Page 80 of Stockman's Stormcloud

Out the back, leaning against the wrought-iron fence containing the complex heritage vegetable garden, was Charlie, pushing back the brim of his stockman’s hat, holding his large tin mug. ‘Morning, fellas. Can I help you with something?’

‘Morning, Charlie.’ Dex leaned against the fence. ‘I was just telling my brothers about Drover’s Rest.’

‘Listen, about yesterday,’ said Ryder, approaching the station’s retired head stockman. ‘I’d like to apologise to you and Bree.’

‘Where is Bree?’ Dex couldn’t see the sassy redhead or her saddle in the nearby stables. ‘Out riding?’

‘Her horse lost a shoe this morning. She’s in the shed, reshoeing it now. I’d advise steering clear of the kid, while she’s playing with hammers and nails.’ Charlie chuckled.

‘Is Bree really upset?’ Ash asked. ‘We’ve all seen how easily she puts up with Dex’s wise-arse cracks all the time.’

‘And gives it back,’ said Dex.

‘Yeah, well, this is different.’ The old man nodded at the field. ‘You see this paddock?’

‘It’s why we’re here. Look at this growth in the grasses.’

Cap, the greenie, brushed his hand over the meadow’s lush green carpet. He tugged at a tuft, peeling it back to reveal the rich, dark soil beneath, its earthy scent minglingwith the fresh grass. It was like a premiere sporting field in need of a mow, not a paddock in the outback. ‘It’s like turf.’

‘Told you so.’ Dex wanted to swap paddocks now he’d seen this. ‘I wasn’t kidding about Drover’s Rest.’

‘Dex said Darcie’s grandmother hand sowed this paddock?’ Cap asked.

Charlie nodded. ‘Granny Darcie wanted something to remind her of the green grasses of her European homeland, with grazing cattle she could watch from her kitchen window.’ He nodded at the view. ‘It’s pretty watching the cattle graze as the sun rises over the escarpment, with that hint of a cool mist, and that breath of silence you get, right before the buzz of the busy day begins.’ Charlie leaned his sturdy forearms on the fence rail, looking over the field as if he could clearly picture the cattle. But there were none.

‘Why is this paddock divided into sections?’ Ash pointed to the areas. ‘Did you do that?’

Again, Charlie nodded. ‘The area that runs from this garden fence was for the bottle babies. My wife, my daughter, my granddaughter, even my great-grandson used to run down here in the mornings to bottle-feed them little ones as the first part of stock school.’

Dex and his brothers grinned at the old storyteller getting ready to share another tale about the station.

‘That first red-headed girl was my beautiful wife, Beverly. She had a baby girl, Beatrice, who too had red hair that ran down her back like thick rope.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And then my granddaughter, Bree, came and learned, to then become the school’s principal.’

‘You see them babies got used to them red-haired girls over the years, that they learned to associate redheads as someone who looked after them.’ Charlie pointed at the fenced yard. ‘In this first pen, they played with the red-headed girl, following her up and down the railed yards we made into a maze.’

Dex arched an eyebrow at the smaller yard rails. It was a junior version of the drafting yards themselves.

‘Then whenthe calves got older, they’d get shifted like kids in a classroom, to move into the next pen near the stockhorses. That’s when the red-headed girl would introduce the stockhorses to the poddy calves. Daily she’d run little campdraft games, getting the beasts used to the horses and vice versa, all done before racing to the front fence to catch the school bus. And then they’d wait for her return, like proper grass puppies, too.’

Charlie grinned, as if watching some ghosts playing in the empty field of rich that grasses stretched out before him. ‘Those little, freckly faced, red-headed girls would then lead them babies up and down the gangway planks, and through the chutes.’ He pointed to the cattle trailer with its doors down like a bridge from one paddock to the next.

‘Then when them poddies grew up enough, they’d get their first ride in the old truck. So up the ramp they’d go, following this cheeky red-haired girl into that trailer. Bree would take ‘em for a spin, back when she could barely peek over the steering wheel, using bricks tied to her boots to help push on the pedals.’

They all chuckled.

‘Gotta hand it to her, she was determined to take them babies on a mini-tour of the station, to put them into that bigger grassier pen further away from the horses and the house, like extending them apron strings, where they grew up grazing on this grass.’

Again, another chortle, as a memory softened the crinkles around the octogenarian’s eyes. ‘Even though Bree would grumble as a teenager about doing chores, the cattle would see her bottle-feed their younger cousins. They’d hear her laughter as she played chasey through the maze, watching her as she worked the stockhorses teaching them cattle the art of tailing. Until they graduated to the big paddocks, where they’d breed and age like a fine wine.’ Charlie pointed to the land beyond the shed.

Then he sighed, tipping out the last of his tea. Charlie adjusted his hat, as the stern scowl soured the shine in his greyeyes. ‘Even though the cattle are older, those coachers still remember, so on a muster, you didn’t have to do much, you’d just put Bree in front, and they’d follow her wherever she led them—to the drafting yards, for a feed, then back out to a new paddock where they’d gladly dig in for a bit, or out to Wombat Flats, or deep into Scary Forest.’

‘They learned to listen for the sound of the cattle truck when she would deliver hay to them in the dry. They’d hear her singin’ lullabies while playing nightwatchman on a muster. And after we had that fire that burnt our stockfeed, for months they watched that red-headed girl sit in the saddle, playing drover as they picked along the long paddock, where she’d fiercely protect them from cars, dingoes, and rustlers.’

Ryder dropped his head.

‘Then when that first rain came, they followed her home here, to Drover’s Rest, where two old men were waiting for them.’

‘So Bree educated them?’ Dex asked.

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