Jack & Harry (23 page)

‘Sir?' The man was taken aback by Jack's approach. ‘Could you post a letter somehow for me and me mate?'

‘A letter, young man? Yeah I suppose I could put it with the station's outgoing mail. Where's it goin' to?'

‘Kalgoorlie,' Jack replied, holding the rumpled envelope out to the big man. ‘I haven't got any stamps though but I can give you some money … how much is a stamp?'

The man examined the address scrawled in pencil. ‘Father O'Malley, Catholic Church, Kalgoorlie,' he said half to himself. ‘I'm sure the station can stand the cost of a stamp for ya, young man. You and yer mate part of Warri's team?'

‘We're travellin' with him and Reynold over there.' Jack pointed to their friend lounging in the saddle next to Warri and hesitated before continuing. ‘Harry and me are on our way to Coober Pedy.'

‘Coober Pedy! Where are you two blokes from then?' When Jack answered ‘Perth', the man peered at him strangely.

‘Perth eh? Bit out of yer way up here if ya on yer way from Perth to Coober Pedy aren't ya?'

Jack didn't reply but Warri joined the conversation. ‘Boys they good mates wit' Rennol 'ere, know 'im from Kalgoorlie. They comin' on a ride 'n learnin' drovin' from me 'n Rennol on the way to Kupa. Doin' good too, be old 'ands at 'im soon.'

‘No business of mine, Warri, just curious is all. I'll get the letter in the mail, son. Good luck on the trip and if ya find a big opal, remember I did ya a favour.' The big man laughed, wheeled the bay around and rode off at a fast canter toward the homestead.

‘Does he own the place, uncle Warri?' Jack asked.

‘No, 'e jus' leadin' hand. Stan bin 'ere many years though. Probably knows more about this place than the boss I reckon. OK then, let's get some tucker and keep goin'. That Tom Cooper 'e'll lose 'alf the mob lessen we get there to 'elp 'im out. Tom Cooper 'e darn good drover but 'e not as good as Warri.'

They caught up with Tom Cooper and the mob, some two thousand head, as Stan, at Angus Downs, had predicted, around one o'clock on the second day's ride. They saw the dust cloud first and the Aboriginal boys became excited, urging their horses into a fast canter, then, as they topped a sandy rise, there about a mile away they saw the herd spread out before them.

Nervous anticipation coursed through Jack's mind as they closed on the cattle strung out ahead with the crew of stockmen herding them from the rear and outriders keeping stragglers splitting from the mob.

Harry was amazed by the noise, a hubbub of cattle bawling, dogs barking, whips cracking and men whistling as they urged dawdling beasts to keep up with the body of the herd. After many days of riding through bush solitude with only the creak of saddle leather, the occasional shrill cry of a hawk or screeching of sulphur-crested cockatoos near a waterhole, the sound, although not loud, was constant and intrusive.

Nearing the mob it was evident that Wandoo and his two mates were anxious to be in the thick of the action so Reynold took the packhorse leads and handed them to Jack and Harry. Then after a nod of approval from Warri the four of them spurred their mounts into a gallop and, with hats waving as they raced toward the mob hooting greetings, they were met by equally enthusiastic riders.

One horseman rode out to meet Warri and the boys. ‘This is Tom Cooper comin'.' Warri recognised the rider.

There were brief greetings and some friendly jibing between Warri and the ‘Boss Drover' Tom Cooper.

‘Where have you been, Warri, you old scoundrel? Getting too old to ride fast now I suppose. You been laying down in the shade of an old ghost gum somewhere I suppose, dreaming about when you were a good fella drover.'

‘Only left Angas last night,' Warri lied, a grin on his stubbled face, ‘I knew you'd 'ave trouble tryin' to run this mob by youself, Tom. Yu lose many cattle so far?'

‘Lost any cattle? Nahh, I think we've
gained
a few.' Both men laughed, obviously well at ease in each other's company, then Tom Cooper nodded toward where the boys were a few yards away, grins on their faces and his tone became serious. ‘Who are these blokes Warri? I didn't expect you to have a couple of white lads with you and anyhow, you've brought more hands than I need or can afford.' He turned to Jack and Harry, their grins now gone. ‘No offence, lads.'

‘Tom, boys they don' want no pay 'n pretty good 'elp too. They bin wit' me 'n Rennol since Warburton. They laik family now.' He smiled over at the boys and winked.

‘How come they don't want to get paid for working, Warri? Sounds a bit funny to me.' He was unconvinced.

Jack kneed his mount forward to where the two men were talking leaving Harry with the packhorses. ‘Sir, I'm Jack Ferguson and that's me mate, Harry Turner, back there.' Jack nodded over his shoulder at Harry holding the packhorses. ‘We just need to get to Coober Pedy, sir. We don't want any pay just the chance to travel with you rather than go it alone and I'm sure we can pitch in somewhere to give a hand for our keep.' He held the man's gaze, taking in his lined weathered face and stubbled chin.

Cooper was surprised by Jack's self-assured approach and stunned to be called ‘sir.' He couldn't remember ever being addressed that way except maybe once by a female teller when he had opened a bank account in Alice Springs some years ago. ‘Coober Pedy eh? That's a fair ride south and we're not going there anyhow. You and yer mate ever done any droving, lad?'

Jack avoided answering the question directly. ‘We can both ride pretty good and use a stockwhip. Know how to look after our horses too. Warri taught us a lot over the past coupla weeks …we won't get in anybody's way.'

Cooper thought for a time, glancing at Harry holding the horses then back at Jack. ‘Warri … you vouch for these lads then?'

‘I learn 'em lot, Tom, they do good real quick.'

‘OK ,Jack, you and your mate can tag along but keep out of the way for a while until I see how you go and seeing as you're coming with us me name's Mr Cooper, or you can call me
boss
.' He turned to Warri. ‘Warri, you can take these lads and catch up with Toffy. He's ahead somewhere and you blokes can help set up camp for the night. I'll have a think and see where I can fit 'em in.' He inclined his head in the direction of the boys.

‘I'll have a yarn with you about it tonight, Warri.' Tom Cooper wheeled his horse around and sprinted back to the mob.

‘He doesn't seem too keen to have us along, Jack, does he?' Harry walked the horses forward.

‘Hmm, not sure. I think he was a bit surprised at us bein' here that's all. What do you think, uncle Warri?'

‘Tom Cooper 'e alright. When 'e see 'ow good I learn yu bloke 'e'll say to me, ‘Warri, yu got any more fellas good like these blokes?'

Both boys smiled at how Warri always seemed to be able to answer most questions by including biased self-praise and they had learned to expect this quite endearing habit.

‘Why's the wagon up ahead, uncle Warri, and not travellin' with the mob?'

‘That's 'nother thing to learn, Harry. Wagon 'e usually always go up front, pick a good place to camp nearby some water, get a fire started 'n set up tucker for the team. Drovers they pretty 'ungry by tea time. Better get started.'

They skirted around the mob to ride on ahead leaving the dusty din of the herd and after an hour or so caught sight of the wagon drawn by a pair of carthorses labouring under the heavy load. The wagon was actually a dray with large wooden spoked wheels. It was a relic of an earlier era with a hooped iron structure supporting a faded green canvas stretched over it to protect the supplies from the sun and dust.

Pots and pans secured on wire hooks along each side of the dray clanged noisily together as the wheels bounced over the uneven terrain. A large tawny-coated dog ambling behind it sensed their presence and began yapping as they approached.

‘Whoa there!' The driver seated on a wooden bench reined the horses to a halt as they rode up beside him. ‘Well, if it ain't Warri! G'day, ol' mate.' There was a slight twang to his accent that reminded the boys a little of Paddy O'Brien. ‘Who's this you have with you then, Warri?'

‘G'day, Toffy, yu still cookin' I sees. This 'e's Jack 'this one 'called Harry.' He pointed to them in turn. ‘This is Mick Duffy but we all calls 'Toffy.'

Toffy had a round cleanly shaven chubby face, a ruddy complexion and small wire-ramed glasses perched on a button nose. They could see reddish grey hair escaping from under his battered hat and he was wearing a longsleeved check shirt but the thing that astounded the boys was that the man wore a large green bow tie. It looked so incongruous with the rest of his drover's attire that they couldn't understand why anyone would wear something so impractical out in the bush where the heat was so intense.

‘G'day to ya, lads,' Toffy geeted them. ‘There's a waterhole up a bit yonder, Warri. You blokes ride on ahead and get a fire started so we can have a cuppa before we set up camp, eh?'

Leaving the wagon they rode on ahead. ‘Why's he called Toffy if his name's Mick, uncle Warri?'

‘Don' yu see, Harry?' Warri chuckled. ‘When 'e first come out lotta year ago, 'e dressed laik a gen'leman 'n everyone tink 'e some kinda lord or somethin' from Inglan' but 'e jus' normal bloke that look funny. Not long 'n everyone call 'im
The Toff.
Then it get short to jus'
Toffy
. Don' dress funny no more ceptin' 'e still wear that bow tie. Toffy 'e good fella … good cook too.'

‘Bet he's not as good a cook as you are though, uncle Warri?' Jack winked at Harry.

Warri didn't reply immediately but looked at him for a few seconds then grinned. ‘Yu learn pretty quick, Jack. Yu keep learnin' new ting each day then by time you ol' laik me you almos' know as much as Warri.' He kicked his horse into a canter with a laugh. ‘Come on, yu bloke … keep up.'

They found the waterhole that Toffy had mentioned where Warri settled under a shade tree while the two boys collected a stack of wood to set a fire. ‘Make 'im a biggun, lotta fella sit 'round 'im tonight. Toffy need to cook on 'im too.' Warri instructed.

When they had the fire set Warri took his rifle, a battered but well oiled five-shot Lithgow .22 repeater from the leather scabbard strapped on his saddle. ‘Yu boys ever shoot a gun?'

‘No,' Jack answered.

‘I shot a few times at the show in Perth once at the shootin' gallery,' Harry said.

‘What's a shootin' gall'rey, Harry?' Warri was mystified.

‘Well, you pay for say ten shots at these little tin ducks that travel along on a belt. Not with a gun like yours though but with a Daisy air rifle.

‘Tin duck eh? Bet 'e don' taste too good this tin duck.'

‘You don't eat 'em, uncle Warri, you shoot at 'em to win a prize like a furry monkey on a string or somethin'. It's real good fun.' Harry explained.

‘Warri only shoot for tucker or maybe kill a snake now 'n then. Besides it's wastin' bullets jus' to shoot for fun. Yu ever win this monkey prize, Harry?'

‘Err … no! Got close though.'

‘Bout time yu bloke learn to shoot wit' a proper gun. We gotta bit a time till Toffy gets 'ere.' Warri walked off along the billabong holding the .22 in the crook of his arm, the barrel pointed down at the ground. ‘We find good target 'n I learn you 'bout guns. Good thing to know in the bush.'

Warri searched around in a clump of dry grass knowing from previous trips that there was a rubbish tip where drovers had thrown litter. Retrieving three rusty tins from the pile half-covered with sand, he walked about thirty paces to a fallen log where he lined the tins up in a row then returned to where Jack and Harry were waiting.

‘Now, yu gotta learn respect for this fella.' He held the gun out. ‘A rifle 'e a good friend in the bush but 'e also a bad friend if 'e not handle right. Never walk wit' no bullet in 'im 'n never get on a 'orse wit' a loaded gun in your 'and, too dangerous. If yu get shot out 'ere 'n the bullet don' kill ya, lead poisonin' will. Warri learn you more 'bout handlin' gun in a little bit, first thing though is 'ow to shoot 'im.'

Warri explained about lining up the target with the front sight that looked like a little upside down ‘exclamation' mark at the tip of the barrel, with the ‘vee' of the back sight. He showed them how to hold the gun steady and fire. ‘Don' jerk 'im now, jus' squeeze,' he instructed.

The crack of the rifle reverberated through the trees echoing back from the distant hills as a flock of cockatoos screeched in raucous fear from the trees to circle in terrified wheels of white above their heads. One tin flew from the log with a dull metallic thud. ‘Who gonna go first?' Warri held the gun out, its barrel pointed away toward the target area.

Harry volunteered. Sighting along the barrel he fired but the tins didn't move. Trying a second shot, a chip of bark flicked from the log about two inches to the right of the target.

‘I know now why yu never win no monkey prize, Harry. Yu close yer eyes when yu pull 'im trigger. Yu only close
one
eye though, not two! Try again, then it Jack turn.'

Harry's third shot never even hit the log but raised a puff of dust some distance past the target. ‘That OK, Harry, it take lotta practice to get good. Let Jack 'ave a go then yu take 'nother turn.' Warri reloaded the magazine and clipped it back in place. He gave Jack some basic instruction on how to hold the weapon.

Jack's first shot chipped bark from the log just beneath the target. His second shot clipped the edge of a jam tin toppling it sideways from the log. Warri was obviously pleased and told him to ‘Knock that other one flyin', Jack … take yer time now … steady.'