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doesn’t rain then we’ll have to truck weak cattle out on agistment. Sorry, I really think the pit should be opened.’
    Sarah expected to hear a small explosion going off, or the voice of her grandfather telling these two young quarrelling pups to wake up to themselves. Instead she spoke across the tensing silence, explaining that the stock route would be a good option, that they could delay the opening of the pit by five days and then plan to put some of the cows on the road, sixteen hundred or so. The rest could be spread around Wangallon to safely calve, assured of enough feed to get them through until spring when hopefully it would rain.
    â€˜There’s no one on the route around here at the moment. And although it’s mainly dry feed, there’s a lot of it and the watering points are all good.’ Sarah gave an encouraging smile to the two silent men.
    Matt was the first to speak. He begrudgingly agreed and offered to call a drover he knew of in Queensland, then he excused himself. Sarah was left facing Anthony across the table.
    â€˜Was that necessary?’ Anthony asked, pulling a red cooper’s notebook from his shirt pocket and noting down some figures with a stubby pencil.
    â€˜I’m sorry?’
    â€˜We were talking about the right time to open the silage, now you have us on the stock route in a matter of weeks.’
    Sarah clasped her coffee mug. ‘You can’t try to feed all the stock here, Anthony. We need a contingency plan and waiting until the last gasp when we’re out of feed and the cattle are weak is not an option.’
    Anthony tucked the notebook back in his pocket. ‘Well, you suddenly seem to have developed very strong opinions.’
    Sarah placed their coffee mugs on the kitchen sink. Had she? It seemed like common sense. In her heart Sarah knew her plan was good. And if it stopped Matt and Anthony from agreeing to disagree, there was an added bonus. She thought back to their opening conversation and Jack Dillard’s promotion. ‘So I’m expected to handle the garden as well?’ Sarah rinsed their mugs out and sat them on the sink. She knew he considered big bush gardens a waste of space, time and water. Especially as they rarely had time to enjoy it.
    â€˜It amazes me that old Angus employed Matt. He is becoming more like a manager every day and Wangallon doesn’t need two of us.’
    â€˜He’s head stockman,’ Sarah reminded him. She wanted to add that Matt wasn’t going anywhere, but now wasn’t the time to explain Matt’s employment terms. Sarah could only imagine the look on Anthony’s face. ‘The man has almost no dexterity left in six of his ten fingers.’ Having caught his fingers in a grain auger years ago, Matt had turned his original agricultural interest from dry land farming to stock work.
    â€˜And doesn’t he let us know it.’ Anthony was on the back porch pulling on his riding boots.
    Sarah was ready to launch into a polite reminder of her place in the Wangallon feed chain. She was not prepared to give up paddock time to look after the garden and both Anthony and she were meant to be sharing the managerial responsibilities; however the telephone was ringing and Matt could be heard on the two-way radio talking to another stockman about straying cattle. Picking up the telephone, Sarah put her hand over the receiver. There was little point staying annoyed with him. ‘What are you up to this morning?’ The back door slammed in reply. ‘Well great, just great.’ Thank God Shelley liked her sleep-ins. ‘Good morning, Wangallon,’ Sarah spoke into the telephone, sounding happier than she felt.

Luke is not sure what part of his body hurts more. He raises his hand and touches the back of his head where it hit a knobbly tree trunk. His skull is sticky; blood and brown hair glaze his fingers. Struggling into a sitting position, he looks grimly at his