The Golden Stranger (18 page)

23

SHARA SAT SILENTLY
in the back of her mother's car as they turned in through the brick gateway of the Kympania Pony Club grounds. Louise pulled up near the main arena and Shara stepped out. The seed heads of the grass grew waist-high out in the field and a warm breeze wafted lazily through long rows of open stalls, carrying with it the scent of pine shavings and seasoned timber.

Across the grounds, horses stood in the growing heat, swishing tails and stamping at flies. People brushed and saddled, buckled breastplates and tightened girths. They carried water buckets and filled hay bags.

Shara's phone buzzed. It was a message from Corey.

I found some horses we can ride, be there in ten mins.

She stood staring at the phone. He was coming. Corey was coming on the brumby ride. Mandy Conneman would never speak to him again. And he'd lose any hope of Graham ever giving Sampson back. Now what had she gone and done?

Shara looked nervously back up the main road but saw no Hilux. Should she text him back, tell him not to do it?

It's okay, I'm going to walk.

A reply buzzed straight back.

No. Wait.

She cursed quietly and checked his original message.
I found some horses
we
can ride . . .
Had he already lost any hope of getting his horse back? She wondered what Mandy had told her father after their brief meeting at Corey's place.

She watched more cars drive into the grounds, recognising competitors from her mounted games days wearing jodhpurs and club uniforms; others from jump club in their long boots and velvet caps; people she'd never really met but had seen often, friends of the Blakes and the Arnolds; stockmen dressed in moleskins and checked shirts. Anita from the animal shelter arrived with several friends.

The Fairleys' rig rolled up beside her and within seconds Jess was out, backing Dodger off the loading ramp.

Shara gave her a huge hug. ‘Have you heard from Luke?'

Jess shook her head. Shara could tell she was trying to be brave, so she didn't pursue the subject.

The Arnolds arrived in their enormous gooseneck truck, several horses snorting with anticipation in the back. Grace hung out the window, loud and enthusiastic, yelling hello and waving madly. In the cabin beside her, Shara could see Elliot, Rosie and Tom all squeezed in on top of each other. Another dozen horse vehicles rolled in, one after the other.

John Duggin's truck arrived and Shara's heart leapt, but she could see that John was alone. What was Corey doing? What horses had he ‘found'? She tried to keep herself focused.

There was a tap on her shoulder. It was Lurlene from the RSPCA, her violent red lipstick pulled into a smile. She handed Shara several envelopes.

‘These are official letters to your local government authority supporting the ban of wild horse races. One is from the RSPCA and I also managed to get some from some other animal welfare groups.' She sifted through them, showing them to Shara one by one before snapping a rubber band around them. ‘Our letter also contains an information pack, outlining exactly why wild horse races are cruel, just in case they don't get it.'

Shara took the envelopes and tucked them inside her jacket. ‘Thanks, Lurlene.'

Lurlene gazed around the grounds with a pleased look on her face. ‘Well, you've certainly rustled up some riders.'

Shara nodded. ‘It's fantastic.'

‘Thought you might need help directing things,' Lurlene went on. She held out a loudspeaker and gazed lovingly at it. ‘This is Larry the loudspeaker. We don't get to spend much time together these days.' She gave it an affectionate pat and passed it to Shara.

Shara was aghast. She had never ordered around a huge bunch of people before and she had certainly never barked at them through a loudhailer. ‘Um, thanks. Larry'll be in good hands.'

‘Now, do you have a plan? Have you mapped out the ride and thought about where you'd like people to assemble?'

‘I was going to gather here in this front oval. I told the police that we'd march through town at about ten-thirty. We'll go past the rodeo grounds and along a short mountain trail for a couple of hours and then ride into town. We'll finish at the council chambers. I sent the mayor a letter telling him I wanted to present him with my petition outside the chambers at two o'clock. We've arranged to have media at each different point.'

Lurlene arched an eyebrow. ‘You
are
well organised. Well, then, I'll be off.'

‘Aren't you going to march?' asked Shara.

Lurlene gave a little wink. ‘We have our own plans for the Connemans. We'll be seeing you soon.' And with that she was gone, striding purposefully back to her car.

Barry tapped Shara on the shoulder. ‘Time to get going. I'll round everyone up, if you like.' He eyed off Larry. ‘Haven't used one of those since uni.'

She shoved the loudhailer at him with relief. ‘Go for it, Dad.'

Barry marched off with the speaker clamped to his mouth, calling people to attention and spouting instructions. Shara joined Jess, Grace and Rosie and their horses on the oval.

‘Sure you don't want to double?' asked Rosie. ‘Buster won't mind.'

‘I'll walk,' said Shara resolutely.

‘Look how many people have come!' said Grace.

‘There must be at least a hundred horses here,' said Jess.

The horses milled restlessly near the gate. Shara could see the CWA crew at the clubhouse barbecue handing out bacon-and-egg rolls.

‘Look! The police!' said Jess. ‘Your dad's talking to them!'

‘And photographers,' said Rosie, ‘from the newspaper!'

Shara breathed deeply and took in the scene. Her mother was right: it was so much easier acting alongside many like-minded people. The sight of all the riders filled her with confidence and determination, and she walked up to her father and held out her hand for the loudspeaker. ‘I think it's time to make my speech,' she said stiffly.

He passed it to her, smiling.

She turned on her heel, walked to the arena gates and hoisted herself up to the level of the riders. When she pushed the loudspeaker button, there was a long screeching sound followed by a fuzzy echo. Shara winced, waited for a spooked horse to settle, and pressed the button more firmly.

‘Welcome to everyone who has come today to ride for better treatment of brumbies and to help stop wild horse races at rodeos. In the words of Mahatma Gandhi, “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” '

There was a spattering of claps and murmurs of approval.

‘This barbaric and inhumane event takes horses from the wild and places them in an arena, where teams of men lasso them, hold them down and saddle them, then attempt to ride them. They are often roped around the neck and forcefully and brutally pulled to the ground where they are jumped on, saddled and then encouraged to buck purely for the entertainment of the crowd.

‘We are not here today to stop rodeo. Most rodeos follow strict guidelines for animal welfare which they themselves have helped to develop. However, this event is not a traditional rodeo event. It is not competitive under official rodeo charters and clearly constitutes an offence under the Animal Care and Protection Act of . . . ummm . . . 2001.'

She saw some heads nodding. Mrs Arnold brandished her banner, nearly taking out the eye of a bystander.

‘The Australian brumby is an icon. It has served and died for us in two world wars, it has worked our outback stations and helped us build a nation, yet this animal is repaid with the indignity and trauma of rodeo events like this.

‘Today we are going to march to the council chambers and present the mayor with a petition, asking the council to ban all rodeos that hold this particular event. We're also going to present the petition to rodeo organisers asking them not to hold these events anymore – and not to contract stock from unethical and dodgy livestock suppliers like the Connemans.'

Shara coughed and cleared her throat.
How to end?
‘Umm, and that's all.'

There was a cheer, and the riders pushed forward towards the road – nearly a hundred of them, all bumping and jostling. All around Shara was a sea of horses' manes; greys and chestnuts and bays, all tossing and pulling with anticipation.

As she stepped down off the gate, Shara felt her father's hand take the loudspeaker. ‘Well done, love.' Her dad smiled warmly at her. Beyond his proud face, a white Hilux ute rolled into the showgrounds.

Corey!
She could see the shadows of two horses' heads inside the float behind, one noticeably shorter than the other. There were loud squeals, and a banging of hooves kicking at the tailgate.

‘Thanks, Dad,' she said, handing him the loudhailer. She began to walk over, wondering what on earth Corey had found for her to ride. Corey stepped out of the car. He wore dark wraparound sunnies and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He lifted his sunnies and scanned the showgrounds. She waved.

A look of undeniable relief crossed his face and he lifted a bandaged hand to wave back as he walked out to meet her.

‘What are you doing here?' she called past several other riders.

He smiled, that wickedly gorgeous smile that made her tummy twist.

‘You really did come.' She wanted to throw her arms around him.

He nodded.

‘You gonna unload these horses, Corey?' called John.

‘In a minute,' said Corey, not taking his eyes from Shara. ‘Luke lent me a horse.'

‘Legsy?' Luke only had one riding horse. The only other horses he had were brumbies, young and unbroken, except for . . .

Corey shook his head. ‘It's an absolute nightmare of a thing,' he said, his tone changing to annoyed. ‘Nearly wrecked my float. Didn't stop kicking the whole way home. Tried to bite me every time I stopped and opened the door. So did your horse, so between the pair of them . . .'

‘What horse are you talking about?' She was confused. It couldn't be the one she was thinking of.

‘I don't know her name,' said Corey, turning back to the float, where the banging and clashing was getting louder. ‘Luke wanted to bring her back home anyway, so he said I may as well ride her. Went on the float all right, but then she kicked the whole time. Just wouldn't stop.'

He marched ahead of her and Shara ran to catch up. She reached out to grab him by the arm. ‘Wait!'

He lifted his sunnies again and stared down at her. ‘What?'

‘But all Luke's horses are at . . . ' She searched his face to check he wasn't joking. It would be a cruel joke if he was. ‘Did you drive to
Blakely Downs
?' she whispered.

He smirked.

Shara mentally tallied up the hours since she'd last spoken to him. He must have driven like the wind, with no stops, no sleeps. She looked at him questioningly.

‘I knew Luke was coming back for the brumby ride, so I asked him to put some extras on the truck. He dropped them off at my place this morning.'

‘Rocko?'

‘And that white thing,' said Corey. ‘He hates her. She hates him too. Between the two of them . . . '

Shara turned and ran to the Hilux. She reached the long black float attached to it and clawed at the front door–handle, squealing like an over-excited puppy. ‘
ROCKO!
'

A white nose and a nasty set of teeth lunged at her and she slammed the door shut again. ‘Whoa! Wrong side! Sorry, Chelpie!'

She saw her father approaching the float. ‘Rocko's here!' she said, running around to the other side. ‘Oh my God. I thought I'd never see him again!'

She wrenched the door open and this time a chocolate bay face looked out, ears pinned back and muzzle tight. Rocko's ears flicked forward as his eyes met Shara's.

‘Hey, my beautiful boy,' she said, squeezing inside the float. Her heart all but dissolved when Rocko turned his fat quarter-horsey cheeks to her and nickered, his voice deep and old and throaty, totally familiar. She wrapped her arms around his satin-smooth neck and buried her face in his thick mane. She felt his chest rumble as he nickered again. ‘I never got to say goodbye,' she whispered. ‘My bestest horse in the whole world. Have you missed me?'

Then her heart stopped. Did her dad know? Was this allowed?

‘Your dad said I could go and get him,' said Corey from outside the small door.

She relaxed back into Rocko's neck and exhaled.

When she pulled her head out of his mane and looked through the back of the float she could see Barry, smiling. ‘Better saddle up and get riding, you still haven't earned the right to keep him.'

Without another word, Shara ripped the quick-tie knot undone. Corey dropped the tailgate, and she had Rocko saddled in minutes. She led him around to where Corey was struggling with Chelpie, trying to girth her up.

‘She's a rescue mare,' Shara explained. ‘She's always been sour. Luke took her from the RSPCA.'

The white mare pulled a malicious face and tried to cow-kick him. He jumped forward out of the way and lifted an elbow, blocking her bared teeth. ‘She'll be okay,' said Corey.

‘You'll lose Sampson for good if you come on this ride.'

He wrinkled his nose and shrugged. ‘I already have, so it makes no difference now.'

Corey cut a ridiculous figure on Chelpie. His legs hung well below her belly and his big hat and wraparound sunnies just looked all wrong on the little white show pony. He held the reins in one hand, swung his legs about and sung a country-and-western tune as Chelpie let a few pigroots fly. ‘Wa-hoo!' he hooted as he kicked her up.

Shara swung herself up into one of Corey's big roping saddles and sank into its couch-like seat. ‘Nice,' she murmured, looking down at the pommel. She twisted around and ran a hand behind the cantle to find a big metal plate. ‘Trophy saddle?'