Sam smiled broadly and called: “Good day-ee, Kim!”

Candid grey eyes gazed down at him. Off came the hat, and hair the tint of new copper gleamed in the sunlight. The voice was low and strong.

“Good day-ee, Sam! How’s things?”

“Pretty good, Kim,” replied Sam. “Heard up at Wyndham youwas on the road. Usual mob?”

Kimberley Breen nodded. The second horseman arrived. He also greeted the transport driver with a “Good day-ee, Sam!” His eyes flawlessly matched those of the girl, and his voice was strong, vibrant. He came to ground and proceeded to roll a cigarette, the spurs to his boots clinking musically.

Six feet three, and twelve stoneweight, dressed and accoutred like the girl, Ezra Breen dwarfed the transport man but was not in turn dwarfed by the girl atop the horse. He accepted the letters, pocketing them without comment, and lit his cigarette before saying:

“Where bound, Sam?”

“Whitchica. How’s Silas and Jasper? Ain’tseen ’emin months.”

“They’re all right. UsBreens is always all right.”

The eyes were pale grey disks in a face complexioned like Sam’s face… and chest… and legs. The shoulders were wide and the hips deceptively narrow, the long legs filling the trousers as though they were tights. By comparison Sam Laidlaw was a jellyfish.

“Sarah keeping well?” inquired Kimberley Breen, and Sam grinned, saying that his wife was in hospital with a new baby. The information caused her face to soften, and the sun-ruined complexion was banished by a kind of glory.

“I’ll go and see her,” she cried. “What is it… a boy?”

“Baby gal,” replied Sam, spitting at and hitting an ant.“Born day ’foreyestiddy. Sarah, she says if it’s another boy I can go swim with the crocs in the estuary. Turning out to be a gal, I’m still driving this here truck. Whend’you aim to get in, Ezra?”