The Golden Stranger (13 page)

She took a matted piece of his forelock and untangled a large spiky burr from the middle of it. ‘What's going to happen to you, Goldie?' she said quietly.

‘He needs some exercise if you have a spare ten minutes,' said John from behind her. He held a syringe full of yellow stuff in one hand and a coiled rope in the other. ‘I'll just give him his vitamin shot.'

John gave Goldie's neck a wipe with a swab and stuck the needle into his vein. He clipped the rope to the colt's halter and handed it to Shara. ‘Just got to make a few calls and then I'll run you home.'

He disappeared into the office and Shara led Goldie out into the sunshine. There was a small paddock behind the surgery where she let him out onto the end of the rope to stretch his legs. Goldie burst into a canter. He pigrooted and squealed for five laps until Shara could pull him into a more controlled circle. He came back to an energetic trot and Shara grinned as she watched him fool around, tail high in the air and nose to the wind.

His colour was dazzling, a deep caramel with black dapples dancing down his hindquarters, shimmering in the sunlight. His silvery mane ruffled in the wind and caught the sun. His stride was playful and he reacted to Shara's movements with snorts and squeals and frolicking leaps. ‘You've been locked up for too long,' she laughed, as he careered around on the end of the rope.

John appeared at the fence and waved her over. ‘Got an emergency. I'll drop you home on the way.'

Shara reluctantly pulled Goldie to a stop and led him, prancing, back to the stable. He planted his feet outside the door, pulling against her.

‘Come on, Houdini.' John gave him an encouraging slap on the rump and pushed him in through the doorway. He closed the door, pulled a padlock from his pocket and locked the top door securely.

John marched to the LandCruiser, and Shara had run after him.

John drove fast and Shara wondered what the emergency was. They hadn't gone far down the road when she saw the little red car come hurtling towards them.

John mumbled something under his breath and, once again, drove straight past Shara's street. ‘Looks like you're coming with me again.'

‘What are they
doing
in town?' said Shara.

‘Looking for their colt.'

‘Goldie?'

‘That'd be the one.'

‘I thought they denied owning him?'

‘All of a sudden they want to pay his vet bills and claim him as theirs.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, that's the strange thing about people who neglect animals. They often still have a strong sense of ownership and entitlement over them. Now that they're looking like the victims, they think they might have a shot at getting him back.'

‘Is that possible?'

He looked at her as he drove. ‘Now they are saying that
you
stole him and
you
let him starve.'

‘What?'

‘Don't panic. We all know that's ridiculous. We're holding them off for as long as we can until we can work out what's going on. We certainly don't want to give him back if we don't have to.' He shot her a complicit grin. ‘So much paperwork, y'know?'

‘Do they know where he is?'

‘Yes – the RSPCA was obliged to tell them.'

‘They'll steal him back!' Shara twisted in her seat and watched the red car barrelling straight for John's place. Straight for Goldie. At least John had padlocked his stable, but that wouldn't stop the Connemans if they really wanted to take him. ‘Shouldn't we go back?'

John nodded up ahead, to where another car zoomed towards them, leaving big billows of dust in its wake. It was a police car. ‘Don's already on the way. I just spoke to him on the phone. He won't let them take him.'

‘How did he know?' She stared at John. ‘Where are we going?'

‘Like I said, there's been an emergency,' said John.

‘Bigger than this one?'

‘Yes.'

16

JOHN REACHED COACHWOOD ROAD,
but instead of turning left into town, he turned right and made for the freeway.

They drove for more than half an hour and eventually turned into a narrow laneway. They reached a dilapidated building made from besser blocks, which looked as though it had once been a small dairy.

Shara unclipped her belt and followed John out of the car. The stench of stale horse urine and manure burned her nostrils. There was another foul smell too . . . something overpowering.

When she peered over the solid timber half-door, several wild-looking horses rushed to the other end of the building.

They were a heart-rending sight, thin and gaunt and utterly terrified. The smell, Shara realised, was a dead one over which they had all just trampled to get away from her. She dry-retched and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Brumbies,' she gasped.

‘Jesus Christ,' said John from behind her. ‘Get straight back into the car and close all the windows. Just in case it's Hendra.'

Shara looked up at the big fig trees which hung over the old dairy block. They would have been planted there years ago to shade the dairy cattle, but these days they would be more likely to host huge colonies of bats, which feasted on the fruit and carried the deadly Hendra virus. Their droppings were all over the ground below and added to the foul smell.

Shara got back in the car and closed the door while John leaned against the back making phone calls. After a lengthy discussion he got back in the driver's seat. ‘We'll have to wait for the police and the RSPCA to arrive before we try to move them,' he said. ‘Sorry you had to see that, Shara.'

‘Who do they belong to?'

‘The Connemans, we think.'

‘Are they brumbies?'

‘I think so.'

Shara could hardly believe it. ‘Now do you believe us?' she said, almost in tears again. She pointed out the window. ‘Those people do that sort of thing and the whole town, including our parents, think
we're
the demons. Why are you guys all so mad at us? Why aren't you mad at the
Connemans
?'

John held his hand up in a gesture that asked her to stop. She shut up, but breathed heavily with anger.

‘You know, Shara,' John started. ‘When I read about that spray-painting stunt in the paper, I thought it was great. I knew straight away who had done it and I thought it was gutsy.'

‘And you didn't punish Elliot?'

‘
What?
' said John. ‘I didn't know
he
was involved!'

Whoops!
Shara smiled weakly at John. ‘He took the photos and emailed them to the newspaper.'

John exhaled loudly. ‘That Grace Arnold. She's got him wrapped around her little finger.'

Shara suppressed a smirk. That was so true.

‘Anyway, I knew it was your group of friends in general, what with Judy Arnold being an animal rescuer from way back and that Luke kid having such a strong liking for brumbies.'

‘Actually, Luke wasn't involved in that bit.'

John huffed impatiently. ‘The point I'm trying to make is that I agreed with you. With that bit, anyway. That stunt got a lot of people talking about brumbies and how they're treated. I grew up in the northern tablelands of New South Wales. Up there, nearly every station used the local wildies for stock work. The stockmen knew no other breed came close to them for toughness. I'd love to see more of them be re-homed instead of being turned into pet meat and used in rodeos.'

‘People just think they're feral. No one cares about them.'

‘A lot of people care very deeply about brumbies. But this sort of thing's not uncommon. They have such little monetary value and when they're fresh from the wild, they're hard to handle, so people just abandon them.'

‘But all the buckjumpers and cattle are treated okay.'

‘People like the Connemans treat most of their stock well because that's their business and they have to look after them. But the brumbies are bought cheap from the runners for the price of dog meat. They get rough-handled by the runners and come to the contractors out of their minds – and that's how the Connemans like them for rodeo, because it's more entertaining. When they're finished with them, it's cheaper and easier to just dump them; buy another lot later.'

John looked out the window at the bleak grey building. ‘These horses are probably waiting for an abattoir to pick them up. The Connemans didn't bother leaving feed or water because they were going to die anyway.'

Shara was speechless. She stared out the car window and thought of the dismal creatures in that building, and then thought of Goldie galloping playfully around the paddock with his silvery mane flying in the breeze. ‘That is so wrong.'

‘Yes,' agreed John.

‘So why the Hendra scare?'

‘Because as soon as the authorities get here, the first thing they'll notice is that big fig tree full of bats. Hendra will be the first thing they have to rule out.'

Outside, an RSPCA van and two police cars rolled towards the dairy. John got out and started pulling on protective clothing from the back of his car.

Shara stayed put while John helped people in bright blue paper suits and face masks tape off a quarantine area with yellow ribbon.

Within half an hour the place was swarming with people, including some with cameras. Were they the media? How did
they
find out? The police seemed to be asking them to leave.

She rang her mum and told her where she was and what had happened. Louise insisted on coming to collect her immediately, making Shara promise faithfully not to contract any lethal viruses. As she hung up, John's phone rang on the seat beside her. She picked it up.

‘John Duggin's phone.'

‘Who's that?' said a vaguely familiar voice.

‘It's Shara Wilson. John is tending to a horse right now. Can I take a message?'

There was a small pause before the person spoke again. ‘Yeah, tell him Corey called.'

Shara reeled. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her mind whirled with questions.
Are you okay? Are you still in hospital?
While her mouth flapped soundlessly, there was an awkward silence as he waited for her to say something.

‘Okay then? Bye.'

The phone disconnected before she could utter a word.

‘No, wait!' She sat in the car, befuddled, wondering if she should call him back. Was he angry with her? Of course he was. He had taken a hit for her, protected her, probably saved her life, and she hadn't even managed to say hello to him. What must he think of her?

John opened the driver's door. ‘I think we should get you home,' he said. ‘This will take forever and we need to get all unnecessary people away from here.'

‘Mum's already on her way.'

He nodded with approval.

‘Corey rang. Wants you to ring him back.'

‘Okay.' John nodded again, but his mind seemed somewhere else. His face carried a look of absolute disgust. ‘I've come across some rank people, but these guys . . .' He seemed unable to find words for them.

Shara looked at the scene around the old dairy. The people in blue suits carried a large tarpaulin to cover the dead brumby's body. ‘Poor thing.'

‘What a waste of a beautiful horse,' said John.

‘What will happen to the rest of the brumbies?'

‘The RSPCA will contact some rescue groups and see if anyone can take them.'

Shara nodded, wishing she could take all of them, but they were so wild and freaked out, way beyond anything she could handle. ‘God, I hope they don't get Goldie,' she thought out loud.

The lines deepened over John's brow and Shara saw a hardness in his eyes. ‘No way am I going to let that happen.'

17

LOUISE WAS QUIET
as she drove towards home, looking deeply troubled. Shara was glad that her mother had seen the work of the Connemans with her own eyes this time – she'd been horrified. Shara wondered what was going through her mind. Finally Louise spoke.

‘You know, part of me is really proud of you, Shara.'

‘Really?' That was not what Shara had expected to hear. So far her parents had made her feel like a complete and utter piece of crap.

‘To stand up for things that you believe in takes a lot of courage, especially if others around you don't feel the same way.'

Shara frowned. She didn't feel courageous. She just felt stupid and confused.

‘Your father and I went in a few protest marches when we were at uni.'

‘You're kidding.' Shara looked at her mum's hands on the steering wheel. Her nails were manicured and she wore tasteful gold jewellery. Shara could hardly imagine her waving a placard around and chanting slogans.

‘Student politics mostly, nothing too radical,' her mother continued. ‘But it was easy to just join in a march when there were lots of other people alongside. What
you
did was really risky. I'd never have been brave enough to do something like that.'

So her mum was calling her a hero now. The day was getting more and more bewildering.

‘What I
didn't
like was you putting your safety at risk. That was foolish.'

Shara nodded. ‘So everyone keeps telling me.'

‘You caused other people to get hurt.'

Okay, that bit she understood. She was back to being a complete and utter piece of crap.

Louise turned onto Coachwood Road and headed towards home.

Shara stared out the window and willed the road to go quickly. She just wanted to go home and hide in her room for the rest of the holidays. She wanted to go back to Canningdale College and not to have to think about all this.

‘Don Bigwood wants me to take you down to the police station to make a statement.'

Shara groaned. ‘Not another one!'