A flock of crimson rosellas exploded from the trees into a sky of perfect blue. Clancy pawed the ground as Drew swung into the saddle. ‘Wear that riding helmet or you’re not coming,’ he said over his shoulder. Sam had taken to wearing Charlie’s lucky hat recently.
‘Won’t the others think it’s a bit strange?’
‘Who cares what they think? Put it on or stay here.’
Sam looked like she was about to argue. Then she apparently thought better of it, threw Tambo’s reins over the fence and ran back for the helmet.
Drew wasn’t quite sure how to act around Sam today. There had really been something between them last night – hell, they were about five metres and thirty seconds away from consummating that something. If only Spike hadn’t shown up. Talk about deja vu hitting Drew over the head with a mallet. It might be with a different girl, but it was very close to the bone. Sam and Charlie, Charlie and Sam – it was all too weird to be falling in love with Charlie’s twin, especially when Sam wouldn’t tell him what was really going on. And look at what happened when Drew fell in love with Charlie herself – not exactly a ringing endorsement for either girl. He pushed his feelings to the back of his mind and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Once they got going, he’d be right.
Sam came back with her helmet. There was a noticeable tremble in her legs as she mounted and Tambo had broken out into a sweat. The horse sensed Sam’s excitement, sidling sideways and playing with the bit. Although still early, the day was already uncomfortably warm. A shimmering haze rose above the purple peaks of the range, adding a silvery surrealism to the scene.
Since meeting Sam, Drew had tried to observe the world around him with fresh eyes. He paid attention now. He paid attention to the sound of the creek on its way down the mountain, to the subtle fragrance of the bush, to the pictures in the clouds. What would a stranger make of this view? He guessed they’d be pretty impressed. But most of all, he paid attention to Sam. Her laugh, her frown, her childlike wonder in the world. He loved just watching her ride. The way her hips swayed in time with her horse. The way her arms reached down occasionally to hug Tambo’s neck. He imagined those arms wrapped around him instead. Her very presence heightened his senses, making life infinitely more exciting.
‘Ready?’ asked Drew. Sam had Charlie’s stockwhip on the saddle. ‘You know how to use that thing?’
‘No.’ Sam adjusted her stirrups. ‘Charlie said to let the brumby stallion go.’
‘Did she now?’ Drew grinned. ‘That’s cause her and Jarrang, they’re old mates. Charlie raised him from a baby, after he got separated from his mother during a storm. She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. I early-weaned one of our foals and lent her the brood mare, hoping it might adopt the little colt. Nothing doing. Instead it tried to kick his head in. So Charlie milked that damn mare like a dairy cow, morning and night for months, and bottle-raised him.’ Drew slapped a fly off his thigh with his hat. ‘That little colt was a good sort. I said she should geld him and keep him for herself. But Charlie hasn’t got a practical bone in her body. Said he wouldn’t be happy in captivity.’ Drew didn’t put the rest of his thought into words; didn’t say that Jarrang would be a lot happier in Charlie’s paddock than in the knacker’s yard. If the federal government had its way, a knacker’s yard was where all the park brumbies would end up.
‘So what do we do?’ asked Sam.
‘Tell you what,’ said Drew. ‘If we run in Jarrang, you can have him. Let him go, if you want, or keep him for when Charlie comes home.’ Sam nodded. ‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘We’ve got some horses to catch.’
They cantered up the hill, past the dam, heading for the northern boundary of Brumby’s Run. Drew had constructed 200-metre-long wings – ring-lock wire fencing, disguised with hessian chaff bags – to funnel the brumbies into the yards at Dead Man’s Hut. He was pleased with the job. It helped that Chiquita was no wild horse. Since Christmas he’d left the big yard open and generously supplied with salt-licks, water and hay. Hoof prints and vanishing feed told Drew she’d led the mob inside more than once. They’d be less wary now. Still, if he missed them the first time, they’d be on to him. You only got one chance with brumbies.
When they reached the old stock route, they saw five riders approaching at a spanking trot, stock-whips slung by their sides. Two eager blue cattle dogs trotted behind. Drew reined Clancy in and waited.
‘Who are they?’ asked Sam.
‘That’s Tom Ward, our head stockman. Bushmen don’t come any better than Tom. The other four are contract brumby runners.’
‘Why’s that one got a rifle?’ asked Sam. Drew thought back to his own disastrous experience running brumbies the previous year, and prayed she wouldn’t wind up just as disillusioned.
‘If a horse breaks a leg, we’ll have to shoot it,’ he said honestly. ‘It’s the kindest thing.’ Sam stared in open astonishment and his stomach lurched with doubt. There was fear and apprehension in her large eyes now, and he was the one who’d put it there. Drew suddenly wished he hadn’t brought her along.
‘G’day Tom,’ said Drew, as the lead rider reached them. Tom pulled up his horse and leaned his elbow on the pommel of the saddle while he rolled a smoke. A crashing sound in the scrub provoked the two heelers into a mad flurry of barking. A small mob of black baldies, tails held high, broke from a stand of tea-tree and lumbered into the bush. Tom silenced the dogs with a word and stared at Drew. They were Kelly cattle. He must have missed them when he mustered the herd home to Brumby’s Run. Their presence would not go unreported.
‘Those brumbies aren’t too far away,’ said Tom. ‘Spotted them yesterday, in the clearing below Waratah Spring. Me and the boys will circle around, try to get in above them.’ He nodded towards Sam. ‘You and the girl hold down the flank. We’ll make plenty of noise for you.’
‘Righto,’ said Drew. Tom and the others veered left off the track, heading uphill through the trees, while Drew and Sam rode on to the hut. The brumbies had been there, and recently. Hay was trampled all about and there were fresh droppings. So far, so good. The hessian fence hadn’t spooked them.
Drew led Sam to a position fifty metres along the northern wing. ‘Tambo knows what to do. Just stay put and stand your ground.’ He pulled the stockwhip from her saddle and offered it. Sam took the coiled lash, holding it as cautiously as she might a snake. ‘You’ll hear the horses coming a mile off. Don’t let them past.’ Sam nodded, face flushed, either with excitement or fear. ‘You okay?’ He put his hand on her arm.
‘I’m okay,’ she said, and inexpertly brandished the whip. It slithered across Tambo’s wither, making him shiver. Drew gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile, then rode down around the yards and hut, and back along the southern edge of the trap.
It was a waiting game. He could just make out Tambo, further up the mountain, tucked amongst a patch of snow gums. Far enough back to escape detection, unless the brumbies headed straight for him. An hour passed. Little pestering flies crowded the corners of his lips and eyes. The sun swung higher and higher. He cleared his mind, allowed the silence to seep in, a kind of meditation. An hour passed. Clancy stamped his feet, weary of the morning vigil. Their plan required the patience of an ambush predator. Tambo remained motionless, statue-still on the hill above the yards. Two hours passed. The sun grew fierce. Drew had backed Clancy beneath the shade of a black wattle. The horse dozed sporadically, resting a hind foot. Drew’s left foot insisted on going to sleep.
He felt them before he heard them. A certain low vibration, travelling through Clancy’s body into his own, alerting them both. In the distance, the faint cries of men and the drumming of hoofs. Careful now. Don’t show yourself without cause. Let the mob momentum carry the horses right through to the yards. The noise grew louder. A volley of whip cracks told him they’d tried to make a break. Drew didn’t breathe until he was sure they were still coming. Then, as they burst over the brow of the ridge, he saw them.
An avalanche of horses in full flight, flanked either side by riders, was heading straight for the trap. There was Chiquita, in the lead. And Jarrang, bringing up the rear, galloping dangerously close to the lower hessian fence. Dust plumed in their wake, and their hammering hoofs dislodged rocks that rattled and rolled down the mountainside. Clancy trembled beneath him. Drew didn’t need to look at it through another’s eyes to appreciate the spectacle. By anyone’s measure it was a magnificent sight.
The mob thundered closer. In another minute they’d be past him. Tom trailed close to Jarrang. The stallion’s pace lacked the panicked quality of the other brumbies’. Instead, he moved with a watchful, confident grace. If any horse broke rank, it would be him.
As the mob drew close, Clancy’s excitement got the better of him. He raised his head and let out a long, trumpeting neigh. The sound quivered right through his body, through the saddle, through Drew. Without missing a beat, Jarrang veered into the hessian wing, tearing it apart at a join only metres from them. Clancy leapt forward and flung himself into the stallion’s shoulder. For one bone-jarring moment, it seemed all three of them might come crashing to earth. But as Drew recovered his balance, he plied the stockwhip with all his might, and sent Jarrang hurtling back down the hill after the herd, with Tom hard on his heels.
The horses approached the open gate, and the riders slackened their headlong pursuit. Nobody wanted Bill’s mare to hit the yard at a dangerous gallop. With perfect timing, first Chiquita, then the brumbies surged in at a slow canter. They milled around, shapes blurred by dust, in search of an escape route. But the trap was already sprung, the slip rails in place.
Drew glanced around for Sam. There she was, trotting back down the hill. Somehow she’d swapped her helmet for Charlie’s hat again. Sam joined him by the yards. They dismounted and surveyed their catch. Twelve horses in all. Jarrang kept a close eye on the humans, like he was assessing what danger they might pose. His mares and youngsters had arranged themselves facing the other way, at the back of the yard. They presented a solid row of round rumps. When Sam moved around the yard, the brumbies quietly rearranged themselves, maintaining the maximum possible distance between themselves and the girl.
The two heelers emerged from the bush, wild-eyed and panting. They trotted up to Drew, tails wagging, and he leant down to pat the spent animals. Dogs were worth their weight in gold on a mountain muster. Where thick trees or scrub might turn a rider, dogs could run straight through, and set a breaking beast right back on course.
Tom led his horse over. The gelding was lathered in sweat and caked with dust. ‘We had a bugger of a job finding them. You did well to hold that buckskin.’ Drew nodded in recognition of the compliment. Tom didn’t give them lightly. ‘We’ll leave the mob overnight to settle down. Cut Chiquita out, will you, and yard her separately. The trucks will be here in the morning.’
Drew nodded again. ‘How about I pick Chiquita up this evening,’ said Drew, ‘along with one of the brumbies? That’ll leave just ten, two trucks’ worth. Save you making an extra trip with the truck for just one horse.’ Behind Tom’s back, Sam pressed her palms together and mouthed thank you.
‘Good idea,’ said Tom. ‘Want a hand?’
‘We’ll be right,’ said Drew. ‘I’ll drop the brumby off at the show-grounds after I’ve got Chiquita home.’
Tom nodded. ‘There’s a nice young grey in that lot,’ he said. ‘A decent size and all. I reckon she’d suit the stock contractors. That stallion too.’ He glanced at Sam. ‘Charlie.’ The barest acknowledgement, then he led his horse off towards the troughs.
‘Stock contractors?’ asked Sam.
‘They supply bulls and bucking horses for rodeos.’ Drew didn’t like the look on Sam’s face. ‘Don’t worry. I promised you Jarrang, didn’t I?’
‘What about that grey Tom’s talking about?’
‘The Brumby Coalition buys any likely youngsters. She’ll be fine. Anyway, rodeo horses have a good enough life. Only work for maybe eight seconds a day, two days a week. There are worse gigs.’
Sam looked unpersuaded. ‘You said the Brumby Coalition takes the young ones. What happens to the rest?’
‘They’ll go through the feature horse sale, next picnic race day. The sale I told you about last night – the one where you might be able to pick up that string of good trail horses, if you have a mind to.’
‘Will any of these brumbies go for slaughter?’
Jesus. He really didn’t want to get into this with her. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. Sam turned and moved off along the rails. Drew followed her, getting his first good look at the captured horses, standing well back so as not to stress them. He spotted the young grey straight away. Tom was right. The mare was no average brumby. Sired by Jarrang, to go by her presence and the unusual stripes on her hoofs. But she wasn’t out of any of these mares. Way too tall, for one thing. A three-year-old, he guessed, from Jarrang’s first crop of foals. Powerful body, well balanced with great bone. Clean legs. An elegant head, slightly convex in profile, and the most magnificent full mane and tail he’d ever seen. Who might her mother be?
‘She’s stunning,’ said Sam, eyes filled with admiration. ‘Can I have her too?’
‘You’re joking, right?’ She didn’t look like she was joking. ‘Contract runners get captured brumbies as part payment for their work,’ he explained. ‘They’ll want them auctioned off at the highest price. It’s going to be hard enough explaining when Jarrang goes missing.’
‘I’ll buy her at the sale then,’ said Sam.
‘If you want. She’s a nice type of filly.’ Sam’s expression brightened. Drew took another look at the grey. Very nice indeed. Maybe he’d buy her himself, as a present for Sam. Chiquita pricked up her ears as Sam offered a handful of hay through the rails. Jarrang bared his teeth, warning the mare not to approach the humans. ‘Stay away,’ said Drew. ‘Just let them settle.’
The other men didn’t stick around for long. A shared thermos of tea, a brief rest for the dogs, and they were gone. In spite of Drew’s admonitions, Sam remained glued to the rails, watching the brumbies. Jarrang watched back. Occasionally he rolled his eyes, or laid back his ears at her. ‘I reckon that stallion’s the only one in Currajong who could tell straight off that you’re not Charlie,’ said Drew. Sam smiled at him. She looked extraordinarily beautiful, face flushed pink with happiness, glossy hair escaping from a careless knot at the nape of her neck. ‘Come on,’ he said, giving himself a swift kick. ‘It’s time to cut out some horses.’
It didn’t prove too difficult to separate Jarrang and Chiquita from the mob. Chiquita had greedy eyes for the bucket of oats, and Jarrang had greedy eyes for Chiquita. When the mare finally slipped past her jealous keeper into the side yard, eager for a treat, he followed in an attempt to retrieve her. Drew stood guard between the two horses and the gate, stockwhip in hand, while Sam secured the sliprails. ‘Nothing to it,’ she said with a triumphant grin.
They fed the stock and filled the troughs. ‘I want to stay here while you get the truck,’ said Sam, staring at the horses.
‘They won’t disappear, you know, if you take your eyes off them,’ he said. Sam didn’t answer, didn’t even look around. The brumbies had apparently hypnotised her. With the exception of Jarrang, the horses paid no attention to Sam, as if by determinedly ignoring their captor she might go away. A dun foal, the baby of the group, occasionally peeked at the humans from between its mother’s legs. The others stood with backs turned, deceptively quiet in the fierce noonday heat. They could have been a string of riding-school horses on a lunchtime break. Only Jarrang remained vigilant.
Drew untied Clancy and swung into the saddle. ‘You sure you’ll be okay, out here by yourself?’ She didn’t seem to hear him. ‘Sam?’ This time he was louder. At last she turned around.
‘What about Jarrang?’ she asked.
‘I’ll pick him up this arvo, along with Tambo and Chiquita, drop him off at your place on the way through. Got your phone?’
Sam nodded. ‘What will you tell Tom?’
‘That I lost him. He’ll think I’m a fuckwit, but what can he do?’
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ said Sam. ‘Just wait until I tell Charlie.’
Drew wheeled Clancy around. ‘Don’t thank me too soon,’ he said, pointing to Jarrang. ‘That bugger’s trouble on four legs. You might be cursing me before too long.’