Ghost River Read Free Page B

what he was talking about, but they would soon get used to Tex speaking in riddles.
    â€˜And you would be?’ He turned to Ren.
    â€˜Ren,’ he answered, through a mouthful of dust and woodsmoke.
    Tex skipped back and then forward, reminding Ren of a circus clown he’d seen perform at the town hall one Christmas.
    â€˜Wren! The name of a bird. I like that one. You are a free spirit, boy.’
    â€˜I’m not a bird. It’s short for my last name. Renwick.’
    â€˜Don’t talk yourself down, boy. The wren is a bird I know from another time. And you’re that one. Don’t go forgetting it. One day ya will need to fly.’
    Tex stepped forward and rested an open hand on Ren’s forehead. ‘There is no doubt you are a bird. I can feel you have heart and spirit in you, boy. Don’t matter that you know nothing of it now. You will sometime in the future.’ Tex lifted his hand from Ren’s head and straightaway the boy felt different than he had before the old man had touched him, lighter somehow, as if his body might leave the ground.
    Tex dusted off his ragged clothes. He had a rich dark face and what looked to Ren like a film of milk across his eyes. He stood a little straighter and cleared his throat. ‘Let me introduce you to my companions.’ He circled the fire. The men walked in one direction, Tex in the other, and one by one he announced them as if they were about to step up for a boxing title bout.
    â€˜First off here we have Big Tiny Watkins, hailing from the heat and sweat of the north, where as a young man he made his mark in the snowdropping trade.’
    Big Tiny, who was as wide as he was tall, bowed his head gracefully and went on pacing the fire.
    â€˜Falling in behind Tiny we have the mighty, mighty Tallboy Parrish, our camp cook, who was at one time the undisputed champion tea-leaf across the state of Victoria.’
    Tallboy waved and smiled at the boys. He wore a friendly face that Ren took an immediate liking to.
    â€˜And that skinny fella trailing him,’ Tex said, moving on, ‘is my own second-in-command, the silent but deadly Mr Cold Can Jonson.’
    Cold Can, who looked more like a child than a man, and had to weigh something less than a starved jockey, avoided the unwanted attention of the newcomers by turning away.
    â€˜And this here is the Doc,’ Tex said, completing the introductions in a flat voice, pointing to a silver-haired man wearing a full three-piece suit and no shoes or socks. ‘There’s nothing more to say about this one.’
    Ren couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s filthy, scabbed and bloodied feet.
    â€˜They’re some weird names,’ Sonny said.
    â€˜They are,’ Tex answered. ‘There was a time when we went by everyday names, until we ditched them and took up with new autographs from no public record. Most of all the police and vagrancy record.’
    Sitting around the fire that afternoon Tex told the boys the story of how the men had recently shifted camp after being forced out of their home some distance upriver. Their old campsite had been destroyed by workers from the Water Board laying a run-off channel to deal with flooding. The men had been marched out of their camp, with nothing but the possessions they carried in their arms.
    â€˜The camp was burned down on us,’ Tex told them. ‘They said they done it to kill off the bugs and germs. But we got no germs. If you don’t include the Doc.’ He chuckled. He explained that the site for the new camp had been carefully chosen, as it would be shaded from the sun on warm days and protect them from the wet weather when it rained. The men had built themselves a humpy between the web of iron supporting the bridge, out of whatever bits and pieces they could scrounge, scraps of timber, an old tarp that had blown off a truck crossing the bridge above, and sheets of iron roofing found in the scrub. The