Heart of the Country Read Free Page B

nearby.
    He’d bedded Harriet several times in the stables at the back of the Horse Bazaar before discovering that she was younger than she appeared. She wasn’t worth losing his newly gained freedom over. He’d served out his time in New South Wales and now he was a free man with a fresh start in South Australia. No one here knew his history or anything about him and that’s the way he planned to keep it. He liked his women unsullied and Harriet had been a virgin. A pity to give up the pleasures of her body but he didn’t want some young whore, nor the old madam who kept her, tripping him up.
    He glanced around. It was early yet – the auctions weren’t due to start for another hour. He’d tethered Treasure a way off in the bush as he certainly couldn’t sell her in the bazaar itself. There was plenty of activity around him: there were men bringing in horses and other men inspecting them, their deep voices mingled with the gentler tones of the few women who had braved the early hour to accompany them. He was looking for someone more gullible.
    â€œOy! Watch it.”
    Septimus twisted at the loud shout. His eyes widened. He dipped his head and tugged down the brim of his hat. The lad who’d shouted was leading a horse with each hand. A man had been in his way … a young man Septimus summed up immediately as a new chum, wet behind the ears. From below the brim of his hat he watched as the younger man stepped over a pile of horse dung still steaming in the cool air, adjusted his grip on the new saddle he carried and walked further into the bazaar. Septimus followed a short distance behind.
    â€œTake a look at this one, sir.” A man beckoned. “He only needs a bit of feed and he’ll do you proud.”
    Septimus watched as his target looked from the man to the poor bag of bones he was tending and shook his head. At least the new chum seemed capable of recognising sorry horseflesh. After wandering a little further into the bazaar the fellow suddenly hefted the saddle higher and turned back. Septimus dodged out of the way between two horses then followed his mark at a safe distance.
    In a clearing at the end of a lane, the fellow stopped beside a loaded bullock dray. Septimus watched from the corner of a building. He wasn’t comfortable here, so close to the madam and her young trap, Harriet. If he hadn’t been certain he’d found the buyer for his horse, he’d be on his way.
    The fellow lowered the saddle to the ground next to a large trunk. He lifted the lid and peered inside. He reached into the trunk and lifted out a silver hairbrush, turned it over in his hands and stared at it a moment, then suddenly dropped it back into the trunk and lowered the lid.
    He stood back and straightened his shoulders. He was dressed in the same brown trousers, white shirt and brown coat as you would see on half the men around; there was nothing special about him, though he was tall and Septimus conceded he emanated a look of strength. He was perhaps in his early twenties, so a good ten years younger. The sound of the bazaar grew louder as the auction began. A look of determination spread across the fellow’s face as he turned to look in that direction. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and stepped away from the dray.
    Perhaps he wouldn’t be so easily fooled but it was now or never. Septimus moved directly into his path and was struck by the new chum’s shoulder. “Careful there,” he groaned. The collision hadn’t been forceful but he staggered back against a fence as if it had.
    â€œI beg your pardon, sir.” The younger man reached out a hand to steady him. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
    Septimus remained doubled over. “Knocked the breath out of me, that’s all,” he wheezed.
    â€œWould you like to sit?” The man cast a hand towards the trunk beside the dray.
    â€œThat’s very