The hot Australian sun scorched the dry earth as he rode slowly through the rough country. A new hat provided some protection from the blazing sun, but he was sweating profusely. Wilkins had warned him not to travel through midday. Harmony had always sought shelter in the heat of the afternoon, so he knew it was dangerous for travel. Having a clearer purpose now, however, he didn't want to wait.

His pace was slow but unerringly pointed toward Prescott's station. After having a local healer treat Wilkens' wrist, the men were ready to call truce. During a simple meal of black tea, seasoned roasted quail, and wild spinach, he allowed Wilkens to ply him for answers about his quest.

"Whatever I did to anger Prescott left me without memory of it," he spoke around a swallow of tea. "They left me for dead."

"You can't keep friends, can you." The remark came with a sly grin, so he took no offense.

"Maybe I'm just not cut out for it," Sitting back, his forearms rested on the wooden table. "Man like myself, I'm starting to think I'm naturally..."

"A loner?" It was a kind suggestion, as both men knew what other terms might easily be applied. Rueben had grinned.

"Perhaps." The memory of Harmony's lavender eyes flashed through his mind, but he shook it off. He wasn't a loner, but maybe he ought to be.

"You now, I knew a bloke who used to work for Prescott, he up an' quit when you started there, said you were too much like a lit powder keg." Wilkens's tone was neutral. "He said you were too eager to fight, always looking for a reason no matter how small."

"Anyone ever say why?"

"No one would dare question you," Wilkins's response had been dry. "You're not exactly warm and fluffy, Lane."

"Rueben." Clear eyes had met dark blue ones. "I think I'd prefer to be called Rueben."

"Jim," they shook briefly. "Don't tell my mother, though. She'd give me proper hiding."

"I won't say it's nice to meet you, because it hasn't been, however... I'm hoping the days ahead prove to be more pleasant."

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Wilkens gestured with his fork. "Speaking of the days ahead, the easiest way to die is to take on Quinton Prescott without a weapon, and I've got a lot invested in your survival."

"I'll figure something out, I don't want firearms," he's been certain about it, his aversion almost extreme. It made him wonder why.

"Don't think I'll let you go anywhere without some kind of defense."

"Taking care of me now?"

"Just protecting my promised payment." Eyeing him, Jim sat back, arms crossed. "Your reputation won't get you far with Prescott and his men."

"True enough." He'd indicated some wedge-shaped tools laying on a piece of cloth near a small workbench. "What about those?"

"The natives consider these tools, not really weapons," Wilkins had explained. "Wo-mur-rāngs like this one," he picked up one made of wood. "Comes back to you if it's thrown correctly."

He demonstrated with his left hand. Rueben had been impressed.

"This one here," Wilkins picked up the one made of bone, "is for hunting, but it doesn't come back. It'll take down a large prey animal if done properly. The natives call it a shaunie, or throw stick."

The three tools he had chosen were large; the two wooden Wo-mur-rāngs a total length of twenty four inches each, hefty and solid tools. The bone shaunie was over thirty inches in length, its widest point being the distance from the tip of his middle finger to the edge of his wrist. It was a formidable tool and Lane gripped it easily in his hand. His sense of confidence was growing.

A surprise addition had been a knife that Wilkins had, the keen blade eleven inches long and curved to a sharp point. The handle was made of stained ivory, decorated with swirling lines that swept up to a carved rams head at the end. The blade was made of fine steel that glinted in the sunlight.

"Where did you get this?" Handling the dagger with interest, he felt Wilkins watching with a wary eye.

"Man came through needing some repair to his gear and he traded me that knife for my labor. He didn't offer information, and I didn't ask."

"I'll take it."

A fleeting shadow overhead broke his concentration, and he looked up, seeing the large form of a Wedge-tailed Eagle soaring overhead. The raptor was large, roughly one meter in height, a wingspan more than two meters from tip to tip. Their feathers were mostly black or very dark brown, flecked with pale blondish streaks around the back of their wings and neck. It was a beautiful bird, and he admired the effortless way the keen-eyed hunter graced the skies. Abruptly the raptor tilted its wings and rose in a steep grade high into the air until it was no more than a speck.

Stiffening, he looked around, wondering what had scared it off. The faint puff of a distant dust cloud caught his eye. Something or someone was moving out there. Pulling the solid bone wedge from the saddle bag, he shifted in the saddle. Some practice time behind Wilkins's stable gave him a measure of comfort using the tool. Not quite a natural reaction, which made him wonder if he'd learned how to use a shaunie before.

Guiding his horse to the shade of a nearby gum tree, he dismounted, wrapping the roan's reins loosely around a low branch. Leaning against the trunk he watched in silence as the dust trail grew closer. His initial concern over mounted riders vanished as the group took shape and he breathed a soft sigh of relief. It was a small band of natives, moving quickly across the land, men in the front and back, women and children grouped together protected in the middle. He studied them closely as they approached, seemingly unaware of his presence.

Lanky and lean, their dark skin seemed to shimmer and glow in the sun. For a moment, he was completely distracted by the fact that they were all but naked. Most had nothing but a thin twine of leather at their waists where they hung various tools and weapons. A few women wore apron like hides with little pouches here and there to hold items of use. He suddenly thought of Harmony, realizing why she was never ashamed to be naked in front of him.

She grew up in an environment where the human body was just part of her world. The adjustments were for him, keeping herself covered in his presence because he was the one who was uncomfortable.

The grown men wore full beards, their hair thick and curly. Beaded or plain leather bands around their foreheads kept their hair from falling into their eyes. The women wore their hair long and loose, thick and shining. Everything from spears and clubs to shields and water pouches and woven baskets were carried with them.

Though very quiet, he realized they were not silent, but speaking softly to one another as they traveled. It didn't sound like English. The small band crossed ahead of him, not seeming to notice where he stood in the deep shade. He thought he was undetected until one of the small children looked directly over at him and smiled a wide bright smile. None of the adults acknowledged him.

Wherever they're going, he told himself, they'll not be late.

Though mostly flat, rocky outcroppings pushed up to the sky here and there, mountains visible on the far horizon to the southeast. Ochre colored earth and rock flared in stark contrast to the small amount of green brush and bright blue skies. A faint breeze carried bits of debris, but no promise of relief. Very little life moved in the heat of midday, but he kept a sharp eye out just in case. Even in the middle of nowhere, it was best to stay prepared.

Once the sun began to tilt in the sky the temperature dropped a little. Desert nights were always cold. Stepping from the saddle he took off his hat, pouring a good measure of water in it for the roan, letting the horse drink his fill. Rubbing between the gelding's eyes, he noted the pale blue of the horse's eyes, the friendly expression as he was nosed interestedly.

"Water taste good, did it?" Good naturedly scratching the horse under the chin, he grinned. "Don't worry about running out, I can always dig up more,"

Tossing his head and nickering softly, the roan nudged him hard. Chuckling, he wrapped a strong arm about the horse's muzzle, gently rubbing his velvety nose.

"Settle down there Mingo old boy..." the instant that name left his lips Lane was somewhere else, in another time.

"Reuben, come inside," her voice was soft and light "Mingo will survive..."

"I'll be right there, Genessee,"

"You've said that three times already! Trevor and I are hungry, and we are going to eat without you!"

"Lord Almighty woman, you will not die in the two minutes it takes to put away the horse!" He shot back with mock anger.

Bubbling laughter came from within the lodge pole structure and a second later she appeared, smooth tanned skin and gleaming black eyes, raven colored hair. She approached him with a wide smile and a mischievous glint in her eyes. He smiled back but moved away, knowing she was full of fire and spirit.

"If two minutes were all you needed, our meal would be finished by now. Are you coming willingly, or must I drag you?"

"You have no need to threaten me, woman, I'm coming," he chuckled softly at her arched eyebrow. "This minute, I promise, just don't hurt me."

Mingo thrust his muzzle forward, nosing Lane's arm, demanding a treat before being left for the night. The couple laughed at the black gelding and he offered a lump of sugar he usually carried in his pocket. Patting the smooth neck, he scooped the woman into his arms as they headed toward the house. Laughing, she struggled to get free, but he only held her closer, setting her back to earth at the threshold. Their kiss had been passionate but brief.

Once inside he sat at a short square wooden platform, his wife to one side, their son in her lap. Looking at Genessee, his heart swelling with more happiness than he had felt in many long years...

A loud snort and a hard shove broke the spell around him and Rueben snapped back to reality, his heart pounding his chest tight. Gasping for breath, tears threatened to overflow from his eyes, every muscle rigid. Without questioning it he knew it was a memory, from a time before coming to Australia, before his life had turned so completely upside down. He had been happy, truly contented...then it was ripped away. Of that fact he felt certain.

The roan was impatient and eagerly nibbled at his sleeve, wanting to be on the move. The tightness in his chest would not go away but he swung back into the leather and headed the gelding off, keeping an easy mile eating pace. The area around him was open and sandy, a wide red desert stirring with life as the day faded. When evening fell, he turned the roan toward the shelter of a nearby grove of trees.

He had no sooner stepped from the saddle when a long hiss spun him around, keen eyes searching. A large perentie lizard was less than three meters away, almost two meters in length and if he was any judge, approximately twenty-five pounds. The startled reptile spun away and began a hasty retreat but Rueben went for the bone throw stick. It hit with accurate, brutal force.

Soon the evening air was alive with the enticing smell of food. As he waited for the meat to cook he stripped the rigging from the gelding and rubbed him down with a blanket Wilkins had thrown in. The roan grunted softly and leaned against his hands, enjoying the attention.

"Big pushover," he teased softly. "You'll take to anyone who gives you the smallest bit of time."

Working over the coat until it was smooth and dry, he poured more water into his hat, offering it to the thirsty horse. Gently rubbing the inky black forelock, he grinned at the contented grunts and loud slurping.

"Have to come up with a name for you, boy, as it seems it will be just you and I for a while."

Lifting its head, the horse stood quietly while Rueben stroked its face and neck, ears twitching to catch the sounds of the night coming alive. Occasionally he blew softly from his nostrils, but through it all his pale blue eyes never left the man's face.

"I think it would be a little arrogant to just assume you have no name, but as I don't know what it could be, I'm going to make one up for you. Until we part ways, be good enough to go along with me, agreed?"

Though looking right at him, the gelding remained quiet. He took that as a yes.

"Let me think for a moment," frowning, he absently chewed at his bottom lip, eyes turning toward the stars.

Twinkling from afar, a few of the brightest sparkled with a blue hue. The longer he stared, the more brilliantly the stars shone. A faint smile curved the edge of his mouth, glancing sideways at the horse.

"I'll call you Indigo."