Page 2 of Stockman's Stowaway

‘Who’ll thump you as soon as he finds out you’re having an affair with a married woman. Stockmen have traditions, you know.’

‘Oi. This isn’t some affair. This—you and me—we’re meant to be together forever. Right?’

Her sweet smile spread like pure sunshine. Gosh, she was pretty.

‘Together forever, you and me, Harry Splint.’

‘Too right, we’ll be together forever. I’ll start getting the car ready. You pack, and find that paperwork, and we’ll disappear before anyone misses us. Say in a week? Everyone will be busy mustering along the stock route to beat the rains.’ He peered back at the horizon, the sweltering weather teasing them with thick inky clouds that had yet to break the drought.

‘Where will we go?’

‘To a place where we can be husband and wife, and where no one will know who we are.’ They’d make it. He believed it. He just didn’t know how to tell his younger brother, Charlie.

One

Present Day

‘I’d like to report a missing person.’ Charlie’s gravelly voice was as crusty as the lines etched deep into his face; the face of a man who’d lived a long life under an outback sun. Holding his hat in hand, with its crocodile hatband belonging to the beast that dared to bite him, Cap Riggs had never seen the old stockman looking so gloomy.

‘You’re not talking about your brother, are you?’ Cap closed the driver’s door of his old ToyotaTojothat he’d parked outside the town’s local pub, beside the police paddy wagon.

‘Was I talking to you? I’m talking to him, Policeman Porter.’ Charlie hoisted the heavy bundle of freshly made cattle brands over his shoulder.

‘It’s senior constable—’

‘Whatever. You’re wearing the uniform, aren’t ya? Driving that paddy wagon like you stole it.’ Charlie waved his tanned, callused hand at the officer. ‘So, I wanna report a missing person. It’s my older brother, Harry Splint.’

Porter flipped open his notebook and clicked his pen. ‘How long has your brother been missing?’

Charlie stuck out his chin and said, ‘Sixty-two years.’

Porter’s pen paused, his eyes flicking to Charlie, then to Cap, who could only shrug.

‘Is there a time limit for reporting a missing person?’ Cap didn’t expect this out of his simple trip to town for supplies.

‘No. But, sixty-two years.’ Porter rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Why do you want to report it now, Charlie?’

‘Because we foundthe car.’

‘What car?’

‘A 1957 FJ Holden, stashed deep in the Stoneys. We dragged it back from our last muster. The Riggs brothers,’ Charlie said, tossing his thumb at Cap, ‘helped me restore it. Even got it freshly painted in the original Brookmere Green.’

‘To sell?’

‘Nah. So my granddaughter, Bree, can drive me to the pub on Fridays.’

But it wasn’t Friday, and Charlie had covertly asked Cap for a lift into town.

Cap narrowed his eyes at the sneaky stockman. ‘Does Bree know you’re doing this?’ Because no one wanted to upset the redhead back at the station.

‘Listen, Porter…’ The elderly stockman sniffed hard, ignoring Cap. He lowered one end of his long, heavy packages to land with a thud on the red dirt. ‘There must be something you can do to find my brother.’ From the back pocket of his dusty jeans, Charlie dragged out a booklet. ‘Here’s Harry’s bankbook, coz we never had no smancy bank machines back then.’ He flipped open the thick, lined pages. ‘See…’ His stubby finger tapped at some numbers on the page. ‘It shows here that Harry took none of his money. He wouldn’t leave this behind.’

‘How did you bank, back then?’ Porter flicked the pages of the old bankbook, which was a little smaller than a passport.

‘At the post office.’ He waved towards Elsie Creek’s main street. ‘I talked to the postmistress, and she said it’s legit. Shejust couldn’t tell me anything else, coz it’s in my brother’s name. Laws, she said.’ He nodded at the lawman.

The cunning old bugger.

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