Page 31 of Stockman's Stormcloud

‘I tried. But that swamp puppy submerged fast before I did any damage.’

‘Carked-it’s this old saltie who’s been around for about fifty years, I reckon,’ explained Charlie. ‘Which waterhole were you at, kid?’

‘I was coming back from Station Dog Cemetery way to check our cherabin pots at Spear Grass Creek—’

‘I don’t know where these places are.’ Dex scowled at the caretakers. It annoyed him that they knew more about his cattle station than he did. As did the squeeze on his ribs. And the lack of air.

‘Good to see his cranky highness is returning. I miss my sparring partner. Got no one to give lip to.’ Bree patted his shoulder as she put a glass of water in front of him, then grabbed his pills from the fridge.

Charlie then brought over a cup of tea for Dex, complete with toast and vegemite. All the while, he sat at the table scowling at his hosts.

Charlie spread out a map of the station he kept among his piles of paperwork. ‘That there is Spear Grass Creek. She runs off Cattleman’s Keep and runs into part of Emu Plains.’

Charlie’s map was older than the map his brothers had up at the farmhouse. This one had notches and names pencilled in with numbers, he guessed were for bores, billabongs and paddocks.

‘Are you talking about the escarpment that fills Starvation Dam?’ Dex had helped rebuild that dam, and they’d just finished fighting with the government over water rights to keep it. A gift from their eastern neighbour, Leo, over the lithium mine he wanted to start.

‘Correct. But Starvation Dam is on the far east side of theescarpment.’ Charlie tapped on the map. ‘On this side of Cattleman’s Keep, it feeds into three watering holes called Station Dog Cemetery, Bullock’s Bath, and Dog Chain’s Dipper.’

‘Who came up with these names?’ Dex sipped from his tea mug, wincing at the strength of the tea.

‘Listen, lad, each of these places has a story, named by stockmen who loved this country. Not some snot-nosed politician who never got his hands dirty, calling streets after places that got no meaning.’

Dex wished he could keep quiet. But he couldn’t. Bree was right, he was getting better if he could bite back. ‘Why don’t you educate me?’ He had nothing better to do.

‘Station Dog Cemetery is, well…’ Charlie dropped his head, looking at his granddaughter.

‘It’s a proper cemetery as a testimony to Elsie Creek Station’s muster dogs.’ Bree tenderly patted her grandfather’s shoulder as she explained, ‘It was created by the station’s first overseer, who loved his dog, and it’s a beautiful spot on the hill overlooking the waterhole and the Mitchell grass plains. All our working dogs would have loved it.’

Dex now wished he’d just shut his trap. Everyone knew Bree had buried their station dogs who’d been poisoned by that prick, Leo, from next door.

Yeah, they won the lottery with their loser of a neighbour. Not only had that prick tried to steal their water, but one of Leo’s cronies had tried to poison Cap’s dogs at the local campdraft, over a month ago. It was a low act, messing with a man’s dogs like that. And Leo was overdue a date with Dex’s fists—but not while he was confined to Bree’s couch, learning to hold his breath like a toddler learning to swim.

Which reminded him to have a quiet word to his little brother, Ash, about his nephew getting swimming lessons and to start lessons on crocodile safety, too. He hadn’t seen his nephew since the fight, which was a week today.

A week to recover.

No way. This wasn’t right. He was fitter than that, andhe’d never been this slow to recover.

‘Anyhoodle, they renamed Bullock’s Bath for me,’ said Charlie as he tapped on the large map, drawing Dex out his headspace. ‘Darcie changed it.’

‘Why?’

Again, the old man peered up at Bree to speak for him.

‘Bullock’s Bath is where they buried Buckshot.’ Bree pointed to a large framed black-and-white photo of a big bucking bull with a cowboy riding him.

It took him a moment to register as his eyes flared. ‘Is that you, Charlie?’

The old stockman barely nodded at the picture. ‘I won the championship three times on Buckshot, and I was the only rider to ever last the distance on that beast. But in the end, Buckshot beat me. That tosser’s horns gored me, ducking and twisting his head up and down, tearin’ my guts up something fierce.’

‘What happened to the bull?’

‘I emptied my entire savings to save that there bucking bull,’ said Charlie, facing the image of himself.

‘I would’ve made it eat lead after that. Much cheaper.’

‘Buckshot was looking at a bullet for what he’d done to me, for sure.’ Charlie gave a snort of sorts as he dragged his chair out from the table. ‘But as he’d made me retire from rodeoing, I was repaying him that same courtesy and brought that beast home.’

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