Walkabout
By Jack Byrne
3.5/5
()
About this ebook
Sequel to The Billabong
Bushrangers: Book Two
A novella from the Dragon-ghosts of Viscaya Universe
In New South Wales, Australia, in 1876, sweating out a living from the savage, dry wilderness tests a man’s worth. Cattleman Jim Kelly gave up everything he knew to outrun the law with his lover Mark Turner. Struggling to survive, the two turn to crime and venture farther into the harsh outback. And while Jim is enthralled by Mark’s almost paranormal strength and physical power, he starts to question his love after seeing Mark’s explosive temper first hand.
Jack Byrne
Jack Byrne was born and raised in Speke, Liverpool to an Irish immigrant father and grandparents. Under the Bridge is his debut novel and follows reporter Anne and student Vinny around Merseyside, as they become involved in a story of unions, crime, and police corruption after human remains are discovered at a construction site.
Related to Walkabout
Titles in the series (3)
Walkabout Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Dingo Run Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Billabong Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5
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Reviews for Walkabout
3 ratings1 review
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Now that cattleman Jim has rescued his lover, Mark, from jail by breaking him out in a daring maneuver, they are both on the run. Getting food isn’t easy, but their holdup of an unsuspecting family made me grin. You have to read it to believe it – Mark’s bark is definitely far worse than his bite! Much to my and Jim’s relief, Mark has a conscience – and a heart. Their adventures in this second volume are fun – up until the ending which is pretty scary. I am so happy I can delve right into book three – what a cliff-hanger!
If you like stories set in the wilds of historical Australia, if two men who are beginning to admit they love each other, scary as they may find this situation, sound interesting, and if you’re looking for a read that is full of adventure, risks, and ends way before you want it to finish, then you will probably like this novella.
NOTE: This book was provided by Dreamspinner Press for the purpose of a review.
Book preview
Walkabout - Jack Byrne
snowfall.
Chapter One
JIM KELLY rode along on his strapping stock horse mare, Shiloh, through the Australian bush. It was early summer in December 1876. The harsh Australian sun had tanned his face and arms to an even bronze. He sat the powerful bay mare easily as she cantered along a vast open tract of grassland. He wore a faded red-checked shirt and slightly frayed blue work pants, with carefully oiled tan buffalo-hide boots. The open scrub flatlands he traversed were about fifty miles west of the Great Dividing Range, which followed the eastern coastline of Australia. Jim turned to call to Mark Turner, who was riding behind him, You had enough yet?
A few curses came from Mark, and Jim smiled to himself.
You could give me a turn with your saddle, you know,
said Mark, who was on a black thoroughbred mare.
I could. Only Shiloh hates being ridden bareback, and she’d probably buck me off. Then we’d have one horse and one saddle.
I don’t care if I never ride again,
grumbled Mark, cantering the black mare to catch up with Jim.
Jim eyed him with some amusement. You must be pretty sore.
Mark growled, Can we stop?
Jim looked around them but shook his head. Too open. We need to find a creek or a riverbed, somewhere with some trees where a fire won’t be visible.
Well, can we pick up speed, then? Regret’s got a smooth canter. That might help.
Okay,
said Jim but reined to a halt. He surveyed the countryside around them. For as far as he could see, the land was flat. Kangaroos bounded casually away as they heard the voices of men, but quickly settled back down to graze, only the occasional flick of their long ears indicating their awareness of the travelers. The heat haze of the afternoon blurred the horizons around him. He squinted and saw a line of blue hills branching off the main range about ten miles ahead of them. Through the shimmering mirages, he could just see some trees at the base of the spur. He turned Shiloh slightly toward them and said, This way.
Why head back into the ranges?
asked Mark.
Water,
replied Jim and urged Shiloh forward into a canter. Jim heard Mark groan behind him, but the black mare followed Shiloh eagerly. As they passed a large gum tree, a goanna raced along the ground, then up the tree, scrabbling up the smooth bark as quickly as it had run across the flat ground.
They had been riding for about an hour, the big strong mares loping along easily, and then the mares started misbehaving. Shiloh threw up her head and slowed suddenly, nearly pitching Jim forward off her back. He scolded her, Shiloh!
and urged her on. Regret bucked as they moved on together, and both mares began to flare their nostrils and snort.
What’s wrong with them—oh, oh, that’s disgusting!
exclaimed Jim, screwing up his nose and allowing Shiloh to stop.
Oh,
said Mark from behind him. Is that a dead horse?
Smells like it. Couple of days old, by the stink.
In this heat dead animals began to smell within a day or two.
God. Can we go upwind of it?
suggested Mark.
Oh, definitely.
They turned to ride south upwind of the smell. Suddenly both horses’ ears twirled around, and Regret let out a loud neigh. Mark swung his head to the left. He pulled Regret up, and Jim rode back to him and said, What is it?
Mark hushed him with a hand, and in the silence, Jim heard the faint sound of a horse’s whinny.
Dead horses don’t neigh,
Jim observed drily.
No, and they don’t call for help, either,
said Mark and kicked Regret toward the sound, his discomfort forgotten.
Really?
Jim kicked Shiloh and followed him. He had only heard the horse faintly in the distance.
That was a human voice!
yelled Mark from ahead of him.
By the time they arrived at the source of the whinnying and the smell, Jim had his fingers pinching his nostrils shut. He stared at the scene before him. A eucalypt tree was lying across the ground, fresh splintered wood and a deep black scar up the trunk telling the story of a lightning strike. The tree had pinned a rider and horse beneath it. The horse was obviously dead. A line of blackened hair a handsbreadth wide from its ear and down its neck and leg tracked the course the lightning had taken down its body. The rider was pinned between the horse and the tree, his leg trapped. Another dark gray horse was spinning about close to them, its hooves coming perilously close to the man as it became excited at the arrival of the other riders.
The horses all shied as a huge yellow dingo shot out from the side of the dead horse away from the man and disappeared off into the bush with a growl. Mark pulled out his rifle but lowered it again as the wild dog disappeared.
Hold Regret,
said Mark, handing her reins off to