Page 35 of Stockman's Sandstorm

‘To our advantage, it lowered the buying price,’ said Ryder, as the money man.

‘Brother, we bought a cattle station with no cattle,’ said Dex, wearing his typical scowl. ‘So, Ron, if you didn’t muster the cattle, who did?’

‘Darcie’s son hired a mob of musterers from Queensland.’ Ron slowly shook his head with sadness. ‘Darcie would’ve rolled over in his grave for that.’ He took a long pull of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Didn’t that mob leave you with any cattle?’

‘We’ve got a small herd we’ve paddocked here …’ Ryder tapped on the station’s map. ‘But we’ve just learned there’s maybe a thousand head in this place called Wombat Flats.’ None of them were letting their hopes get too far ahead until they saw it for themselves, and the condition of the cattle, too.

Ron adjusted his hat that hid his raised eyebrows. ‘Sheez. What are they doing out there?’

The brothers said nothing, for Charlie’s sake.

Ron gave a deep chuckle. ‘I get it, I do. I bet Charlie hid some cattle out there, to not leave the place bare. It’s what I’d do if I was in that situation. And I bet that bugger picked the best stock too.’

‘Are you sure about the quality of that cattle?’ Ryder narrowed his eyes at Ron. ‘Charlie said they were scrubbers. Ferals.’

Ron grinned. ‘Listen, fellas, Charlie is an old-school stockman who always talked down his herd’s quality, like poker players who don’t like to reveal their hand in a game. Trust me, Charlie would have kept a prime herd out there. He’s been breeding the stock on this property for over fifty years, he knows quality, and would do his best to make sure he kept the best.’

Ash looked at his brothers. They had a herd. A good one. He could feel the hope building, not only in himself but in his brothers, too. ‘This is good news, right?’

Even Ryder nodded.

‘Do you know who helped Charlie muster that herd?’ Ron asked.

‘His granddaughter,’ replied Ryder in his deep voice.

‘Bree. Good kid. Helps my daughter out.’

‘How so?’

Ron looked at them for a moment. ‘Do you know anything about the caretakers, and who Charlie is?’

‘We know he was head stockman before he retired, but I’d guess he did some rodeoing from the way he walks,’ replied Ryder.

‘You’d be correct. Charlie Splinter Splint was a champion bull rider.’

‘No way.’ Ash and Jonathan spoke with wide eyes.

‘Charlie started as a kid, following his old man and their family trade, where he used to blunt the horns on a bull for the rodeos, to not hurt the beast or its rider. And he was good at it. Quick, painless, and done in record time. Wasn’t long and he was riding the things, following the rodeo circuit, until he got the wrong end of a bull one day.’ Ron sat back. ‘Darcie gave Charlie the caretaker’s cottage when Charlie got hurt. Charlie’s wife, Bea, nursed him back to health so he could ride again. He never rode another bull, but he was a damned good stockman. Still is. And when Charlie became head stockman here, the place flourished, giving this place a good name in the cattle industry. I know from firsthand experience how good Charlie is. He taught me a trick or two in my time, especially with branding.’

‘Yeah, well, he’s got our brand and holding it for ransom.’ Dex snarled behind his beer as he rocked in his chair.

Ron chuckled. ‘And that ol’ bugger will probably keep it until he dies. Unless you come up with an offer he can’t refuse.’

‘How can he keep my brothers’ brand, Ron?’ Jonathan asked.

‘Because back in the day, a cattle brand was a family keepsake. A legacy brand is what you hand down from generation to generation, and Charlie’s father was a master brand maker.’

‘For real?’

Ron nodded. ‘Charlie and his father made all the brands for the entire North. And now Bree does it too, when she’s not concocting a batch of witch potions for my daughter.’

‘What?’ Ash blurted out as his brothers raised their eyebrows. ‘Bree’s a witch?’

‘Bree distils herbs and makes cooking oils that my daughter sells online. Bush herbs.’

‘Any other herbs?’ Dex’s mischievous grin grew.

‘Bree does make a wicked green ant gin. My wife, Queen Elizabeth, loves Bree’s rosella gin. I always order a crate when she makes a batch.’

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