the far end of the lagoon that had come down for water.

“If you trust me with your rifle,”

Travis agreed and offered up the rifle to Noah, who soon disappeared into the scrub. Some minutes later the sound of a rifle discharge rang out across the lagoon and a wallaby fell at the water’s edge. Noah returned soon after, rifle in one hand and the listless carcase of a young wallaby across his shoulder. A proud smile adorned his face as he returned the rifle to Travis.

“I should have had you with me earlier, I couldn’t do that,” Travis admitted while searching through his saddlebags and bringing forth his hunting knife. “Noah you will have to do the honours – I’m useless around killing animals.”

Noah accepted the knife and in no time had the small wallaby skinned, showing the expertise of a butcher’s apprentice.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Travis asks while watching Noah at work on the skinning.

“My uncle is a butcher,” Noah proudly answered.

It was some days before Travis felt confident in asking Noah more about his life and why he had taken to the bush. When Noah did speak it was to give simple answers while never asking a question of Travis himself. It was after their nightly meal while sitting on the bank of the lagoon, with a cool breeze at their backs and full contented stomachs when Travis felt he was ready to ask more of the lad.

“Are you on the run from something or someone?” Travis openly, expecting Noah to refrain from answering.

“Could be,” Noah simply answered.

“Who?”

“The police.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,”

“You must have done something?”

“A white girl in Croydon accused me of raping her,” Noah eventually offered in a low and sullen voice.

“Did you do it?”

“No and I can prove it but O’Sullivan wants to get me as she was his niece,”

Noah explained, his voice rising slightly with each spoken word.

“Why did she accuse you?”

“She didn’t know who did it as it was dark and she was taken from behind but thought it was me and O’Sullivan has it in for my lot.”

“Umm I’ve met O’Sullivan. Not a very nice man at all. Why don’t you go to other police?”

“They won’t listen, the blackfeller is always guilty,” Noah helplessly answered.

“They aren’t all the same; I think you should talk to the cops in Georgetown,” Travis suggested.

“Are you going to turn me in?” Noah’s voice was in flight even if his body was frozen to the bank of the lagoon.

“Of course not but I will go to the Police Station with you if that is what you want.”

“I don’t know.” Noah answered and settled.

“There is something else Noah, I will be moving on soon, I have a meeting to keep in Forsayth on the tenth, I’ll leave you my supplies but if you like come with me and I’ll go to the Police with you,” Travis once again suggested.

“I don’t think I am ready to trust any police,” Noah sighed.

“But if you have someone with you, they would have to listen.”

“I don’t know.”

Travis had worked out the math. It would be a day’s ride to Georgetown and two more to Forsayth, so if departed the following morning he should be in time for his meeting with Evan. If it hadn’t been for Noah he would have left earlier but had spent more time than he intended attempting to convince Noah to come with him and turn himself in.

It was late afternoon and after Noah had taken aim at another wallaby but missed, with the two discussing the failure Noah noticed a Police vehicle travelling at speed through the scrub to their rear, obviously brought on by the sound of the rifle shot.

“Cops!” Noah cried and froze.

“Quick you haven’t time to run, hide in my swag and I’ll throw my stuff on top.” Travis demanded pushing the lad to his camp and covering him. As quickly Travis returned to the lagoon’s bank and sat as the vehicle parked close by.

It was O’Sullivan.

“Hey you!” O’Sullivan bellowed as he and his constable alighted from the vehicle. Travis stood shading the sun from his eyes while the two approached.

“Good afternoon officer,” Travis cautiously greeted.

“Have you seen a black kid around?” O’Sullivan demanded, his eyes flashing all about, noticing two sets of footprints.

“No why?” Travis answered nervously.

“Then who did I see with you from the road?” O’Sullivan demanded as his constable searched the camp, his eyes fell on the mound of belongings piled on Travis’ swag. The constable’s hand reached out towards the top saddlebag as he spied the rifle distracting his intention. Collecting the rifle the constable returned to O’Sullivan.

“No one sir,” Travis answered softly.

“Don’t I know you?” O’Sullivan demands.

“No sir,”

“I think so,”

“No sir,” Travis repeated

“You’re the kid in the Forsayth pub drinking underage,”

“I’m over twenty-one Travis truthfully admitted having his birthday only a number of days earlier.

“Show me some identification,” O’Sullivan ordered.

“I don’t have any with me,”

“What about this sergeant?” The Constable called holding the rifle above his head, “and it has been recently discharged.”

“I shot at a wallaby but I missed,”

“Bring it here Bruce,” O’Sullivan demanded. Accepting the rifle he checked the breech. It wasn’t loaded. “Do you have a licence for this?” He asks roughly.

“I didn’t know I needed one, it’s only a twenty-two,” Travis answered.

“Now I’ll ask you again, who did I see with you?”

“No one, I’m here on my own,” Travis answered while his entire body trembled at the sound of the policeman’s demands but he refused to give Noah away.

“So you have four feet?” O’Sullivan suggested pointing at the multitude of prints along the muddy bank. It was obvious the policeman’s tolerance was beyond simmering to boiling, while the constable stood so close to Travis his comfort and wellbeing was threatened.

“Well?” the policeman demanded.

“They must be old sir.” Travis answered trying not to sound condescending as he took a single step away from the constable.

“Whose camp is that then?” O’Sullivan demanded; pointing at the rough humpy Noah had built.

“He must have gone before I arrived.”

“Do you take me for a fucken’ idiot?” O’Sullivan bellowed.

“No sir.” Travis answered then wished he had not.

The Sergeant nodded to his constable who immediately took hold of Travis, pinning his arms behind his back as O’Sullivan drew back his fist and slammed it full force into Travis’ unprotested stomach. Travis collapsed in pain as he received another punch to the face sending him to the ground where he received a kicking to the ribcage from both policemen. Travis collapsed and passed out, as the beating continued.

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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