‘Here’s to them catchin’ the bastards.’ Geoff raised his cup of tea in a toast, but before either of them could take a sip they were interrupted by a raised voice from the far end of the verandah.

‘I asked you a question, young man. I would like an answer. I know you are grieving, but that is no reason to forget your manners.’

Toby turned to see Henry Pelham looming over Paddy. The boy stood before the grey-haired man, wide eyed with fear.

Toby hurried along the verandah and stood beside his brother. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Pelham. Paddy was injured in the attack.’ He gestured at the all too obvious bandages. ‘He can’t speak, but maybe I can answer your question?’

Pelham looked from Toby to Paddy and back again. He held his head tilted back, nose lifted high as if there were some sort of offensive smell in the air. His eyes flicked to the watching faces and his expression immediately softened a little, but there was no hint of apology in his voice when he spoke.

‘Yes, I’ve read of cases like that happening after a blow to the head. Especially in children. But I think the instances I read about were in much younger children.’ He gave Paddy a dismissive look before speaking to Toby. ‘I merely asked the boy about your pond. It’s fairly brimming with water. Does it ever dry up?’

‘No, Mr Pelham, it has never dried up. Not in my lifetime.’

‘I see,’ Pelham said. ‘Thank you. That is all I wanted to know.’ He turned and walked down the steps to where his stockman, Grey stood beside the sulky. They discussed something for a minute or two, their heads inclined close together. Every now and then they glanced towards the pond. Grey turned away and walked towards the water and Pelham came to the bottom of the steps.

‘I shall have to be going now, Toby. You have my deepest sympathy for your loss.’ Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked to the sulky. Grey saw him standing by the vehicle and hurried back from his examination of the pond. Without looking back at the people on the verandah they drove away towards the slip rails.

‘Thinks he’s Lord Muck, that one,’ Mrs Smith said, watching the sulky go.

Toby nodded slowly as he watched the pair at the slip rails where Grey climbed down and slid them open. He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something more than the soul-wrenching grief eating into his guts.

Geoff Smith gestured at the pond with his teacup. ‘He’s jealous of that spring there,’ he said. ‘I can understand why. We’ve been in the grip of a drought for the past four years and that spring hasn’t dropped an inch. I wish my place had permanent water like that. I think ol’ Pelham is having the same problem. Even though he fronts onto the Coliban River, the ground is too steep to get his stock down to the water.’