‘I collected them from the two farms in the police paddy wagon and took them to Cowboy Craig’s place, Dustfire Holdings.It’s the Stock Squad’s quarantine station.As this is their first haul of crocs, I’m hoping to borrow one of your ponds.’
‘With a heater?’
Stone nodded.‘I’ve lent them my heaters, and an incubator for some eggs—if we find them—but it only does thirty at a time.’
‘Your usual egg limit.’
‘I’m hoping you might have something bigger.I’ll pay you for the hire fees.’
‘I’ve got a couple of old nesters that hold 40 eggs at a time.90, that’s bein’ greedy, you know.Same nest?’
‘Different nests.The thieves knew what to take.’
‘That’s not right.Those embryos are fragile at that age.They’re not fit to travel down bumpy roads.It’d drown ‘em.’
‘That’s why I think they’ve got them stashed in a shed somewhere close, waiting for them to hatch before moving on.’
‘You’d be looking at a couple hundred sheds and humpies between here and town.’
Stone sighed, fully aware it was like looking for a single crocodile tooth in the middle of a muddy riverbed.‘Have you heard anything?’
‘Just the usual.The two jumping-croc tour operators are still at war with each other over who owns the river, and which crocs are theirs to feed.’With squinty eyes, Chook nodded at the river.‘One of ‘em is trying to get me outta here, reckons I’m scaring the tourists away when I sunbake on my roof.’
‘Were you dressed?’
‘My boat.My rules.’Chook’s light blue eyes sparkled with mischief.‘Only get dressed for visitors.’
‘I think you should put on a hat, grab a telescope and an eyepatch, and really bung on the pirate act.The tourists will pay for the privilege, and you could charge them an entry free to your crocodile museum.’
‘Ease off, Stonehenge, I’m shy.’
Stone snorted.‘Since when.’
They chuckled between them.
Chook scratched at his white-grey jawline, with the long skinny plait running down to his chest, his eyes squinting over the river, then at Romy having a go at fishing.
She looked so peaceful that Stone had to drag out his phone and take a few sneaky snapshots.Maybe it was a little hypocritical, after that speech he gave about privacy—but this wasn’t for likes or followers on social media.This was just for him.A quiet keepsake.Nothing like the polished clips Romy sold to the highest bidder.‘Hear any other gossip on the river?’
‘I heard through the traps there’s someone new snooping around.’
‘Who?’
Chook shrugged.‘A stock agent of sorts.’
‘Why would a stock agent come out here?’Stone peered over the wooden railing.This part of the wide river was nowhere near any cattle stations, especially when it was prone to flooding in the wet season.
‘No idea.Rumour has it this stock agent was asking about the old smugglers’ route through the swamp.’
‘You meanyourold smugglers’ route?’
‘Shh.Don’t let the Roman hear you.Let her think I’m charmin’ and all that.’Chook brushed down his grubby shirt, with bearded chin held high.‘I’ve retired from all that.’
‘Can they still use that route?’
‘Nope.After that last cyclone we had that Christmas, it pushed down a lot of silt from the escarpment and blocked it off.Ticked off a lot of barra fishermen.They were talking about getting in a dredger, but it’s now a brilliant spot for catching mangrove jack.And if you time it for the turn of the king tide it exposes the sandbar, trapping all this threadfin salmon, making the water bubble over like we’ve got tuna.’
‘Sounds good.Besides the fishing, have you seen much boat traffic?’
