The cast iron stove sat cold, and no pots or other utensils hung from the hooks along the mantle. Everything was gone, even the table under which Paddy had crawled on that fatal day long ago. Toby didn’t care. He could get a new table, new chairs, new everything. He pushed the door open to his parents’ bedroom. It was bare of everything except the faded curtains his mother had sewn. The big bed was gone.

He stepped back into the kitchen and went to the lean-to room at the back of the house. Both beds were still there. The homemade mattresses were soiled and sagging from the weight of the stockmen who had occupied them, the supporting ropes desperately in need of tightening.

They withdrew back into the kitchen to find Maree stooped in front of the stove as she examined the firebox.

‘I’ve sent Betty to collect some firewood,’ she said. ‘We may have to boil water in the billy until we find the kettle, but we won’t starve or go cold with this beauty fired up.’ Then she smiled. Toby thought it the first genuine smile Maree had given since Frank’s death and it chased weeks of grieving off her face in an instant.

‘Toby? Come and give me a hand to unload, will you?’ Paddy called from beside the wagonette.

They toiled until late in the afternoon, unloading and placing their belongings in the homestead. When they had finished only one item remained on the floor of the wagonette load bed, a mysterious crate which Toby had arrived back in camp with before they left Ballarat. No amount of questions could get him to divulge the contents of that crate.

Paddy went to unhitch the horse and lead it into the yard, but Toby stopped him. ‘Leave it in the traces for a little while longer, Pad. We’ve still got one more important job to do before it gets dark.’ And he patted the crate.

With a little urging, he managed to get everyone back onto the wagonette. He took the driver’s seat beside Annie and whipped the horse into motion, steering the wagonette around the horse yard and up along the ridge. As they climbed higher, he and Paddy pointed out places of interest to the others.

‘That’s the pond where we shoot ducks,’ Paddy said.

Toby looked down at the little body of water that had been the driving force behind Henry Pelham’s greed. The pond was fringed with green grass and, even after a long summer, fairly brimmed with clean water. Soon, he and Paddy would head down to Geelong and buy a mob of cattle to begin breeding another herd.

They reached the crest of the ridge and Toby swung the vehicle in a wide circle to face back down the slope. He reined the horse to a stop, applied the brake and then set about getting everyone down.