Heart of the Country by Tricia Stringer

black baggy pants were held up with a piece of rope. Thomas glanced past him to a group of teamsters sitting around a fire. He assumed that’s where the man had come from.
    â€œNorth,” Thomas said.
    â€œNorth takes in a lot of country. You going far?”
    â€œSeveral weeks’ journey. My employer has a sheep run. A place called Penakie.” Thomas turned back to the rope. He hoped the fellow would go away. He was in no mood to trust another stranger, not to mention the rope needed to be fixed before he lost the light. He wanted to be ready for an early start in the morning and he still had to prepare himself something to eat.
    â€œCan’t say I’ve heard of it,” the fellow persisted. “Your employer own these animals?”
    â€œYes,” Thomas said quickly followed by, “No … At least, the bullocks are his. The horse is mine.”
    â€œI’m not a horse man myself. You worked with bullocks before?”
    Thomas glanced at the rough face. He couldn’t see the man’s expression but the question sounded genuine. “No.”
    â€œWould you accept some advice from someone who has?”
    Thomas hesitated. He was tired and hungry and his confidence in humanity had recently taken a beating.
    â€œThese bullocks are trained to walk beside you,” the man continued as he came closer. “They won’t be dragged.”
    Thomas let go of the rope in his hands and felt an ache across his shoulders. When he had agreed to be AJ’s overseer he hadn’t realised quite how hard it would be just to get to the property.
    â€œMy name’s Bert Hawson.” The man thrust his hand out.
    Thomas hesitated a few seconds then put out his own hand and accepted the rough grip. “Thomas Baker.”
    â€œWe’ve got a fire going, some food and stories to share.” Bert flicked a look back over his shoulder. “You could be a long time on the road. It’s good to seek company when you can get it.”
    Thomas hesitated. The smell of roasting meat wafted around him. He accepted Bert’s offer and walked beside him to the fire. Thomas reminded himself he was only sharing a campfire, not looking to buy anything.
    â€œWe’re all headed to the mine at Burra,” Bert said. “We spend a lot of time together so it’s always good to meet someone new. This is Tom Baker,” he announced to the group.
    Thomas smiled at the shortened version of his name. No-one had ever called him Tom before.
    Those grouped around the fire looked up. They were all older men with wrinkled faces and ruddy skin. They welcomed him then fell silent. Thomas’s stomach growled loudly. Bert began to laugh and his friends joined in. One man thrust some meat sandwiched in damper into Thomas’s hands and another shuffled along the log so he could sit.
    They let him take the first mouthful before they began with their questions – where had he come from? Where he was going? He felt obliged to tell his story between mouthfuls of the delicious meat. They offered condolences at the loss of his father though there was no pity in their words.
    â€œYou’ll make a go of it here in South Australia, Tom,” Bert said. “We’ve all come from different beginnings to this country but we wouldn’t trade the life, would we, mates?”
    A chorus of voices agreed with Bert.
    Then the stories began, each man giving an account of where he’d been and what he’d been doing since they’d last met. Some stories sounded rather embellished to Thomas but they made him laugh and he was glad of it. They passed a jug of some kind of liquor between them, and when it got to Thomas he hesitated then took the offered drink. His eyes opened wide as the liquid burned its way down to his stomach. The man next to him grinned and slapped his back. There was laughter all round and they continued their story telling.
    Thomas was enjoying their easy