Ben regarded him with a wry smile. His friend knew nothing of the sort, for he’d always been a love ’em and leave ’em man, and any hint of a complication usually had him running for cover. Until he’d met the very determined Emily. ‘So,’ he teased, ‘when are you going to admit that Emily’s the girl for you?’

Jake almost dislocated his jaw with another yawn. ‘Look, mate, she does the running, and when I decide the time’s right, I’ll let her catch me. A bloke has to have some dignity.’ He rammed his police hat on his head and tugged at the brim. ‘You going to the picnic races next month? How’s about the four of us driving over together?’

‘I’m meeting Becky there, but yeah, we could join you.’ He shot Jake a grin. ‘As long as Emily hasn’t made other plans for an intimate little picnic. We wouldn’t want to intrude.’

Jake tried to look disgruntled at the thought and failed miserably. ‘Reckon the races ain’t no place for that sort of carry-on,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He loped out of the house and down the steps and climbed into the utility truck provided by the Police Authority of Queensland.

Ben took a breath of the warm, still air and surveyed the skies as Jake headed back into town. The storm had moved on, but another threatened over in the south, with dark tendrils of cloud already streaking the pale blue.

He went back into the house, tidied the blanket and pillow away from the couch where he and Jake had taken it in turns to listen to the two-way and began to wash the dirty crockery of a long night’s vigil. There would be precious little sleep for any of them until the rains came.

He was just about finished when the two-way crackled into life. ‘This is Bob Freeman out at Wilga Station. You there, Ben?’

‘G’day, Dad. You all right out there?’

His father was a thoughtful, slow-talking man who was rarely known to panic about anything. ‘Well, we’ve had a bit of a burn on the south-western corner by the old windmill,’ he drawled. ‘Strangest damned thing I ever saw.’

Ben frowned. ‘What do you mean, Dad?’

There was a long pause. ‘Well, there must have been a lightning strike, cos two of my bloody cows are dead and the rest have gone hell west and crooked. A fire started in the scrub by the fence, but someone must have seen it cos it’s been put out. But who the hell would be out there I don’t know – and it certainly wasn’t any of my men. I kept them close to the homestead paddocks last night.’

‘Probably a swagman,’ said Ben. ‘Or one of Django’s lot gone walkabout.’