Chapter Text
1880 Snowy Mountains, Southeast Australia
Hercules Hansen had lived in the Snowy Mountains his entire life. Once he had a wife that was the daughter of a man he’d worked with for a time. Good family, though troublesome at times- what family wasn’t- he’d cared a lot about them. They had a son she named Chuck before she died when he was a young boy. Leaving Herc and his angry son alone for many years.
His kid grew to resent him, always succeeding in making a normal day difficult.
Though he could admit that he wasn’t the best father, he tried teaching Chuck every useful thing he knew and the same knowledge his own father passed to him. It was a solitary life up in the mountains and as soon as Chuck was old enough, he left with his lazy bulldog Max, to the lower country to seek work in society. There was nothing he could do or say to the headstrong kid to make him stay. Herc would never force him to anyways.
Chuck could find his own way. That was good enough for Herc.
Herc rose early, before the sun came up across the tops of the snow gums and brown pines. Groaning, he wiped a hand over his face, squinting out the window to find the sky was a lovely blue, a few stars still twinkling overhead. His cattle dog Gunner, perked up from his sleep spot by the fireplace.
It was turning towards the autumn months; loggers and lumber workers would be coming up the southfork creek. They’d gather enough wood to use and sell down in the town about thirty miles away as the crow flies. There was a supply train that tracked its way farther east to the coast and ship ports.
Usually the men are decent workers, but some could be ignorant about the mountains, making Herc’s job of guiding these workers in and out on occasion to be very burdensome at times.
Below the high mountains, the world was ever changing. Herc liked to stay away from it all, sticking with what he knew, enjoying both a world and life that most people everywhere would soon forget or never learn at all.
He took a step outside the cabin his father and uncle built when he was just a little tyke, leaning his shoulder into the doorway. Cold wind blew up over the ridges, smelling wild and familiar.
Taking a deep breath of air, “Well, Gunner. Should we start the day?” He looked down to the dog standing between his shins. Gunner’s gray spotted fur was in need of a wash, but he looked up at him with happy eyes. “Alright, let me get me clean shirt.”
Besides Gunner and his horse Spooks, Herc had no other friends on the ranch. Other than a lonesome fairy wren he’d eventually -with a heap of patience- was able to get her to eat seeds and small grasshoppers from his hand. She returned to his small abode the last two years now.
Before saddling Spooks up, he grabbed the letter from his cabinet. Herc had gone into town a week ago, getting the letter from the Royal Timber Co. saying they were sending a new crew up with a man named Stacker Pentecost.
New crews were not exactly rare, but Herc hoped to see some familiar faces come up with them. Taking a man’s livelihood or assured pay away had deep consequences, especially for those taking care of a family.
Family. The word felt strange in his head without even saying it out loud. Thinking about it now, Herc decided he forgot what it felt like to have one. It made his chest ache inside, deeper than the lowest valley fell.
He carefully laid the worn heavy blanket over Spooks’s bay-colored back. Laying the saddle on and following with strapping the leather strips around his belly and neck. Moving to sit astride Spooks, he glanced down at the both of them. “Youse ready to meet the latest bludgers?” Nudging Spooks down the south trail along the mountain side, “From yours truly, Royal Timber Co.!” he smiled to himself. Humming a song for the three of them.
---
Halfway to Eureka Creek, -nearest town- Herc steered onto the main dirt road. It was dug through the hillsides on lower ground, enclosed with thick trees. The center of the wagon-molded trail was covered in spotty tall grass.
This road wasn’t often used because of the dead end on his side of the range. It began outside of town and traveled upwards in many patterns until the mountain’s fierce steepness caused the government to give up construction.
Just as Herc could hear the calming sound of running water, he heard a group of voices reaching through the trees ahead. Slowing Spooks down, Herc tilted his head as he watched with sharp eyes. The bumpy roll of wagon wheels came to his ear before the travelers themselves appeared into view around the corner.
The sound of sawing mingled with shouts, whistles and chopping. A group of almost a dozen men were hacking away at the heavy bark of the pines. The large trees laid over the road. Shit. He needed to get through here, for the usual Timber company wagons. Who were these men? He also had supplies down in the settlement to gather.
They hardly noticed him, busy rolling four feet-wide rounds. Herc dismounted his stock horse, boots landing with a thumping hmff. He hated talking to people, didn’t want any trouble with them, but it seemed it required his attention. Four he noticed with relief were some of the old aussies he knew quite well.
Not worrying about tying Spooks up, Herc repositioned his hat, waiting for someone to notice his presence. “Gunner, wait there,” he spoke.
Nearly three minutes passed by before someone came half running, half sliding down the hillside. A young man with blond hair and stubble covering his strong jaw, a dirty gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up and suspenders clinging to his sweaty form. He looked to be maybe a few years older than his son. “You need any help, sir?” Well at least the guy had some manners.
Herc raised a brow at his accent. An American. There weren’t many this far into the range. “Well, actually-”
Just then a man he didn’t recognize shouted down to them, “Who’s the blow in?” his teeth rotten with tobacco.
This question made everyone slowly stop to a halt. Herc cleared his throat with all the attention, “G’day, I just needed to get by. Didn’t realize there were two crews coming up this way.” he said.
“We’re with the Royal Timber Co. My name’s Raleigh Becket.” he smiled, putting a hand out for the man to shake. There was a large bloody scrape across the man’s wrist, bark rash littering his arms, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Right,” Herc shook his hand. “Herc Hansen.” He gestured to the wagon with a question in his eyes. It said Eureka across the side, not the usual black print of the company.
“Oh, this is a new wagon!” Raleigh answered, but it didn’t exactly answer Herc’s questions. Was this Raleigh lying to him? “Stacker’s over there if you need to talk to him. He’s running this show.”
Herc followed his finger to the man standing by the wagon. To his utter surprise, Chuck was standing there next to him.
“Chuck, what are you doin’ up this way?” Herc immediately asked, walking up to him and pulling him in for a hug.
“Hey old man, yeah I’m back.” he laughed. “The company allowed me to get me own wagon.” he grinned, patting the side of it proudly. “Mr. Royce said I could try it out if I put together a good enough crew, though I wasn’t able to lead it on me lonesome.” he looked down, gesturing embarrassed to the tall dark-skinned man beside him. “Wanted to see how well we could do the trip without putting the usual twenty-five man crew in. So here we are.”
Chuck seemed happier than Herc had ever seen him, other than when he had gotten that little wrinkly puppy for him in town. Herc nodded, proud of him. “Starting a new branch, huh kid?”
Chuck’s ears turned red, shoulders no longer tense, seeming glad that Herc approved. “Trying.”
Nodding again quickly in understanding, willing his eyes not to water. Happy for him, he placed a hand on the other’s shoulder. His son was doing good, collaborating with the Co. enough to get his own earnings in. A Hansen branch of the company. “She’s a beauty.” he told him softly, taking in the heavy wagon, pulled by two stalky Australian Draughts with white and black feathers. Like the ones his uncle had to pull logs while growing up.
Herc hadn’t heard from him in months, didn’t even know if he was on mainland Australia. Chuck and he hadn’t left each other on the best of terms, yet everything seemed alright for now. Perhaps Chuck just needed some assurance that he could move on, get somewhere that made him feel content.
“Well dad, this is Stacker Pentecost. I’m sure you got the letter about having a new crew up here.”
“G’day, you’re early.” Herc looked up a little at the man next to him. Stacker was a broad, tall man around his own age with a well-trimmed black beard and authoritative presence. Blue shirt littered with saw dust and worn boots. Handsome, Herc thought before awkwardly remembering to raise a hand for the man to shake.
“Mr. Hansen.” he greeted, a deep resonant voice curling around his refined British accent. His large warm hand covered Herc’s own solidly, yet held it with great care. “I like to get the work done. Your son insisted we come up before the sun. He’s got quite the mind behind that hot-headed surface.” he smiled then, and Herc was suddenly distracted by the beauty of it.
“Hey,” Chuck frowned in defense.
“He’s a good young man,” he complimented, dark eyes catching Herc’s own blue ones.
Herc cleared his throat again. “Thanks, he is.” was all he could say. “I intended to get through before you all arrived, I need to pick up supplies for the homestead.” he said, looking back at Chuck so that he didn’t stare too long at Stacker.
“I’m sorry Mr. Hansen, but it’ll probably take a bit of time to finish up these trees.” Stacker winced apologetically, jerking a thumb back to the three trees hanging over the road. “Big ones.”
“Call me Herc, please.” he told him, “That’s alright I’ll come back round later maybe.” Turning the way he came, he took one last look at Chuck before climbing smoothly onto Spooks’s back. “Glad you're still around, son.” Herc called, making the other chuckle.
Herc’s brother Scott, had left at an early age, as well. However he had never come back. It set a warmth in his heart that Chuck would be staying around Eureka Creek, maybe visit the house. Though the general goods store couldn’t wait if he was going to have visitors. He’d just go around then.
Coming to the curve of the trail, he headed up an old ridge most men were afraid to take. This was normal for Herc and he took the rough trail in stride, it was just who he was. A ‘mountain-man’ people called him.
Gunner followed a ways behind him, jumping over the thin moss-covered rocks. He reached the top, Spooks hardly panting. Looking down to the road, he found the others at a sharp angle below him. Herc whistled down to them. They looked around confused before he saw Raleigh’s mouth fall open. Another that from here looked just like Raleigh lifted his hands to his head in awe.
Chuck was grinning up at him and shaking his head. Herc tilted his hat to Stacker who held his hand up in a wave, continuing his way down to Eureka Creek.
---
Herc was walking out of Dunmore Bros. general store when the guy with rotten teeth spoke up from his seat on the porch. “The Hercules Hansen. The Man from Snowy River.” A few onlookers' heads turned at this. “I would say it’s an honor, but you don’t look like much.” he huffed a laugh.
Glancing around, Herc found the Eureka wagon sat near the Royal Timber Co. building completely full of wood. They really did work well together. “I’m not.” he said simply, filling his saddle bags with food and various other things he couldn’t get up there. Herc had never boasted over anything he’d done. Why should he care what this jerk thought?
He could hear the man stand up behind him, “That’s not what the stories say, mountain man.” he breathed, smelling of heavy alcohol. “Come on.” the man pushed his shoulder. Herc ignored it. “Come on, Hansen. Show us some of that wild stuff!” he laughed again, getting another drunk to join in the taunts. “You aren’t worth a piece of dirt, you aren’t. All tales.” As soon as the guy pushed Herc hard into Spooks, making his horse jerk to the side, he went to spin around. Gunner barked before tearing into his leg.
The man was on the ground in a flash before Herc could lay a punch though. His blue eyes widened as he watched Stacker appear out of nowhere. “Clark!” Stacker yelled, his furious voice nothing like the calm tone he had heard before. He gave another swift punch to the man’s nose when he wouldn’t back off. Stacker stood between Herc and the man, acting as a brick wall. “You’re fired, Clark. Won’t have someone like you on my crew. Now leave before I rip your arms off.”
Herc called Gunner’s name, the dog letting go and sitting down beside Herc with a tilted head. He patted Gunner on the head as Clark ran away with a limp and busted face. Taking a breath in Stacker turned towards him, shoulders heaving in anger. Herc stared, startled by his intense eyes. The man was so mad.
Remembering Spooks, Herc hushed softly while petting his neck to calm him down. The stock horse didn’t like violence hence his name. The townspeople were watching the commotion, Herc trying to hide behind his horse so he didn’t have to see their whispers. About a man- a stranger- suddenly going to Herc’s aid. Herc stepped back, looking up at Stacker in question.
“Are you alright?” Stacker asked, voice going back to that gentle tone Herc could get lost in. He hesitantly nodded in answer. “Wouldn’t tolerate a drunkard on my crew. If there is nothing else, I’ll let you get back to your work.” Stacker then turned around, and walked away in wide undaunted steps back to Chuck’s wagon. Steps like that of a man who’d seen war or far too much in life. Herc knew, since he had served three years of his life in his younger years, to the British army. Those days were remembered in a blur, nightmares still clinging to his sleep every now and then. That was all over for now since ‘70.
Herc blinked, trying to process what had just happened. He hadn’t even been able to say thank you. “Come on Spooks, we’re leaving town now. Back to the house where ya like it, huh?” he muttered, fixing the reins on his neck ahead of climbing onto his saddle.
---
The next morning, Herc rose early once again and headed back down the trail, this time leaving Gunner at the homestead. The first man he saw on the road was the American called Raleigh. His blond head popped up from where he stood in the wagon immediately when hearing Spooks's even footsteps. He grinned, waving his arm in greeting. “Hey-ho, Mr. Hansen!”
Herc tipped his hat to him, a little studious of the man’s enthusiasm. “I never introduced my big brother,” he pointed to the other blond Herc had seen below the mountainside yesterday, heaving two-hundred pound rounds onto the cart. “This is Yancy.”
The man heaved a breath, “Mr. Hansen. Pardon my brother, he gets like an overexcited puppy when he’s on an adventure.” he smiled, shaking Herc’s hand from where he sat on Spooks.
“S’alright.” He wondered what they were doing so far from home, but a man’s business was his own.
“Hey, dad.” Chuck came up to them, “I heard what Clark did. I could strangle him myself.” that familiar anger rising in Chuck’s tense expression.
Slightly embarrassed, Herc shrugged and shook his head. “Nah, it was alright. Mr. Pentecost told everyone, hm?”
“No, dad. Just me, he thought I should know.” Chuck explained. “If you want, though, since we’re short a man here, you could join us. Just for today until we hire another to take his place. I don’t think he’d mind.”
“Raleigh! Pull the cart farther up the road. We got some big ones coming down, so we’ll need a barricade unless you wanna go down the other side and roll them back up yourself.” A woman’s voice carried down through the brush with an accent he’d never heard before.
“Right. That’s the lady of the crew, Mako. Don’t get on her bad side.” Raleigh said, with wide eyes. Herc moved off to the side, while he wrestled the horses to urge forward about thirty feet.
“Times are changing,” Chuck said, when Herc’s eyebrows lifted. “She’s a lot of help, Pentecost’s daughter.” So he had a daughter, he was probably married, as well. A strong, dependable man like that was hard to come by. His wife was a lucky woman.
Herc smiled, “She’ll make sure the job gets done.”
“You’ve no idea.” Chuck sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “So whaddya say? Wreckin’ ya try it with my crew? Ya could give ‘em some pointers, though they are the fastest group I’ve ever seen.”
Herc got off Spooks, leading him down to a stream nearby, but not too close so that he might get into an accident. He tossed his hat onto the horn of the saddle showing strawberry-blond hair and lightly freckled face to the dappled sunlight before coming back up to the wagon, “Alrigh’, old man coming through.” he said, making Yancy snicker.
“I’m feelin’ that too, sir.” Yancy huffed, stopping for a drink from his canteen.
“You certainly look it,” Raleigh joked, rolling the logs into the front of the wagon.
“Yeah, you better stay up there, kid.” Yancy wiped his hand over his nose. “Just you wait- once your feet hit the ground, so will the rest of you.”
Herc chuckled as the two bickered. It reminded him of he and his own brother when they were younger. Back then they lived farther in town, since their dad needed to be by the bar. One day he didn’t come back, drinking himself to death. They had buried him in the little graveyard in town, traveling up into the mountains to escape everything. Together they had fixed up the cabin that had been forgotten.
An hour passed before Stacker carefully traveled back down the steep, brush-covered mountain. “There’s a nice sized one nearly a hundred yards from here. Dead and already laid. Couldn’t say what kind. It is a whole other world here.” he informed Raleigh. “Some sort of pine. There were plenty of those when I was working in America.”
“Once we get up there, I’ll take a look. We have a professional tree spotter among us today.” Chuck answered, gesturing to Herc.
Stacker’s eyes followed his hand to land on him, a pleased surprise present on his face. He flashed a white smile, “Nice to have a guide.”
“Eh, Chuck could do just fine. I thought I’d help out today if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Herc.” All at once Stacker’s warm eyes were all too much for Herc and he blinked away, looking towards the trees. His name was said very fondly and since Stacker was the only other person his age, he was the only one who could call him so; the younger workers would call him Mr. Hansen.
Herc tried not to let that thought sink in, letting it trickle away like sweat from his brow. At the very least, he was just confused. In the world they lived in, he wondered if it was possible to love a man without constant trouble. Constant rumor and scorn. Herc supposed living in the mountains had its privileges. He’d heard of cowmen leaving society on their long tracks just to be together without poisonous whispers.
Not that Stacker Pentecost was like him or in fact liked Herc. It was just very difficult to focus on the day when such a strapping man was standing there like he didn’t notice Herc’s countless glances. If Stacker had noticed he didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell him to knock off the bad manners or that it disgusted him.
Herc didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. Usually Herc could read people very well, but Stacker was kind of a hard man to figure out. At one point Herc accidentally slid a bit on the hillside, his riding boots were smooth leather. Stacker was behind him in a trice, placing a gloved hand on his waist to guide him back to his feet. Herc had blushed, and tried to ignore the gentle touch as he muttered a thank you.
Another point, later in the day when they were nearly done, Herc had about dropped the top end logs onto his feet. He did a double take towards the wagon. Stacker lifted half a nearly eight foot long trunk onto the side in order to make it easier to cut. The man’s well-built arms demarcated by the strain of his blue button-up.
That trunk must have nearly weighed half as much as one of the Draught horses. Was that even possible or was he seeing things? Chuck came by, clapping Herc on the shoulder with a smile. “That’s Mr. Pentecost.”
Herc shook his head in amazement. “Where did ya find this guy?” Handing his logs to the short chain gang they had formed.
“That’s the last of it!” Stacker hollered, informing everyone the day was done.
Chuck half-faced Herc so the Stacker didn’t hear. “I was talking to Mr. Royce about getting a boss who could work. Ya know how the world's sorta short in those. Well, he said he had a man just arrive in the lumber industry - now independent- with a small crew. Just came in from the U.S. Very lucky for me, righ?”
“So he’d been working in the states?” Herc squinted his eyes, wondering what a British man working lumber would be doing with a crew of Americans in Australia. Interesting people you come across now.
“Yep, got him before anyone else could, thank heavens.” he smiled climbing onto the wagon. “Hey, you reckon we could have dinner at the house? I’d like to see it again.”
Herc watched as Raleigh, Yancy, and Mako perked up at the idea. Seemed Chuck had told them stories about the place. Mako- Herc could say- was a respectful, hard-working young woman. He decided she was quite the lady when she told Chuck off in a small argument today.
He smiled, “Why not. Bring some meat up, will ya? And you’ll have to get some horses unless ya wanna walk all the way up the mountains.” they all nodded, with grins and wide eyes.
Before heading back to get Spooks, Herc turned towards Stacker who sat on the front with Chuck, all the workers sat high on the log pile, legs swinging over the side tiredly. They bickered amongst themselves while Herc stumbled, “Ya can come up to… if ya want.” he placed his hands in his pockets as he rocked on his feet.
Stacker looked down at him, a little smile twitching at his lips, “Inviting me to dinner?” Amusement and mischief lighting his eyes.
Herc swallowed, “Since the kids are, it's quite comfortable up there. That’s fine if you’d rather n-”
“I’m only joking, Herc. I’d be delighted to see your home.” he laughed good-heartedly at Herc’s flustered expression. “I’ll see you tonight then. Good work today.”
Herc nodded, not trusting his voice to say anything for him at the moment. Chuck held a laugh beside Stacker, to which Herc gave a little glare. He scuffed his boot before walking back into the protection of the trees. Not before Mako gave him a little smirk, a knowing look in her eyes.
What had he just got himself into? Four wild kids and a man he couldn’t help but ogle towards, eating dinner in his cabin. He couldn’t remember the last time he had guests.
Crikey.