Texas by Sarah Hay Page B

what had disturbed them. Metal bolts slid and clunked and hinges of gates groaned as the stockman moved through the barriers between them.
    â€˜Hi,’ said Laura.
    â€˜You need to get a swag from the missus. Boss said I’m taking you out to the camp.’
    Light leaked through the finger-like leaves of the eucalypt in front of them. The skin of its trunk glowed white and galah shapes flew over its shadow. They were noisier than the corellas.
    Laura looked around the small bedroom, then collected her clothes from the cupboard, leaving a dress and two skirts hanging in the wardrobe. There were footsteps. Susannah held a bundle of sheets and a blanket in her arms.
    â€˜I thought you might need this.’
    Laura looked down at the torch that sat on top of the bedding.
    â€˜Thanks.’
    She took it and placed it in her backpack.
    â€˜Is there anything else you need? From the stores?’
    â€˜No,’ said Laura, trying not to betray her nervousness, her sudden realisation that there would be no electricity. That she was going to be out in the bush.
    â€˜I don’t think you should go. You don’t have to.’
    Laura stopped what she was doing and looked into the face of the woman in the doorway.
    â€˜But I want to,’ she said.
    â€˜Yeah well, just be careful of the blokes.’
    â€˜Oh, I’ll be fine. I know Texas.’
    Texas Susannah blinked rapidly and then turned away. It wasn’t like Susannah to show that much emotion but Laura couldn’t worry about it now. This was her adventure. She stuffed the bedding into the top of the backpack, fastened it and lifted one of the straps over her shoulder.
    Texas was waiting by the vehicle. The canvas bed-roll they called a swag was on the back and she lifted her pack on there as well and opened the door. The window was streaked by a mess of insects, squashed and spread by wiper blades. She drew a mark with her finger in the dust on the dashboard. He slid in behind the wheel, his hat almost touching the roof. The key turned over. He pumped the accelerator to inject more fuel into the engine. Something clicked and then it rattled into life, fumes filling the cab. Hot engine air breathed through the rusted cracks in the chassis, warming her lower right leg. She wondered how he could see anything through the windscreen.
    About twenty minutes later they pulled up at a gate. The sun had sunk behind the bush and the purple sky was darkening by the minute. She waited by the gate as the vehicle passed and, as she closed it, the motor stuttered and stopped and the sounds of the bush were suddenly amplified. A screeching erupted from the treetops which sounded almost human, and even though she knew it could only be some outback animal, it made her feel a long way from home. Her fear—or was it excitement?—intensified. Sometimes the emotions were too similar to separate. The engine took over again and Texas wound down his window to let out the smoke of his cigarette.
    He turned on the headlights and they defined the dark edges of the track.
    â€˜Cheeky snake up there maybe. Those black cockies, they don’t like him much.’
    He passed her his tin of Log Cabin and released the clutch.
    She attempted to roll herself a cigarette but the tobacco fell out of the paper and onto her jeans. She could feel him glancing at her every now and then. And then he slowed the vehicle.
    â€˜Here, you gotta roll the tobacca like this. Rub it first, break it all up. See, like this.’
    He handed her a slim, firmly rolled cigarette.
    She smiled her thanks. The taste was strong and even though she didn’t often smoke, it brought a sense of unreality that was quite pleasurable. And she was able to view from a distance her journey in the cab of that vehicle with a man she barely knew, as they glided through soft sand, bounced and rattled over potholes and corrugations, the dark behind the windows creating a mirror which reflected the flash