The Call of the High Country Read online

  ‘She isn’t. But that doesn’t mean she wants to be mauled by you. Now go on home and everything will be all right.’

  Johnny backed down the stairs and disappeared into the darkness. Anne was standing by the back door of the hall when Andy turned from watching Johnny’s sudden departure.

  ‘You didn’t, did you?’ he asked.

  ‘Didn’t what?’ she asked.

  ‘Didn’t want to be mauled by him?’

  ‘Of course not. And thank you for your timely appearance.’

  ‘Johnny Miller thinks he’s God’s gift to women. I doubt that he will worry you again. Would you like to dance?’

  ‘I would now,’ she said with a slight emphasis on the last word.

  ‘Good,’ he said, taking one of her hands and leading her out onto the floor.

  Anne closed her eyes and let him guide her about the room, feeling that while she was with Andrew MacLeod she did not have a worry in the world.

  ‘I was up near your place recently,’ she said after they had danced together for some time. She had lost count of exactly how many dances there had been, but it did not matter in the slightest while Andrew held her in his strong arms.

  ‘Were you?’ he asked with his dark-grey eyes looking down into hers.

  Anne shivered. ‘Yes. The Campbells told me you’re great with animals.’

  ‘Did they indeed? Do you know much about livestock?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a thing. But one of my current objectives is to learn to ride a horse.’

  ‘I see. Would you like me to teach you?’

  ‘Could I have a better teacher?’ she asked, with her nerves tingling.

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion. If you would like to learn to ride, I’ll teach you. However, I’m a bachelor and I live alone. If you don’t want to risk your reputation, you might choose to bring an escort.’

  ‘You mean to your property?’

  ‘That’s where the horses are, Miss Gilmour,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Anne,’ she said, trying hard to control her breathing. ‘I will come on my own and I will bring a picnic basket,’ she said with a rush of words. ‘When?’

  ‘It will have to wait until I finish my shearing run. That’s a few weeks away.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ll contact you when I am finished. Sundays are best for me.’

  ‘You won’t put me on anything too fierce, will you?’

  ‘Of course not. My mother’s old mare will be ideal for you. She is a real lady.’

  ‘What should I wear?’

  ‘Trousers of some kind. Jodhpurs might be best. Have you got any boots?’

  She shook her head. ‘No boots.’

  ‘You’ll need something stronger than shoes. If you can afford a pair of elastic-sided boots, I suggest that you buy Baxter’s or R. M. Williams, depending on your pocket. And you should wear a wide-brimmed hat.’

  ‘You mean a sombrero?’

  ‘A sombrero is a Yank or a Mexican hat. Any old wide-brimmed felt hat will do. Don’t want you getting sunburned straight off.’

  ‘Will we be going up Yellow Rock?’ she asked with much trepidation.

  He grinned. ‘That’s not likely. We’ll just have a gentle hour or so about the lower country. If you aren’t used to riding, your bottom gets a bit sore, and more so if you’re climbing. You’ll want to get hardened up well and truly before you venture into the high country.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling up into his warm, open face.

  The weeks dragged by as Anne waited for Andy to contact her. To fill in the time, she visited the local emporium. She had no trouble purchasing the items Andy had suggested. Later, when she tried them on, she was quite satisfied, even pleased, with their practicality and appearance. Please, please, God, make me a natural rider, she thought. She also blew some of her savings on a picnic basket, which she planned to fill with tasty treats for the big day – if it ever eventuated.

  When Andy finally rang and made arrangements for her to visit him the following Sunday, Anne almost wept with relief.

  The real excitement came on the actual day when she passed Inverlochy and drove on towards High Peaks. The bend in the road appeared and then she was heading for the big homestead which stood on a rise on the other side of the creek. The road dipped rather sharply to the wooden bridge that spanned it. Anne wondered if this was where Andrew’s father had run his car off the road. The creek was lined with she-oaks and looked tranquil enough right then.

  The Morris rattled across the boards of the bridge and pulled up in front of a high mesh fence which surrounded the homestead. Andrew came down the front steps off the wide verandah and walked out to greet her. Anne’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him. He was dressed in grey gaberdine trousers, a plain blue shirt and his wide-brimmed hat, which had seen decidedly better days. Yet he looked – well, just right.

  ‘Welcome to High Peaks, Anne,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘And I must say you certainly look like a rider.’

  ‘Thank you, Andrew. Boy, what a wonderful spot. Can I have a look around or do we head straight off?’

  ‘Whatever you like,’ he said.

  He took her around the house and showed her the area his mother had devoted to the vegetable garden. Anne also noted the trees and shrubs she had planted. In the vegie garden there was silver beet mainly, some lettuces and a row of healthy-looking tomatoes.

  ‘I don’t get much time to look after the garden,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean? It all looks to be doing well,’ she observed.

  ‘Sheep manure. I bring it across from the grating floor where the sheep stand behind the shearing board in the shed.’

  They toured the house next, and Anne wandered from room to room in a state of subdued excitement because deep down she wondered if this would be her house one day. She tried not to look too interested and certainly not too nosy as her eyes took in the kitchen. In the middle of the room there was a huge and well-scrubbed pine-board table which she guessed was about eight feet long. From a large dresser cups hung on hooks and shelves were stacked with plates. Two drawers probably held cutlery and, in the deeper drawer, tablecloths. At the far end of the room there was an enormous recessed range, beside which was a box containing split firewood. No doubt Andrew had plenty of dead wood to keep this monster going in winter. But she was pleased to see a kettle and a toaster next to a power point. Jane Campbell had explained to her that because bulk electricity hadn’t yet reached this end of the road, power and light were supplied by generators.

  A wide verandah led off the kitchen and beside the door to this verandah there was a rather elderly refrigerator. Whether it was run by the generator or kerosene she didn’t like to ask. Outside, at the far end of the back verandah, there was an old meatsafe and another great stack of split firewood. When they left the kitchen and walked up a wide hall she counted three bedrooms. A quick peep was all she allowed herself. The furniture was older in style and solid and she thought it would come up beautifully with some loving polish. Anne was sure it had seen none since Andy’s mother had died. One bedroom was papered in cream and gold and the other two were simply tongue-and-groove pine like the big lounge room.

  ‘It’s a lovely house, Andrew,’ she said, ‘and you have kept it very tidy.’

  ‘For a man, you mean?’ he said, grinning.

  They came at last to the lounge room with its massive fireplace, over which hung a large oval mirror. Its base rested on a mantel shelf. Years of fires had darkened the mirror’s surface but a touch of gold frost and a good clean would do wonders, Anne thought. To one side there was a sideboard of dark wood. In the centre a woman’s picture held pride of place. She was handsome with a wonderful head of dark hair, but it was her eyes and smile that held Anne. She could see Andrew in that face. There was a smaller picture, of a quite good-looking man in military uniform. He had to be Andrew’s father. There were two other framed pictures of a small boy, taken some years apart, whi
ch she was sure were of Andrew. In between these photos and on the mantelpiece were cups and other silverware. They were all prizes won by Andrew with his dogs and horses. Scattered about the room were big easy chairs.

  Anne turned from reading the inscriptions on the trophies and said, ‘I must go and see your dogs. I really must, before we do anything else.’

  ‘Do you like dogs?’ he asked.

  ‘I think I do. We had a dog in Sydney. It was Father’s dog really; a wire-haired foxie. Dad used to get it clipped. I went to the Sydney Sheep Show and the best part was the sheepdog trials. Some didn’t seem to be very well looked after and were awfully scrawny, but when they worked they were so clever you forgot about their appearance.’

  ‘You can’t keep working-dogs in fat condition,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t be able to do the job. Sheepdogs need to be in hardworking condition; if you’ve got them in good shape, they will run all day. It’s hard work mustering sheep in these hills on a hot day, but at least here they have plenty of water close by. Out on the plains, you can be a long way from water for a long time. There’s times you need to carry water with you or else the dogs will overheat.’

  They walked down the front path, out through the gate in the high fence that surrounded the house, and then down a slight slope towards a thick belt of trees. ‘The high fence is to keep the chooks and guineafowl out of the garden,’ Andrew explained. ‘Mum was great for chooks and I still have a few … they keep me in eggs ’cause I sure hate shop eggs. Wilf White gave Mum the guineafowl.’

  There were large, hollow log kennels beneath the pepperinas and kurrajong trees. Tied by a long chain to each log was a prick-eared, short-coated kelpie. Some were black and tan, others a kind of slate-blue, and one was a red or brown with tan markings. A little distance away from the adult dogs was a low mesh pen in which several pups were playing with a much chewed bone.

  ‘Oh, the darlings. Andrew, can I pick them up?’ Anne pleaded.

  ‘If you want to. They’ll probably get you dirty.’

  ‘What’s a bit of dirt?’ she said.

  He registered the remark in his mind. It gained Anne her first tick of approval.

  The pups wriggled and tried to lick her face as she held each in turn. ‘I like the black ones with the tan markings the best,’ she said after she had held each pup.

  ‘That was the original kelpie colour,’ he explained. ‘The bitch that made the breed famous was called Kelpie and she was a black and tan. Colour doesn’t mean anything so far as working ability goes, but the black and tans are the easiest colour to keep looking right. Them and solid blacks.’

  ‘Can I see one work?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought you came to learn to ride,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve heard so much about your dogs I feel I must see one in action. Then can we ride?’

  ‘You’re not getting chicken, are you?’ he said, by way of testing her mettle.

  ‘Andrew MacLeod, when you know me better you will learn that I don’t scare easily.’

  ‘All right, I’ll show you a dog in action and then it will be time for smoko. I’ve got the horses saddled and all we’ll have to do is pack the saddlebags.’

  ‘Why are we doing that?’

  ‘I thought we’d boil the billy and have lunch down the creek a bit. What do you reckon?’

  ‘That sounds very nice. I brought a fair bit of stuff and it might not all fit in your saddlebags.’

  ‘Not to worry. We’ll fit enough.’

  He went across to where a blue dog with tan spots over its eyes was standing on top of its log. ‘This is King. I won the local trial with him last year. He’s a pretty fair dog in the hills. We’ll walk up the hill a bit to where I keep a few sheep for the purpose.’

  Beyond the dog area with its shady trees there was a small paddock which adjoined the homestead and its outbuildings. ‘This is what I call the cow paddock. Mum used to keep her house cows here and we also run the killer sheep for the table in it. There’s a few here now.’

  Anne couldn’t see any sheep because of the dips in the ground.

  ‘How big is it?’ she asked. She was trying to come to grips with acres in relation to properties.

  ‘About twenty-five acres. I’ve been trying some fertiliser on it. Looks like it’s working, too. Here, King. Way out!’

  The blue and tan dog left Andrew’s side and ran out in a wide arc to the right. He reached the far fence and raced up beside it, disappearing every now and again in the dips and gullies.

  ‘Will he find the sheep?’ Anne asked.

  ‘No trouble in this little paddock, not for King.’

  Presently a dozen or so sheep appeared from nowhere, and after them Anne could just see the dog. He was directly behind the sheep and seemed to be pointing them back towards where she and Andrew were standing. The dog kept them coming in what was virtually a straight line, standing far enough off them so that they did not gallop but came at a steady walk. It was as if the dog had the sheep on a string. King brought the little mob right up to within a few feet of where they were standing, and held them together so well that Andrew was able to catch one. He held it and invited Anne to open its wool.

  ‘Is that a male sheep?’ she asked, noting its small horns.

  Andrew laughed. ‘Half and half, Anne. It’s a male sheep that was castrated as a lamb. It’s called a wether. I run mostly wethers because a lot of this country is not suitable for ewes and lambs. These hills are regarded as purely wether country. I do run some ewes on the lower country that adjoins Inverlochy. Most of my cattle are there, too.’

  ‘No bulls, I hope.’

  ‘Only one at the moment, and he’s a quiet old fellow. I call him Bob after Bob Menzies.’

  Anne patted King on his broad head. The dog had never for a moment taken his eyes off the sheep and still held them in a tight bunch. ‘He’s a lovely dog. Will they all do what he just did?’

  ‘They will when I’ve finished training them. That wasn’t a very difficult job for King. He can do a lot better than that. What I like about King is that he is such a sensible dog; he reads my mind. Really good dogs are like that. He’s never been a fussy dog. What I mean is that he isn’t all over you like a rash, as my mother used to say. He’s there beside you like a shadow and, fair dinkum, you’d think he was a dopey old dog, but the moment there’s something to be done, he’s into it. Smart as paint, too. Look here.’ He dropped King’s leather lead on the ground and walked away a few yards. ‘Crikey, where’s that lead? Must have lost the damned thing. King, you seen that lead?’

  The dog was standing above the lead with his head half turned towards Andrew. ‘Well, pick it up, King,’ he said.

  King picked up one end of the lead and walked towards them. Then he stood on his hind legs and presented the redhide lead to Andrew.

  ‘Why, Andrew, that’s wonderful,’ Anne said. ‘He seems almost human.’

  ‘He’s probably more human than some people, Anne. Comes a lot from having so much to do with me. I talk to my dogs all the time, treat ’em like mates. Some people never do. The more you talk to them, the more they come to know. Lazy people never make dog trainers. You tie a dog up all the time and forget about him and you’ll never have a smart dog. I can put a saddle, a hat and a whip on the ground and King will sit beside each when I tell him. What it gets down to is that you’ve got to work with a dog. Course, some dogs are smarter than others. You look for the smart ones right from the time they’re pups. You pick those fellas out and start developing them. Come on back to the house and we’ll have a drink of tea.’

  Anne produced some fruitcake and cream cakes, at which Andrew whistled. ‘You’ll spoil me with this tucker. I only get this sort of thing occasionally when I go to Campbell’s. And sometimes Gertie – she’s Wilf’s sister – brings me a slab of cake. She and her husband come up from Sydney once or twice a year to see Wilf. I wouldn’t have time to do any fancy cooking even if I knew how. I buy a bit of cake when I see it, but othe
rwise I stick to biscuits and bread. Mum used to be great on cake. She won a lot of prizes with her cooking.’

  ‘Do you find it at all lonely here on your own?’ Anne asked when they were sitting at the big kitchen table with their tea. ‘After you lost your mother, it must have been quite hard for you,’ she said rather boldly.

  ‘It was lonely at first, but I always keep busy. I don’t have time to think about it.’

  This wasn’t the answer Anne had sought, but she pressed on. ‘Who feeds your animals when you’re away shearing?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s a young chap by the name of Shaun Covers on the back road who comes up here and does that. I pay him to keep an eye on things. He likes the dogs and is good with them. In fact, I gave him a dog to get him started in trials. It works out pretty well. Now, want to ride?’ he asked, after draining his cup.

  ‘Sure, Tex, bring on them cayuses.’

  He grinned and nodded. It seemed she had a good sense of humour. That earned her a second tick of approval.

  He led the way out to the horse yard where two horses were already saddled and bridled. One was a big old chestnut mare with a kind eye, something like that of a Jersey cow. The other was a younger-looking bay mare. Andrew buckled two saddlebags onto the bay’s saddle and then led the chestnut up to Anne.

  ‘This is Lady. She is a lady so don’t be scared of her.’

  ‘She’s so tall,’ Anne protested. ‘I couldn’t get up there.’

  ‘Nonsense. Just put your left foot in the stirrup and pull up with your arm. Like this.’

  Andy was up in the saddle and looking down at her in a flash. Then, in a second fluid motion, he was on the ground again beside her.

  Anne made two ineffectual attempts to climb into the saddle but failed miserably each time.

  ‘Once more,’ Andrew urged.

  She felt the firm pressure of one large hand on her leg just above the ankle as she was lifted up and over into the saddle. ‘See, nothing to it,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Huh, not with a man mountain helping you. What do I do now?’

  ‘Gather the reins like so and hold them down low. Now, place your feet so that the balls are taking your weight. Keep your heels down and your feet parallel to the mare’s sides. That’s the shot.’