A Drover's Blanket

A DROVER’S BLANKET

By

Clancy Tucker

Smashwords Edition

First published in 2015 by Clancy Tucker Publishing

ABN: 70442136657

Copyright © Clancy Lawson Tucker 2015

Clancy Tucker asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or be transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Illustrations, poetry and photography copyright © Clancy Lawson Tucker 2015. Grateful thanks to Kris and Rob Elliott, ‘Carramar’, Thornton, Victoria, Australia.

Illustrations by Bill Perring www.darcycollection.co.uk

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication (CIP).

‘A Drover’s Blanket’ by Clancy Lawson Tucker

ISBN: 978-0-646-92271-3

1st Edition

Dewey Number: A 823.4

Young adult fiction.

Dedication

This story is dedicated to the women pioneers of Australia; women like Molly Jane Danson. Those, who worked with their husbands, partners and children in all weather; beneath what is known as ‘A Drover’s Blanket’.

Acknowledgments

I wish to acknowledge those who have read the first book in this series, ‘Gunnedah Hero’. Although this story was already written when Gunnedah Hero was published, my readers have inspired me to write more books in the same series. I seriously suggest that you read Gunnedah Hero before you read this book.

Clancy Tucker

www.clancytucker.com.au

‘WIRALEE STATION’,

NEW SOUTH WALES,

AUSTRALIA: PRESENT DAY

Chapter 1

Wirra Danson was worried. His nephew, Gunnie, hadn’t said a word since they’d turned off the main road into the station’s long driveway. When the four-wheel drive stopped in front of Wiralee Homestead, Wirra slyly glanced at his passenger and noticed him frowning. It was meant to be a big day for both of them; an even bigger day for Gunnie.

‘Welcome to Wiralee Station, Gun.’

‘Thanks,’ Gunnie muttered.

Wirra looked at him and frowned slightly. ‘You okay, mate?’

‘Yep.’

‘Great. Listen, I know we’ve spoken lots of times about ya comin’ here … But I just want to make things crystal clear now that we’re here. Give me a shout if at any time ya don’t feel ya cut out for farmin’. Okay?’

Gunnie heard what his uncle had said and looked up at the beautiful old homestead. As he did, a strange feeling swept through him; one he’d never experienced. ‘Wirra, I promised I’d spend the summer holidays here to see if I liked it. And … Well, I reckon I’m not going to like it at all.’

His uncle sighed. Gunnie heard his reaction and deliberately looked away, focusing on the machinery shed in the distance to avoid his uncle’s worried face.

‘Really?’

‘Yep. I’m not going to like it. I’m going to love it,’ he teasingly replied, then laughed, pleased that he’d tricked his uncle. It was usually the other way around. Wirra Danson was well-known as a practical joker, a man who’d tease anyone given half a chance.

‘Fair dinkum?’ said Wirra looking relieved.

‘Absolutely. Got a cool feeling. It’s weird. I think I’m meant to be here, Wirra.’

‘Well, I’ll be buggered. You were bloody teasin’ me, eh?’

‘Yep, I was,’ said Gunnie still chuckling. ‘About time too.’

Pleased with his nephew’s decision, Wirra wasted no time. He put his hand out and Gunnie shook it firmly, knowing that he’d done the right thing. He felt super confident about his decision.

‘So, tell me what convinced ya? I mean, you’ve been brought up in the city. Sure, ya know a little about ridin’ horses and trail bikes and stuff … But not much about farmin’. I’m curious, Gun. What was it that convinced ya to give it a go?’ Gunnie glanced at the homestead entrance, recalling the last time he’d visited Wiralee Station. It was six weeks previously, and a time he’d never forget; a weekend when he’d read an amazing story written by his great-great-grandfather, Smokey ‘Gun’ Danson. The manuscript, plus other revealing documents, had been left to Gunnie in his grandfather’s will; historical documents written in 1911.

‘It’s simple, Wirra. It was reading Smokey’s story.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yep. It blew me away. I just couldn’t believe I was related to a guy as awesome as Smokey. And … I guess I wanted to be a part of it. Living in the city is okay … But it can get pretty boring sometimes.’

Wirra chuckled at his statement. ‘Wait until ya sit on a tractor ploughin’ through the night. That’s borin’, Gun.’

‘But, that’s the difference between the city and the bush, Wirra.’

‘What do ya mean?’

Gunnie folded his arms and turned in his seat so he could look directly at his uncle. ‘Sometimes you might think it’s boring out here, but in the morning you can stand back and see kilometres of freshly ploughed earth … Land ready to be sown … Or a paddock full of baled hay. You can see what you’ve achieved.’

‘Yeah. I guess ya right,’ said Wirra, scrunching up his face like an old prune.

‘Yep. And, don’t forget, Wirra. In the city, you don’t get the wonderful smells you get out here … Like freshly cut hay. I love those smells, and the sound of crickets, frogs and cicadas … And birds chirping when you wake up in the morning. They’re happy, busy sounds. Just awesome.’

‘Jeez. Ya startin’ to sound like old Smokey,’ Wirra stated, making the typical snorting sound he always made when he was amused.

‘Thanks for the compliment,’ said Gunnie, pleased to be likened to his great-great-grandfather.

‘Yeah, I reckon there might be a bit of Smokey in ya, Gun. Got a strange feelin’ about that. Anyway, I’ve got a few surprises for ya. Come and I’ll show ya where you’ll be sleepin’.’

Gunnie glanced at him with a pleading look. ‘Am … Am I staying in the same room I usually use? I’ve always loved that room upstairs.’

Wirra offered him a playful smirk. ‘Sure ya will. Wait until ya see what I’ve done though. Ya gonna love it. I’ve done a sensational job.’ Gunnie smiled. He liked the way his uncle spoke, especially the humorous way he described things. Gunnie’s father, Roley, had always called Wirra A real bushy – a man who was economical with words. However, Gunnie knew Wirra was no fool. He spoke with a slow country drawl but he had a sharp mind and was well-educated.

Both of them got out of the vehicle to collect Gunnie’s bags from the back seat, but Gunnie almost gasped when Wirra reached out to grab a small blue bag.

‘I’ll take that one, Wirra,’ Gunnie said, grabbed it and quickly zipped the bag closed.

‘Okay. Hey, what’s happenin’ with those publishers, Gun? Have they published Smokey’s story yet?’

Gunnie cringed at his question, but acted cool. ‘It’s almost ready to hit the press. Well, that’s what they told me the other day,’ he lied.

‘Jeez. Those publishers take ages to get things done, eh? They’d never survive if they were farmers,’ Wirra said with a pout.

‘I guess so. But it won’t be long now. We had to sort out some stuff for the cover. One of the guys at the publishing house wanted to use a different photograph. I disagreed with him.’

‘Who won that battle?’

‘Me,’ said Gunnie proudly.

Wirra grinned. Somehow, he knew Gunnie would have won. ‘Great. Can’t wait to see it in print. Man, that’s some story, eh? Hey, would ya give me a signed copy when it’s published, Gun?’

Gunnie gawked at his uncle. No one had ever asked him for an autograph. ‘Signed copy?’

‘Yeah. You’re the one who arranged for it to be published. Hell, we’d have never read that story if it hadn’t been for you … And Dad.’

Gunnie thought about his uncle’s comment. He was right. ‘Sure, Wirra. You know, it’s still the best story I’ve ever read. The best ever.’

His uncle gave him the thumbs up and winked. ‘No doubt about that, mate. And, to think that Smokey wrote it way back in 1911. When I read it, I was so glad that Dad had found it in the attic and left it to ya in his will. Smokey and Dad were smart blokes.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Wirra lounged on the bonnet of the vehicle and offered Gunnie a broad smile. ‘Well. I reckon Dad knew it would change ya life.’

Gunnie gazed at his uncle. ‘It sure did. Look at me? Here I am at Wiralee Station, learning to be a farmer. That would never have happened before I’d read Smokey’s awesome story. No way. I’d still be in the city, Wirra.’

Gunnie had just reached the top of the stone steps that lead to the veranda and main entrance when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

‘Hey, city slicker!’

Gunnie placed his bag on the old wooden veranda, spun around and grinned at someone he’d been waiting to hook up with. ‘G’day, Jenn.’

‘Hi, Gun. Good to see you. So, Wirra wasn’t kidding about you staying for a few weeks. Shame I won’t be here,’ she said with a cheeky grin that showed perfect white teeth.

Gunnie goggled at Jenni. She looked gorgeous. ‘Why? Where will you be?’

Jenni strolled up the steps. ‘I’m going up to the Gulf to see my rellies.’

‘Oh,’ Gunnie replied, trying to hide his disappointment. It had been a while since they’d seen one another, though they’d spoken by phone and regularly e-mailed. ‘So when are you leaving, Jenn?’

‘Dad’s driving me to Sydney tomorrow to catch a plane. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Tomorrow?’ he said with a puzzled look.

Jenni appeared to ignore his question. She looked directly at Wirra and frowned. ‘Yep. Hey, Wirra. Mum said dinner will be served in ten minutes.’

‘Right. Tell her we’ll be there shortly,’ he replied with a grin.

‘She also said, and I quote, Tell them not to be late.

‘Righteo, Jenn. Gun, we better not muck around. We’ve been invited for dinner. Boy, Jenn’s mum can cook. I reckon she should enter that Masterchef contest on tellie.’

Wirra’s comment about Jenni’s mother’s cooking made Gunnie think about Jenni’s great-great-grandfather ‘Magic’ Billie. He was an Aboriginal drover and Gunnie’s great-great-grandfather’s best mate. Smokey and Billie had met on the long paddock in 1910 and had become lifetime friends. Rapt to see Jenni, but disappointed to hear that she was heading off on holidays, Gunnie watched as Jenni walked away. He liked her. She had spunk and attitude. Jenni was also smart, pretty and funny. Her jeans were tight and her hair was neatly rolled into a bun; held together by a wooden clip with Aboriginal markings.

‘Mm … Cute,’ Gunnie whispered, grabbed his bag and entered the homestead where he stopped and scanned the monstrous living room. Nothing had changed. It never did. Stepping forward, he looked at the large, stone fireplace at the end of the room, searching for a special painting. He smiled when he saw the painting of his great-great-grandmother – The Wiralee Queen.

‘Gun. Come and check out ya room. Made a few modifications since ya were last here,’ said Wirra from the top of the stairs.

‘Modifications?’

‘Yep. I’ve been a bloody busy man.’ Curious about the modifications, Gunnie climbed the beautiful old staircase and smiled at the photographs that hung on the wall. Most of them were special; ones of dogs, horses and two guys called Magic Billie and Smokey ‘Gun’ Danson. Wirra opened the door to Gunnie’s room and grinned. ‘Mate. Hope ya like what I’ve done.’

Gunnie stepped inside and gasped. ‘Wow.’ Some big renovations had been made. To his left, a large bookshelf and desk-unit containing pigeonholes and cupboards had been built. Sitting on top of the desk was a brand new computer, keyboard, screen, printer and modem; everything Gunnie would need. To the right of the bed was a television and DVD player sitting on a small table. ‘Wow, Wirra. This is so cool.’ His uncle was quiet. He slouched against the door, folded his arms and smiled.

Gunnie scanned the walls looking for any other changes to a room that he’d always used at Wiralee. On the wall above the television were three large photographs he’d seen before. They were his favourites. Pleased to have them in his room, Gunnie walked over, flopped on the bed and admired them. The one on the left was a photograph of Magic Billie and Smokey. The middle one was that of a beautiful woman, Molly, his great-great-grandmother. Gunnie stood up and looked closely at her photograph. She looked stunning.

‘Jeez, she must have been special, Wirra.’

‘Yep. Smokey loved her from the very first moment he set eyes on her. He told me lots of times. Ya right, Gun. Smokey and Molly had a special friendship, but it was a shame that her family didn’t accept her marriage to Smokey. Crikey. The bloody Swensons caused Molly some grief.’

Gunnie spun around and faced his uncle. ‘I never knew that. What happened?’

Wirra scowled. ‘It’s a long and sad tale. I reckon her family was jealous of Smokey; especially her old man. Ya know, because Smokey became famous and got that reward money, and found that gold on his trip up the long paddock. Also, the Danson’s were more successful farmers. Just jealousy I guess. Anyway, I’ll tell ya later. We better get crackin’ or Laurel will skin us alive.’

‘Sure,’ said Gunnie, quickly peering at the third photograph on the right. Like the others, it was a black and white photograph. In it, Gunnie’s late grandfather, Blake, was sitting in the driver’s seat of an old tractor with Wirra and Gunnie’s father, Roley, sitting on the huge mudguards. Aunty Liz was sitting in Gramps’ lap and Nanna Danson was standing beside the tractor. They all looked happy. ‘Awesome shot … Just awesome,’ he muttered.

It was the first time Gunnie had ever been inside Jenni’s home. Her father, Jackie, was the manager of Wiralee. He, like Jenni, had been born at Wiralee Station. In fact, all of Jenni’s family had been. Gunnie immediately liked the house. It was neat and homely, and Jenni’s family was friendly and relaxed.

‘What’s for dinner, Laurel?’ Wirra blurted as he entered. ‘I’ve heard that you’ve cooked up a storm.’

Jenni’s mum, Laurel, entered the living room, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘You’re late,’ she said with a stern face.

Wirra laughed. ‘God, ya always say that.’

‘That’s because you are always late. Hi, Gunnie. Welcome to our humble home,’ said Jenni’s mother.

‘Hi, Laurel. Good to see you again. It’s been a while, eh? Hi, Jackie. G’day, Nipper … Great to see you. Howdy, Lionel … Vera,’ said Gunnie, shaking hands with Jenni’s father, uncle and grandfather.

The roast dinner was delicious. Gunnie enjoyed the company and Wirra was his usual raucous self. One thing was obvious to Gunnie. His uncle had a special bond with Jenni’s family. They were people who cared about one another like family.

‘Gun, did I tell you that I’m not going to boarding school next year?’ said Jenni as her aunt placed dessert in front of her.

Gunnie peered at Jenni with a curious look. ‘Yeah? So, what are you going to do?’

‘I’m doing year ten by correspondence. Mum’s going to teach me.’

‘Cool,’ said Gunnie. ‘But why, Jenn?’

‘Easy. I want to spend more time at home. Boarding school is full of snobs. And, I missed my family and Wiralee when I was at boarding school.’

Gunnie smiled. That was good news. He liked Jenni and wanted to spend more time with her. She was different to girls at his school. She had a wicked sense of humour, was easy to talk to and had what Gunnie referred to as a low ‘bullshit factor.’

‘Yeah, I reckon I’d hate going to boarding school. I’ve been going to a normal high school but my two sisters go to a private school.’

‘Hey, Gun. I’ve been dying to ask you a question. How’s ‘Gunnedah Hero’ going? Has it been published yet?’ Jenni’s question was timely. It reminded Gunnie of something he’d forgotten. He quickly shovelled the last mouthful of apple pie into his mouth and pushed his chair back noisily.

‘Jeez, I forgot something,’ he said, and bolted for the door. ‘Thanks, Jenni!’ he shouted.

‘What’s got into him?’ said Wirra.

‘Dunno,’ Jenni replied.

Gunnie sprinted across the farmyard, ran up the main steps and entered the homestead. Halfway up the wooden staircase he stopped and looked at a photograph of Smokey and Magic Billie. It had been taken in 1911.

‘Guys. They’re gonna love it,’ he said, touching the photograph reverently. He then raced to his room and opened one of his two bags. It was the one Wirra almost discovered when he’d arrived. Grabbing a plastic supermarket bag containing seven copies of ‘Gunnedah Hero’, he flopped on the bed, opened the first copy and read the inscription he’d written on the inside cover. It was a message he knew the original author would have written.

To Wirra Danson – a top farmer.

Thanks for taking care

of Wiralee Station.

Love ya work.

Smokey ‘Gun’ Danson

Gunnie grinned, poked it into the plastic bag, ran downstairs and raced back to Jenni’s. Puffing and panting, he walked in to find everyone gazing at him, wondering why he’d shot off so quickly.

‘What’s the go, Gun? Is everything okay?’ Wirra asked, stealing a curious glance at the plastic bag in Gunnie’s hand.

Gunnie positioned himself and took a few deep breaths. ‘Yep. Couldn’t be better. Guys, I’ve got something special for you. Please close your eyes. I’ll tell you when to open them.’ Everyone stared blankly at him. ‘Go on. Trust me. You’ll love it,’ he added, holding the bag behind his back, waiting until everybody had closed their eyes. When he was satisfied, he placed a personal copy of Smokey’s novel in front of them. Each one of them included a special message on the inside cover. Grinning, he placed the last copy in front of Jenni and sat down. ‘Okay. You can look now.’

Eagerly, Gunnie observed their immediate reactions; excited to see their faces light up.

‘Jeez, Gun,’ said Wirra, slipping his reading glasses on.

‘Wow,’ Jenni muttered. ‘I love it, Gun. Looks awesome.’

‘Oh. There’s a personal message inside each of your books. Read it,’ Gunnie suggested, and watched their faces change as they read his personal note. Laurel read the message in her book and had tears in her eyes. She stood up, walked over to Gunnie and hugged him.

‘Thank you, Gunnie. He’d be proud of you too,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome, Laurel … And thanks for a great dinner.’

‘Anytime.’

Gunnie blushed when Jenni spontaneously leant over and kissed him gently on the cheek. Jackie, Lionel and old Nipper reached across and shook his hand like Smokey would have done – firmly.

Wirra pushed his chair back and stood up, grabbed his wine glass and sniffled. ‘Folks, I’d like to propose a toast to two wonderful friendships. To Molly Jane Swenson and Smokey ‘Gun’ Danson. Also, to an extraordinary mateship between Magic Billie and Smokey … Two friendships that were made in heaven.’ Everyone stood up and raised their glasses.

‘Cheers!’

Gunnie looked at Wirra and could see tears welling in his uncle’s eyes.

‘Hey. I forgot to toast someone else,’ Wirra added. ‘Here’s to me nephew, Gunnedah Swenson Danson, who was named after a hero … Smokey ‘Gun’ Danson … And, to the Gunnedah Hero’s wife, Molly Jane Swenson. Folks, I’m convinced that Gun’s here at Wiralee for a reason; a great reason.’ Wirra turned towards Gunnie and raised his glass. ‘It’s great to have a Gun Danson back at Wiralee. Welcome to Wiralee Station, Gun.’

‘Cheers!’ everyone shouted, and raised their glasses.

Gunnie grabbed Jenni’s copy of ‘Gunnedah Hero’, stood up and raised her book in the air.

‘Thanks, Wirra. I’ve read this awesome story five times, and each time I read it I felt I was with Smokey on the long paddock. Yep, I could smell the gumleaves, feel the heat of the drought and hear his wonderful dogs barking. Then, each time I finished it, I felt proud to be related to Smokey and Billie. Guys. All of us are fortunate to have such a great family and a wonderful history. I’m glad to be here where it all started. Thanks.’ Everyone cheered when Gunnie flopped in his seat. Unexpectedly, Jenni’s grandfather, Nipper, leant over and kissed Gunnie on the cheek. What the old man said blew Gunnie away.

‘Welcome home, Gun. We’ve missed you.’

Chapter 2

Gunnie woke to the screeching sound of his alarm clock. He reached out and fumbled with it until he found the button that stopped its irritating noise. It was early. He rubbed his eyes, folded his arms behind his head and surveyed his room. It looked great.

‘You’ve done a top job, Wirra,’ he muttered. ‘Just love it’. Seconds later, Gunnie knelt on his bed, peered through the open window and took a deep breath. ‘Ah,’ he sighed. ‘Love those smells.’ A mixture of sweet fragrances: grass hay, frangipani, wysteria, roses and lots of earthy aromas filled the air. His dreamy thoughts were interrupted by the sound of thundering steps. It was the sound of his uncle walking up the staircase.

‘Gun! You awake?’ Wirra bellowed then tapped gently on the door. Gunnie stood up and watched the door open slowly. ‘G’day. Did ya sleep well?’

‘Hi, Wirra. Yep, like a baby.’

‘Hey. Today we’re goin’ to a clearin’ sale. Get ya act together and we’ll have breakfast.’

‘Cool. I’ll have a shower and be right down.’

‘Good. The clearin’ sale is at a station I’ve never been to. It could be an interestin’ day, Gun’

‘Why interesting?’

‘It’s at Swenson Station … Molly’s home,’ Wirra answered.

Gunnie’s eyes lit up. He was going to his great-great-grandmother’s home station for the first time. ‘Wow. I’m dying to check it out.’

‘Okay. See ya downstairs for brekkie.’

‘Hey, Wirra. On the way, can you tell me what happened years ago? You know, what you mentioned yesterday about the Swensons giving Molly some grief. I’m really curious about that.’

‘No worries, mate.’

Gunnie showered and dressed quicker than ever before. As he did, he wondered about Swenson Station, and a thousand questions raced through his mind. What’s it like? Will I meet some of Molly’s family? Will the station be as neat as Wiralee? Ready to head downstairs, he suddenly remembered Jenni.

‘Jeez, got to say goodbye,’ he muttered, and raced to the kitchen. ‘Wirra. When’s Jenni and Jackie leaving for the airport?’

His uncle gazed at his watch and frowned. ‘About now.’

‘Damn. Hey, I’ll just run over and say goodbye. Is that okay?’

‘Sure thing, mate.’

‘Thanks.’ Eager to see Jenni before she left, Gunnie ran to the front door, yanked it open and nearly bowled Jenni over. ‘Oops. Sorry, Jenn. I was just coming over to say goodbye. Are you ready to go? How long will it take you to get there? When will you be back?’ he blurted.

Jenni gave him a serious look. ‘Hey. Is this a quiz program?’ she said, jabbing both hands on her hips to emphasize her question.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Just curious that’s all.’

Jenni dropped her serious look and smiled. ‘I was only kidding, Gun. Yep, we’re about to leave. Hey, I thought you might like to send me an e-mail while I’m away. You know, let me know how many blisters you have, and tell me how hard your working and all that stuff,’ she chuckled.

Gunnie frowned at her, realising that she was teasing him. ‘Yeah, right. So you’ll be on the Internet, eh?’

‘Yep.’

‘Okay. When will you be back?’

‘I’ll be back around the twenty-fourth I think. Can’t really remember.’

‘Cool. Have a great time, Jenn.’

‘Hope so. Gotta go, Gun.’ Jenni turned and headed down the homestead steps. At the bottom, she stopped and looked back. While waiting for her to say something, Gunnie checked out her melting, chocolate eyes and the dimple on her left cheek. It was cute; very cute. ‘Hey, Gun. What you did last night really impressed my family. You impressed me too. The photograph on the cover of your book is awesome. Mum couldn’t stop staring at it. I love it too.’

Gunnie felt embarrassed. ‘You’re welcome. I feel the same way, Jenn. It’s wicked to see my great-great-grandfather on the cover,’ he replied, blown away by Jenni’s compliments.

‘Hey, Gun. Is that the photograph you wanted on the cover?’

‘Yep. The publishers wanted some crappy photograph taken by one of their photographers; a photograph that had nothing to do with Wiralee,’ he said with a grumpy-looking face.

Jenni slid a foot across the gravel; an action that resembled something Michael Jackson would have done on a video clip. ‘Cool. How did you convince them to use the photograph you wanted?’

Gunnie leant on the veranda railing and grinned. ‘That’s easy. I told them I’d go to another publisher. As simple as that.’

‘Wow,’ said Jenni.‘

‘I always wanted that photograph on the cover,’ he added. ‘Did you like the back cover, Jenn?’

‘Sure did. I like the whole book … And I’ve started it already. Probably finish it on the plane. You must feel proud of yourself, Gun.’

‘Yeah, I suppose so. I’d like lots of people to buy it. Not to make money, but to let them read about amazing people, and learn how our pioneers suffered.’

‘You never know, Gun. It might be a bestseller,’ said Jenni.

Gunnie frowned and brushed an early morning fly from his face. ‘Maybe. Jeez, I never thought about that.’

Jenni casually slouched against the solid rock wall at the bottom of the steps; a wall built by Smokey and her great-great-grandfather, Billie. ‘Hey, Gun. My grandfather paid you a whopping big compliment last night.’

‘Really?’

‘Sure did.’

‘What did Nipper say?’ Gunnie was more than curious. He liked her grandfather. Nipper was a quiet man, but what he did say was worth listening to.

‘He gave you a nickname. Don’t laugh. Nipper only gives nicknames to people he likes. I guess you didn’t know that it was he who gave Wirra his nickname.’

Gunnie raised his eyebrows. ‘Crikey. I didn’t know that. So, what nick did he give me?’ he said, anxious to know.

‘After you left, he said, I like Drover’s style. He’s just like Smokey. Drover is a good name for him.

‘Jeez,’ Gunnie gasped. ‘You for real?’ When a vehicle sounded its horn loudly, both of them glanced across the farmyard to find Jenni’s family waiting.

‘Yep. Anyway, I better get going. See you in three weeks, Drover.’ Gunnie grinned at her parting comment, and could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He loved the nickname Nipper had given him.

‘Have a great time, Jenn. I’ll send you an e-mail tonight. I promise.’

Jenni sprinted across the farmyard and hollered a final message. ‘You better!’ Gunnie waved goodbye and strolled into the kitchen for breakfast.

‘Has that gorgeous jillaroo gone?’ Wirra said with a mouthful of toast.

‘Yep. What a cool chick, eh? Hey, I didn’t know that it was her grandfather, Nipper, who gave you your nickname.’

‘Sure was. I’ve been called Wirra since I was three years-of-age.’

‘Cool. Guess what nickname he’s given me?’

Wirra leant back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Drover?’

Gunnie’s eyes rolled back. ‘How’d you know that?’

His uncle offered him a wry smile. Then he chuckled. ‘Nipper told me ages ago. When I finished reading Smokey’s original manuscript, I told him all about it and he wanted to read it.’

‘And? Did he read it?’ said Gunnie, popping two slices of bread in the toaster.

‘He did. Nipper stayed up all night readin’ it. He was damn impressed. The following day he made a very prophetic statement.’

‘Like what?’

‘He said, Wirra. Young Drover is destined to live at Wiralee.’

Gunnie flopped on his chair and gaped at his uncle. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Yep.’

‘What else did he say?’

Wirra burped, lounged across the table and looked Gunnie in the eyes. ‘He said, He’s got the same natural spirit as Smokey. Don’t be foolish, Wirra. Wiralee will need Drover. That’s exactly what he said, Gun.’

Gunnie was stunned. ‘Yeah? That’s unbelievable. But … He hardly knew me.’

‘Well, it’s the truth. If ya don’t believe me, ask him,’ Wirra suggested.

‘Hey, Wirra. Jenni said it was a big compliment coming from Nipper. You know, him giving me a nickname.’

Wirra scrunched up his face and twitched his nose. ‘Ya better believe it. Nipper’s a wise man – a man of few words. But when he says somethin’, make sure ya listenin’. His wisdom is priceless. He loved Smokey and was heart-broken when he died. Trust me, Gun. The best thing Smokey ever did for Wiralee was to meet Magic Billie and invite him here. That family has brought us an extraordinary amount of good fortune.’ Gunnie was confused by his uncle’s comments and wanted to ask more questions, wondering what, an extraordinary amount of good fortune, meant.

Wirra glanced at his watch. ‘Let’s get goin’, Gun. We can’t sit around here gabbin’ all day. I’ve got a strange feelin’ about today. I reckon it might be a really interestin’ day at Swenson Station. Let’s go and find out.’ Wirra stood up, grabbed a noisy bunch of keys and walked out.

‘Yeah, okay,’ said Gunnie, grabbing two more slices of toast to eat on the way. When he got to the front door he remembered something important. ‘Hang on, Wirra! Be right there!’ he hollered, bolted across the room and ran up the staircase. He entered his room, grabbed a spare copy of ‘Gunnedah Hero’ and ran downstairs. Munching on toast, Gunnie strode towards Wirra’s utility and smiled at a new sign on the door. He loved it.

Wiralee Station.

Home of the

‘Gunnedah Hero’

‘How come you’ve brought a copy of Smokey’s book?’ Wirra asked as Gunnie got into the vehicle.

‘I thought we might meet someone who deserves a copy,’ he said, gently dropping the book on the back seat.

‘Okay. I’d have never thought of that. Good thinkin’, Gun. Ya never know, eh?’

It was a fair drive to Swenson Station and Gunnie was looking forward to it. It gave him an opportunity to ask Wirra a few questions that had been nagging him. Not wasting any time, he asked his first question as they turned into the avenue of beautiful old oak trees that lined the driveway.

‘Hey, Wirra.’

‘Yep?’

‘Yesterday you said something about the pain the Swenson family gave Molly and Smokey when Smokey arrived back from his trip up the