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The
dry
weather
came
back
;
the
thigh-high
grass
dried
out
completely
and
baked
to
a
silver
crisp
in
a
rainless
summer
.
Inured
by
ten
years
of
the
black-soil
plains
to
the
hey-ho
,
up
we
go
,
hey-ho
,
down
we
go
oscillations
of
drought
and
flood
,
the
men
shrugged
and
went
about
each
day
as
if
it
were
the
only
one
that
could
ever
matter
.
This
was
true
;
the
main
business
was
essentially
to
survive
between
one
good
year
and
the
next
,
whenever
it
might
be
.
No
one
could
predict
the
rain
.
There
was
a
man
in
Brisbane
called
Inigo
Jones
who
was
n't
bad
at
long-range
weather
predictions
,
using
a
novel
concept
of
sun
spot
activity
,
but
out
on
the
black-soil
plains
no
one
put
much
credence
in
what
he
had
to
say
.
Let
Sydney
and
Melbourne
brides
petition
him
for
forecasts
;
the
black-soil
plainsmen
would
stick
with
that
old
sensation
in
their
bones
.
In
the
winter
of
1932
the
dry
storms
came
back
,
along
with
bitter
cold
,
but
the
lush
grass
kept
dust
to
a
minimum
and
the
flies
were
n't
as
numerous
as
usual
.
No
consolation
to
the
freshly
shorn
sheep
,
which
shivered
miserably
.
Mrs.
Dominic
O'Rourke
,
who
lived
in
a
wooden
house
of
no
particular
distinction
,
adored
to
entertain
visitors
from
Sydney
;
one
of
the
highlights
of
her
tour
program
was
paying
a
call
at
Drogheda
homestead
,
to
show
her
visitors
that
even
out
on
the
black-soil
plains
some
people
lived
graciously
.
And
the
subject
would
always
turn
to
those
skinny
,
drowned-rat-looking
sheep
,
left
to
face
the
winter
minus
the
five
-
and
six-inch-long
fleeces
they
would
have
grown
by
the
time
summer
heat
arrived
.
But
,
as
Paddy
said
gravely
to
one
such
visitor
,
it
made
for
better
wool
.
The
wool
was
the
thing
,
not
the
sheep
.
Not
long
after
he
made
that
statement
a
letter
appeared
in
the
Sydney
Morning
Herald
,
demanding
prompt
parliamentary
legislation
to
end
what
it
called
"
grazier
cruelty
.
"
Poor
Mrs.
O'Rourke
was
horrified
,
but
Paddy
laughed
until
his
sides
ached
.
"
Just
as
well
the
silly
bloke
never
saw
a
shearer
rip
up
a
sheep
's
belly
and
sew
it
with
a
baling
needle
,
"
he
comforted
the
embarrassed
Mrs.
O'Rourke
.
"
It
's
not
worth
getting
upset
about
,
Mrs.
Dominic
.
Down
in
the
city
they
do
n't
know
how
the
other
half
lives
,
and
they
can
afford
the
luxury
of
doting
on
their
animals
as
if
they
were
children
.
Out
here
it
's
different
.
You
'll
never
see
man
,
woman
or
child
in
need
of
help
go
ignored
out
here
,
yet
in
the
city
those
same
people
who
dote
on
their
pets
will
completely
ignore
a
cry
of
help
from
a
human
being
.
"
Fee
looked
up
.
"
He
's
right
,
Mrs.
Dominic
,
"
she
said
.
"
We
all
have
contempt
for
whatever
there
's
too
many
of
.
Out
here
it
's
sheep
,
but
in
the
city
it
's
people
.
"
*
*
*
Only
Paddy
was
far
afield
that
day
in
August
when
the
big
storm
broke
.
He
got
down
from
his
horse
,
tied
the
animal
securely
to
a
tree
and
sat
beneath
a
wilga
to
wait
it
out
.
Shivering
in
fear
,
his
five
dogs
huddled
together
near
him
,
while
the
sheep
he
had
been
intending
to
transfer
to
another
paddock
scattered
into
jumpy
little
groups
trotting
aimlessly
in
all
directions
.
And
it
was
a
terrible
storm
,
reserving
the
worst
of
its
fury
until
the
center
of
the
maelstrom
was
directly
overhead
.
Paddy
stuffed
his
fingers
in
his
ears
,
shut
his
eyes
and
prayed
.
Not
far
from
where
he
sat
with
the
down-dropping
wilga
leaves
clashing
restlessly
in
the
rising
wind
was
a
small
collection
of
dead
stumps
and
logs
surrounded
by
tall
grass
.
In
the
middle
of
the
white
,
skeletal
heap
was
one
massive
dead
gum
,
its
bare
body
soaring
forty
feet
toward
the
night-black
clouds
,
spindling
at
its
top
into
a
sharp
,
jagged
point
.
A
blossoming
blue
fire
so
bright
it
seared
his
eyes
through
their
closed
lids
made
Paddy
jump
to
his
feet
,
only
to
be
thrown
down
like
a
toy
in
the
heave
of
a
huge
explosion
.
He
lifted
his
face
from
the
earth
to
see
the
final
glory
of
the
lightning
bolt
playing
shimmering
halos
of
glaring
blue
and
purple
all
up
and
down
the
dead
spear
of
gum
tree
;
then
,
so
quickly
he
hardly
had
time
to
understand
what
was
happening
,
everything
caught
fire
.
The
last
drop
of
moisture
had
long
since
evaporated
from
the
tissues
of
that
decayed
cluster
,
and
the
grass
everywhere
was
long
and
dry
as
paper
.
Like
some
defiant
answer
of
the
earth
to
the
sky
,
the
giant
tree
shot
a
pillar
of
flame
far
beyond
its
tip
,
the
logs
and
stumps
around
it
went
up
at
the
same
moment
,
and
in
a
circle
from
around
the
center
great
sheets
of
fire
swept
in
the
swirling
wind
,
round
and
round
and
round
.
Paddy
had
not
even
time
to
reach
his
horse
.
