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“Who would do that?” Vaughan huffed as he rode the gelding bareback, legs dangling long behind the horse’s shoulder. He kept one hand on the lunge rope and the beast responded, relieved at the familiarity of Vaughan’s touch.
“Whoever knew it was there, I guess.” Leilah led one of the steadier mares, the little knot of fillies plodding behind like schoolchildren on an outing. She glanced back at regular intervals, feeling the herd calm as their distance from the bustle and activity grew. If the plodding got too skittish and close to her heels, Leilah stamped her foot and raised her arms until the horse got the message and stopped trying to rush her. “Bit-less and barefoot,” she mused to herself and saw Vaughan’s brows knit.
“What?”
She jerked her head towards the lunge rope clipped onto the head collar ring. Vaughan exercised complete control over the wilful gelding with his legs and backside, not needing tack to help his cause. “Bit-less and barefoot,” she said again. “It’s becoming a thing now. People are realising you don’t need to break them in by force, but they actually perform better without a bit or shoes if you train them right.”
Vaughan raised one side of his lip in a sneer. His prominent nose crinkled with the action. “People are stupid,” he commented, his indictment of riders who resorted to complicated metal to tame their mounts, instead of trying to understand them. “Ain’t nothing gonna change that.”
Leilah jerked her head upwards in response, bracing herself against the downward slope. The mare’s snout touched against her shoulder and again, Leilah stamped her foot and lifted her arms. The beast jerked and raised her head, her eyes rolling in fear. Vaughan ran a hand across his face and Leilah heard the bristles against his palm again. She didn’t know if he shaved but would never ask. Closed and secretive, the boy shared nothing personal, not even where he’d come from aged twelve or why his stomach made him take days off school. Sighing, Leilah trudged down to the gate.
One handed gate opening was a particular skill learnt early. Hector’s short patience didn’t allow for wasted minutes of fumbling. He trained his horses to operate in bomb proof conditions without fuss, disdainful of Horse’s more sloppy techniques. The mare nudged Leilah’s shoulder again as her fingers squeezed the spring and released the catch. She shook her head and glanced at Vaughan.
“She used to be worse,” he admitted.
Leilah pushed the gate open and stamped again as the mare tried to rush her. Two dinner plate sized hooves lifted off the floor and the horse jerked backwards, obeying the natural response to an anticipated kick. “Hector could fix her,” Leilah replied, holding her ground and making the mare wait. Pulling the lunge rope tight and forcing the mare’s neck into a graceful arc, she tapped the muscular chest until the huge beast bent under her will and took a reluctant step back. “Good girl,” she said, stroking the wide forehead before turning and stepping through the gate. Once inside the paddock, she walked the mare in a wide circle until the glittering eyes faced the gate, holding the rope as she fussed and complained.
The fillies burst through ahead of Vaughan as though the gate formed a dam they’d breached in their fear. They cantered away and Leilah’s mare whinnied an angry protest. Vaughan remained mounted to close the gate, bending double along the gelding’s shoulder. He too turned towards the gate before slipping from the silky back and taking a snowfall of loose hair with him on his school trousers.
“Do you want to leave the head collars on?” Leilah asked, keeping hold of the rope as the mare turned her head and tried to increase the tension. “In case you need to move them again.”
Vaughan nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.” He unclipped the lunge rope from the gelding’s head collar. Away from the strangers, the horse put his head down and tore a mouthful of grass from the roots. The ends hung from his lips as he closed his eyes and chewed. “Easily pleased.” He smiled and slapped the wide, muscular neck, the sound echoing around the paddock. Leilah unclipped her rope and the mare took off towards the other females, throwing up clods of earth in her haste.
“Did Horse pick anything up from the muster?” Leilah closed the gate and clambered up to sit in the top rung.
Vaughan shook his head. “Not this year. He didn’t go. You?”
“Yeah. Hector got a colt and another filly.”
Vaughan raised an eyebrow. “And he wants you to train her, but you don’t want to?”
Leilah swallowed, the nod shallow and non-committal. She added to the picture with a shrug. Tears pricked behind her eyeballs. Why could her own father not see the same as this secretive, rag-tag boy-man?
“I’ll have to fix Mary myself.” Vaughan chewed on his lower lip. “Horse lost interest.”
“Mary?” Leilah smiled at the incongruous name.
Vaughan grinned. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary. It’s what I call her.” He wrinkled his nose and his dark fringe bounced on his eyelashes as he gave her a shy sideways glance. “She’s better than she was. I’m teaching her to jump.”
Leilah nodded. She’d seen the rusty barrels joined by fence posts on the way down and guessed. “Will you sell her?”
Vaughan’s expression lost its permanently hunted look and he smiled. “If I can make her good enough. I’m trying to give them half an hour each most days.”
Leilah gaped. “That must take hours. When do you do homework?”
“In bed at night,” he replied, clambering up next to her and picking lichen from the top rung. “I do okay.”
“About university next year,” Leilah began, her words whispered, “will you tell Horse if you get in?”
Vaughan clenched his jaw and shook his head, his expression growing wary. “I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far ahead. He’s expecting me to stay here and carry on working for him for nothing.”
“But we’re still all applying to Auckland, aren’t we?” Nerves put an uncustomary wobble into Leilah’s chin. “We’re staying together like we all promised.”
“Yeah.” Vaughan scratched his bristly chin and gave her a disarming smile. “The Four F’s. Always.”
Leilah felt her body slump in relief. The sleeve of her school blouse rustled against Vaughan’s shirt, the sound adding to the whisper of the wind in the boundary trees. The gully beyond held the memory of Malcolm’s pale face and Leilah shivered. “The raid is about the drugs, not Malcolm’s death,” she breathed, surprised at the desire to lower her voice. “That cop told me.”
“Oh.” Vaughan’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand any of this, do you?”
Leilah shook her head and then changed her mind. She turned on the thick band of wood and faced him. “Malcolm died here,” she said, tears stinging behind her eyelids. “I saw him, Vaughan. I don’t know what to do.”