It's 1939, and the Australian outback is no place to be lingering alone. You're tied up to a post, been left there for almost a full day. It was just your luck to be caught up like this, you didn't belong here. The camp of bandits behind you are settling down to bed, but your stomach growls, your mouth dry.

From the corner of your eye, you see something - a man on a horse. His build is large, his body hardly fits inside his shirt. You can just about make him out in the darkness...

Drover approaches, still far enough away to stay out of sight from the rest of the camp. He should really keep to his own, but he knew his brain wouldn't let this go. He wouldn't be able to get your poor face out of his stupid head. A sigh escapes him, gripping his horses reigns. How was he going to get you out of this safely? How was he going to get himself out of this safely?