by Des Hunt
After that I slept.
Chapter 18
The sky was beginning to lighten when I dressed and moved out of the bunkhouse. Although it was still raining, there were clear patches to the south suggesting that the day might be fine.
I made no attempt to quieten the quad bike as I drove out of Pounamu—if people wanted to follow me, they could.
The horse float showed that the Basinheads were back at Sarah and Fred’s house, although there was no sign of life. I rode past as quietly as possible—I certainly didn’t want that lot following me.
The track was a mess. Our tyre ruts from the week before had almost washed away, to be replaced by another set. It looked like the horse float had been in and out several times.
My first view of the canyon gave me a shock. It was now a lake of yellow-brown water. Only when I got to the edge did I see that it was still quite shallow. In places, the tops of weeds were visible. Unfortunately, I could see no horses.
I dismounted and walked around past the container to get a better look at the bottom of the opposite cliff. Still no sign of anything. I returned and walked in the other direction. That’s when I saw them: four horses standing some distance out from the track. And Phoebe was one of them.
My relief was so great that I had to sit down or I would have fallen over the edge. It was only then that I became aware of how tense I had been. I sat for some time, thinking about what I should do. The obvious thing was to get them out of there. But how? I knew that Phoebe would come with me, but would the others?
As I climbed down the path, I realized there was another problem. At some stage during the rainfall, the path had been a stream of muddy water flowing down from the top. Now the water had gone, leaving a slimy coating of mud. It would be difficult for horse or human to get a sure footing.
I entered the knee-deep water and began wading around to the horses. Immediately, Phoebe lifted her head and looked at me. I gave my long, calling whistle, and her ears pricked up. Then I called her name. She took a couple of steps forward, before one of the other horses gave a short snort and she stopped. I called her name again. This time she took only one step forward, and after that I couldn’t move her.
If she wouldn’t come to me, then I would have to go to her. I walked slowly, trying not to make splashing sounds that might scare them. When I was twenty metres away, the horse that had snorted moved to the front so that it was facing me; that was the signal for the others to move back behind it. There was no doubting who was in charge. That’s when I noticed he was a stallion.
I stopped moving and studied the group in detail. Both Pounamu horses were mares. The other two were Kaimanawas, and they looked as if they were straight out of the wild. Before he arrived at the canyon, the stallion would already have had dominance over the wild mare; now he had added two more to his troop. He was the bond that held them together—the one who had kept them alive during the night. It would have been terrifying, with the water always rising, the wind howling, and rain pouring down. Their natural instinct would have been to move to the higher ground and take shelter in the bushes—the ongaonga. Yet he had kept them together and well clear of the danger. I had him to thank for helping keep Phoebe safe. Now it was my turn to help him. If I could convince him to come with me, the others would follow.
When I first started working with horses, Grandad said that to get a horse to do something difficult you must make them think that they will gain from it. I knew that these horses already wanted to move out of the water; it was my job to show them how. I was hoping they’d remember coming down the path. If I could move them so that they could see the way out, then I would probably win.
I began singing ‘Kaimanawa Horses’, softly at first, and then increasingly louder. Straight away I had the stallion’s interest. His head turned to one side to watch me and listen. Behind him, I could see that the other horses were listening, too.
When I was sure that I had his full attention, I softened my voice so that he had to strain to hear. For a while I thought it wasn’t working, and then he took a step towards me. I smiled to myself. So far, so good. Then I slowly turned away from him, singing all the time. I took a few steps towards the path. After resisting for a moment, I heard the splash of him following. He wanted to keep on listening. More splashing and I knew the mares were moving. And so we continued, with me walking and singing, and the horses following.
When the path came into view, I turned back to see the stallion glancing towards the cliff. That’s when I knew I was going to win.
At the bottom of the path I moved to one side and stopped singing. He now had a clear choice: stay or leave. With a snort, he climbed up on the path, calling the mares to follow. When they were all on the path, I trailed in behind at a safe distance.
It was not an easy trip up that narrow path. Every one of the horses slipped at some stage, and I slipped more than anyone. Yet we continued to make progress until we were about halfway up, whereupon the stallion stopped and pricked his ears. Soon I could hear it, too—the sound of a truck coming.
I cursed: it was probably Dad, but his timing was terrible. I hoped he would see what was happening and back off. The stallion turned and looked back down the path. Then he made the decision to continue moving towards the top. I made encouraging noises and he moved faster.
When the top of the vehicle became visible, I saw that it wasn’t Dad’s truck at all—it was the Basinheads’ horse float. I cursed again, knowing that this was sure to cause problems. The motor stopped and doors slammed. A moment later, I heard the squeak of doors as the refrigeration container was opened. Up until then I’d been tense: now I was afraid. I knew we had to get to the top before they started coming down.
I started shouting. The stallion tried to go faster, but the slippery surface was too dangerous. Then two figures appeared at the top of the track. It was Sam Mason and one of the cousins. The man was carrying a coil of rope.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, kid?’ yelled the man.
‘Saving the horses. Get out of the way.’
‘No! Those horses are mine.’
‘No, they’re not—you stole them.’
He swore at me. ‘If you let that stallion go free, I’ll never get him again.’
‘Good. He needs to be free.’
He swore at me again, then started moving down the path.
‘No!’ I screamed. ‘Let them go up.’
‘You better get out of the way, kid. Because I’m going to catch that stallion.’ I saw then that the rope was a lasso.
The stallion stopped and stared at the man. Again, he looked back at me. However, now he knew that escaping to the top was his only hope. He turned and continued towards the top. The man paused to throw the lasso. It fell short. For a moment the scene was frozen, with the man and the horse glaring at each other. The stallion recovered first, rearing back onto his hind legs and plunging forward. The man scrambled to get out of the way, but the surface was too slippery. His eyes went wild as the stallion’s front hooves caught him in the chest. He fell back and the horse ploughed over him, heading for the top.
But now the stallion was frightened. No longer was he carefully choosing each foothold—he was scrambling to get out of there as quickly as he could. A hind leg went sideways and over the edge. With pounding hooves, he struggled to pull it back. The other hind leg slipped and also went over. For a moment he was suspended by his belly with his forelegs scrambling to get a hold on the slippery rock. Then slowly at first, and finally in a rush, his body slipped over the edge. I heard his hooves thumping on the steep slope as he tried to break the fall. Finally, there came the most hideous scream as he plunged into the ongaonga.
The man was left lying against the cliff face, unconscious or dead. The mares stood in shock for a moment before deciding they wanted out of there. The wild one panicked and turned on me. I yelled at her waving my arms. If she decided to come at me, I would be in the same situation as the man. Then Phoe
be gave a whinny. The wild mare stopped. Phoebe whinnied again. This time, the mare turned and followed Phoebe up the path.
But now Mason was heading down the path towards his cousin.
‘Get out of the way, Mason!’ I yelled.
He stopped. ‘You killed my cousin.’
‘Get out of the way and the horses will go up. They won’t hurt him if they aren’t panicked.’
Still he hesitated.
‘If you want him to live, get out of the way.’ This time something got through. He turned and moved back to the top.
Phoebe was magnificent. She called to the other two mares and led them quietly around the silent man and on towards the top. It made me think that she understood what was happening. When she got there, she stopped to let the others past, and then turned to look back at me. She tossed her head a couple of times before moving away out of view. Soon afterwards, the screaming from the stallion stopped, and silence, if not peace, returned to the canyon.
Chapter 19
‘You killed him,’ accused Mason.
I was leaning over the injured man, checking his breathing and pulse. Both were steady, although probably not as strong as they should be. ‘No, I didn’t,’ I said. ‘He’s not dead. Anyway, it was his fault. He shouldn’ve come down the path.’
‘If you hadn’t been—’
‘Oh shut up, Mason. Why don’t you do something useful? Go and get help.’
‘No, you do it.’
‘I’m going down to see if the stallion’s still alive.’
He glared at me.
‘Look,’ I said quietly, ‘if your cousin doesn’t get help, he’ll die.’
Still he glared.
‘You can take my quad bike.’
His eyes brightened. ‘Where?’ he asked.
‘Do you know where Pounamu station is?’
‘No!’
‘Take the road towards Napier and not far along you’ll see a sign saying “First Aid Post”. Go in there and tell them what’s happened. Grandad will sort something out.’
He looked at me for a moment, before turning and climbing back up the path. I followed. After a brief lesson on the controls of the bike, he was ready to go. He turned to me. ‘Don’t think you’re getting away with this, Thomas,’ he snarled. ‘I’m getting Cousin Damien. He’ll come and sort you out. By the time he’s finished, you’ll wish you’d never come near this place.’ With a final growl, he turned and rode away.
I watched him go, wondering why I’d given him my bike just to save one of his criminal cousins. If things had been reversed, I knew he wouldn’ve done the same for me.
I went over to the container. Both doors were open, revealing a treasure trove of horse gear: saddles, bridles, halters, covers, cleaning gear, everything you needed for a horse. I grabbed one of the covers, a halter and a lead, and headed back down the path. The man was no worse or better than before. I lay the cover over him before continuing down the path.
It was a relief to see that the stallion was still living. He was in the water not far from where he’d fallen. He stood as if in a trance, unaware of where he was or what was happening.
He didn’t stir as I got alongside to examine him. There were several shallow cuts from the fall down the slope—nothing that needed stitching. While there was no sign of the ongaonga stings, I felt they were the cause of the stupor. That and the shock of the fall.
I talked to him all the time, stroking his head. He showed no response, even when I slipped the halter on. With the lead clipped in place, I moved towards the path. He wouldn’t budge. I tried again but with the same lack of success. I stood stroking between his eyes, trying to think of something else I could do. Somehow I had to get him out of the water. If he got any sicker, he would go down, and with the rising water he was sure to drown.
‘C’mon, horse,’ I said loudly. ‘Do something to help.’ There was a flicker of a response from his eyes. Maybe that’s the answer, I thought: act tougher.
‘C’mon!’ I yelled as I pulled. ‘C’mon. C’mon, you can do it. C’mon, c’mon.’ He took one step forward, and then another. Soon we were walking slowly towards the path.
‘Yes! That’s it,’ I said more quietly. ‘Yes! Just a little bit further. Keep it coming. Yes!’
There was a broad bit of dry land where the path spread out onto the canyon floor. It would remain dry for another hour or so, and was big enough for him to lie on if he did go down. I used the lasso to tie him so that he could move around, but not into the water or the ongaonga. There was nothing else I could do until help arrived.
Only then did I have time to go and see Phoebe. She was standing quietly with the others, about a hundred metres away from the edge of the canyon. I walked slowly over to her. The two other mares moved away a bit, leaving Phoebe by herself. Soon, I was cuddling her face, telling her all sorts of things about my fears for her, and the horrible night I’d had. In reply, she told me she was fine, but keen to get back to her own paddock. I promised her it would happen soon, and that when I got back I’d find some special apples for her. She said she’d like that. And so we went on while I waited for the others to come.
Grandad arrived in the old army vehicle which was Pounamu’s ambulance. A stockman and Sam were with him. Not far behind was Karen in the van, followed by Dad and Mits in the truck.
While Sam and the stockman ran down to the patient, the rest of us stood and stared at the ever-deepening lake that had once been the canyon.
‘That’s going to cause some problems,’ said Karen.
‘And it’s going to get worse,’ added Grandad. ‘I did a ring-around this morning, and it was still hosing down in the catchment area. They reckon they’ve had up to three hundred millimetres in the past couple of days. The bulk of the water won’t reach here until after lunch.’
Dad turned to Karen. ‘You’ve done this sort of thing before. About how long to cut out The Tooth?’
‘About four hours. That’s if there’s only the one fossil. If we find others, then it’s sure to take longer.’
‘Maybe we have to forget about any others.’
Karen shook her head. ‘No! We must at least look.’
Grandad said, ‘Let’s get this poor blighter into the ambulance, and then I’ll leave you to work it out. But I reckon you’ve only got about six or seven hours and the place will be under water.’
Sam’s cousin had regained consciousness. The stockman reported that it looked as though the man’s ribs had been shattered, but there were no signs that the lungs had been punctured or the heart damaged.
The others sorted him out while Grandad and I went down to see the stallion, who seemed to be unconscious on his feet.
‘It’ll be better if we can get him to lie down,’ said Grandad. ‘Otherwise he’ll collapse and injure himself more.’
‘Can we make him do it?’
‘We can try. You talk to him and I’ll apply some pressure.’
So I started talking, and Grandad worked with the rope to pull him down. When he went, it was so fast that we had to jump out of the way so we didn’t get squashed.
Grandad looked down at the horse, shaking his head. ‘He doesn’t look good, does he? I think he’s going to die.’
‘No!’ I cried. ‘Can’t we do something? We can’t let him die.’ I paused, trying to think. ‘Can’t we get a vet or something?’
He studied the stallion. ‘Yeah, we could, but this is going to reach a crisis well before any vet gets near here. Sorry Timothy, but you’ll just have to let the poison take its course. If he’s got the will, then he might survive. If not, then…well…what can we do?’
Chapter 20
After some discussion, we decided that the best approach was to waterblast the rock as we had planned. Then we would review the situation. Dad and Mits would take the truck with the gear around to the top of the waterfall, while Karen and I went into the canyon. It would be our job to receive the equipment lowered down by crane.
Befo
re we started, Dad handed out the headsets. ‘OK, they’re voice-activated, so you don’t have to switch anything on. Just talk and all the others will hear. They work just as well around your neck as on your ears. However, when the machines start I suggest you use them as ear protectors. Any questions?’
There were none, so we set off on our tasks.
I stopped at the bottom of the path to check on the stallion—he was worse. Grandad was right: the crisis would come long before any help could arrive. I stroked him for a while, before reluctantly moving to follow Karen who was already well into the water.
‘How you going down there?’ asked Dad.
‘I’m just at the opening in the bush now,’ replied Karen. ‘The water’s getting shallower as I walk in. It may not be such a—’ Her voice cut out as if the connection was lost.
‘Karen?’ called Dad. No reply. ‘Karen!’
Then we heard her answer. ‘Oh, my God!’ It was little more than a whisper.
‘What is it?’ I called, wading faster to get to her.
‘The fossil,’ she replied.
‘Has it gone?’ Now I was worried.
No answer.
‘Karen!’ yelled Dad. ‘Has The Tooth gone?’
‘No,’ came a faint reply.
‘Then what?’ asked Dad.
That’s when I heard laughing. I stumbled through the nettles and over the boulders to find her standing in the water, staring at the rock overhang; her hands were on her head, and she was laughing almost hysterically. I followed her gaze, and soon I, too, was laughing. It was the laugh of amazement and disbelief.
The rock face that we had been going to waterblast had already been washed clean by the waterfall. At some stage there must have been a gushing torrent coming down from above. Now, The Tooth was so clean that it shone out of the black rock, much as I had imagined it as a child.
