‘Sure.They’re an introduced species, like the water buffalo are, but they don’t do half as much damage as pigs do.’
‘Did Tilly mention she kept some on Dixby Downs?’Amara tenderly stroked the horse, who seemed grateful to have found a friend.
‘Tilly’s old school.She’s against most feral animals—especially the ones that steal fodder from her cattle.And I know banteng shouldn’t even be in this region…’
‘They’re in excellent condition, considering where they are.’She tipped her chin at the brumby herd on the other side of the waterhole.‘Hey, I think there are some pedigrees in there.’
‘I agree.’After having an overpriced pony in his stables, he figured he had a right to weigh in with his opinion.‘Would they be worth half what that fancy-ass mule of yours cost?If so, I’m gonna start tripling the rent rates on my stables if you decide you want to keep them,’ he teased her, glad to see the horse drinking beside Amara.
Amara wiped her smile and chin from drinking some of the water, then used his wet shirt to rub her neck and back.‘So, I’m guessing that banteng is not the normal bush-bashing beast you’d find out here?’
‘Think about it, Montrose.A road train load of wild stock in good nick isn’t what you’d expect to find on a deserted cattle station.’Not here.And he’d been over this property a few times now.
He crouched at the water’s edge, rinsing the mud from the rifle stock, letting the cool water soak into the grain while his thoughts spun harder than he liked.
Dixby Downs.It all circled back to this place.But what was the connection?
Because that wasn’t just a mob of brumbies wandering in by chance.And Amara’s horse?No way did it belong out here.Yet they all seemed well fed.
‘So, what’s with the rifle?Did someone drop it while hunting?’
‘I don’t think so.Not with this rifle.’Porter slowly turned the rifle over in the rising light.It was old and heavy.It wasn’t the kind you could buy from a shop, but one that was passed down as an inheritance or given as a gift.
The muzzle was warped—slightly crushed on one side.He ran his thumb along the dented edge, rough and sharp.‘Hey, does that bend at the tip look like it was crushed?Or bashed against something solid, like it was used as a hammer?’
She peered over his shoulder.‘Reminds me of the rifle my father destroyed in a rage one day.He bashed it against the low stone fences we had.’
‘Why?’
‘Dad got angry it wouldn’t fire… By then, I’d already hidden all the bullets.He was so drunk he never even checked if it was loaded.’
‘I’m sorry you had to go through all that.’
She shrugged, turning her attention back to the horse, leaning on him to keep the weight off her ankle.‘Your past makes you who you are today… or something I’d read off a fortune cookie.’
It was enough to lighten the mood some.
He inspected the rifle again.It was plausible that if it got bashed against these rocks, where someone had decided to just leave the damaged rifle here.
Although, it was a good place, where no one would find it.
He ran his fingers along the cracked steel, brushing at the caked mud, until his thumb caught on something—a groove etched into the barrel, faint but unmistakable.
He held it to the light.
Engraving.
Just a few simple words:
Property of Sawyer ‘Seery’ Dixby.
His spine went cold.Siri—but not the way he’d thought it was spelled.
Something clicked.
His case file for themissing overseerhad outlined the demise of Dixby Downs station.Among the many images, an autopsy photo of Rohan Dixby had showed an odd-shaped wound that sat high on the back of the skull, something that was very similar to the distinctive curved depression on the tip of the rifle he was currently holding.‘Over-seer… Seery.’
‘What did you say?’Amara hobbled to stand beside him.She read the words slowly, eyes widening.‘Is Seery…’
