A goanna swayed past them, almost as long as Big Red, with legs as thick as Clancy’s arm and a bulging belly. It glanced at them, then waddled on. Crows yelled in the distance. Something dead, he thought. There wouldn’t be much left of it soon.

They came out into the clearing and there they were, the older woman and the younger, stitching worn bits of saddlery, each in their loose shirts and boots with hats pulled down over their eyes. The dogs lounged at their feet, looking smug, as if to say, ‘We recognised the sound of your hoofbeats and knew we had no need to bark.’ A hunk of meat hung on a spit, high above the fire, dropping juice that made the coals spit.

Rose stayed seated, flashing him a single smile that made his heart spark, then looked back down at her sewing.

Mrs McKenzie got to her feet, then held up her cheek for a kiss. ‘Good price?’

‘More’n half as much again as last time. All quiet since we’ve been away?’

‘We got ourselves an emu,’ Mrs McKenzie said with calm satisfaction. ‘You probably smelled emu guts on the way.’

‘I did at that. I got you all you ordered. The eggs too, and some tomatoes and a melon, coupla pumpkins and a cheese. And this too.’ He thrust the bundle at her. She laughed and began to open it.

Clancy looked at Rose. She sat too quietly. Something had happened. But if she didn’t want to tell him, he had no right to ask. Clancy hesitated, then handed the brown paper parcel to Rose. ‘For you,’ he said.

‘But . . . but I want all my money to go into the bank . . .’ she protested.

To keep her free, he thought, against the day when the McKenzies were no longer around to protect her. Even the magistrates might hesitate to take a woman to a reservation if she legally owned her own house and land. ‘It’s a present,’ he said quietly. ‘A gift from me.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’ She looked unsure unwrapping the parcel, but there was nothing uncertain about her reaction to the dress. She held it up, speechless with joy. At last she said, ‘It’s the most beautiful dress I have ever seen.’

And Flora would have dismissed it as middle class. Perfect for the wife of a banker’s clerk . . . He found he could think of Flora now too.

‘You are going to look lovely,’ he said as she stroked the matching bonnet.

She looked at McKenzie. ‘Could we try them on now?’

‘Best not,’ said Mrs McKenzie. ‘Only takes one bloke who might be passing to start talking about a pair of native sheilas pretending to be drover’s boys, and the jig’ll be up.’

Rose nodded, her face suddenly blank.

She gently wrapped the dress, the shoes and stockings, the hat, and even more carefully stowed them in her swag.