The Road to Eleven Mile

Music whinnies as Joe approaches the police paddock, where she has been tethered since his arrival to the courthouse yesterday morning. A trooper sits beside the post and rail yards, his helmet low over his eyes, cutting the glare from the afternoon sun. He looks up as Joe nears, scrunching the Ovens and Murray Advertiser under his arm and rises from the wooden crate. “It’s the big grey isn’t it?” The policeman nods towards Music, “And your flash young mate has the chestnut, if I recall?” “Aye” Joe responds, “but just bring out the grey, my mate will be out soon to collect his mare.” Waiting as the trooper removes the top rail, Joe’s eyes flick toward the holding cell, where he had met that young fellow with the bright smile and raggedy clothing. He turns his head back to the horse yards, as Music is led out, her shoes clipping the rail as she steps over it. Joe tips his head and takes Music’s reins, as she shakes her bridled head from the flies that buzz around her large black eyes. Joe tightens the girth and lets his stirrups down, the leather snapping against the saddle flaps.