Chapter 8: Heading Home

We found a deserted farm about 2km down the road.

The barn was barely big enough for the mothers, but it got them out of the cold. A storm was coming up from the south, and it had a decided chill to it.

The herd I had collected from the mountain surrounded my young heifers to keep them warm. Big Ben took up guard duties. I had Bea and Cora touch me, and we were able to create a shield big enough to cover the small house and the barn.

If anyone passing by, remembered the farm being there, the dark stormy night would be a reasonable excuse as to why they couldn’t find it. I made the shield thicker than I normally did. It wouldn’t repel all of the bad weather, but it would reduce its intensity.

It was surprising how warm it felt under it once the worst of the breeze was cut off. I could see the bighorns relax after it went up. I found some hay in one of the lofts that was still usable and we distributed it to the animals.

The pickings hadn’t been that bad on the road, but we hadn’t been stopping long in any one place, so the bighorns were more than happy to get supper. The water in the small well was fresh, so Bea and I were able to fill enough containers to water the animals. I think they were glad for the rest.

Cora checked out the little house, and by the time Bea and I were happy the animals were bedded down for the night, we could smell something good cooking. Cora greeted us and handed us each a large mug of fresh warm milk.

Four of our mountain cows had half-grown calves, so we had been milking a couple of them most evenings. We only took enough for a litre of milk each. I think Bea and Cora appreciated the fresh milk as much as I did. If we milked them more regularly on the ship, they would increase production.

Cora had made up a bed big enough for three and had cooked a stew from the last of our supplies. Bea said we should be able to get more supplies tomorrow from the town at the wharf if it was still there. I hoped it was, otherwise we would only have milk and what we could forage until the ship turned up.

I got up during the night and checked on my herd. It was kinda strange to see the storm bending and whipping the trees. I could see the chunks of hail bouncing on the ground outside the shield.

Light rain and a small breeze filtered through but the hail stones didn’t. The bighorns were content, as they had already learnt to stay under the shield at night. Several of the mothers had even decided to sleep outside the barn since it wasn’t so cold under the shield.

They had made short work of the hay, and most of the water containers were empty, so I refilled them before going back to cuddle up to Bea and Cora.

We arrived at the small town to see a welcoming sight.

They must have kept a lookout posted as we were met before we even got into town. Captain Hail was delighted to see me and informed me they had been there for a week. He pointed to a paddock that had new rails.

He then informed me the previous owner had left town and the land was free for us to use. So he and boys had added some new rails and feeders for me. They had even done a bit of felling for the locals since their wood supplies had been low so they were happy to have them there.

I was introduced to a man called Brock. He and his two spouses ran the local tavern and the supply store that was attached to it. They even kept the mail and operated a small bank. Several free farmers lived in this area, and he took their orders and supplied them with what they needed.

I liked him straight away and knew instinctively that he didn’t take advantage of the people in the area. He was inclined to look after them. I doubted he would ever be wealthy, but he would be rich from his friendships as it was obvious the other townspeople respected and liked him.

I suspected that if Brock ever left, then the town would probably die. He and his family seemed to be the reason the rest were still there. As he served us drinks in the tavern, he explained that once a month a ship came from Garson with their supplies and shipped their produce back.

His oldest daughter and her husband acted as his buying and selling agents in Garson. They sold on the produce, and she collected whatever they had requested and sent it back. One of his sons’ owned the small ship, and he stopped at six other small towns along the way.

He would also sell on anything aboard the ship that he knew was for sale if it met the price the seller wanted, and it wasn’t already purchased for someone else. They were very careful to keep accurate books so no one was cheated and the tax agent knew who sold what.

They had been running the business this way for ten years, and it seemed to suit all those involved. The tax agent was more than happy for them to do the work for him and pretty much left them alone as long as he got his ten percent to keep the Domo happy.

They weren’t rich people, but they did okay, and no one went hungry in the town. He son had told him that business was picking up in the other towns as well. It seemed a lot of people were happy to move out of the city as long as they had regular access to supplies.

Since the crew had fixed up a new sale yard, he might be able to persuade a few more of the farmers to use it again. He thanked me for bringing my ship here. Apparently, the Captain and his crew had helped his son design a pen on his ship that would hold a dozen bighorns or twenty woollies or snufflers.

His son believed he would be able to fill it regularly and was delighted. They farmed a lot of snufflers and woollies in this area, and his daughter has found a butcher in Garson who would be delighted to get regular small herds of either.

Cavil did have some woollies as did my grandfather. I asked what a snuffler was? I blushed when I get incredulous stares. Brock laughed and said to come with him. He took me about half a klick down the road and introduced me to snufflers.

The boar stood at about 60cm at the shoulder. He was solid and covered in pink and brown blotched skin with a small ridge of bristly hair from between his ears, down his neck and between his shoulders. A tuft of hair was on the end of his short, thick tail that he held high in the air.

He had small wide set eyes, triangular pointy ears and a nose that was round ended with two small tusks under it. The sow was about 10cm shorter and had shorter and softer hair down her neck. The snufflers had cloven hoofs like the bighorns but were about half their height and weight.

I was fascinated. Brock asked me if I had liked the meat that he had served at supper. I nodded that I did. He then told me that the meat could be pickled, broiled, fried or roasted. Some meat was salted a special way, so it fried up crispy and went great with rohan eggs. He would serve me some for breakfast.

I asked him about breeding, and care of the animals as we walked back to the tavern. I had a sneaky suspicion I’d only be getting ten more bighorns and a bull for Cavil. The rest of the space was going to have different animals occupying it.

I’d even be willing to go halves with Cavil. I had a feeling he wouldn’t argue with me, as he liked to diversify. A new meat product wasn’t going to hurt. I had known before I left that nearly all of the Bulls but Cavil, had lost at least ten percent of their stock and some even more. It was going to create a shortage for a year or two.

When I found out the snufflers could have up to six pups, two litters a year and be ready for sale and breeding in half a year, I knew they were a viable alternative. Brock said that the skins could be tanned and they made good quality leather. The fact that the snufflers ate just about anything and everything meant they wouldn’t be hard to feed.

Brock even mentioned that their shit made excellent manure for vegetable gardens. However, you needed to fence off any vegetation you didn’t want them to eat, and they could dig under low fences. They were good for cleaning up fallen fruit and turning over spelled gardens or crop lands.

I asked Brock where I could get four boars and twenty to thirty sows. He looked at me in surprise. I explained about the sickness in some of our bighorn herds and that Lady Di, and other property owners further south had been dealing with the same illness.

“Ah! Now I know what my son Brad was on about. I think he has the same idea as you but he is supplying them to Garson city. Hum, I could probably get you a mix of ten sows and a good boar. But I think you need to head across the river.”

“About 5km east is a larger town call Blossom. They grow a lot of apples, cherries, peaches and pears. They graze the snufflers under them to keep down weeds and dropped fruit from spoiling. Ask for Alice. She is a shifter and should be able to help you.”

“I still need a few more mountain bighorns and a good bull,” I said as we re-entered the tavern.

He grinned at me. “Have another drink,” he said and patted my shoulder. He said something to one of the men at another table. The man looked at me, nodded and got up and left.

I caught up with the news from Hail and the crew. They’d had a nice time at Cora’s village and had completed the alterations I’d asked for. They had even taught the locals how to roll the hay for better storage. For fun, they had shipped some livestock and other supplies for a few people to Garson City and brought other supplies back.

Beki had a load of lumber that was a special order, so they took it for her and dropped it off before coming here. They had been helping as required and found the people here friendly, so they hadn’t been bored.

I told them about the not so friendly people down the road. One of the local men listening to us agreed that a particular family that had moved there about two years before had been a real problem. He mentioned that most people turn off 1km before the town and use the causeway, but it can’t be used all year round.

Bea chuckled and mentioned that two of townspeople might be a bit more careful when picking on riders with herds of bighorns in the future. She described the men I had hit, and the locals chuckled and mentioned it couldn’t have happened to two people that were more deserving. I didn’t feel so bad after that.

Brock came back with a woman and introduced her as Mabel. Mabel’s partner Nana had died in the autumn floods trying to save a useless bull calf. Personally, she hated bighorns. She had twelve cows, twenty small to almost grown calves and a bull she wanted to get rid of.

Nana had collected them from the hill country to the west. The damn cows tended to have twins. The bull would screw any cow he could get too. Her neighbour said the cows he had gotten into on his place also had twins this year so he couldn’t take her bighorns off her hands.

She then said if I paid her two tris (40 dollars) each for the cows and the bull, and one tris each for the calves, I could have them. I was kinda speechless. If her stock was of similar size and weight to the animals that I had found, then the price was barely half their value if they were in good health.

She invited me to come and look at them in the morning and gave me directions. I agreed. Satisfied she left. We decided it was time to retire as well and I introduced Bea and Cora to my modified cabin on the ship. I can assure you, Hail was going to get a big commission from me personally.

The new bed was awesome for three.

I brought the bighorns but refused to pay less than double for the bull.

I took one look at that bull and knew he was worth his weight in gold. I think he was a ring in. The bighorns I call the mothers actually have only the stubs of horns. Angus was of their breed.

I’d decided to rename that breed lowhorns to help identify them better. Angus was also longer of leg and a good 10cm taller than the other bull I had. My bull, Big Ben, was a good 5cm taller than any of the bulls we had back home.

Big Ben and the wild bighorns were a cross-bred like the other forty cows I got from Anabelle. They had horns, but they were barely half the length of mine and pointed to the side a bit more. That didn’t make them any less effective if he stuck you with one as they had surprisingly sharp points on them.

I decided to call my cross-breed’s shorthorns and the lot collectively as cattle. It was a term I’d heard Lady Di use. She had said it was a common term used on the island her people had come from. Anyway, I liked it.

I realised the mountain bighorns as we knew of them were, in fact, cross-breeds. I knew that they were going to thrive on my island. The cows with calves produced lovely thick creamy milk and going by the size of their udders, once we started milking them I believed they were going to produce a lot of it.

As for the meat, Anabelle had shown me the quality of meat from a shorthorn they had butchered not long before I visited so I knew it was excellence. I didn’t believe Cavil would be upset by my selection.

The extra thirteen calves weren’t going to be a problem as they were barely bigger than the snufflers I wanted to buy. I still had two spare pens for them. I only had one hundred and twenty cattle to load.

The ship was rated at carrying one hundred and fifty-four head, and twenty-five of the animals I had were calves. I could add another ten weaners to the other pens with little trouble at all.

Plus I still had two empty bullpens, due to one of the modifications I’d gotten the crew to make for me. Four of the ten pens were oddly shaped and larger than the other six pens.

I’d gotten the boys to turn the ends of the big pens into my bullpens. The bulls had enough room to turn around and lie down comfortably if they wished. The boys had fitted hay hangers to all the pens and altered the water troughs so they were off the floor and I could empty them out more easily.

We had lifted the flooring and separated the boards, so they had 1cm gaps between the 15cm wide boards. This meant their pee drained through the gaps keeping the floor drier. I could still shovel out the shit and old straw, and then hose the excess off and into the new drains.

We modified the pump so I could use the longer flexible rubber tubing I found in Garson as a hose to wash the flooring and the underfloor. It was going to make it a lot easier to keep my pens clean. The fact I would have Bea and Cora to help me would be a great relief.

We packed up and headed off to Blossom.

Blossom was considered the end of the road on the northern side of the Slit.

While a track headed into the low mountains that trained down their side of the Slit, the area we went to was predominantly farming country. Hills separated low valleys and provided good drainage for orchards and vinyards.

We were told it got cold enough in mid-winter to set the fruits and not too warm in summer to burn them. The mountains to the west helped ensure that sufficient rain fell often enough and some farmers had set up simple irrigation systems. A wide river ran between the valleys to provide water for irrigation all year round.

Several large land owners ran bighorns or more precisely lowhorns as I called them. We were given directions to Alice and got the lankys off the ship to ride to her property, which was 3km inland from the town.

Imagine my surprise when we saw ten bighorns in a paddock near the homestead. Cora chuckled and said, “Well, if for no other reason she just might welcome you to thank you for them.”