Matilda's Last Waltz (38 page)

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As the fourth year of drought dragged into the fifth, Matilda began to see more black ink in her account books but knew that if it went on much longer that would soon change. Bluey's pups turned out beaut. Eight in all, two of them bitches. With one bitch each, she and Tom divided up the litter. They were intelligent and obedient, and soon she was able to take them with her to the paddocks and harness their inbred skills for mob herding.

She moved her sheep from pasture to pasture as the grass dwindled to dust, and finally corralled them in the home pastures where the grass remained lush from the bore. She had sold some of her stock and put the money in the bank. Sheep couldn't be forced to eat, and it was cheaper to keep her mob to a minimum than to try and feed them from expensive store-bought feed.

Everyone was hurting. Wilga, Billa Billa, even Kurrajong. The poor quality wool was being sold for the lowest price ever and Matilda wondered if this was the end of everything she'd worked for. The grass was thin, silver and whispering as she trudged the fields. The sheep were listless and drooping in the incredible heat.

Then the storms came. Dry and harsh and filled with electricity, they crackled overhead and left the squatters hot, on edge and desperate. They thickened the air with their heavy, rain-filled clouds, blackening the sky so she had to light the lamp during the day. Matilda and her drovers looked constantly to the heavens for the long hoped-for rain, but when it came it did little to soothe the parched earth. It was too lightly scattered and windblown to stay more than a few seconds.

She lay in bed, aching for sleep after another long day of moving the sheep to another pasture where the grass was only slightly better than the last. She was unbearably hot and restless, and Bluey lay beneath the bed quivering in terror. The sound of the electric storm filled the house, thundering over the roof and reverberating in the foundations. It was as if the world was on fire, waiting for that final whip crack of lightning that would bring Armageddon.

She must have finally drifted into sleep for when she next opened her eyes she realised that although it was still dark outside, and the thunder was continuing to roll across the land, something was different. She leaned on one elbow and sniffed the air. The temperature had dropped several degrees and a cooler, fresh breeze drifted in from the window.

‘Rain!' she yelled, leaping out of bed. ‘It's going to rain.'

With Bluey tight on her heels, she raced through the house and out on to the verandah. The first heavy drops splashed on to the roof and darkened the dry earth of the firebreak. They grew in number, following swiftly one after another like a great drum roll until the deluge became a thunderous roar.

Matilda forgot she was in her nightshirt. Forgot she was barefoot. Tears mingling with the wonderful, sweet rain, she stepped off the verandah and stretched her arms to the sky. ‘At last, at last,' she breathed.

Gabriel and his family crawled out of their gunyahs and stood laughing and dancing in the cold, wet downpour. Wally and Mike emerged bare-chested and sleep-tousled from their bungalow. Even from this distance, she could see their grins.

‘It's raining,' she yelled unnecessarily.

‘Too bloody right it is,' laughed Wally, the younger of the two, as they came to join her in the yard.

Matilda was filled with a restless energy, a longing to celebrate, and after watching Gabriel cavort with his wife in the mud, grabbed Wally by the hand and pulled him into a whirling, exhausting dance across the yard. Mike caught hold of Gabriel's young daughter and followed suit. Within seconds all of them were caked in mud and out of breath.

When they'd finally collapsed on the porch steps, they all just sat and watched the parched earth soak up the inches and inches of life-giving water. It was a miracle – and it hadn't come a day too soon.

Mike was the first to voice the concern they'd all begun to feel. ‘Reckon we'd better move the mob to higher ground, Molly, before this lot takes hold. They're too near the river at the moment and if it runs a banker we'll lose the lot.'

As he gave her an appraising look, Matilda suddenly realised her cotton nightshirt was sodden and left little to the imagination. Blushing furiously, she gathered its folds. ‘Let me get dressed,' she muttered. ‘You see to the breakfast, Mike.'

She ran indoors and stripped off the filthy, sodden scrap of cotton. She washed quickly and scrubbed herself dry with one of the new towels she'd bought from Chalky on his last visit.

Chalky White, and his father before him, had been touring the outback for years. No one knew his real name, or age but his visits were eagerly looked forward to by the women for he always carried a collection of the latest dresses, as well as make-up and shoes, records, books, and all the things that made a house a home. He had once travelled by horse and wagon but now he drove in style in a converted fairground truck and came more than twice a year.

She eyed the new moleskins and boots, and decided against them. They would be ruined in the mud. But the long waterproof droving coat would be a godsend.

Breakfast was a hasty affair of mutton sandwiches and mugs of strong, sweet tea. Conversation was kept to a minimum as it was impossible to hear one another against the thunder of rain on the roof, but they left the house as one to saddle up the horses. Gabe was to stay behind to make sure the cows and pigs didn't drown, and to batten down the barns and hay lofts so the rain didn't spoil their precious stores.

The rain was heavy, almost bruising. Matilda tucked her chin into the collar of her waterproof and tipped her hat low over her eyes as she watched Blue and his three pups round up the sheep. The drovers' whistles were drowned by the sound of the rain punching the ground, but the animals were proving skilful and well-rehearsed.

Lady was skittish, dancing on her toes, tossing her mane, eyes rolling. Matilda took a firm grip of the reins and kicked her forward. It was going to be a long day, and tough going, but thank God for it.

Sheep hate getting wet. Newly shorn, they shivered in pathetic clumps, skittering this way and that to escape the bullying dogs and riders. But there was always something or someone there to stop them, to turn them back into the mob and press them forward. This made the exodus from the pastures slow, but it became steadier as the horizon was hidden behind a curtain of rain.

Matilda breathed in the wonderful fresh smell of soaked earth and wet scrub. An inch of rain meant nothing out here, but ten inches meant fresh grass – and grass to a squatter meant life.

They finally reached higher ground which lay to the east of Tjuringa mountain. The grass was spare but would soon flourish and there was plenty of water in the fast-flowing mountain streams. After checking the fences, they released the mob and began to make their way back.

It was three in the afternoon, but there had been no real sunrise that day. The clouds raced, black and heavy over a leaden sky, and a sharp wind blew darts of rain through the trees. The horses picked their way through the rivers and runnels of water which ran swiftly over the concrete-hard earth, their manes flicking rain, letting the water stream from necks and legs.

The long waterproof weighed on Matilda's shoulders and cold drips ran down her neck. But she didn't care. Couldn't possibly feel cold and miserable now the rain had come. Getting wet was a small price to pay for survival.

The steep-sided creek had run a banker. Where there had been only a trickle of water a few hours ago, now there was a raging torrent which swept everything before it. Matilda took a firm grip on the slick reins and urged Lady down the slope and into the water.

The old mare baulked as she slid and slewed in the mud, head tossing, eyes wild with terror as the water surged around her legs. Matilda tried to calm her and urge her forward, but the mare rolled her eyes and backed off.

Mike's black gelding was too close. As it reared up and whickered, she felt the answering shiver run through Lady. It was some minutes before both horses were under control. ‘We got to cross, Molly,' shouted Mike above the deluge. ‘There's no other way back – and if we don't do it now, we'll be stranded.'

‘I know,' she yelled back. ‘But Lady's spooked, and I don't think she'll make it.'

‘It's that or wait for the rain to stop – and I don't reckon it will for days.' Wally's chestnut stood placidly on the edge of the raging water, seemingly unaffected by the skittishness of the other two. ‘I'll go first and take a line with me.'

He uncoiled his rope and lashed it around the bole of a tree which in normal times stood several feet above the water on the bank but was now almost submerged. Tying the other end firmly around his waist, he took a couple of the pups and stuffed them inside his waterproof coat. The chestnut stepped into the fast-flowing water, and was soon swimming strongly against the tide.

Mike and Matilda held tightly to the rope, ready to pull Wally back out if his horse was swept from under him. They were lashed by the rain which stung their eyes and froze their hands, but their grip never faltered. The tide was strong, the undercurrent deadly as it rushed over the craggy bottom in whirlpools and eddies – and Wally's life depended on them.

He finally emerged, the gelding sliding in the mud as it tried to get a grip on the steep bank. Again and again the horse strained and struggled. Eventually Wally slid from his back and scrambled up the slope, dragging the gelding by the reins as he shouted encouragement.

The ascent was agonisingly slow for those who watched but eventually they reached dry ground and Wally tied the rope around a tree stump. Matilda and Mike breathed a sigh of relief as he took off his hat and waved it. He was all right. He'd made it.

‘You go next, Molly,' shouted Mike. ‘But if you feel the horse slip away, don't hold on to it. Just keep tight to the rope and pull yourself across.'

She nodded, but she had no intention of letting Lady slip from beneath her to certain death. They'd been together too long, shared too much for Matilda to abandon her. She tucked the remaining pup into her coat where he squirmed, his wet fur soaking her shirt. She waited for him to settle, then gently encouraged Lady back into the water. With one hand gripping the reins, and the other hooked around the rope, she used her knees and thighs to keep the old mare under control as the water swirled in vicious eddies around her feet.

Lady slipped and stumbled, her head rearing up as she whickered with terror. Matilda leaned over her neck, muttering soothing noises, coaxing her on until she found her footing and her courage to push against the tide.

The water surged over their legs and Matilda felt its tug as Lady began to swim. She clung like a limpet to her back, face almost touching her mane, hands grasping reins and rope, the puppy squirming between them.

‘Good girl,' she crooned. ‘Good girl. Steady now, Lady. Keep going, girl. Keep going.'

The rain fell in solid sheets, blinding them, adding to the flow of the river, making the banks slick and deadly. Wally stood on the other side shouting encouragement, but Matilda was deaf and blind to everything as she felt the old mare begin to tire. ‘Come on, girl. One more push. One more and we're home,' she urged.

Lady heaved herself into the shallows and gamely ploughed up the slope. But there was no foothold, just sliding, slimy mud which slithered beneath her hooves and dragged her back into the water.

Matilda could hear the rasp of those great lungs, feel the bunching of those tired muscles, and leaped off her back. With her grip firm on the bridle, and feet squarely dug into the mud, she tried to pull her out of the water and up the slope.

Lady came snorting and struggling, fighting for a foothold, teeth bared in the effort as Matilda scrambled up the slope dragging her behind her. She shouted encouragement and once they were clear of the water, Wally slithered down to grasp the reins and add his strength.

Time ceased to exist in the mare's agonisingly slow progress, but then her hoof struck solid ground and she gave a final great lunge and stumbled to the top of the slope. She stood there for a long moment, sides heaving as she fought for air. Then her legs crumpled beneath her and she sank to the ground. Her long yellow teeth snapped, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she was still.

Matilda was on her knees in the mud, the pup slithering unnoticed from her coat and racing to its siblings. She stroked Lady's neck, following the familiar contours of her once powerful body as tears slid down her face and mingled with the rain. Lady had been a true friend – her only friend in that first year or so – she'd shown courage right up to the end.

‘Mike's coming across,' Wally yelled close to her ear. ‘Give us a hand.'

Matilda sniffed back the tears and grabbed the rope. Mike was already halfway across the river with Bluey riding pillion. As the water swirled over the gelding's back, the dog almost lost his footing and Matilda held her breath.

Bluey had no intention of swimming. He crouched low against Mike and steadied himself, then gave a sharp bark and windmilled his tail.

‘Little bastard's enjoying that,' yelled Wally as they pulled on the rope. ‘I swear he's grinning.'

Matilda was speechless with fear and grief. She'd lost one mate today. She didn't think she could bear it if she lost another.

Mike's gelding struggled on the bank but was soon on firm ground. Bluey jumped off his back and shook himself all over them before lunging at Matilda in a whirlwind of muddy paws and darting tongue. She and the two men collapsed on the ground, winded and exhausted, no longer caring that they were growing colder and wetter by the minute. They'd made it.

After they'd caught their breath, Matilda climbed up behind Mike and they began the long trek home. The dogs ran beside them, eager for a warm kennel and dinner. Matilda could think only of Lady. They'd had to leave her behind – an ignoble end for such a brave horse. Matilda grasped her saddle close. She would miss her.