Mystic Mountains

did have a way of working out to his satisfaction.
    "Tell me about what it 's like over there," Dougal urged after a brief lull.
    Tiger sat back. "The great pastures stretch endlessly with enough grass to support millions of sheep. Our merinos will grow fat and healthy and the fleece will be the finest anyone in the world can produce."
    "When do you think we'll be able to move?"
    Tiger sighed. "We 've all been waiting for the governor to get the Bathurst district surveyed." With a small impatient gesture he pushed his hair back. "The road over the mountains is said to be a bit steep in places, mind. And they say the road down Mount York is hazardous."
    "Do you think we 'll be able to manage it?" Thelma paused in her sewing, frowning.
    "Of course, " Tiger assured her arrogantly. "If only I could get my land grant. I aim to have a flock as big and as good as Macarthur's. The English textile makers are greedy for our fleece, and I intend to satisfy the spinners over there by producing wool as fine as Macarthur."
    "His fleece certainly has a fine reputation. Gillie was telling me about when he brought the first ewes and rams here," Dougal said.
    "Oh, he was, eh?" Tiger smiled Gillie's way. "Macarthur had the sense to cross Indian sheep with Irish and by blending the two wools came up with the fine fleece we have today."
    Lulled by the conversation Isabella glanced over to see that Thelma had dropped her sewing on the floor. She clicked her tongue as with a j erk Thelma opened her eyes and began to cough again.
    "I 'll be away to my bed." Thelma pushed herself upright, yawning.
    Her dear friend wasn 't faring at all well in the cold weather. "Here, put your shawl on, Thelma," Isabella said. "'Tis blowing a gale outside. I'll come to the outhouse with you, and then be off to my own bed."
    "When we get over the mountains," Tiger said. "I 'll build a fine house with all the rooms connected by an inner passage. Then you'll not have to brave the cold to reach your bedroom, Thelma. Better still, we'll build that house of your own I always promised you."
    "Aye Tiger, that 'll be grand," Thelma agreed, but when they were outside she muttered to Isabella, "According to Tiger it'll be paradise over those blessed mountains. I only hope he knows what he's thinking on, dragging us all there."
    "Don 't matter none what we think, Thelma, he'll always do just what he plans." Isabella pulled her shawl tighter.
    The man followed a trail of his own, making his own destiny.
     
    * * *
     
    "Six months. It don 't seem possible we've been here that long, does it, Bella?" Dougal stooped to pick up the harness from beside the cart.
    "Somet imes I feel I've been here all my life, Dougal, and nothing happened to me before I came. At times I can't remember ever feeling as if my belly was never going to stop rumbling with hunger." She could hardly recall how she'd summoned the courage, or was it idiocy, to wield a knife in revenge. 
    Isabella gazed off into the distance where the cattle 's din sent a flock of cockatoos into squawking frenzy. The sun had a gentle warmth to it, and she closed her eyes as she lifted her face, letting it wash over her. A flying insect landed on her nose. Brushing it off she opened her eyes to give Dougal a sidelong glance.
    Isabella wished he wouldn't look at her with such adoration. She'd tried to stop him harboring notions that one day she would fall in love with him. Why was he so thick-headed? A fool would see if that emotion weren't in her heart now, it would never suddenly spring to life.
    But didn 't she know all about foolish dreams? Of hoping to change someone's feelings about another? She was just as thick brained as Dougal.
    With her hair now reaching her shoulders and her skin clear from the good food and sunshine she knew she presented a more becoming picture than on the day they 'd arrived. But most of the time Tiger treated her as if she was no more than his chattel. Still and all, she could only blame herself, for hadn't she carried on like a woman of the streets when he'd chosen her at the wharf?
    Somehow his manner toward her had changed since he 'd rescued her from Malloy. It was puzzling, for at times he behaved as if she was a nuisance then at others he'd look through her as if she wasn't there. On a few occasions she'd caught him watching her in a way that set her pulse to thumping and at these rare times he'd hastily look away.
    What did she care anyway? N ow she knew for certain he had a