As George and Daby - used to the bush their entire lives - usually snored all night without interruption, the tall Brad Pitt look-alike picked up his Versace blanket, skirted the tangled heap of dogs that lay in front of the fire, and chose himself a patch of ground beneath a big white gum tree. With his already battered hat, he smacked the dust off his polo jeans and shirt, took off his boots, scooped out a small hollow in the hard red earth to accomodate his hip bones, wrapped his blanket loosely round him and flopped down on to the ground. This was the moment of the day that he really savoured. All days were hard and today had been no exception. After eleven or twelve hours in the saddle he was pleased to get off his horse, fill his belly and roll up in his blanket. It had been three weeks since he had slept in a bed; now they were only twenty miles from their destination and this promised to be his last night under the stars. With the bonus they would get tomorrow for bring the cattle in on schedule, and the money he had already saved, he could afford to leave Axpatra and divert himself in Lardenia for a while. After which he was due to return home to take over the management of his father's farm.
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