The Golden Stranger (20 page)

He nodded towards the stockyards. Graham Conne–man, his fists clenched, was marching towards the car park.

Shara reined Rocko away. ‘I can't watch.'

But a hand grabbed hers. Lawson was off his horse, wrapping his reins over her arm. ‘Hold Chocky a minute.'

‘I can't hold all of them,' she complained, as Chelpie lunged and the gelding pulled away. ‘Chelpie's a psycho!'

Lawson shut her up with a look. ‘Corey's out there, sticking his neck out for you. You do the right thing and wait for him.' And with one hand on the fence rail and two feet leaping over it he was off, after Corey.

Shara had so much trouble trying to keep the horses together, she couldn't watch anyway.

She did see the last of the brumby riders disappear up the road without her, and she listened to the sound of their hooves fading. Her parents were going to freak if she didn't show up at the sausage sizzle.

Finally, she managed to get Chelpie's reins tied around the branch of a tree, and Lawson's gelding tied well away from her, so she could watch what was happening. In the middle of the car park, a crowd of people had gathered. Through them, she caught a glimpse of Corey's friends restraining him by the elbows as he struggled and yelled at Graham, who in turn was held back by Lawson. Two police officers walked briskly towards the scene, waving people away.

Corey stopped struggling when he saw them. But Graham only yelled louder and the police had to help Lawson restrain him. The crowd moved in closer and obscured Shara's view, and she rode up and down the road trying to see what was happening. Through a gap in the mob, she saw a pair of denim-clad legs writhing on the ground beneath two police officers, and she prayed they weren't Corey's.

And then Lawson broke from the crowd, dragging Corey by the shirt sleeve. He had lost his hat, and Lawson pulled him along so fast he struggled to keep his feet. Corey took a last glance back at the rodeo grounds and Shara saw the red-shirted man dip his hat to him. Corey lifted a hand, turned towards Shara and sprinted in her direction.

25

COREY RODE IN SILENCE,
letting the rhythmic nod of Chelpie's walk pull the reins back and forth in his hands, in time with her stride. He turned and looked back at the rodeo every twenty metres or so. Lawson cantered ahead.

‘If they're real friends, you'll see them again,' said Shara quietly.

Corey didn't answer.

‘Besides,' she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘You could have a real future in dressage.'

‘No, thanks,' he said, sounding flat. He picked up his reins and kicked Chelpie into a canter. ‘Let's catch up with the ride.'

Shara followed for several minutes, enjoying the canter and the movement of air it brought to her face until they reached the tail end of the ride. The horses, perspiring now from the excitement and contagious energy of each other, walked along the road with barely a breath of wind to clear the swelling dust or to dry their sweat-soaked coats.

They reached a long, grassy stretch that followed a powerline up and over the mountain. It was steep, but wide enough that riders could travel alongside each other, talking and laughing and enjoying the day. Kids scooted back and forth on their ponies, and parents nagged them to behave. Dogs trotted happily alongside, tongues flapping from their mouths.

At the top, Shara and Corey stood their horses side by side, letting a gentle breeze cool their skin. Chelpie blew heavily from the effort of carrying Corey and he jumped off and loosened her girth. ‘Better lead her for a while,' he said flatly. ‘Don't want her blowing a gasket.'

Shara slipped off Rocko and did the same. They stood aside and let the riders pass onto a pebbly fire trail leading to a large forest reserve.

A sudden piercing whistle shot through her ears. Corey turned to look behind them, and curled a thumb and a forefinger beneath his teeth. ‘Danny!' He waved like an excited schoolkid. ‘Emma!' Down the track, Shara recognised the man in the red shirt, Corey's friend. A woman rode beside him, and trailing behind them on lead ropes were two small kids on adult-sized horses, barely big enough to stay in the saddle. They held tight to the horns of big western saddles with their feet in little stirrup clogs. Their round white helmets on their tiny twiggy bodies reminded Shara of Chupa Chups lollipops.

‘The kids talked us into it,' said Danny as he rode closer. ‘They started crying when they saw the brumbies being put through the yards.'

‘Jackson said the stockmen were mean,' said Emma.

‘He's a smart kid,' said Corey. ‘You guys should listen to him.'

Emma held his hat out. ‘I told him that event was a disgrace.' She looked at Shara. ‘Did you organise this ride?' She legged her horse over, leaned across and held out a hand. ‘I'm Emma. Good on ya, matey.'

‘Some of the others are coming too,' said Danny. ‘Nothing else to do, now that the rodeo's over.' He still looked unimpressed. Then he ran his eyes over Chelpie. ‘Where the
hell
did you get that horse? You should put it through the chutes. I reckon it'd buck like a demon.'

Corey shot him a
shut-up
look and then rolled his eyes at Shara.

Danny quickly shut up. ‘Oh. Sorry.'

‘She'd ditch both you idiots,' said Emma.

‘I wanna run, Dad,' said one of the kids, waving a whip at the flank of his horse. ‘Make him run again!'

‘Me too!' demanded the other, pulling and yanking on the pommel of the saddle.

‘Better do as I'm told,' said Danny with a wave.

‘There's a free sausage sizzle at the top,' Corey called after him.

As Shara watched them trot away in a little mob, she thought how glad she was that she hadn't cancelled.

She looked back down the line and watched all the horses coming up the trail. They were an awesome sight as they clambered, pushing their shoulders into the climb; a wonderful mix of all horsey types, with their varying styles of leather and buckles and their different dress codes. Whether stockmen, dressage riders, pony-clubbers or weekend trail riders, the riders were all one and the same, all horse lovers who cared about the wellbeing and dignity of their horses' wild cousins.

This was just a wonderful thing to be a part of. Her dad had been right. This wasn't about her. This was all about Goldie and his mother and horses just like them.

Looking back over the view, Shara could see across the golden-green fields, the grey snake of bitumen cutting through them, lined with gum trees and alive with traffic. The Connemans' big red semi was still parked across the road and police cars and other vehicles were dotted around it. Tiny people walked between them. The rodeo grounds were emptying fast, with catering vans driving away and tents being dismantled.

The yards were still full of cattle, and among them, a mob of horses stood quietly in the sun, mostly browns and chestnuts, swishing tails at flies and nuzzling into each other for comfort: the brumbies, the wild horses. They would be spared. Nearby was the animal rescue truck. She wondered where the brumbies would end up. Somewhere much better than a wild horse race, she hoped.

‘Sorry we shut down the rodeo,' Shara said to Corey.

‘They're good people,' he said. ‘None of them want to hurt horses.'

‘I guess every horse sport has its good people and bad people.'

‘They sure do,' said Corey. ‘Now, did you say there'll be a sausage sizzle? I'm starving.'

‘Half an hour down the fire trail,' she said. ‘But it's not free. Grace is going to kill you for saying that! She wanted to raise money for brumby groups.'

‘Whoops.' Then Corey patted his pockets. ‘Hope I get a freebie. I've got no cash on me.'

‘I'll shout you one, come on.' Shara led Rocko back onto the trail and walked along, finding a space where she and Corey could be together alone.

‘Now do you believe me?' he said, as he led Chelpie along beside her.

‘Believe what?'

‘That I like you.'

‘Yes.' She held out her hand and he wrapped a strong, calloused hand around hers, entwining their fingers together. She bumped her shoulder to his and they walked the fire trail together, leading Chelpie and Rocko behind them on long loopy reins.

The smell of frying onions and sizzling sausages hit them before they got to the reserve. ‘I could eat about ten of those,' said Corey, tethering Chelpie to a tree.

Grace stood nearby with a bum-bag, collecting coins and handing out tickets. A hotplate sizzled, and Chan bundled slices of white bread into serviettes, ready to be made up into sangers.

The CWA women had also set up a stall with trays of home-baked treats: cherry and coconut slice, lamingtons, hedgehogs, honey joys and chocolate crackles.

‘Now, that's what I call real food,' Jess was saying with approval. ‘None of that industrial processed rubbish. Real food made with real ingredients. I want one of everything!' She piled cakes onto a small paper plate, oblivious to Chan glaring at her.

More cars parked nearby and a horse truck drove in behind them. ‘Hey, Jess,' said Shara. ‘Is that Luke?'

Jess looked up. ‘Huh?'

Shara pointed to the truck, which had Ryan Blake at the wheel and a wild-haired boy in the passenger seat.

Jess spilled her cakes everywhere. A kelpie darted in and began devouring them from the ground. ‘Luke.' She looked wide-eyed at Shara. ‘I'm not allowed to talk to him . . . for five weeks, four days and twelve hours.'

‘But who's counting?' said Shara. ‘Your parents aren't here. Go and hug him!'

Jess jumped over the kelpie and ran to the truck. Luke leapt out and took her in a big swinging hug, lifting her feet up off the ground and whirling her in big circles. Shara sighed. They were so cute together.

She picked up a stack of sausage sangers, all dripping with onion juice and tomato sauce, handed three to Corey and gave him a wink. ‘I got friends in high places too, you know.' She took one more for herself and sank her teeth into it.

They made their way to Ryan's truck, munching on the sausages as they walked.

‘Thanks for the lend of the horse,' Corey said to Luke.

‘She travel okay?'

‘Nup.'

‘Did you bring Legsy?' asked Shara.

‘Nup,' said Luke. He walked around to the back, where Ryan was winching the tailgate down. ‘I was already out at Blakely Downs when I heard about the brumby ride. Rusty and Tinks were in the home paddock, and I thought they'd be perfect to bring along – they were victims of a wild horse race.' He shrugged. ‘So I came back.'

Shara gasped with delight. ‘You're a genius!'

Ryan led a rusty-coloured yearling and a small brown foal, about six months old, down the loading ramp. Their coats were sun-bleached and shaggy, but they were in fine body condition.

Luke took Rusty's rope from Ryan and tied him to the side of the truck. ‘These guys were heli-mustered up north for a wild horse race – both their parents died in the muster. Tinks' mum died giving birth after being galloped for hours in forty-five-degree heat. The stallion never even made it to the yards.'

Shara noticed a journalist, with a camera slung around his neck, watching them and listening. He walked over. ‘Any chance of an interview?' he asked Luke.

Shara saw her parents stepping out of the four-wheel drive in the car park. She ran over to them. ‘Luke brought his brumbies along,' she said, bursting with happiness and excitement. ‘They're doing a story on him. Some of Corey's friends abandoned the rodeo and rode with us instead. The Connemans have been arrested. It's been such an
amazing
day!' She was talking a million miles an hour, but she couldn't help it. She threw her arms around her dad's neck.

‘Don't forget your appointment with the mayor,' Barry whispered in her ear. ‘Two o'clock.'

26

AS THEY GIRTHED UP
for the second leg of the ride, Lurlene Spencer approached Shara with a bundle of papers tucked under her arm. ‘I managed to scrape a lot of them off the road,' she said, handing the tattered papers to Shara. She had bound them with a piece of hay band knotted in the middle. ‘The girls at the office reprinted some of the formal paperwork. It should still do the job. But please don't drop it this time.'

‘I promise I won't,' said Shara, as she lifted a foot into her stirrup.

The ride continued down a gentle slope over the other side of the mountain, the horses quiet-footed on the decomposing leaves of eucalypt forest. The voices of the riders murmuring over the hoofbeats sounded weary. Shara noticed the silence of the forest. The currawongs and finches had fled as more than a hundred horses marched sombrely through. Every so often there was a sudden
crash, crash
of a wallaby bolting unseen through the thick underscrub, cracking branches and crunching leaves.