The Bark Cutters Read Online Free PDF Page B

between her fingers. ‘No, it’s not.’
    Anthony raised an eyebrow, the action sending the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek into a squirrelly line. ‘It is the third week of January. Well? Open it.’
    â€˜Sarah, are you going to finish unpacking these groceries?’
    â€˜Yes, Mum,’ she answered loudly, her fingers quickly tearing at the tissue paper to reveal a bright blue silk neck scarf. ‘It’s beautiful.’
    He shoved his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. ‘Anyway, I hope you like it.’
    â€˜I love it.’
    â€˜Good.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    Anthony smiled. Pulling his akubra down a little on his forehead, he walked down the back path. Sarah watched him leave, the scarf clutched tightly in her hand.
    â€˜I’ll be seeing you, then,’ he called out mid-stride.
    â€˜Okay.’ Sarah ran the material through her fingers, her stomach warm with delight.

Having taken to sleeping outside with the onset of warmer weather, Hamish struggled down into the soft sandy hollow. A few feet away the remains of the camp fire flickered restlessly; further on the soft glow from a tent dimmed to darkness. Pulling coarse blankets about his stubbly chin, he rocked slowly in the depression, the warmth of the dirt massaging the continual ache of his back. Gradually his spine eased into the earth and he sensed his body succumbing to the day’s exertions. Only his hand betrayed his tiredness, the muscles trembling spasmodically from overuse. He yawned loudly, the noise as familiar to him as the jerking movements of his body as his muscles eased from their daily state of tension. The release of sleep was only temporary. It did, however, herald a ritualistic moment of reflection.
    The creek was proving useless. For the last ten days their panning had yielded only the barest traces of gold dust. It was enough to keep him and Charlie fed but not enough to keep Hamish satisfied. One didn’t travel to the other side of the worldfor scraps and that is exactly what the goldfields were yielding. Hamish grunted as he turned on his side, wedging his hip into the dirt he once believed would make his fortune. He would give the place one more try, he decided, one more attempt before moving on. He had to explore every option if he was to make a life for himself in this new country.
    His fingers clawed at the cool dirt beneath his touch and instantly he was back by Mary’s side. Turning towards him, her smile bright and brimming with happiness, he kissed her, the unruly strands of her red hair whipping his face in the morning wind. That first sweet taste of her had blinded him to everything except her happiness and irretrievably changed his life. From the depths of bush outside the shadow of the fire’s embers, a small creature scuttled in dry foliage. Hamish stirred in his bedroll, rolling onto his back. If his time could be had again he would not have nursed Mary through the fever. Yet he believed her to be dying, like his wee sisters and mother. With the prospect of her passing, his love for her kept him by her side when he should have left. In death there may have been forgiveness. In life there could be none.
    Hamish sensed the void about him. Thousands were gathered together, yet still Hamish knew each and every man felt lonely, for he sensed their desolation in the tight blanket of the air. This was a place to swallow your soul. A night owl swooped low, a mouse squealed and then the whoosh of wings was replaced by silence. Yes, it was time to leave, Hamish concluded, as he stared upwards into a maze of brightly burning specks of light. Soon they would head north. He recalled the drover’s stories of travelling by the stars; of the Elfgin’s crew navigating by the constellations. The bible told of a star leading the three wise men to Jesus. Hamish drifted. He too would follow the stars, even if he had to drag his young brother behind him. Sleep wafted