Sensible. McKenzie either planned to use this waterhole again, or he respected the land enough to leave it ready for whoever came after. He wouldn’t let the whole mob stamp down the sides of the pool, dirtying it, even blocking whatever spring still fed it.

Two tents were already strung between the trees; a third tarpaulin faced a small fire of swaggie’s wood, making a comfortable shelter in which to sit and eat and yarn. A swag lay under a tree a little way away: someone obviously preferred the open air.

McKenzie sat by the fire with another youth. He stood as Clancy approached, waiting for the newcomer to speak first.

‘Good evening,’ said Clancy, in the accent he used shearing, not back at the Griggs’s.

‘It is at that,’ said McKenzie. Clancy felt himself being observed: neat swag, good horse, saddle cared for, firearm sitting low on his swag, not close enough to grab. He slid off Big Red and the horse immediately began to graze. ‘I’m Clancy, of the Overflow.’

‘Ezekiel Clancy’s son?’

‘Yes,’ said Clancy, surprised.

‘Passed that way a few years ago.’ McKenzie chewed a twig thoughtfully. ‘Heard some gossip too, then and later on.’

‘I imagine you might have,’ said Clancy grimly.

‘Someone said ye’d gone shearin’.’

‘I was. Felt like a change. Give my back a rest. Roger Griggs said you were heading up Queensland way. Be good to see a bit of green too. I’ve got a note from Mr Griggs,’ he added. ‘And a few from other places I’ve worked.’

McKenzie laughed. ‘You’re the first drover who’s ever offered me a reference.’ He looked at Clancy thoughtfully. ‘Don’t rightly need another hand. I’ve handled this mob before. The four of us can manage ’em.’

‘Easier with five.’

‘There is that.’

‘I don’t need paying.’

McKenzie laughed again. ‘I ain’t heard that afore neither.’

‘I’ve nothing to spend it on, not if you feed me. Don’t drink much, and I’ve a bit in the bank. As I said, I felt like seeing some green grass.’

‘Well then, let’s see what the others think.’ McKenzie glanced down at the youth stirring something over the fire. Whatever was in the camp oven smelled a lot better than kangaroo and pumpkin stew. There were flat cakes cooking on hot stones among the coals too. ‘What do you think?’ he asked the cook.

The youth looked up at him. Native, was Clancy’s first thought. Older than he looked, was his second.

‘Reckon it’s up to Joe and Tiger.’

The third thought was, This is a woman.

‘My wife,’ said McKenzie, with maybe half a note of challenge in his voice.