Brumby's Run

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Sam sat in Drew’s truck, his oilskin around her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t her fault,’ she said, eyes blurry with tears. ‘They drove her to it, they drove her mad.’

  Drew shook his head. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But everybody saw what happened.’ He handed Sam a coffee. ‘That was no accident.’

  ‘It was self-defence, that’s what it was,’ protested Sam. Drew didn’t comment. ‘What will happen now?’ Her hands were shivering too hard to hold her coffee, so she put it down on the dashboard.

  ‘I spoke to Wayne Clarke,’ he said. ‘The man’s absolutely gutted. Rowdy was his nephew.’

  ‘No?’ she said. Could it get any worse?

  He nodded. ‘They thought they were onto a winner with that mare. She bucked like bloody Curio.’

  ‘Curio?’ asked Sam tearfully.

  ‘A legendary grey bucking mare. She featured at the Marrabel Rodeo, way back in the fifties. Unridden for eight years. They say she only worked for five minutes in her whole life. Got those cowboys off with just one buck.’ Rain was sneaking in on an angle through a narrow crack at the top of the window. Drew wound it up all the way. ‘A horse like that would be worth a fortune these days.’

  ‘Well, she’s not Curio,’ said Sam, ‘and five minutes more of that kind of work would be enough to kill her.’ She reached for the coffee and took a trembling sip. ‘I asked you what’s going to happen.’ Drew avoided looking at her. ‘Just tell me!’ she shouted, furiously wiping away tears.

  ‘She’s going to the knackery in the morning.’

  Sam shoved her coffee back on the dashboard and ran from the car into the pouring rain. Drew sprinted after, both of them slipping in the mud. He caught her in a fierce embrace. They stood that way, still as statues, for the longest time. Water streamed from their conjoined bodies in rivulets, like flooded creeks off Maroong Mountain.

  Was it dark enough yet? Drew pulled the curtains apart and gazed into the night as he heated the milk. Damn. He snatched the saucepan from the stove just as it boiled over. Sam sat slumped on the frayed couch in front of a cheap bar radiator, inconsolable, wrapped in little more than a blanket. Her bare shoulder poked out, pale and smooth, bisected by a black bra strap. He couldn’t stop looking at it, fought against kissing it.

  ‘I helped catch her,’ Sam managed between shuddering sobs. ‘She was beautiful and free and happy, and what did I do? I helped hunt her down, helped sell her to the rodeo, helped send her to the slaughterhouse. They should shoot me too.’

  Drew concentrated on the task at hand, tipping the milk into two cracked mugs, splashing plenty onto the bench. Bess wagged her tail and lapped up the warm liquid trickling to the floor. Drew stirred in spoonfuls of Milo, and some extra sugar to boot, then handed a mug to Sam. She shook her head and turned from him. He put down the cup, pulled her around, forced her to face him.

  ‘They won’t kill that horse,’ he said, with more determination in his voice than he felt.

  She blinked back tears. ‘Why? What do you mean?’

  ‘Stop crying, drink this, and I’ll tell you.’ He shoved the Milo into her now compliant hands. ‘Drink it.’

  Sam took a big gulp, then another. ‘Why won’t they kill her?’ she asked, her voice raw with weeping.

  ‘Because I won’t let them. Finish that drink and get into some dry clothes.’ He wet his lips with his tongue. ‘We’re going to steal her back.’ Sam’s eyes grew large and her mouth fell open. In an instant she was in his arms, soft lips pressed against his. Drew felt a familiar ache in his groin as his fingers traced the soft hollow of her hip. He forced himself to pull away. ‘Do you want to do this or not?’

  She granted him one more melting kiss, then ran from the room.

  Drew drained his mug of Milo, wanting something stronger. He searched the kitchen cabinets for liquor. Nothing. A framed picture of Charlie riding Tambo lay face down in the cupboard. He examined the face of the girl in the photograph, marvelling at how much she looked like Sam. Hadn’t the picture been displayed on the sill last time he’d been here? Why had Sam put it away like that? He slammed the door shut when he heard Sam in the hall.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she announced, a shining, expectant smile on her face. ‘What next?’

  Good question, he wanted to say. Bess shoved her nose between them. He put down a blanket and chained the dog to the table leg. ‘You stay here, girl.’ He offered Sam an oilskin coat. ‘Wear this. It’s my sister’s.’ Sam pulled it on. Drew struggled to open the door against the driving rain. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ve got some horse rustling to do.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It was past midnight when the cattle truck laboured through the rain, back up the rutted track to Brumby’s Run. What little gravel might once have been there had been washed away in this deluge. The road ran like a river. Drew tried to angle the truck towards the cattle ramp, and almost lost control as the wheels slipped sideways in the mud. He braked and swore. ‘If I try to get any closer, we’ll slide down the hill and roll.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to unload her here then,’ said Sam. Sure. Just slip a halter on the mad bugger and lead her down the ramp. ‘I’m naming her Whirlwind,’ said Sam happily, her face alight in the dim dashboard glow.

  The truck shook as the mare reared and kicked. Drew figured the name suited her. ‘Lunatic’ would have suited her better. What a nightmare it had been, trying to load that horse in the rain and dark. She’d been conveniently yarded on her own, right next to the loading ramp, ready for the doggers to pick up in the morning. And he’d taken his dad’s two heelers along for good measure. Those dogs were tough enough to tackle scrubber bulls straight from the bush. How hard could one brumby mare be? he’d thought. He’d thought wrong.

  Jasper whined and wagged his tail. Sam stroked him where he lay on the floor at her feet. ‘Will he be okay?’ she asked.

  ‘I reckon she’s broken his leg,’ said Drew grimly.

  ‘It wasn’t her fault,’ said Sam. ‘She was scared.’ Scared? They were the ones who should have been scared. Whirlwind plunged about in the back and the whole truck rattled.

  ‘Let’s get her out, then,’ he said, not quite knowing how this was going to work. They climbed from the cabin, shielding their faces from the blast of wind and rain. Drew slipped on a head torch, but its beam was swallowed by the rain a few feet from his face. Why the fuck couldn’t the weather just give them a break? There was a spiteful crack of thunder and the wind redoubled its fury. The one saving grace was that the storm had covered their tracks at the race-course.

  It was just as he’d thought. The truck was a good ten metres short of the yard. There was only one option, one he’d prepared for as a last resort. Drew grabbed his catching ropes and climbed up on the truck. He could hardly see. Thank God she was pale grey and not black. He considered himself a good aim, but it was extraordinarily difficult to throw the noose over a moving, snaking target in the dark and the storm. It didn’t help that the horse seemed intent on killing him at the same time.

  It was only when Jarrang caught wind of his daughter and announced his pleasure with a trumpeting neigh that Drew got his chance. Whirlwind froze at the sound. Drew seized the opportunity to cast one, then two ropes over her head. Moments later she exploded in a rearing fury, but by then it was too late. He had her. Drew pulled the Lewis winch out from under Sam’s feet and heaved the chainsaw from the rear of the cabin. He opened the gate and anchored the winch’s snatch block to a large strainer post at the back of the yard.

  Sam appeared beside him. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Yarding your horse for you.’ He retrieved a length of chain from the floor of the truck and fixed it to the ropes around Whirlwind’s neck. He then attached the winch cable to the chain, and started the saw. Its savage snarl joined the roar of wind through the forest. Sam pulled at his sleeve. Drew turned off the saw and handed Sam a torch. ‘Point it here, will you?’ Why the fuck hadn’t he taken the bar off at
home? Fitting the adapter in the dark was just about impossible. ‘Hold these, put them in your pockets or something.’ He handed Sam an assortment of washers and nuts. Finally it was done. The chainsaw’s power block was bolted fast to the winch.

  The penny must have finally dropped for Sam. ‘You can’t!’ she yelled urgently, struggling to compete with the screaming wind. ‘She hasn’t even got a halter on. She’ll choke to death.’

  ‘Got any better ideas?’ he snapped, regretting his words as soon as they were uttered. ‘Look,’ he said, in what he hoped was a more conciliatory voice. ‘We can’t get the truck close enough to unload her straight through the gate. If we unload her out here without the winch, we’ll never hold her. She’ll go bush, and the first bugger to find that mare will either give her a bullet or run her in for the doggers. Wayne’s bound to post a reward.’ She might have been crying again, but it could have just been the rain. He tried to sound more encouraging. ‘Those ropes have got big leather eyes, so they can’t pull too tight, you know that. It might not be pretty, but I guarantee I’ll get that horse into the yard, safe and sound.’ Sam turned and stared at the truck. ‘I can let her go instead, if you want,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said at last. She turned to face him. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Just close the gate once she’s through.’

  Sam nodded. Drew fired up the chainsaw motor and the winch ground into action. When it had taken up most of the slack in the cable, he lowered the ramp. Whirlwind was huddled at the back of the truck. She didn’t react when the ropes first grew taut, but as the pressure increased, she began to fight. The indifferent galvanised cable maintained its inexorable pull. It tightened around the mare’s throat, dragging her, choking the fight from her. She took a step forward, then another. Her exhaustion showed. Jarrang neighed again, and Whirlwind finally capitulated. She stumbled into the yard.

  Sam yelled with delight, and rushed to close the gate. Drew heaved a great sigh of relief. He ran to shut off the motor and release the catching ropes from the winch cable. Drew shone the torch into the yard. Whirlwind stood drooping and defeated in the corner. The two nooses had loosened, now the strain was off. He’d just have to leave them til morning.

  ‘She’s shivering,’ said Sam, wiping streams of water from her eyes. ‘She needs a rug.’

  Drew shook his head. ‘That horse doesn’t need a rug. She needs some peace.’ And so do I, he thought, feeling a little sick at what he’d done. He pulled Sam into the truck cabin out of the rain. ‘Leave her alone until morning,’ he said. ‘Promise me.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I can’t believe we did it,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ She softly kissed his wet cheek.

  Drew’s skin tingled where Sam’s lips had touched it. ‘I can’t believe it either. Now let’s just hope we don’t get caught.’ There was no way to hide the horse. By a stroke of good fortune the yards at Brumby’s Run were set well back, not visible from the house. But if anybody bothered to come looking, they’d find her. No point worrying about that now, though. It was done, the die already cast. ‘I’m going to pack up the winch,’ he said. ‘Then can we please go inside and get dry? Again?’

  ‘Of course, Your Majesty, Mr King of the Mountains. Yes, we can.’ Sam threw her arms around his neck and kissed him properly this time. She radiated warmth and happiness right through her soggy clothes, and he remembered why he’d embarked on this ridiculous escapade in the first place. Maybe finally she was ready to try again with him?

  Drew extracted himself reluctantly from her arms, and jumped out to get the winch. A soft nose nuzzled his hand. ‘Bess? What are you doing out here?’ Hadn’t he left her in the kitchen? Drew stowed the gear back in the truck, hopped in and started the engine, trying not to step on Jasper in the process. The back wheels spun wildly for a few moments, then somehow gained traction. Thank God it was a downhill run to the house.

  Drew rounded the hayshed, then slammed on the brakes. The headlights’ beam revealed a car parked in the drive. Sam glanced up at him, an expression of horror on her face. Drew put his finger to her lips and shushed her with a whisper. ‘Stay here.’ He killed the lights and slipped from the cabin.

  It was difficult to see in the dark, but he didn’t think he recognised the car. One of those generic Japanese things, a Honda or a Suzuki or something. Bess stood on the porch, tail aloft and waving. Why wasn’t she barking? The dog ran right up to the back door, and with one scratch of the paw, she was in. Drew jumped back in the truck and parked it out of sight behind the hayshed. ‘There’s somebody in the house,’ he whispered to Sam. ‘Stay here.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Sam firmly. She jammed her hat further down on her head and hopped out.

  ‘At least let me go first.’ She fell in behind him, and they approached the rear windows. There was a lull in the storm. The shadow of a figure showed through the kitchen blind. They moved around to the front porch. But as Drew reached for the handle, the door opened. It was Charlie.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sam didn’t know what to think. Competing emotions made her dizzy. She should be very happy, and she was, in a way. Thankful, certainly, to see Charlie looking so much stronger, although she still had a kind of frail, elfin beauty about her, and still looked wrong, somehow, outside of a hospital setting. Her eyes had grown elegant brows and lovely long lashes. Her hair was an inch or so in length now. If you didn’t know she’d been bald, it might have looked like she had a stylish crop, one designed to bring classic definition to her features. It was a great comfort to see this beautiful, healthy version of her sister. But with a jolt, Sam recognised that happiness wasn’t on the top of her emotional scoreboard. Disappointment, jealousy, guilt, resentment – these were the clear winners. Charlie’s face had filled out, and the resemblance was more disconcerting than ever. Sam was looking into a distorted mirror.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ said Charlie,

  Sam pushed past Drew and briefly embraced her sister, feeling meat on her bones for the first time. ‘This is such a surprise,’ said Sam, meaning Why didn’t you ring first? Charlie started to softly sob. Sam gathered her up again in sodden arms, filled with a sudden, fierce, protective love that hunted away all her negative feelings. ‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ said Sam.

  ‘I got so fucking fed up in Melbourne,’ said Charlie, sniffing back tears. ‘Honestly, I couldn’t stand it for one more minute. What’s the point of beating cancer if that shitty city is just going to kill me anyway?’ Sam stayed silent and let Charlie talk. ‘And I’ve had some terrible fights with Mum. She’s on my back all the time. Don’t do this, don’t do that. And she’s got this new boyfriend. They get stoned all the time.’

  Sam couldn’t reconcile Charlie’s portrait of Mary with that of the woman she’d known in Melbourne. The woman at her daughter’s side, who bought her beautiful headscarves that she clearly could not afford. The woman who concocted homemade herbal remedies, with mother’s love as the main ingredient. Sam stroked Charlie’s hair. It had the silky-smooth texture of a Siamese cat. She made soothing noises, holding her sister close.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ said Drew, ‘Inside. I’ll light a fire.’ Sam sat Charlie down in the kitchen. Drew caught Sam’s eye. ‘Get into dry clothes,’ said Drew. ‘You’ll be no good to anybody with pneumonia.’

  He was right. She was shaking; whether from cold or emotion, she couldn’t tell. Sam ran to the bedroom, threw off her wet things, climbed into pyjamas and tore back down the hall.

  Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table. Drew had a blaze going in the hearth, but she was still shivering.

  ‘Does Mary know you’re here?’ asked Sam.

  Charlie shrugged. ‘I finally spat the dummy, and Mum said that if I’d made up my mind, she’d drive me home. She just had to say goodbye to Carlos first … she’d only be an hour.’ Charlie’s eyes blazed with a furious indignation that had chased away any hint of tears. ‘Five fucking hours later,’ she held u
p the fingers of a hand for emphasis, ‘and she’s still not back. Nice one, Mum. So,’ she shrugged, ‘I drove myself. Mum probably doesn’t even know I’m gone.’

  Charlie had driven alone for six hours, in shocking weather without a licence. Sam was aghast. She’d left her phone behind that morning. Where was it? There, behind the bread. She quickly checked it – five missed calls from Mary, and a dozen messages.

  ‘Oh, I think she knows,’ said Sam, still reeling from Charlie’s sudden appearance. Drew held up the kettle behind Charlie’s back, and she nodded for him to put it on.

  ‘I’m a good driver,’ protested Charlie, ‘and I didn’t see one single copper.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Sam. Charlie yawned. ‘Now let’s get you something to eat, and then get you to bed.’ Sam winced; she was sounding like her mother. ‘We’ll talk more about it in the morning.’

  ‘I’m not sleepy yet,’ said Charlie, like a petulant child. She stood up and looked into the little lounge room. ‘The house looks so beautiful and clean. I’ve never seen it like this.’

  Sam swelled with unexpected pride. ‘Sleep in Mary’s room,’ she said. ‘You might be more comfortable.’

  ‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ve been dreaming of my old bed, my old room.’

  Drew placed mugs of tea in front of them. Sam slipped down the hallway and quickly inspected Charlie’s bedroom. The posters on the wall, the frogs, the cast-iron bed frame – these were the only original things about it. Sam had bought a new mattress, new bedding, new curtains. She’d painted the grimy walls and scattered colourful rugs over the stained carpet. Charlie’s frog collection was displayed on shelves made from bricks and planks, and brightened up with pretty throws. Drew had donated the simple colonial wardrobe with a lovely etched-glass mirror that now stood in the corner. It had been languishing in a Kilmarnock shed for a decade, ever since his mother refurbished the bedrooms. Sam had used the old dressing table and wardrobe for firewood.