Winton - The Shepherds Hut

I dont know how far I got before I put me foot down the goanna hole. One moment Im plugging along with all this crap going through me head. Next thing Im face down in the gravel between the jam bushes and me knees so bad I dont even feel the stake through me hand till Im squeezing me leg like Im trying to strangle the pain out of it, and I cop this thin hard spear of mulga wood, long as a finger, going right through the meat of me thumb. The point of it stuck up clean and grey and for a sec there wasnt even any blood. The knee hurt a lot worse but the look of that thing coming through me hand made me bum quiver. When I yanked it out it bled like Id struck oil. Jesus, what a mess. I had to sit there for a bit, get me shit together.

For a while I couldnt even get up, let alone walk. And there was bull ants crawling over me like I was dead already and I figured it was better to get to me feet than be eaten alive, so I dragged meself up and hung off a jam wattle till I could man up and get going again.

So I did that. I drank off me water and ditched the jug. Got moving. But not real quick. And it wasnt long before I knew things werent gunna go our way.

I dont even know how long it took me to get there. All I know is it was too long.

I saw the shine off the Jeep before I even copped the hut roof. It was parked along the lakeshore maybe half a click south. They come in just the way I dreaded. When I got in closer, trying to stay as low as the knee would let me, there was no sign of them or of the old man. And I knew odds were he hadnt listened to me. He wouldnt be hid up behind the ridge, the silly bugger. If he hadna seen them coming hed be well in the shit already. I shrugged off the pack and used the .243 as a prop as I got belly down on the dirt. The knee hurt like a motherfucker.

I wondered how long I should wait. Then I heard his voice. That crazy bloody laugh. They were all inside the hut together.

Fintan was a sneaky old prick, he was twice as smart as he looked and about half as clever as he thought he was. But if he was still laughing things hadnt got nasty yet. I had time to do something to keep him safe. Thing was, I couldnt figure what that thing might be. I could shoot their windscreen out, give him a chance to run, but Fintan wasnt any sort of runner. And maybe before I did anything at all I needed to know what was happening. I had to get close. So I crawled in slow and bitsy like a half squashed bug. I hauled meself along with the Browning. And it took a while, but in the end I washed up in pretty much the same spot where I hid that first day. Same pebbly dirt, same thornybushes.

From there I could see the open door, the shutter poled out, no smoke from the chimney. And there were voices. Fintans was easy to pick. Youd never miss that dancing Irish sound. The others were hard and blunt. But I couldnt see much, not even through the scope. The angle was bad and it was dim in there anyway and the light outside was hot and white.

Out front the billy was steaming in the coals. He was making them tea, the wily coot, giving them the priesty runaround, seeing if he couldnt still talk his way out of a corner. And this was one time I hoped hed never shut up. Both of us needed all the time he could give us.

That was when I noticed the goat strung up on the gambrel. It was between me and the hut, right there in me face. Dunno how I didnt see it before. And honest, I could of spat. Because instead of hiding like I told him and waiting for me signal, the dozy old prick had gone down the mill yard and made himself busy. But hed only got the beast half skun before those two jokers showed up. The goat looked like some unlucky schoolkid with his jumper pulled over his head.

Then Fintan give a yelp. Or it might of just been that laugh of his. Whatever it was I was twitchy as fuck now. I didnt like the look of any of this.

I wondered what me chances were of creeping up to the door. Surprise the shit out of them if I could get that far. But if both those pricks had guns and theres three people there in the dark and me suddenly lit up in the sunny doorway, well none of that was gunna go smooth and not much of it would go our way neither. But it still looked like the only chance I had. I thought about letting off a shithawk call to warn the old man I was on me way in, but tell the truth I couldnt work up the breath for it, I was panting like a mutt, sucking up the balls to make me move. And I was half a second from pushing up to go when the dude in the tiny hat showed in the doorway.

I caught him clear in the scope and saw he was a big shiny-skinned fella with earrings and a chipped tooth. He looks left and right and then behind him comes Fintan and the longhair after that, pulling down his mirror shades. The old priests bare-chested and his shorts are halfway off his arse and theres blood all down his arms and belly, and for a sec I think theyve been at him already but then I remember the goat.

I thought about the birdcall again. And then I said to meself what kind of stupid idea is this, giving a deaf bloke a noise for a signal? So I didnt make a sound. The scope got fuzzy and that was when I knew how bad I was shaking.

All three of them stood out in the yard a bit. And right in front of them the billy come to the boil, the lid started jumping and a tail of steam got up. Them blokes stood looking at it a sec. Fintan said loud and plain he best go in and get the makings for a brew, said it cheery as you like but if I could see the lumps in the back of them twos shirts from here he must of twigged they had guns by now. But there he was, nattering away like butter wouldnt melt in his mouth, edging his way back a little and Im urging him on, go mate, get inside, grab the bloody shotgun.

I jacked a round into the chamber then and it sounded so loud and gritty I couldnt believe no one heard. I sighted on Fintan first. He was all smiles and twinkles but I could read him like a book. If he come out shooting I had to make sure I didnt hit him. The longhair was closer to the door, the blast from the shotty would knock him down. But the driver in the hat was further my way, it was him I had to hit. So I watched Fintan with one bare eye and sighted on the hat with the other.

But the drivers casing the yard. The windmill. The half skun goat.

No hurry, he says to Fintan. Dont go to any trouble.

Oh, no trouble, says Fintan, slopping back a way in his gumboots.

And then quick as a snake longhair is between him and the door and the old mans got that rolled-gold look of surprise on and Im thinking ah, thats fucked it. The hat jerks his head at the goat on the gambrel.

Looks like we interrupted something, he goes.

No matter, says Fintan. Shell keep awhile. Long enough for a spot of tea. I can make a damper, if you fancy.

Maybe later, says the longhair behind his sunnies.

So, goes the hat, all curious and friendly, how long you been out here?

Whatsay?

Here. On this land. How long?

Fintan goes, Oh, a nuns age, now. Im not the lessee, mind, Im only a guest these days.

Okay, says the driver in the hat. Like a caretaker then?

Fintan just smiles.

So who owns the place? goes the hat.

Oh, some corporate shenanigan.

Foreigners, says the longhair. Chinese, Ill bet.

Well, goes Fintan. Its the way of it, these days.

Yep, says the hat. The poor old Australian farmers becoming a thing of the past.

Youre a man of the land yourself, then? asks Fintan.

Yeah, says the hat. More or less. Were looking at some property round this way.

Ah, says Fintan. A spot of reconnaissance. I see.

How long did you say you were in the game? asks the longhair.

Pastoral concerns? Oh, fifty years, give or take.

So, goes the hat. Youd know where all the bodies are buried out this way. Wouldnt be much got past an old hand like yourself.