Heart of the Country by Tricia Stringer Page A

company but he could feel his eyes getting heavy. He wasn’t as adept at life on the road as these men appeared to be. He waited until the next story was finished and the jug was going around again, then stood up.
    â€œThanks for your hospitality,” he said. “I’d best turn in.”
    Bert stood. “We’ll be doing the same soon.” He shook Thomas’s hand. “Always happy to help a new chum.”
    Thomas nodded farewell and made his way back to his own temporary camp. He dragged a blanket and pillow from the dray and crawled underneath. The murmur of voices and the shuffling of animal hooves were the only sounds in the cool night.
    Before he knew it, the movement of men and animals around him told him it was morning. He didn’t remember shutting his eyes. Thomas scrabbled from the rough bed he’d made for himself and groaned as the aches and pains from yesterday returned, only strengthened by his dreamless sleep on the hard ground. In the dim light of early dawn, he saddled his horse and harnessed the bullocks. The sounds of other men doing the same renewed his enthusiasm for the adventure ahead.
    â€œReady to go, Tom?”
    Bert was beside him, the broad hat on his head. Thomas wondered if he slept in it and looked around for his own hat.
    â€œI reckon so,” he said.
    â€œThis might come in handy,” Bert said.
    Thomas peered at the stick Bert pressed into his hands. It was about six feet long and smooth, with an even longer plaited leather strip attached to it.
    â€œIt’s a whip.”
    â€œThank you.” Thomas accepted the gift, still not sure what he was to do with it.
    â€œI’ll give you a quick lesson before I head out.”
    Thomas had planned to boil a billy and have some bread and a mug of tea before he left but he could see some of the bullock drivers were already urging their teams away; some headed along the road to the mines at Burra and some back towards Adelaide.
    Bert gave a quick demonstration then urged Thomas to try. The long tail of the whip wrapped around him several times before he managed to get the end to go where he wanted it.
    â€œKeep practising,” Bert said. “Remember it’s not meant as a weapon. These bullocks are well trained. The whip helps you to give them a reminder from a distance. They’re fine animals your boss has supplied. My advice is get to know them. Learn their names. They’ll respond to your voice.”
    Thomas looked at the bullocks. The two leaders came as high as his shoulders and had long, twisted horns. He hadn’t thought of them as anything but beasts to do the work of pulling the wagon.
    â€œYou got a firearm?”
    Thomas turned back to Bert. “Yes.”
    It was somewhere in the dray. AJ had given him brief instruction in its use. He wasn’t sure he would remember how to fire it.
    â€œA shepherd rode in last night looking for the constable. Says blackfellas have been stealing their sheep and one of them threw a spear at him. Evidently it’s near that Penakie place where you’re headed.”
    Thomas stopped flicking the whip. AJ had suggested he watch out for natives pilfering sheep but he hadn’t said they were dangerous.
    â€œPerhaps you’ll accept some more advice from an old man before you go.” Bert didn’t wait for a reply. “Reading and writing is one thing, but out there,” he stabbed a finger in the direction Thomas was headed, “out there, you need common sense and patience to survive.”
    Thomas found himself staring into the bush. Bert’s words sounded more like a warning than advice.
    â€œYou’re a good man. You listen and learn and you’ll be right.” Bert thrust his hand out. “You take care.”
    â€œThanks Bert.” Thomas accepted the strong grip.
    â€œOn your horse, Tom.”
    Bert tugged the whip from his hand so Thomas could climb into the saddle. Suddenly there was a