The Golden Stranger (3 page)

Jess joined her. ‘They get totally pampered, unlike the brumbies.'

The girls continued past more stock trucks and reached a wide funnel where riders entered and exited the arena. There was a small sheltered area where cowboys sat in groups alongside messy piles of helmets, vests, chaps, ropes and surcingles, waiting for their rides. Adjoining that was the secretary's tent, a large, three-sided white marquee. Through its open side, Shara could see people sitting at trestle tables tallying scores. Riders strolled in and out, checking their draw numbers and paying for their nominations.

‘Hey, there are the brumbies!' said Jess, taking off. Shara and the others followed.

In another yard, several scrawny horses stood in a tight mob. Their long tangled manes ran over angular shoulders. They were a mix of sizes, some no bigger than ponies, and they looked restless and skittish. Beneath their feet lay a pile of trampled hay that had been left untouched. They were a very different sight to the buck–jumpers.

‘Oh, the poor things.' Jess pointed to a tall brown colt. ‘Look how he spreads his legs wide to get down and graze. He's only a
baby
.'

‘Surely they won't run him,' said Grace.

‘I hope not,' said Jess.

A woman with a clipboard strode over to a cluster of stockmen gathered behind the chutes. She began calling names and writing things down.

‘Might be time to get out of here,' said Shara. ‘They're calling for teams.'

The girls found a space between the tent and the yards, and tried to blend in with the scenery.

‘I want to paint the black one,' said Jess. ‘She'll look great with my pink paint.' She rubbed her hands together in a scheming kind of way.

‘And I'll do the creamy one,' said Grace.

‘Are you guys crazy?' Shara looked around at the milling riders and stockmen. ‘How are we going to get to them without anyone noticing? There are people everywhere.'

‘They'll take all the men out into the arena to introduce them to the crowd,' said Jess confidently. ‘We'll get about five minutes while they read all the rules and draw chute numbers out of a hat.'

A desperate, heartbreaking whinny came from the red taffy mare tethered to the semitrailer. Shara peeked out at her. The mare pawed at the ground and the hollows over her eyes pulsed with anxiety. Shara grunted in disgust, brought her can out of her pocket and gave it a shake.

‘Attagirl,' said Jess, giving her a friendly nudge.

‘I'll spray the grey,' sighed Rosie. ‘But I want the pink paint.' She and Jess did a quick can swap.

Shara stuck her head out, gasped and pulled it in again. ‘Lawson!' The girls crammed their spray cans back into their pockets.

It was an awkward moment. Grace and Rosie's older cousin ran a suspicious eye over them as he rode past on his chestnut mare, Marnie. ‘What are you ratbags up to?'

‘Hey, Lawson, lend us fifty bucks for some showbags!' shouted Grace.

‘Fifty?' Lawson snorted. ‘Think again, Gracie.' He rode away.

‘That got rid of him,' said Jess.

‘Look! They're grading the arena for the next event. We'll have to go really soon.' Grace rattled the can in her pocket. ‘Get ready!'

In what seemed like no time at all, the competitors filed into the arena to the applause of the crowd. People ran to the sidelines to watch.

‘Quick!' said Grace, stepping out towards the chutes.

The brumbies had been run into the laneway. Shara found a blue roany one, with black legs and a round belly. It snorted with fear when it saw her and banged up against the rail.

‘Easy, boy, I'm not going to hurt you,' she whispered, giving the can a quick shake before spraying one word:
CRUEL
.

She threw a quick look over her shoulder – still clear – then moved to the next chute to begin spraying a red horse.

BARBAR
. . .
Damn it!
She'd run out of space for the
IC
.

The horse swished its tail, smearing the last two letters. Shara stood back, looked at it and frowned. She shot a look at the others. Grace had written
HELP
across the creamy's rump, and
STOP THIS
over the ribs of a pinto. Rosie had sprayed
SAVE ME
across the grey. Shara allowed herself a giggle and took a last glance at her own work. It looked good: bold and colourful. The message was . . . well, nearly clear.

She turned to the others, and spotted Grace and Rosie just as they disappeared behind a market stall. Jess looked back over her shoulder and waved at Shara to hurry as she slipped after them. Just as Shara shoved the can under her jacket and prepared to leap the fence, two men emerged from the secretary's tent nearby, cutting off her escape route. Shara gasped and ducked into an empty pen, just as she recognised one of them as the man with the stockwhip. The other looked just like him, only shorter. The Conneman brothers!

‘Gone?'
the taller man shouted. ‘Horses don't just disappear.'

He yanked the taffy mare's lead rope free. ‘Take one of the spares, this one's wild enough.' As his brother dragged the mare towards the chutes, he yelled after him, ‘And then find that stupid colt.'

‘It's like Harry Houdini,' the other man grumbled.

Shara dropped to her knees behind the railings and looked desperately for a place to run. The only options were straight into the arms of the stock contractors heading her way, or to duck under the flap of the secretary's tent directly beside the pen.

The voices of the men grew louder as they drew close to her pen.

Shara made a dash for the tent flap. She rolled once and then wormed over the wet ground, under a table and into the tent.

Inside, Corey Duggin leaned against a rusty forty-four-gallon drum, one foot resting on the other, watching the queue of people in front of the secretary. He held a sheaf of entry papers for the next event.

Oh God, not him again!

For the second time that day Corey stared at her. Shara pulled herself up off the ground in the most dignified manner she could and plastered on a huge smile. ‘Corey!'

‘What are you
doing
?' he said with a bemused laugh.

Shara strode casually towards him past a few astonished cowboys, brushing mud from her shirt. ‘We still on for the ribbon race?' she said, hoping to befuddle him.

He frowned at her, confused.

‘I'll let you get the entries. Okay, then. Well. I'll see you outside.' Shara turned on her heel, walked straight out of the tent, and marched in the opposite direction from the horse yards, fiercely repressing her embarrassment.

She pushed through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd in the sideshow alley, past the hen pavilion and around the dressage arenas. Her phone buzzed, and she whipped it out of her pocket – it was a text from Jess.

Where r u???

Shara kept walking as she messaged back.

Near the chook pav. Nice of you to wait for me. I nearly got busted!!!

She waited for a reply.

Meet us back at the river.

Shara stuffed the phone back into her jeans pocket and took the longest and most covert route, mingling with the crowd, covering the entire perimeter of the grounds until she got to the big brick toilet block.
Phew. Made it!

She checked to make sure the coast was clear, slipped in behind the brick wall and the cyclone fencing, squeezed through the gap – and walked straight into Corey, who was standing just outside the fence, arms folded.

‘Oh. Hi, Corey.' Shara managed to find another fake smile. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘What are
you
doing here?'

‘Ahhh . . . ' Corey ran his eyes up and down her, making her squirm uncomfortably. ‘You're covered in cow dung.'

Shara brushed at the huge brown smears. ‘I think it's just dirt.'
I hope it's just dirt.

‘Didn't know we were doing team events together today.'

‘Oh yeah, that.'

He looked at her with calm hazel eyes. ‘Gonna explain?'

‘Umm, no.' She tried to walk around him. Corey was the enemy, a rodeoing cowboy schmuck who wasn't to be fraternised with, despite the way he filled out those jeans and that shirt so perfectly. ‘But I have to cancel. I'll pay you back the entry fees.'

He blocked her path. ‘I didn't pay any entry fees.'

‘Oh, that's lucky.'

‘Come on, Shara. You and I have both been riding in rodeos for years. What's going on? You can tell me.'

‘I am
not
a rodeo rider,' she protested. ‘Just because I ride in barrel races occasionally.'

‘Just because you
win
barrel races occasionally,' Corey corrected her.

Shara briefly considered telling him. Corey would be okay, he was Elliot's brother. His dad was the local vet. But she pulled herself up. He was also totally pro-rodeo. He lived and breathed it.

So instead, she snorted. ‘Read the paper tomorrow.' She pushed past Corey and made a bolt for the river and her waiting friends.

3

SHARA PEERED OVER
her dad's shoulder at the front page of the
Coachwood Chronicle
– and nearly choked on her toast. Directly under Barry's nose was a half-page colour photo of the little roany horse, twisting and bucking against a rope with three cowboys hanging off it. The word
CRUEL
showed up perfectly against its hindquarters and rib cage.

Her mind raced back to her encounter with Corey outside the showgrounds and she cursed herself for suggesting he read this morning's paper. Now how could she deny anything? She quickly composed herself and leaned in closer to read the article.

HOOLIGANS HALT HORSE RACE

A stock contractor has vowed to prosecute activists
after one of his most popular rodeo acts
was sabotaged at Coachwood Crossing Annual
Show yesterday.

The wild horse race was disrupted when activists
spray-painted the horses to be used in
the event with the words, CRUEL , HELP and
STOP.

The event calls for teams of cowboys to rope,
saddle and ride wild brumbies across a finish
line in the fastest time.

Stock contractor Graham Conneman said
yesterday, ‘The horses are well looked after
and not harmed in any way. It is their natural
instinct to buck. They love every minute of it.'

Anita Phillips from the Coachwood Crossing
Animal Shelter disagreed. ‘It is not an event
that is sanctioned by official rodeo associations,'
she said.

‘This is all about terrorising horses for
public spectacle. It is horrendously cruel.'

The shelter is calling for the Conneman
brothers to surrender the brumbies so they
can be rehabilitated and rehomed.

‘Friends of yours, Shara?' her father asked in a dry tone.

‘Mmm.' She shrugged evasively.

‘I saw Don Bigwood down at the newsagent this morning. He says those rodeo contractors might have some of their animals taken away from them.'

‘Really?' Don Bigwood was the sergeant at the local police station.

‘Yes, really. He said they're packing up so fast they're leaving skid marks.'

‘Yes, well, good riddance. That wild horse race is just cruel, if you ask me.' Shara wondered whether it would look too obvious if she casually leaned over and turned the page.

Her father pointed to the photo in front of him. ‘Just like it says on this horse's rump?'

‘Yeah, I guess so.'

‘Well, let's just hope those delinquents don't end up in a juvenile prison,' said Barry. He flipped the paper shut, and rolled it up. ‘You'd never do something like that, would you?'

‘Of course not!' Shara snorted.

Barry gave her a good-natured bop on the head with the rolled-up paper. ‘Riding today?'

‘Yep, the girls are coming over. We're going to practise sporting down on the river flats.'

‘Your mum wants you to hang out the washing before you take off again. And try not to get into any mischief, hey.'

‘I won't.'

Shara skipped out to the washing line, ecstatic. Not only had they shown how cruel wild horse races were, but they might have even caused the brumbies to be rescued!

Hex and Petunia let out a cacophony of howls and sprinted to greet an old Toyota Hilux with P plates that was turning into the driveway. Shara looked up from the washing basket and frowned. Corey Duggin?

The car rolled alongside the house and stopped with a crunch of the handbrake. Muffled music inside the cab cut as the engine switched off. Corey put his head out the window. ‘Hi, Shara.'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘What are
you
doing here?'

‘I live here.'

Corey stepped out of the car wearing a ragged pair of King Gee shorts, a faded T-shirt and thongs. He cast a quick glance about him.

‘Looking for something?'

‘Nope.' He turned his tanned face to her, his expression indifferent. ‘Just dropping off strangles shots for the horses.'

‘Where's Elliot?' Corey's younger brother usually did the vet deliveries.

‘At a Star Trek convention or something in Brisbane. Dad said you paid for these last month, but he had none in stock then.'

‘Oh yeah, that's right.'

‘I can help you needle that horse of yours if you want.' He shrugged. ‘While I'm here.'

Shara's first instinct was to say no. There was only one reason Corey would choose to drop off vet supplies today: he wanted to find out what had happened at the show. But Rocko was such a handful to needle – a second pair of hands
would
be good.

‘Okay,' she said, a little warily. ‘Just gotta finish this and then I'll catch him.'