Discipline Down Under by Patricia Green Page A

some light to the outback sky.

Chapter Six
     
     
    They were about to break their fast that morning, when there was a sound from the bush. It sounded like a person calling out.
    “What’s that?” Peg asked.
    “Sounds like a friendly haloo.”
    “It does? Who would do that?”
    A man emerged from the trees. He was about five foot six, with bushy black hair, black eyes, and skin nearly as black. An aboriginal. His face paint was white with red stripes, and he carried a daypack like a weird combo of earthy tribesman meets city dweller. Peg had a hard time estimating his age, but she thought he was in his younger twenties. His smile was broad when he saw Tripp.
    “G’day, mate!” He strolled over to Tripp and they bumped fists.
    “G’day, Nigel.”
    Nigel smiled pleasantly at Peg, and she saw that he had a narrow gap between his two front teeth.
    Tripp made introductions. “Nigel Gray, met Peggy Fisk.” Tripp patted his friend’s shoulder. “Nigel,” he told Peg, “is my partner, Victor’s, brother.”
    Peg offered her hand. “Nigel, please call me Peg.”
    Nigel looked between the couple and grinned again, mischief twinkling in his dark eyes. “Nice to meet ya, Peggy.”
    Tripp snorted softly, apparently trying to hold back a laugh. Peg’s temper rose, but she held it back. And to think she’d been considering how she might get Tripp to succumb to her wiles again. Instead of making the rude comment she thought of, Peg smoothed down her ponytail and tried not to frown.
    “Where’s the party?” Nigel asked.
    Peg’s ears perked up. “Party?”
    “He means, where are we off to,” Tripp answered, then turned to Nigel. “We’ll pack over to Paterson’s Billabong. We’re due there tonight. Victor is picking us up tomorrow afternoon.”
    Nigel nodded. “That’s a long trek for one day.”
    Tripp nodded. “We got a little sidetracked yesterday. If we hike steadily, we can make it by sundown.”
    “Right. I shouldn’t keep ya.”
    Peg had never met an aboriginal before. She didn’t know what she’d expected. An accent other than the Australian twang? Patois? Some sort of pidgin sign language? She realized how stupid those expectations were. These were civilized people, Australians all. Their customs might be a bit foreign, but so were the average Australians to her American sensibilities.
    “Where are ya off to, mate?” Tripp asked.
    “To the tribal village. My cousin’s getting married. We’ve got a party going on.” He patted his pack. “I’m bringing the beer.”
    Tripp laughed. “Yer going to need more than that.”
    “This is my third trip!”
    Peg found that amusing, too, so she chuckled.
    “Say,” Tripp began, giving her a passing glance. “Why don’t ya come along with us for a bit? We’re going the same direction.”
    Nigel looked between the two. Peg couldn’t tell what his thoughts might be. “Sure it’s grouse ?”
    “Absolutely! Isn’t that right, Peggy?”
    What could she say? She’d have much rather shared the path with Tripp alone. Maybe she’d have gotten the nerve up to tell him how she felt, or maybe he’d have made some declaration of affection. As it was, she had their encounter last night, and shouldn’t have expectations of more. “Sure. Of course.”
    “Righty-oh,” Nigel pronounced.
    Tripp started to clear up the camp, and Peg tried to help, though she was entirely inept at it. “Sit,” Tripp told her mildly. “I’ve got this.”
    So Peg sat, trying not to feel the silence between her and Nigel. He rummaged around in his daypack. “Want a granola bar?”
    Peg burst out into laughter. Being offered a granola bar by a painted aboriginal was about the funniest thing she could ever imagine. She laughed and laughed, until she had Nigel laughing too, though he couldn’t possibly know why.
    Eventually, her laughter turned to chortles, and she took the bar, said her thanks, and enjoyed every bite. From there on out, Nigel called her Peg. They were