Heart of the Country Read Free Page A

his back to his wagon. The place he’d chosen for his overnight camp wasn’t far from the road that ran from Adelaide to the port. He knew well enough the types who might be afoot at this hour. He eased down, picked up a thick branch and gripped it with both hands.
    Clover gave another snort. A short whicker echoed in return. The hoofbeats came closer and a large shape loomed out of the mist. Septimus lowered his weapon. The horse was riderless. It had a bridle with a short piece of frayed rope hanging from it but no saddle. Clover snorted and shifted behind the wagon.
    â€œEasy.” Septimus hoped to reassure both beasts. The newcomer pricked its ears and lifted its head.
    â€œAre you lost, my beauty?” He kept his tone low and took a tentative step, offering his upturned palm.
    The horse eyeballed his hand then gave a small toss of its head.
    â€œWhere’s your master?”
    Septimus cast a look over the horse then behind it. Whoever had lost this magnificent animal would surely be searching for it. He took another step and reached forward. The horse watched him closely but didn’t shift. Septimus gripped the rope.
    â€œThere you are my beauty, safe now.”
    The elegant creature lifted its head but didn’t pull away as he stroked its neck.
    â€œYou were lost but now you’re found. Septimus will look after you.”
    He ran his hand down the horse’s shoulder then along its back to its flank. It was a fine creature. He was already imagining how much he could get for it. More money than he made in a month of selling his lotions and potions. He led the horse to the wagon and secured it with another piece of rope then hurried to his campfire.
    The small fire he’d made to boil his billy the night before was cold. He scraped bark and leaves from the dry area under the wagon and soon had flames flickering. His stomach rumbled and he went in search of the last of his bread. He’d scrounged a loaf from a baker in exchange for a couple of hair-restorer pills. The baker had very little hair left on his head but Septimus was hopeful the two pills and his convincing talk would be enough to encourage the man to buy a whole bottle today.
    While he was at the food bag he dug out the last shrivelled carrot, pilfered from a garden, and broke it in two. He gave the smallest piece to his faithful Clover and the rest to the prize beauty tethered to the back of the wagon. The urge to run his hand over the animal’s fine rump was too great to resist. In the sunlight just beginning to filter through the trees, he could see no distinctive markings. It would be easy to find a buyer for this fine beast.
    â€œPerhaps I should name you Treasure,” he murmured and patted its neck again. “With the profits from your sale, I can buy a range of wares.”
    Septimus left the horse and returned to his fire, his mind racing with possibilities. South Australia was the land of opportunity and Septimus was an opportunist. There were many settlers spreading out into the country beyond Adelaide. They were isolated and in need of supplies. He would have to move swiftly; find someone to buy the horse, stock his wagon and move on.
    He warmed his hands over the flames and contemplated the money the horse would bring.
    â€œSteady up, Septimus,” he muttered. “You need a strong plan.” It might not be his usual form of theft but this mission was tinged with danger all the same. He squatted down to think it through.
    Just a few hours later he hovered outside the Horse Bazaar. He’d dressed in his only set of fine clothes for the occasion. Under his long black jacket he wore a green patterned waistcoat over a white shirt. A neatly tied cravat sat around his neck and a broad-brimmed black hat sat atop his head. Not only did he want to give the impression he was indeed the owner of the horse, he wouldn’t be easily recognised by the young girl who lived in the whore house