Brumby Mountain (10 page)

Grace gave her the thumbs up and they continued on through the gum trees, tussocky snow grass and lichen-covered boulders.

As they rode, they discovered that the country was full of wombat holes. On every second rock was a neat deposit of square poo, and beneath every second log there was a burrow entry with a pile of soil beside it. A person would have to be nuts to gallop a horse through this country, thought Jess. It was tough going at a walk.

‘Look! Snow clouds!' said Luke.

‘How do you know they're
snow
clouds?' asked Grace.

Luke shrugged. ‘I dunno, sounds good.'

Jess looked up. The clouds were thick and purple, unlike any she had seen before, and the air icy. She wondered if Luke was right, subconsciously drawing on some ingrained local wisdom about the weather.

They climbed another ridge and came out onto a four-wheel-drive track, where Mrs Arnold caught up with them. Two long wheel ruts cut through the open wooded hillside, with little sun orchids and slender rice flowers growing amid the grasses.

Jess felt a soft cold fluttering on her cheek, and then another. She looked around her. Was that ash blowing silently through the air? She couldn't smell smoke, and it was too cold for a fire.

Grace suddenly squealed. ‘Oh my God, it's
snowing
!'

Jess caught her breath. She had never seen snow before. The tiny flakes stuck to her clothes and danced magically and weightlessly through the air and among the trees. They landed on her hair and tickled her nose and cheeks. She laughed out loud.

The magic continued until gusts of wind began to rustle the trees. Branches creaked overhead. Jess zipped her coat up around her throat and looked warily at the swaying tree limbs above.

Rambo raised his head and snorted. His pace slowed, then he stopped, and no amount of kicking or urging could make him move. Luke slipped off him and before he could grab the horse's mane, Rambo turned around and began walking, like a robot, into the wind, straight back to where he'd come from.

‘Hey, don't just leave me here!' Luke called after him.

Grace snorted. ‘Guess he doesn't like the cold. Told you he'd conk out.'

Then Legsy propped as well.

Mrs Arnold jumped out of the fourbie and cast her eyes about. ‘Stallion droppings,' she said, pointing to a mound of horse poo. Snow whirled over it and settled on top. A short whinny sounded from behind them.

‘Was that Rambo?' Jess spun around. It was hard to tell which direction it had come from, but she had the strong sensation she was being watched. Dodger trembled beneath her.

Somewhere, a branched snapped. There was a burst of galloping hooves, which abruptly stopped.

‘I don't think Rambo could move that fast,' said Grace, gathering up her reins. Legsy began dancing beneath her.

‘Don't let go of him,' said Luke, looking worriedly at Grace sitting on his good horse.

‘I've got him,' she assured him.

‘I think we might be in someone else's territory,' said Mrs Arnold. But she kept wading through the bush, negotiating logs and tangled thickets.

A horse whinnied again. More branches crashed. There was a drum of hoofbeats, and loud squeals.

‘There's more than one!' said Grace, craning her neck around. She struggled to hold Legsy, who started rearing on the spot.

Then Mrs Arnold swore angrily. ‘There! A mare, tied to that tree, look! Bait for the brumbies!'

She quickened her pace, leaping over a trickling creek and scrambling up an embankment.

Without warning, a great brown stallion exploded out of the bushes, causing branches to splinter and snap. He roared savagely and charged towards them.

Grace screamed. Legsy bolted. The stallion thundered after them with its ears back, teeth bared. Legsy carried a shrieking Grace out of Jess's sight. Suddenly the whole mountain was going crazy.

The stallion wheeled and galloped to the ridge-top. Meanwhile, Dodger began leaping out of Jess's hands in a way he had never done before. His shoulders trembled.

‘Go back to the car!' yelled Mrs Arnold.

Jess let Dodger bolt after Legsy and found Grace next to the car, in tears. ‘I thought it was going to kill me!' she cried. ‘And I've lost Legsy!'

Jess dismounted. Next second, Dodger too broke away, tearing the reins from her hands and disappearing down the same track as Rambo. She was shocked but tried to stay upbeat.

‘As long as they don't go near that mare, they should be okay,' she puffed, listening to Dodger's hoofbeats fade. ‘They should just follow Rambo back to Matty's Creek.' She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. This was an enormous wilderness to lose a horse in. ‘Where's Luke?'

Grace pointed to the high branches of a snow gum. Luke clung precariously to an upper limb. ‘He's safe.'

The girls climbed onto the bonnet of the LandCruiser. Jess felt the metal clunk and buckle under her boots. On the opposite hillside, a lean white mare struggled against a hemp rope tied around her neck. She gave a frightened whinny. Three colts circled her.

‘They're all fighting over her,' said Grace. ‘Poor thing, she's terrified.'

The brown stallion, his pelt covered in battle scars, charged at the colts. He was lathered with froth and sweat, and roaring with fury. But while he hunted one colt away, the others circled closer to the mare.

The stallion returned and chased the other two until finally they retreated.

‘They're still watching from the hilltop,' said Grace. She pointed. ‘Look!'

The two colts, one bay, one creamy, paced back and forth along the ridge, tails swishing, never taking their eyes off the mare.

‘This could go on for days,' said Jess.

The stallion nudged and pushed at the mare, trying to move her, to claim her as his and take her with him, but the rope held her fixed to the tree. The stallion bit at her. He swung his hindquarters and kicked at her with frustration. She gave a pleading squeal.

Fang started growling in the back of the car, then barked loudly. He was a scary sight at full throttle, with huge black jaws and slobber flying everywhere.

‘There are wild dogs circling her too!' said Mrs Arnold, joining them at the car. She pointed to a dark shadow slinking under a log. ‘We've got to untie that mare!'

She stepped up onto the running boards and looked into the treetops. ‘I've got a good knife in the glovebox. Luke'll have to cut the rope.'

‘Cut the rope, are you kidding?' said Jess. ‘The stallion will kill him.'

Mrs Arnold ignored her and dived into the front of the car. In moments she resurfaced with the knife. Jess watched as she ran to the tree where Luke was perched.

She couldn't hear the conversation, but she saw Luke clutch the tree limb even tighter. He stared down at Mrs Arnold as though she was nuts. Mrs Arnold thrust the knife towards him.

After frantic gesticulating, she came storming back to the car. ‘
Baby Lukey
wants us to let his dogs out.' She wrenched open the back door of the car.

Filth and Fang threw themselves gleefully into the chaos. They bounded after the bachelor colts, whirling around bends and flying over boulders and logs, howling as they went. The colts scattered into the bush.

Luke slipped out of the tree and scrambled across the hillside. He clambered over rocks and ducked under half-fallen trees. He reached the mare and lunged at the rope.

‘Go, Luke!' whispered Jess as she watched him hack at it.

‘Look out, the stallion!' Mrs Arnold suddenly screamed. She climbed onto the bonnet of the car and it warped under her weight.

Luke looked up. The stallion bore down on him, teeth bared.

Jess, Grace and Mrs Arnold all jumped up and down, pointing and yelling.

Luke dropped the knife and ran, leaving the mare still tethered.

Fang flew out of nowhere and, with an impressive rush of snarls and woofery, threw himself at the nose of the stallion. It roared in fury and struck out with its front hooves.

Luke dived for shelter under a large fallen tree.

The stallion shook off the dog and charged after Luke. Jess watched aghast while Luke curled into a tiny ball against the trunk and shielded himself against the stallion's striking hooves.

Fang launched at the stallion's back legs, snarling savagely. Filth joined him. The noise was horrendous. The stallion spun on them and with his head low, ears pinned, he hunted them back across the hillside.

‘Run, Luke!' Jess screamed. ‘Run now!'

Luke shot out from under the tree and bolted, tripping and rolling and leaping until he reached the car, climbed in and slammed the door shut behind him. He lay on the back seat, gasping for air.

Jess ripped open the opposite door and found him clutching at his arm. ‘I thought that thing was going to kill you!' she said.

Luke screwed up his face and looked at the ceiling. ‘I think I broke my wrist again,' he groaned.

‘Look, look!' yelled Grace excitedly, stomping more dents into the bonnet. She pointed to the mare. It had broken the last shreds of the half-cut rope and was galloping off into the forest, the brown stallion cantering after her. ‘She's free!'

‘You did it, Luke!' said Jess.

‘Now that's not a bad retirement plan for an old girl,' said Mrs Arnold, smiling as she watched them disappear over the ridge-top.

11

LUKE FINALLY AGREED
to let Mrs Arnold look at his wrist. ‘Doesn't look broken to me,' she said, giving it a squeeze. He shrieked and pulled away.

‘Well, maybe a little hairline fracture,' she conceded. She found two straight sticks and ripped half an old shirt into bandages, then used the other half to make a sling.

Luke snatched it from her with his other hand. ‘I'll do it myself,' he grumbled. ‘I don't want you going anywhere near it.' He began using his teeth and his good arm to wrap his wrist. ‘Some chaperone you are.'

‘Need some help?' asked Jess.

He handed her the torn rags. ‘Thanks.'

Jess gently strapped his wrist and slung it snugly against his chest. There was no obvious bump or swelling but she could see the veins in his forearm pulsating strongly as she helped put his jacket back over his shoulders.

‘I'm going to call the dogs back,' Luke said, putting two fingers between his teeth and giving an ear-splitting whistle.

As he set off to find his dogs, Jess turned to the others. ‘Why would someone tie up that mare?' she asked.

‘Like I said, to lure the stallions,' said Mrs Arnold. ‘They let them fight over the mares for days until they're exhausted. Then the runners come back and try to catch them.'

‘Don't they realise how cruel that is?' said Jess.

Mrs Arnold snorted. ‘It's just a sport to them. They don't care about the horses. Half the time they just go back home and forget about them. They do the same with their traps. They come back months later, when it suits them, and find a pile of carcasses in there.'

‘Was she a wild mare, do you think?'

‘Nah, she had brands. They probably just picked her up from the knackery.' She cast her eyes over the surrounding hills. ‘They'll have traps set around here for sure.'

‘Let's look for them,' said Jess, ‘and pull them apart.'

‘Okay,' Mrs Arnold said. ‘But they'll be well hidden.' She climbed into the car and pulled Jack's maps out of the glovebox. ‘Maybe the old fella will give us some clues.'

She carefully unfolded the topographic map over the steering wheel and ran her finger over Jack's little Xs and marks. ‘If I were going to trap brumbies, where would I put yards?' she mumbled to herself.

‘Near their water,' said Grace, poking her head in the window.

‘Where you could get a truck in,' added Jess.

‘Somewhere not far from where they tied the mare . . . We'll have to go out on foot,' said Mrs Arnold, closing the map. ‘Wish we still had horses.'

‘So do I,' said Jess, with gnawing apprehension. ‘I hope they went back to Matty's Creek.'

Mrs Arnold gave her a reassuring wink. ‘I can't imagine old Dodger wanting to join the wild bush horses,' she said. ‘Or Legsy. They both like two good feeds a day and a warm rug. They'll be okay. They'll follow the old one down.'

Jess hoped she was right. She found an old jumper in the back of the fourbie and wrapped it around her head and neck to keep warm, then set off for the ridge-top with icy mist blowing from her lungs and snow sticking to her clothes like little barbed icicles.

The snowflakes grew thicker as she walked, and they began to stick to the gum leaves and grasses. At the ridge-top Jess looked out across a whirling white blizzard. She could no longer see the layers of distant mountains. She and Grace trailed Mrs Arnold along a narrow brumby track across the ridge-top and through sparser eucalypt forest.

‘Tyre marks,' Grace suddenly yelled. ‘A truck has been through here!'

They followed the ground-up muddy tracks through a trickling stream, around rocks, past deep ruts and disturbed ground where a vehicle might have been bogged. At the top of another hill Mrs Arnold abruptly stopped and put her hands on her hips.

‘There! Knew it wouldn't be too far away.'

In a small, flat hollow was a set of heavy steel cattle yards, built out of panels and linked together with metal pins. They were the portable kind that could be easily dismantled and thrown on the back of a truck. They'd been set up as a funnel-shaped laneway, leading into a square yard.

‘Trap yards,' said Grace.

‘No, they're not,' said Mrs Arnold, as she approached them. ‘There's no salt and no lucerne. No one-way gate, and no water. These are holding yards.'

They kept searching and found a four-wheel-drive ute with a large livestock crate on the back, thinly camouflaged under a few broken gum-tree branches. The number–plates were missing and the back window was smashed in. Attached to the crate was a heavy-duty winch, the kind used to drag large boats onto trailers. Jess felt her stomach churn as images of struggling brumbies shot through her mind. She looked at the large snap hook, dangling from the wound-up chain. So it was true. They really did use boat winches to load them.