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    The Unquiet Outback
    The Unquiet Outback
    The Unquiet Outback
    Ebook75 pages1 hour

    The Unquiet Outback

    By Paul Taylor

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A farm that doesn't want to let you go...

    A mysterious, miraculous object discovered in the back paddock...

    A drought that affects more than just the land...

    A scratching on the roof...

    A knock on the door....

    Strange things happen in the depths of the bush. Come, come sit here with me by the fire. We'll be safe here. I swear...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLBS Productions
    Release dateNov 16, 2017
    ISBN9781386149835
    The Unquiet Outback

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      Book preview

      The Unquiet Outback - Paul Taylor

      Copyright © 2017 by Paul Taylor. All rights reserved.

      Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. I greatly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help me spread the word.

      Thank you for supporting my work.

      INTRODUCTION

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      THE LAST MUSTER

      The horses whinny as we move in nearer to each other, their excitement obvious. We’re all tense even though we try to put on brave and happy faces.

      It’s not easy.

      There’s six of us today. My four boys; Phillip, Mark, Joe and Jim, me, and a ring-in, my son-in-law, Pete. It’s more than we need for the bushy back country but they all want to be here. I can’t say as I blame them.

      I tell ‘em briefly, and unnecessarily, what needs to be done. They’re good men, they know well the lay of the land and don’t need to be told. They could root out every last beast on this mountain without breaking a sweat.

      Usually.

      The rains have come early and heavy this year and even now, at the lightest it’s been for a week, the rain still hangs in the air, a shimmering curtain of moisture that can all too easy confuse and disorient a man. Especially in the depths of the mountain. Although I have no real worry, the mountain and my family go a long way back. I want to put it off until the rain eases but we have already delayed twice.

      Besides, everyone is restless and chafing to get it over and done with. I think if I delayed any more they’d likely go on without me.

      I breathe deeply, savouring the sweet smell of leather saddles and musky horses. At that precise moment I felt that if I entirely lost my sense of smell I would be happy to have that as my last memory. It’s a comforting smell, musty and full of a raw, brute strength.

      After describing briefly where I think they’ll find most of the cattle, I send my boys up into the bush. I tell them before they ride off to be careful. We’ve never lost a man to the mountain and I sure don’t want to lose one of ‘em on our last trip up.

      You’ve all got your walkie-talkies if you run into trouble. Don’t be afraid to use ‘em, I say. And remember you’ve all got mothers, wives and sisters waiting for you back home. Don’t make me come back and have to tell ‘em I lost one of their boys.

      The speech, like almost everything else up to this point, is unnecessary. Like I said, they’re all my boys, bar one, and all of ‘em have ridden this mountain more times than I care to count and I’d trust any of ‘em with my life.

      *

      It’s nearing dark when we bring back the first mob, yarding them at the base of the mountain until we’ve got them all together. I’d gone out with Joe, my second youngest, because he’s probably the least experienced on the mountain, and we’d brought back almost nothing. My two eldest, Phil and Mark, got the lion’s share of the herd. I congratulate them on their work.

      You two’ll nearly be able to do this on your own next time, I say.

      They nod and smile tightly and look down at the ground and I realise too late I’ve said the wrong bloody thing.

      Shit, I say. I’m sorry boys. I didn’t mean to... I trail off, not knowing what to say and they move to reassure me, telling me it’s not my fault. It is though. That’s the problem, but I don’t resist too much. It’s better to forget that for now and just treat this like any other muster.

      When the others get back we sit down to a feed of steak and potatoes. We make the most of it because if we’re still up here past tomorrow this’ll be the only fresh meat we get, unless we can get a rabbit or something. The sounds of the bush and the scent of freshly washed earth fill the air about us, a lonely old crow calls out, breaking the constant drone of cicadas.

      After, we drink tea and break up a fresh damper and have a bit of a yarn and listen idly to the sound of the bush drip-drying. The rain has stopped for a while but the bush is still dripping wet. The boys want to know if they’re to go back out in the same direction or if we’ll all head out together.

      I know a couple of em seen some beasts up towards the back corner but more likely than not the rest of them are scattered stragglers across the mountain.

      Nah, I say. We’ll split up. Cover more ground that way.

      After a bit more of a yarn we roll into our blankets by the fire and sleep under makeshift tarp shelters, letting the tapping of the rain guide us off to sleep.

      As I drift off a sudden disquieting thought flashes across my mind like a meteor, there and gone before I can do more than grasp at it. All I’m left with is a sense of impending doom and a terrible feeling of suffocation.

      I dismiss it as no more than vapours brought on by our forced sale of the property and snuggle down in my blankets.

      *

      At about

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