The property next to ours had a mob of Brumbies running on it. The stallion was an old ugly fellow, huge with feathery legs.
It was the year of the bad bushfires out west. There was one heading for the property where the Brumbies were. It jumped the road and was heading straight for the bush that the horses were in.
The horses were circled by the fire. They had nowhere to go. The mares were panicked and were running all over the place, but the old stallion waited.
We were sure they’d all be killed.
Then all of a sudden the stallion took off. He got them together, bit, kicked and charged into them until they were in a tight mob. Then he drove them hard at a full gallop into the fire ... and out the other side.
He knew when and where the fire was at its weakest. There were a few singed manes and tails, but he saved his mob.