He was returning from the vet’s one morning when he heard the rumble of an engine on the road behind him. Ned pulled his bicycle to the side of the gravel to give the truck room, but instead of rolling past, it came to a stop. A window cranked down. Jackbird’s grin leaned out. ‘Need a lift? We’re going to town.’

He opened his door, slid across the bench seat. Ned hesitated.

Jackbird whacked at the cushion. ‘Come on. What else you gonna do today?’

Jackbird’s father leaned over from the driver’s seat. ‘Throw your bike in the back. We can stop at your place to get the rest of them, if you need to.’ He pointed at the furs overflowing from Ned’s bag.

Ned wavered. Going would reveal his skins to Jackbird, but it would save at least two long rides into town—a day’s worth of hunting. He tossed his bike on the tray and climbed into the cab.

Jackbird immediately started going through Ned’s bag, fingers flicking over the stacked pelts. Ned made his face flat, looked straight ahead. When they stopped at Limberlost he got out, ran to the shed, collected his other pelts and returned. At the sight of these extra furs, bundled high in Ned’s arms, Jackbird could no longer hold back.

‘What’d a rabbit ever do to you?’

His father threw a hand at the base of Jackbird’s skull, steered onto the road, kept his eyes straight. ‘That’s nothing compared to what he’s sold already. Ned’s been busy, son.’ Jackbird grabbed at the part of his head his father’s hand had collected. ‘I live in hope that his work ethic will rub off on you.’

In town they agreed to meet Jackbird’s father back at the truck an hour later. The boys walked off, Jackbird babbling questions, Ned giving vague and short answers. He felt control ebbing away, didn’t know how to regain it. At Singline’s he told Jackbird to stay quiet. For once, Jackbird stopped talking.

The deal went quickly: an inspection of pelts, a brief discussion of money, a fast agreement. Singline pushed the money over his bench, Ned stacked the skins in a dark corner out of the sun’s reach. He was aware of Jackbird’s restlessness at his back. When they returned to the street, his friend was vibrating.

‘How much have you made?’

‘A bit.’

‘Heaps, then.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘And you weren’t gonna tell me?’

‘What’s to tell? Been trapping and shooting. Figured you were doing the same.’

‘What’re you gonna do with the money?’

‘Not certain I’ll do anything.’