Choking with rage Tim rushed across the road to the park. He wriggled under the fence where the wire was loose and ran down the slope. It wasn’t much of a park. Just a fenced-off strip of grass with a few trees and bushes which sloped down the hill to the creek. Half way down the slope was  a clump of bushes all overgrown with morning glory. On one side of this, in among the stems and branches was a little hollow just big enough for one person. This was Tim's secret place, where he hid himself when things were bad .

            He crept into his den and curled himself up into a ball. He had to squeeze his anger up tight because just the thought of Wayne made him feel as if  he would burst. He wanted to yell or bang his fists  and drum his heels on the ground like a baby but there was no room for that so he just clenched his arms around his legs until they hurt. Wayne was always hanging around. He sat in front of the television and watched the cricket when Tim wanted to watch Police Patrol. He talked to Mum all the time so she couldn’t listen to Tim or Rosemary . He bossed them around as if he was someone important in the family who was allowed to tell people what to do.

‘You be quiet.’

                    ‘You eat your tea.’

                                           ‘You go and get me the paper.’

      He was a tall, heavily built man, with a thick neck which ran straight up into his head making it look smaller than it really was. He had brown eyes and fair, curly hair which hung down over his forehead. Mum said he was handsome but Tim thought he had mean eyes.

           You never knew when Wayne was coming. He might be there when Tim came home from school, sitting in front of the television with a can of beer as if he owned the place. Or he might come after tea. Sometimes he would not come for a couple of days and Tim would hope that he was gone for good. You could never tell..

            Today Tim had rushed in, wanting to tell Mum  the news from school. 

    'Mum,' he burst out. 'Guess what ? Peter Gallo was stuck in one of the lockers, and no one knew he was there and he didn't get out till lunch time!' Wayne came out of the kitchen.

    'Gee you make a noise kid,' he exclaimed. 'A man can't hear himself think with you around. You go outside and come in again quietly.’ Mum started to say something but he went on, 'Now Stell, don't interfere. You're too soft, that's your trouble. The kid does whatever he likes around here.'

     Hot, angry tears forced their way under Tim's eyelids. Tears of  rage that a stranger who had no business in their family should talk to him like that.   Tears of shame that Mum put up with it. He rubbed a hand across his nose - it was funny how crying made your nose run - but with the hand halfway across his face, he stopped and the hand hung  forgotten in mid-air. Someone was watching him.

            Next to his hiding-place an old gum-tree leaned out from the side of the hill. Propped comfortably against the trunk of this tree Tim saw  a pair of riding boots, rather scuffed and dusty. The boots led to a  pair of khaki breeches then to a shabby tunic with a big leather belt and a bandolier across the chest. Above this was a rather stubby chin with the suggestion of a smile and last of all was a wide-brimmed hat with a plume of grey feathers tucked into the band. A bridle was hooked over this person's arm and a little distance away a brown horse was peacefully cropping the grass.

          'What's up nipper?' said a voice from under the hat. ’You look as if you've lost a quid and found two bob.' '

    Who are you?' Tim asked. The brim of the hat was pushed up and a pair of blue eyes with crinkles around them smiled down at Tim. 

     'Who am I?  Well I like that.  Proper little interrogator aren't you?  Got a real thirst for knowledge. I'm Trooper Stan Conway, Fifth Light Horse, AIF, at your service...Sah !'' and at the word Sah! the man snapped upright, saluted smartly then relaxed with a grin and lounged back against the tree. At the movement the horse lifted its head and pricked its ears. Trooper Stan gathered up the reins and waved an introductory hand. 'And this here's Zaida, the Queen of the Desert Sands. The finest horse in the world aren’t you old girl ? Johnny Turk and his mates would love to get their hands on you, wouldn’t  they?’ The horse whinnied and tossed her head, as if she knew she was being talked about. It was just like meeting a real person Tim thought with surprise.

            Zaida's coat was a deep bay shading to black on her mane and tail. Hanging from the front of her saddle was a leather bucket, a small bag tied up with rope and a long narrow holder with a rifle sticking out of it. Strapped to the back of the saddle was a rolled-up blanket. Tim stared at all this in silence, then, feeling he ought to say something he announced,   

   'My name's Tim.'

    'G'day Tim,' replied Trooper Stan affably in his ordinary voice, then switching to his official tone he said, ’'Now perhaps you'll tell me what you're up to, hiding under a bush and looking as miserable as a bandicoot.' Tim gave a deep unhappy sniff. If only he could . If only he could tell someone about Mum and Wayne and everything. But whenever he tried to think about things the ideas seemed to jumble up inside his head, and heap themselves higher and higher into a great tottering pile which would over-balance and bury him, if he attempted to shift even one word.

             Stan watched him without saying anything, then remarked, 'Pretty bad is it nipper?' Tim nodded. For a terrible humiliating moment he thought he was going to cry and he tucked his head right down so that if any tears did come Stan would not see them. 'Yeah, well nothing goes on forever, as the convict said to the judge. Zaida here agrees with me, don't you old girl?', Stan went on and he gave the horse’s  reins a little shake. Zaida tossed her head. ‘Time I was heading back,’ said Stan . He gave Tim a mock salute then put a foot in the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle.

    'How'd you get here?' said Tim. 'I didn't hear you come.’ Stan gave a sly wink

    'Johnny Turk doesn't hear us either,' he said patting Zaida's neck, 'but there we are.'

    'You coming back?' Tim asked.

      'Reckon you've frightened us off do you?' said Stan.' Well let me tell you nipper, the Fifth Light Horse don't frighten easy, not even of desperate characters like you.' And with that, he turned Zaida's head and the two made off down the hill.

      Soon the sound of hooves faded

 and was replaced by the rustle of leaves and the roar of the traffic

on Aintree road. It was time to go home.

As Tim scrambled back under the wire, he felt better.

Meeting Trooper Stan had cheered him up.

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