Fresh Fields by Peter Kocan Page B

who’s boss,” said Clem.
    â€œI think she already knows,” replied the youth grimly.
    â€œGive her a bit of a spur with ya heels,” Clem advised.
    The youth tried but could not relax the grip of his knees enough to get any purchase for a spurring motion.
    â€œNever mind,” said Clem. “There’s no hurry. Ya doin’ real well. A lot of blokes woulda fallen off by now.”
    The youth fell off.
    â€œThat was good,” said Clem when the youth had confirmed he was okay. “Ya hit the ground
relaxed
, like I said.”
    The youth got up and brushed himself off and after several attempts managed to get back into the saddle. They rode on.
    â€œThat was real good,” Clem said. “Gettin’ straight back on like that. It shows her she can’t bluff ya. That’s the main thing. Same with those pigs. I noticed ya was lookin’ a bit dubious when ya was feedin’ ’em.”
    â€œI’m worried they might bite,” said the youth. “
Do
they bite?”
    â€œThey can do,” replied Clem.
    â€œMr. Coles told me about a farmer who got eaten by his pigs. He had a heart attack while he was in the pen with them. All that was found of him later was his wrist-watch. Is that true?”
    â€œNah,” said Clem.
    â€œIt isn’t?”
    â€œNah.”
    â€œThat’s a relief, then.”
    â€œIt was a
pocket
-watch,” said Clem.
    They came to the top of a long rise and saw the country spread out. There were steep slopes and shadowed gullies, and rows of hills stretching into the distance, looking more purplish-blue the further away they went. There was a lot of old felled timber on the hillsides and it showed stark and white. Great shadows of clouds moved across the landscape. The youth felt the same kind of exhilaration as when he’d looked at the grandeur of the mountains from the train. But then he had to refocus on just keeping upright in the saddle.
    On a long bare ridge stretching below them was a group of buildings. There was a small house with a windmill whirling beside it, and another narrower structure nearby, and further along what the youth recognised as a shearing shed with a set of yards. They went through a last gate and plodded down the long ridge. A couple of dogs tethered near the house began to bark.
    â€œGladys said she’d have a bit of late breakfast ready for ya,” Clem said, “and a good strong cuppa tea.”
    They came up to the front fence of the house and Clem languidly swung down off his horse and looped the reins of both horses over the fence. The youth sat for a few moments trying to untense and unclench himself enough to slide off. But as soon as he tried to move he found his muscles wouldn’t obey him and he lost his grip and fell in a heap at the mare’s feet. She lowered her head and gave him a look, as if to say:
Another point on the board for me
.
    A woman in a yellow flowery apron came out of the flyscreen door onto the verandah.
    â€œThere’s a cuppa tea made,” she said. “I saw youse comin’.”
    â€œThanks love,” said Clem.
    The youth got up off the ground and followed Clem in at the gate.
    Gladys Currey held her hand out to the youth and said, “Pleased to meet you.” They shook hands and she led the way inside.
    It was a stark place with bare floorboards and hardly any furniture. Gladys poured them a cup of tea and then set to stirring something in a saucepan on the stove. Clem told her that the youth had just had his first ride on a horse and was doing real well, having got the measure of old Gypsy. Gladys gave the impression of being quietly pleased and impressed by this, as though she hadn’t just seen the youth in a heap on the ground. She asked him a bit about himself. Where was he from? Did he have any brothers and sisters? The youth sat on an unsteady chair and answered while he tried to get his aching muscles to untense.