Stockman’s Stowaway (Stockmen #2)

One

Present Day

‘I’d like to report a missing person.’ Charlie’s gravelly voice was as crusty as the lines etched deep into his face; the face of a man who’d lived a long life under an outback sun. Holding his hat in hand, with its crocodile hatband belonging to the beast that dared to bite him, Cap Riggs had never seen the old stockman looking so gloomy.

‘You’re not talking about your brother, are you?’ Cap closed the driver’s door of his old Toyota Tojo that he’d parked outside the town’s local pub, beside the police paddy wagon.

‘Was I talking to you? I’m talking to him, Policeman Porter.’ Charlie hoisted the heavy bundle of freshly made cattle brands over his shoulder.

‘It’s senior constable—’

‘Whatever. You’re wearing the uniform, aren’t ya? Driving that paddy wagon like you stole it.’ Charlie waved his tanned, callused hand at the officer. ‘So, I wanna report a missing person. It’s my older brother, Harry Splint.’

Porter flipped open his notebook and clicked his pen. ‘How long has your brother been missing?’

Charlie stuck out his chin and said, ‘Sixty-two years.’

Porter’s pen paused, his eyes flicking to Charlie, then to Cap, who could only shrug.

‘Is there a time limit for reporting a missing person?’ Cap didn’t expect this out of his simple trip to town for supplies.

‘No. But, sixty-two years.’ Porter rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Why do you want to report it now, Charlie?’

‘Because we found the car .’

‘What car?’

‘A 1957 FJ Holden, stashed deep in the Stoneys. We dragged it back from our last muster. The Riggs brothers,’ Charlie said, tossing his thumb at Cap, ‘helped me restore it. Even got it freshly painted in the original Brookmere Green.’

‘To sell?’

‘Nah. So my granddaughter, Bree, can drive me to the pub on Fridays.’

But it wasn’t Friday, and Charlie had covertly asked Cap for a lift into town.

Cap narrowed his eyes at the sneaky stockman. ‘Does Bree know you’re doing this?’ Because no one wanted to upset the redhead back at the station.

‘Listen, Porter…’ The elderly stockman sniffed hard, ignoring Cap. He lowered one end of his long, heavy packages to land with a thud on the red dirt. ‘There must be something you can do to find my brother.’ From the back pocket of his dusty jeans, Charlie dragged out a booklet. ‘Here’s Harry’s bankbook, coz we never had no smancy bank machines back then.’ He flipped open the thick, lined pages. ‘See…’ His stubby finger tapped at some numbers on the page. ‘It shows here that Harry took none of his money. He wouldn’t leave this behind.’

‘How did you bank, back then?’ Porter flicked the pages of the old bankbook, which was a little smaller than a passport.

‘At the post office.’ He waved towards Elsie Creek’s main street. ‘I talked to the postmistress, and she said it’s legit. She just couldn’t tell me anything else, coz it’s in my brother’s name. Laws, she said.’ He nodded at the lawman.

The cunning old bugger.

‘I like to avoid the post office.’ Porter clicked his pen and scribbled down some notes. ‘Where did you find the bankbook?’

‘Inside Harry’s old car. I also found his favourite footy guernsey and the family branding iron. Things my brother treasured.’

‘Why would Harry go missing? And again, I’ll ask, why hadn’t you reported this sooner?’

Charlie dropped his head, shuffling his boots’ thick Cuban heels in the red dirt. ‘Coz of the murder.’

‘What murder?’ Porter leaned in closer.

Charlie gave a sad sigh. ‘Someone accused my brother of murder. But Harry didn’t do it. Harry’s not like that. And if he’d done a runner, why leave his most precious items in his car and stash it in the Stoneys? And—’

‘Okay, okay.’ Porter held up his hand. ‘Look, mate, how about giving me an approximate date of Harry’s disappearance?’

‘Around the time Harry made his last bank deposit.’ Charlie pointed at the ancient bankbook Porter held.

‘Back in November 1962?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. It happened just before that big wet buggered up Christmas, but it broke the drought, for sure. Does this mean you’ll take a gecko’s gander at it, mate?’ Charlie’s eyes lit up with hope.

‘I can’t promise anything, Charlie. But if you leave this bankbook with me, I’ll do some research. How’s that?’

‘You’re a champion, mate. Thank you.’ Charlie shook the officer’s hand vigorously. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention any of this to Bree. I wouldn’t wanna worry the girl.’ The sly old stockman winked, as he hoisted the heavy cattle brands back over his shoulder.

‘Oh, man.’ Cap dropped his head, hoping Bree didn’t bite his head off, too.

‘Right, my business is done. I’ll be dropping these brands off and havin’ a coldie in the pub.’ Charlie sauntered off.

‘We can’t be long, Charlie. I’ve got the dogs with me.’ Cap tapped the mesh cage that covered the entire back of his old Tojo. Today, only half of his muster dogs had come for the trip into town. Now lazing around the large sacks of dog food he’d just picked up, enjoying the breezy shade.

‘Before you go, Cap?’ Porter removed his sunglasses to peer at the cattle dogs resting in the back cage. ‘I have a favour to ask. A big one.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, it’s about this dog I found on a wallaby track in the middle of nowhere. I think she fell out the back of a ute, or something. She was in pretty rough shape, and I’ve spent thousands on her vet bills just to get her well again.’ Porter shared a sad smile. ‘But she’s a working dog, I can see it. And you being who you are, I’m hoping you might…’

The air became still, no birds flew, not even a car cruised down the town’s main street to distract them. Did he really need another dog?

‘Please? Just take a look at her.’

Cap sighed. ‘Like you said to Charlie, I can’t promise anything.’ Not when he had yet to talk to his brothers about his plans for the muster dogs on Elsie Creek Station.

‘Thanks, Cap, I appreciate it. I’ll bring her out to the station. You’ll fall in love with her, with just one look. You wait and see.’

‘You know I could never turn away a stray.’ It was a soft spot that was sending him broke.

‘So I’ve heard.’ Porter nodded, yet there was no sign of the easy-going smile that he normally wore, as he tapped the brim of his police cap before driving away.

It seemed like giving up that dog had to be tough for Porter, so it must be for a reason. Cap already had a few rescue dogs living it up at the station, so what did one more matter. Right?

Cap shook his head as he turned to face his muster dogs. Some were strays he’d found; some had been rescued from the bullet. Funny thing was, after the time he’d spent training them, he could now sell those same dogs back to those farmers as brilliant muster dogs—if he wanted to. ‘Well, it looks like we may have a new addition to the pack. Watch the Tojo, I’ll be back in five if I can drag Charlie out of the pub.’

And then he’d front his brothers and tell them his plans.