The air smelled of dust, dried grass, and damp earth surrounding the waterhole.The kind of scent that told you the heat wasn’t far behind it.
As predicted, the frogs had gone quiet.Now it was the birds—one or two at first, then more, their calls sharp and clear in the thinning darkness.
That’s when the silhouettes started to take their shape...
A buffalo cow, heavy-bodied, with her young twins tucked close against her side with their big ears flicking like radars.Further out, a couple of stray cattle chewed slow.All in exceptionally good nick.
‘No pigs,’ he murmured.His eyes scoured the edges for the feral pests he had a pet hate for.This place would be a prime spot for pigs to take over.
Even with the buffalo eyeing them off on the far side, the mud only showed signs that they’d wallow here during the day—but no signs of pigs.And on a deserted station, that was rare.
What was even rarer were the other animals, now being exposed to dawn’s early light.
‘Can you see them, Montrose?’He nodded to the far end of the clearing where a mob of brumbies had gathered, heads down, hooves stirring up dust as they moved cautiously towards the water.
‘Wild stock,’ she said under her breath.
Porter’s gaze flicked to the lady in the ballgown and sparkly tiara.‘Is that the title of your next hat collection?’
Amara rolled her eyes.‘What are those other beasts with those crescent-shaped horns on them?They’re not cattle.They’re smaller.’
Deadset!‘Banteng.’
‘What?’
‘Wild ox.Also known as the Bali cow or the Javanese ox.’Their horns, white socks and white rumps were easy to recognise as the light grew.
‘I’ve never heard of banteng before.’
‘Few people have.Although, you’d think the Stock Squad would have heard of them, when the Northern Territory has the largest population of banteng in the world.’He sized up the herd being slowly revealed as the night gave up its grip for the start of a new day.
‘I dunno about you, Montrose, but I’d class that as a good haul of wild stock.Including the buffalo, which looks too well-fed to be feral.’
‘So says the hunter.’But her keen eyes were busy taking in the details, no doubt memorising them, while she gently stroked her horse’s shoulder.
‘I don’t hunt bantengs, Montrose.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’re nearly extinct.There’s a bunch of us who’ve been trying to repopulate their numbers to get themoffthe endangered list.’
She looked at him like he’d lost his marbles.‘Why are they endangered?’
‘Banteng have lost their native habitats and were hunted for food, traditional medicine, and game hunting.Poaching for their horns is big business in Southeast Asia.’
‘Are you honestly saying you don’t hunt them?When you’ve just said they’re not native to Australia?’
‘Yeah, sure we do.’He grinned at her confusion.‘I go with Luke Bennett and his father, who are big game hunters, to this national park that’s closed to tourists.We set up a bush camp for a week or two.Then we’ll trek through these thick monsoon jungles with tranquilliser guns, to carry the banteng out and put them in pens.’
‘To do what with them?’
‘We’ll truck them out of there.We don’t hurt them, Montrose, we’re trying to save them.’He tilted his head at the herd.It was a good healthy dozen or so.And they were a long way from their designated locations.
‘Where do they go?’
‘We’ve supplied a few domestic and overseas zoos, a few rodeo breeders, and cattle stations.I know of a few stations that have been successfully trialling them for grazing overgrown areas, like wild goats, to keep down the grasses that normally become a hazardous fuel for bushfires.They’re working well.’
‘Didn’t you say they’re wild?’
