‘Already thought of that. He ain’t seen ’em, but he’s sending some of his jackaroos out to check the tracks that lead off the highway.’ He snatched up his tin of tobacco and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. ‘If the bloody reverend had let those boys take the jobs out at Wilga, none of this would have happened.’

‘I’ll catch you later, mate. Best of luck.’ Ben grimaced as he tasted the bitter, stewed coffee. ‘And if the road train comes through, give us a shout. I’m out of everything.’

‘Will do, mate. See you later.’ Jake pushed through the screen door, leaving it to slam behind him. Within moments he was driving back down the track through the bush.

Ben sipped the coffee that had the taste and consistency of tar and went to the two-way radio to call Becky. It took a while for his call to be answered, and when she finally came on she sounded harassed. ‘I just wanted to see how you’re coping down there,’ he said. ‘Jake tells me Bert’s cooking is up to its usual standard.’

‘He’s blaming Sal of course, and making a terrible fuss about everything. How are things up there?’

He peered out of the window to the black clouds and the haze of red dust that was coating the canopy of trees. ‘Hot, dusty and getting darker by the minute. I’ll try to get down to see you this evening, but I can’t promise anything.’

‘That’d be good,’ she said distractedly. ‘Sorry, Ben, can’t talk now. I’m needed. Catch you later.’ There was a click and the line was abruptly disconnected.

Ben sighed with frustration. There was always something keeping them apart, but then the hospital was always busy, and with this storm brewing, he just couldn’t take the risk of leaving the two-way unmanned. Perhaps, if Jake managed to get back up here later, he could take an hour off to go and visit her.

He finished the disgusting coffee, made toast and went up to his watch-tower. Even with the binoculars he could see very little through the veils of dust which were swirling to meet the lowering clouds. The temperature had reached a hundred and fifteen degrees and the wind was like a furnace blast searing his skin, not only with the heat, but with the minuscule particles of sand that blew with it.

He narrowed his eyes against the assault, tugged his hat brim low and reached for the two-way. ‘This is Ben Freeman, your fire chief, calling all stations,’ he said, cutting through the usual chatter. ‘The weather conditions are worsening, and the risk of fire is at the highest level. Be alert. Be alert. Stay off this channel unless it’s an emergency. I’ll keep you informed.’