LUKE RODE OVER TO Jess and leaned down. ‘Ride home with me?’
‘Sure,’ said Jess, picking up Dodger’s reins. She grinned. This was an exceptionally beautiful place for a ride.
‘I want to come too,’ said Grace. ‘Give us a leg up, will you?’
‘Dodger might be a bit tired,’ said Jess, giving her a meaningful look.
‘Oh.’ Grace rolled her eyes and reached for the car door. ‘See you back at the pub then, I s’pose.’
‘We’ll come down through Matty’s Creek,’ said Luke. ‘Be back before dark.’
‘Be careful,’ said Mrs Arnold. ‘Those other riders are still out here somewhere.’
‘They’ll be long gone,’ said Luke. ‘They headed in the other direction, back through the state forest.’
Mrs Arnold pulled a rolled-up oilskin from the car. ‘Take my Driza-Bone. You might need it.’
Jess followed Luke back over the crest of the mountain, where the wind howled remorselessly. She pressed the studs of the Driza-Bone together, fastening it around her, and enjoyed the way the wind made the skin on her face burn. She looked out over the endless waves of gorges and ridge-tops, and felt her chest fill with something wonderful.
Dark clouds rolled over the mountains and the cold began to seep through the oilskin. ‘It’s going to snow again,’ she said, excitedly.
‘Or bucket with rain,’ said Luke. He pushed Legsy into a trot.
As they rode into the open woodlands, the wind shook the raindrops from the leathery leaves and ribbon bark flapped around enormous white tree trunks. Branches creaked and splintered above them. Moss hung from the trees like old grey beards.
They went deeper into gorges where creeks cut invisible channels beneath carpets of ferns and tangled sticks. It was slow going, and all the while the wind followed them, like whispering voices carrying ancient secrets.
In front of them a wombat trundled along a narrow trail, then disappeared into its burrow. Further ahead, kangaroos grazed in pockets of wetlands and bush birds twittered in the flowering heath.
They pushed through tangled vine thickets and made their way deeper into the gully. She-oaks swished above the beaches of gravel beside the creek bed and Jess heard the soft clik-clik of cockatoos breaking the cones, husking the seeds and letting the caffs fall to the ground beneath them.
‘Look, there’s an old track,’ said Luke. There was a narrow parting in the trees, and grass grew knee-high between them.
‘It goes the wrong way,’ said Jess.
‘Let’s follow it anyway.’
Fat drops of rain splatted onto Jess’s oilskin. ‘I think we should just get to Matty’s Creek.’
‘Come on, let’s just have a quick look.’ Luke pushed Legsy into a slow canter and Jess reluctantly let Dodger follow.
The track became wider but the grass was still thick as they cantered along it. A little further on, the track stopped at a wide, grassy flat. At the edge of the flat was a small hut. It was made from stone and slabs of wood and old scraps of corrugated iron. It was little more than a box with a chimney.
‘Oh, wow!’ said Luke, dismounting and tying Legsy to a tree. Jess tethered Dodger and followed Luke into the hut.
It was tiny inside, barely big enough for a rolled-out swag, and there wasn’t even a window, but it was dry, and the rain was starting to pelt down. Jess pulled off the Driza-Bone and tossed it in a wet pile on the floor. The stone fireplace had a steel rod through it and an old pot hung in the hearth. Next to it was a bundle of dry wood.
‘Let’s make billy tea!’ said Luke, like an excited kid. He began fiddling with the pot, opening the lid and peering inside. ‘I’ll ride back to the river and get some water!’
‘We don’t have any teabags.’
Luke snorted. ‘We can use gum leaves!’
Jess grimaced. ‘I’m not drinking that.’ Then she noticed a collection of small rusty tins sitting on one of the horizontal beams. Most were empty, but one had some fossilised brown stuff caked in the bottom of it. ‘Reckon it’s coffee?’ she asked, handing it to Luke.
He sniffed it. ‘Might be.’
Jess picked up another tin. It was enamelled blue, and through the flakes of rust she could just make out a picture of a bird on it. She twisted the top off. Inside was a crackly paper package. ‘Tealeaves!’ She carefully pulled the package out, prised it open and pressed the crunchy small leaves between her fingers. ‘Or something illegal . . .’
Luke peered inside it. ‘It’s tea, you ninny.’
‘No cups.’
‘We’ll use the empty tins.’ Luke took the pot and headed back out into the rain. He straddled Legsy and cantered out of sight.
Jess sat in the doorway of the hut with her feet on the step. The eave was just wide enough to keep the rain off her. She hugged herself, thinking how good a hot drink would be, and looked across the grassy flat.
A small dark head popped up above the grass. And another. Wallabies with beautiful chocolate-brown faces nibbled at the grasses, the rain rolling off their thick fur. The sight of them made Jess relax. Wallabies were always the first to flee if there was danger. The brumby-runners must be long gone.
As though testing her theory, the wallabies suddenly lifted their heads and pricked their ears. Jess peered out along the track and saw Luke approaching on Legsy, the reins in one hand, the pot in the other.
Luke got a fire roaring within minutes, feeding it with big, seasoned logs until the heat of it nearly forced Jess out the door again. He scraped the hot coals into a mound and sat the billy on top. In barely a minute it was bubbling. Luke wrapped his shirt around the handle and poured the boiling water over the tealeaves.
They sat side by side in the doorway, looking out over the grassy flat, sipping on the hot tea.
‘This tastes really bad,’ said Jess.
Luke picked up the package and read the small print on the back of it. ‘It’s probably more than fifty years old.’ He laughed. ‘And it has mouse droppings in it.’
Jess spat hers out but she couldn’t help laughing. When she looked up, the breath was knocked from her lungs. ‘Look!’ she breathed.
A horse, red like ochre, walked onto the grassy flat in the pouring rain. With his scarred, knobbly legs and grey chin, he looked as old and weathered as the granite tors that rose all around him. He let out a long whinny, then walked in circles with his nose high, neighing and calling. Then he stood, silent, with his rump to the wind, and waited.
‘Over there,’ Luke whispered.
From between two boulders a small coloured mare, with rope burns on her neck and patches of hair missing from her tail, walked slowly, painfully, onto the flat. A foal walked quietly beside her.
The rain beat down on the roof of the hut so hard that it blurred all other sound, but Jess imagined the soft nickering and gentle snorts as the two old horses reunited, ran their noses reassuringly over each other’s necks and flanks and pressed their bodies together.
With the small foal gambolling alongside, they walked to the trees and disappeared back into the forest.
Jess ran the back of her hand across her eyes. ‘That was so beautiful.’
Luke looked at her with shining eyes. ‘That was the horse Mum told me about, Stormy-girl. I’m sure of it.’