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‘Flat,’ she agreed.

‘Not in all places ... hi, I didn’t deserve that!' She had thrown a handful of pebbles at him.

‘You did. But please continue being frank.'

Craig studied her. ‘Then I believe you could pass muster —male muster. Your hair’s a bit short, though, for males these days.’

'He
should approve of that,’ she said with spirit.

‘Well, I’m not approving, Georgina, in fact I’m dead against it all. It’s a fool thing to do.’

‘Any alternative?’ she asked him.

‘No, but you’ll never get away with it. The man, as I said, is an eagle, and he’d get you in the end. And being the eagle he is, that end will be right at the beginning.’

Georgina sighed. ‘Well, at least I’ll have it all over, Craig, but I’m still certain. I’m George Brown, and I’m going to Roper’s in answer to an ad. If you’re around to pick up the pieces when I’m kicked out, I’ll be grateful, but if you’re not, I guess I’ll still survive.’

Craig also sighed, but he did not argue. ‘You’ll know where to come when you’re kicked out?’

‘Everson’s?’ she queried.

‘Bryden’s now; I’ve leased the place, remember, but they’ll put you up until I come on my next round, and then I can give you a lift home.’

‘The old motorcycle here is home,’ she responded wryly. ‘Yes, I think you made that clear, too clear. Now, shall we bury the body?’

The old cycle was stripped of everything that could be used, then they left it there. An hour later with Georgina reclining much more comfortably in the car than in the sidecar, they made camp for the night once more.

‘You’re nice, Craig,’ Georgina said that evening as they watched the stars come out.

‘I think you actually mean I’m safe,’ he grinned.

‘Perhaps. Is it because of Elva? Or’ — slyly ... ‘is it because I’m so obviously a George?’

He grinned again and they relapsed into a comfortable silence that deepened into sleep.

The next morning they set off at daybreak. They wanted to make journey’s end by the afternoon.

Craig was frankly worried about delivering Georgina, and he told her so, relating how he had been ordered off the place. ‘We had,’ he said in obvious understatement, ‘a few pertinent words.’

‘About Elva?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘He sounds the lord of all creation, impossible, vainglorious,’ she said, thinking of the cattle boss.

‘Mighty Roper is. He’s arrogance itself.’

‘I see. Well, you can put me off at the gate.’

‘And make you walk five kilometres with all your gear?’

‘Is it that far?’ She was taken aback.

‘At least,’ he agreed.

‘It should be safe enough to take me,’ Georgina said thoughtfully, ‘the telegram said he wouldn’t be back for several weeks.’

‘Then we’ll give it a go. Georgina, you
are
sure?’

‘Sure,’ she nodded.

‘If only I could offer you an alternative. Even—well— offer myself.’ He was frowning thoughtfully.

‘Yourself?’

‘As an employer ... or even as a partner if it was a way out.’

‘Partner?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Husband,’ he grinned.

‘But you’re not offering, are you?’

‘No,’ Craig agreed apologetically, ‘I’m not.’

They did not speak much for the rest of the journey. Georgina for her part was tense and excited and she could see that Craig was uneasy. What kind of man was this Roper, she seethed, to make everyone wretched like this? Just because a girl hadn’t fallen into his arms

She asked Craig about that, and he said: ‘I think it was the first time that Mighty Roper had ever been thwarted. Everything had always come easy to him, everything had fallen into his lap. The station ... a big thriving concern, not like my poor holding ... had escaped any down trend through its sheer size. Also, the minerals Roper has dug up have all been sound. I really believe Larry’s failure with Elva was his only failure in a singularly successful life.’

‘And he couldn’t take it?’

‘Exactly,’ Craig said.

‘Then he wants a lesson,’ Georgina vowed.

He stared. ‘You’re not thinking of playing teacher, are you?’

‘I’m only a student, didn’t I tell you? I’m doing a thesis while I work.’

‘You’re really serious over all this, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, Craig.’ She looked determined. ‘It’s going to be all right, it has to be—well, for a while at least.’

‘Then just watch what you’re doing, that’s all.’

Craig had taken his eyes off the road a moment to emphasize his words, and the eyes suddenly met Georgina s for the first time. He looked much longer than he should, and when he turned his gaze back to the track again he was quiet, bemused.

Georgina made several attempts to break the silence, then she became quiet as well.

In the mid-afternoon Georgina made Craig pull up while she attended to a few adjustments; the adjustments comprised slicking back her short hair, rubbing off any vestige of lipstick, and loosening her shirt and wearing it outside of her pants instead of tucked in, fortunately an accepted way in the west to defeat the heat. It also succeeded in taking away any shape from her, which, being over-slim, she didn’t have anyhow, she grimaced.

‘Do I look sufficiently male?’ she asked the man at last.

‘You look ’ he stopped.

‘Yes?’

‘You look—beautiful.’

‘Oh, stop playing the fool, Craig,’ Georgina said irritably, and got back into the car.

Some time later he turned into a gate and started down a long peppercorn-bordered drive. Around the five-kilometre mark a large homestead loomed up; wide verandahs, dozens of rooms, the usual country abode.

Craig nodded to a big front door. ‘You’d better inquire,’ he told Georgina.

‘I will. Just keep your fingers crossed.’

Georgina crossed to the entrance, a double portal flung wide, and knocked. A middle-aged woman came down a long hall, exchanged friendly words, then handed Georgina a key.

‘It’s half a mile down the valley,’ she directed. Georgina could see no valley, but she knew how country people can find a hill in a small mound, so she understood. ‘You’ll find it well stocked. Anything else you want, come back here.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t. My motorcycle gave up and I was brought here.’ Georgina had always despaired of her deep, rather husky tone, but now it was a blessing.

‘Once you get there you’ll be all right, son. George, isn’t it? I think Mr Roper said that.’

‘George. George Brown,’ she muttered.

‘I’m Mrs Willmott, but they all call me Willy. Mr Roper left his motorcycle at the cabin for you, George; if your friend took you down, you could find your own way after that on the bike.’

‘Thank you. When are you expecting Mr Roper?’

‘Not for a few weeks yet. Don’t forget, if there’s anything you need ’ The woman was turning back. Evidently she was cooking, or doing something that needed her attention, for she did not even glance at Craig.

Georgina went back to the car, swinging the key triumphantly.

‘First hurdle over,’ she gloated.

‘Meaning nothing.’ Craig did not gloat with her. ‘Georgina ’ he began.

‘George. Even she said so.’ Georgina was bubbling over. ‘Georgina, I’ve been thinking it over.’

‘Drive down, please,’ she requested.

‘But, Georgina ’

‘George, Craig, and please drive on.’

They passed paddocks, empty paddocks, resting paddocks, and paddocks with stock obviously awaiting transport to the abattoirs.

‘Poor things,’ sighed Georgina.

‘Men don’t talk like that,’ Craig reminded her.

‘Do I have to be a man with you?’

‘No.' Now Craig was looking fully at her, and the look lasted so long this time that the car wandered and Georgina had to lean over to right the wheel.

‘For heaven’s sake, Craig!’ she said.

‘Yes, I suppose so. Well, here’s your hut now. Got your key?’ He extended his hand to open the door for her, but Georgina was already out of reach. She felt she had had enough for today, and somehow Craig wasn’t being such a help any more.

‘Thanks, Craig,’ she called, ‘I’ll never forget your kindness. Just throw my gear out. Then you’d better get going.

‘Georgina, I ’

‘Get going, Craig.’

‘I’ll carry your bags in at least,’ he protested.

‘No.
No!
I’m a man. I’m a feller.’—Joanne’s tag.—‘What if anyone sees?’

‘But you will get in touch?’ he appealed.

‘I will,’ she promised.

Before he could start again, Georgina grabbed up an armful of luggage and fairly raced with it to the hut door. She had to put everything down to open up, but she did it so quickly and so adroitly that he had no chance at all of following her, of beginning another conversation. He had been helpful, he had been sweet really, and she couldn’t have done without him, but

She fairly threw the things in, then she went in after them, slammed the door and turned the key. She would collect the remaining luggage after he had left.

It was some time before he went, she thought. What on earth was keeping him? He had been anxious not to come here before, he had said he had been warned off the place, yet now he didn’t seem to want to go.

Men, Georgina thought in despair, men!

‘Yet I,' Georgina looked around her and found a speckled mirror tacked to the wall and went across to it to address a khaki-haired boy who looked back at her, ‘am about to become one myself.’

Yes, Georgina decided, she was going to be a man. For several weeks (less a day to enable her to get away in time) she was going to hide here and decide what she wanted next out of life. No, that was wrong, she
knew
what she wanted; she wanted the inland, but she knew, too, she couldn’t have it. So she was going to hide out and ponder on the next best.

Meanwhile she was going to revel in it all, drown herself in the gold of it, sink herself in the Mirage Country that she loved so much. Possibly ... no, more likely, and it was a sad thought ... it would be for the last time. Once she went back to the city there would be nothing to bring her here again. So while she could she would take the bike out, find a track and ride and ride into the distance, and somewhere during the ride a mirage would appear—the blue swimming scene to which her stepfather had given a scientific explanation yet a romantic one as well. A thing of dreams to Georgina.

‘Perfect,’ she said aloud, coming back to the present, and she began looking around her.

The hut was small but comprehensive, a stark hut for a male occupant. A plain wooden bed with a plain cover, brown table, brown dresser, hooks on the walls to hang clothes. She must remember to hang only male-type clothing.

There was sufficient cooking gear but certainly nothing fancy, and, characteristic of a man, it was placed within easy reach. Simple saucepans, a frying pan, a kettle. Cutlery but no tablecloth on which to place it, just the bare table. There was a rag rug on the floor and a flypaper curl from the ceiling, and that was all.

Where did she shower or bath? Lots of such places had portable arrangements, or squares enclosed modestly in hessian attached to an outside wall. Georgina looked but found nothing—oh, yes, there
was
something—a large uncovered shower rose extended from the tank. She shrank back. If Mr Larry Roper thought she was going to bathe out there without concealment he had another thought coming. Why, even men prefer not to go on display!

She toyed with the idea of adapting the bedcover for privacy. Even though the hut was isolated, a long way from the activities of the homestead and ninety-nine per cent obscure, she still did not fancy standing outside every morning to soap and scrub. Yet such a method as a draped bedcover would only soak the cover, and by the heavy texture of the coarse cretonne it would take a long while to dry.

Eventually she unearthed a large plastic basin. Evidently the previous males had done their washing in this, for some faded daubs of laundry blue still remained. Well, shrugged Georgina, she had bathed in a basin before.

One thing that did please her was the size of the table. She could spread out Stepfather’s papers at one end, yet still find room to eat or read at the other end. Mr Roper had been fair at least when he mentioned the advantages for a student. He had said he allowed free time, and undoubtedly he had supplied a table that really invited industriousness. Georgina took all her papers out of her bag first and left the other items for later.

Before her stepfather died, he and Georgina had spoken eagerly about presenting his data in a more acceptable form to the layman as a change from the usual learned and heavy discourses; Stepfather was to provide Georgina with the facts and Georgina to write them in a more animated style than was currently adopted, a style to catch the people who take up a book in interest then have to put it down to complete some task. The first chapters had turned out well and received Stepfather’s approval. If only she could keep it up...

She stacked the work neatly—bachelors were noted to be neat, even pernickety, she reminded herself. Perhaps I m not a bachelor, perhaps I’m married, even a young father, she thought frantically, after all, the only stipulation was that she should be male.

Next she inspected the supplies from the station. There were potatoes, onions, flour, sugar, tea, coffee, and a selection of tinned goods. The small kerosene fridge would be a boon in this weather, she appreciated, and as she didn't fancy lighting up a range every day, because that would mean collecting, then chopping wood, plus a hot room afterwards, she was glad there was a kerosene variety of stove as well.

The fridge when she opened it held a wedge of corned brisket and a supply of beer; men’s viands. But when, later, she opened Bill’s tucker to put away any perishables, she found both cordial and sherry, so everything balanced out nicely.

To celebrate the moment, the first moment, she opened the sherry.

She sat on the doorstep of the hut and sipped slowly. Stepfather always had said that no one had seen a sunset until they had seen one here in the interior; it was getting towards dusk now, so Georgina watched. At Windmill Junction life had been slow, taking no count of hours, especially at the darkling hour, but here there seemed a complete standstill as though time itself had ceased to exist Even the heat haze that always danced on these horizons had settled now to a still blue smoke.