by Karen Wood
Luke shoved the pup in and Pete snapped a padlock on it. He turned to Luke. ‘You got some clothes to put on? We got dress regs up here, you know.’
Pete had changed into a fancy black western shirt with white piping around the yoke, tucked neatly into his jeans. His boots looked freshly polished and his hat had been dusted off.
‘My friend was going to bring me some,’ said Luke.
‘Hey, what happened to you, Dingo Luke?’ asked the little boy, still sitting on the grey horse. ‘You been wrestling them buffalo up north or something?’
Luke winked at him and ran a hand over his lumpy ribs. ‘Yep. Real nasty he was.’ He fingered the scab on his shoulder. ‘And this one was from a wild fella who tried to knife me. Before I’d even had breakfast.’
‘He got you good, Dingo Luke!’
‘He sure did . . . what’s your name?’
‘Toby!’ the boy said, wheeling his horse about and raising his hat. ‘Toby Stockman, and this ’ere is my horse, Greybo!’
‘Of course,’ laughed Luke.
‘You can ride with me if you want, Buffalo Luke!’
‘Sure, Toby Stockman, I’d like that.’
Pete came out from the front of the truck with some jeans and a football jersey in his hands. ‘These might fit you.’
‘Cheers,’ said Luke with relief.
Pete looked him up and down briefly, then shook his head.
‘Don’t ask,’ said Luke.
‘Don’t worry, I ain’t going to,’ said Pete. ‘You wanna give all these horses a ride, find out what they’re like, see how you go one-handed?’ He began to untie the black mare.
Luke pulled the jersey over his head and stepped into the jeans. They were a bit baggy, but fine. ‘Sure, let’s go!’
20
LUKE GAVE ALL FOUR of Pete’s horses a quick ride while the ladies’ event was on, and was pleasantly surprised. The black mare was soft and responsive and neck-reined well. Luke had more trouble steering the gelding with only one hand, but got along better once he tied the reins in a knot and held onto that. The stallion was wary and nervous and Luke resolved to give him a good workout before his event to settle him down. The fourth horse was an old white mare, who was a bit slow but had clearly been to a draft or two. As Luke jumped off and gave her a pat, he felt confident that he could win at least a couple of hundred dollars.
He rode over to the practice area on the black mare and helped Toby practise for the little kids’ class, teaching him how to ride mirrors. They faced their horses nose to nose, and as Luke legged the mare to the left and then to the right, Toby mirrored every move with Greybo. When Luke began to zip back and forth quickly and erratically, as a cornered steer would do, the little horse locked on beautifully.
‘Now go out there and win,’ Luke told Toby, as they rode over to the arena.
Toby blitzed it in the camp. He picked a small, runty black steer that moved quickly, but Greybo was all over it. Out in the arena he got two pegs and won the event. He puffed out his chest like a rooster’s when he went to collect his trophy. Pete and Luke cheered madly from the sidelines.
Luke had at least another hour before his first event started. He wandered over to the tree and took his boots off. A warm breeze blew gently over him, lifting the hairs on his arms and giving him goosebumps.
He wriggled his feet down into the smooth, silty dirt and planted them, really planted them, connecting, drawing on the strength that he found in the land. He took a long, slow breath and felt it blow away the shadows of his past. He thought of iron-age warriors, with the strength of horses and the cunning of wolves, and he drew on their power. A warrior-like energy grew inside him, bold, courageous and strategic.
That’s your old ones, looking after you . . .
He placed his hands together and thought of connecting, through his head, to the sky.
Ride with me again, Harry.
At Pete’s truck, he untied the black mare and tightened her girth. He gave her a rub on the forehead. She was sweet, only young. He would need to take it easy on her, as Pete had said.
‘All fired up?’ asked Pete.
‘Yep.’
Luke rode as he’d never ridden before. The feet of the little black mare seemed to connect directly with his mind, and he found he could guide her with little but a thought, as they blocked a huge, rangy Brahman that threatened to leap out of the camp. Luke kept the mare cool, sitting quiet and calmly placing her in front of the beast, driving it forward until the gate-men released it into the arena.
The beast ran fast and the mare galloped up on its flank, shouldering it around one peg, crossing over neatly behind it and then turning it back around the second peg.
‘Go, Dingo Luke!’ he could hear half a dozen kids yelling on the sidelines.
He steadied the mare back and brought the steer easily through the finish pegs.
Adrenaline was pumping through his body. That had to be the fastest gate he’d ever ridden.
‘Over here, Dingo Luke, over here!’ Toby screamed.
Still puffing, Luke pointed the mare towards the fence where the boy and his friends sat waving and cheering madly.
‘That’s my dad’s horse!’ Toby was yelling to all his friends. ‘Over here, Dingo Luke!’
As Luke approached the fence, Toby swung both his legs over the top rail and stood up. ‘Closer, closer,’ he said, waving his arms, and then took a flying leap onto the back of the mare, sending her into a startled canter. He waved enthusiastically to the crowd.
Outside the arena, Luke slipped out of the saddle and left the mare for Toby to walk around and cool off. He swung a leg over the gelding and found he had a very different feel: bigger, rounder, more solid on his feet. He drummed his hooves up and down excitedly and chomped at the bit.
Luke stroked the gelding’s neck and soothed him back to a walk. It didn’t take long to get him warmed up and working well, so he rode over to the camp, parked the horse outside and took the opportunity to watch some other riders. The gelding stood quietly as Luke sat in the saddle, folded his arms and enjoyed the event.
The level of horsemanship covered everything from people who could barely stay in the saddle to competitors on sleek, well-bred horses carving out huge scores.
As the rider before him galloped out into the arena, Luke was ushered into the camp. The gelding immediately woke up and began prancing again. Luke sat steady, eyeing the cattle. They all looked the same: grey, big, with panicky wild eyes. He got the gelding working as soon as he could, slipping it behind the first beast that wandered down the fence and hunting it to the end of the yard. The gelding pounced to the left and put in a good block.
As he blocked it for the second time, though, Filth shot out of nowhere, tail wagging.
‘Oh, crikey, Filth, not now!’
Filth put his ears back and slunk about the yard with a long drooling tongue.
‘Gate!’ Luke yelled and galloped straight over the top of the pup and out into the arena, too early to get a good score. The steer bolted in a dead straight line and Luke was too far behind it to turn it.
‘Would the owner of the dog chain it up, please,’ he heard the announcer say in an annoyed voice.
Outside the arena, Luke dismounted, cursing himself for letting a stray dog ruin his run. He should have just worked straight over the top of it. When he saw the pup bolt beneath a startled horse and come gambolling towards him, he crouched down on one knee and gave a short whistle. ‘Filth!’
The yellow pup sidled shamefacedly up to Luke, his tail wiggling in small apologetic movements between his back legs.
‘Don’t you even try looking cute,’ said Luke. He grabbed Filth, shook him angrily and carried him, whimpering, back to the truck.
Pete took hold of the pup and shoved him unceremoniously into the box with Fang. Both of them howled in protest and then began growling and squabbling with each other.
‘Shame,’ said Pete. ‘That’s my most experienced horse. Thought you’d do well
on him.’
‘So did I,’ said Luke. ‘Bloody dog.’
Luke didn’t connect so well with the white mare, who was headstrong and determined to do things her own way. She reminded him a bit of Chelpie back home, only she wasn’t a true white. Together they did a respectable cut-out and rounded two pegs before losing control of the beast.
Back at the truck, Pete had some cold drinks and steak sandwiches. ‘May as well have some lunch. Stallion event’s not on until later this arvo.’
Luke tethered the mare and joined Pete on the tailgate. He looked up to the roof of the truck. ‘Reckon we’d get a good view from up there?’
Pete reached up and pulled at a ladder suspended across the top of the horse crate. ‘Usually do.’
Sitting on old milk crates on the roof of the truck, Pete and Luke could see across the entire grounds. Luke could see Brownie and the young brumbies in the yard, but Chocky and the colts had been moved. He scanned about but couldn’t see them.
‘Wonder what they’ve done with those other horses,’ he said, mostly to himself.
‘The wild ones?’ asked Bob.
‘Yeah, there were two yards of them. Now I can only see one.’
‘They’ll have ’em out the back in the chutes, getting ready for the wild horse race.’
Luke winced at the thought of the colts being chased around and roped by teams of cowboys. He tried not to think about them. ‘Many stallions here?’ he asked, focusing his thoughts on his chances in the next event.
‘Yeah. You’ll have to ride hard if you want to win that.’
The stallion was a deep claret-coloured bay, small and sporty-looking. ‘Reo’, his name was. He looked like a drover’s horse with a set of chain hobbles buckled around his neck and a shaggy mane. He stood with a high head and alert ears that flicked back and forth. A mare was ridden past and he whinnied loudly after her.
Luke rubbed his broad, flat forehead and looked into his large eye. The horse rolled his eyeball and looked back. ‘Steady, Reo.’
‘He hasn’t been out much,’ said Pete.
Luke could tell. ‘Has he worked cattle?’
‘Oh yeah,’ grinned Pete. ‘He’s a smart horse. You better hold on.’
Something about the twinkle in Pete’s one good eye told Luke he was in for an interesting ride. He looked the stallion over. He was in paddock condition, with a sun-bleached coat, but Luke noticed his well-muscled hindquarters. ‘Cutting horse bloodlines?’
‘Mixed with a bit of Repeat,’ said Pete slyly.
Luke felt his expectations suddenly rise. This horse had some of the best bloodlines in the country. ‘Repeat, hey?’ Repeat was a legend.
He led Reo away from the truck, the stallion prancing alongside him. Once mounted, he was over-excited, wanting to jump all over every mare he came across. ‘Whoa,’ soothed Luke, rubbing his neck with his plastered hand.
He took the stallion to a quiet spot away from the arena and began working him. He was fast, Luke discovered. Probably even faster than Biyanga. The horse galloped from a standstill, reaching what felt like a hundred kilometres an hour in a split second, then slid to a halt leaving six-foot-long skid marks behind him. He was soft and super-responsive, needing barely a touch of the reins or a shift in the saddle to guide him. Luke would need to ride him with precision, he realised, or he would easily blow up.
He kept the horse quietly walking around the grounds until he heard his number called, then lined up outside the camp, waiting. The stallion’s shoulders twitched and his ears flicked every time a beast moved. He was one cowy horse, all right.
A stockman motioned for him to come to the gate and, as he moved Reo up, Pete approached him on the ground. He put a hand on the stallion’s bridle. ‘Don’t hold him too tight in the camp. He doesn’t like a short rein. Just give him his head and work him with your legs. But don’t let him get on top of the beast. He sometimes gets in too close.’
Luke nodded, soaking up the advice.
Bob gave Reo a slap on the neck. ‘No gates yet, you could win this thing.’
The stockman opened the gate for Luke and he rode in. The cattle were tall, leggy and racy-looking. Quick, and perfect for a horse like Reo.
The stallion bounced up and down beneath him, grinding at the bit. Luke remembered Pete’s advice and resisted the temptation to take up the reins. He legged him around to face the cattle and decided to pick one from the middle of the herd. He swung his feet forward, leaned back a little and felt Reo hustle backwards beneath him. Pete was right – he was a seat and legs horse. Luke centred himself and made sure he was well-balanced.
Backing off a little more to let the mob loosen up, he positioned himself to the side of his beast, waiting for it to wander to one side, then slipped in and cut it swiftly from the mob. Reo felt electrified, charged. He drummed his feet, anxious for the next command. Luke watched the steer’s eye and held the stallion steady until he was sure it was going to turn that way, then let the horse spin and follow. Reo went after it like lightning, but Luke was quick to steady him, pulling him up before he got too close. A few more blocks and Luke had the beast and the horse all but line-dancing. He was having so much fun he didn’t want to call for the gate.
When he did call it, the stallion whooshed after the steer as though it was on the end of a towing rope. He was like a Ferrari, roaring up on its flank and turning it nimbly around each peg, until beast, horse and rider galloped through the finishing pegs.
Luke pulled Reo up with his heart nearly pounding out of his chest and a smile that almost split his head in half. What a horse!
He got off and led the panting stallion out of the arena. Before long, Toby and his friends were tailing them. ‘You got ninety, Dingo Luke. You gonna win this thing!’
21
LUKE REACHED THE truck to find Pete and two other friends celebrating on top of it. They began drumming their feet on the roof as he approached, sending Reo careering backwards in a huge spook. ’Your shout at the pub tonight, Dingo Luke,’ Pete laughed as Luke tried to regain control of the stallion.
‘I haven’t won it yet,’ said Luke, looking up at him and smiling. Ninety was the best score he’d ever got, but a good rider could still easily knock him off.
‘Yeah, you have,’ said one of Pete’s mates. ‘Last two riders got cracked out. It’s yours!’
‘Five hundred bucks between us,’ whooped Pete. ‘We should go to the pub for a big feed, celebrate!’
‘Sounds good to me,’ laughed Luke. He hadn’t eaten properly for days. ‘Do I look eighteen?’
Pete shrugged. ‘Who cares?’
Luke gave Reo a rub on the forehead. ‘We’d better go back and claim our prize money then, buddy!’
While Pete and Luke watered horses and packed gear away, Toby ran around with four colourful ribbons tied to his arm: one of his own, two places from the filly, and a big blue sash from the stallion. ‘This is our best draft ever! Dingo Luke rides ‘em heaps better than you, Dad!’
‘You wanna go get the prize money while I load up these horses?’ Pete asked Luke. ‘You gotta go to the secretary’s tent and give ’em your ticket.’
‘Yep, sure,’ said Luke. ‘I just gotta use some of that money to settle some other business first. I bought some brumbies from the stock contractor.’ He punched the air, stoked that he’d have money left over.
Pete pulled a face. ‘What for?’
Luke shrugged. ‘Just to let them go. He was going to send them to the slaughter yards.’
Pete looked baffled, but shrugged as he unlocked the box and let the pups out. They landed on the ground in a squirmy tangle of legs and tails and bounded straight over to Luke with their tongues hanging out.
Luke set off to collect his winnings from the secretary’s tent with his fingers in his belt loops, a whistle on his lips and a lightness in his step. He felt taller, stronger, prouder than he ever had in his life.
He looked around at the two pups at his heels. They truly were goo
fy-looking with their long snouts, droopy jowls and huge fat paws. Their tails seemed too long for their bodies. And for some strange reason they seemed to utterly adore him. He bent over and gave them a pat. ‘Why me?’
Filth instantly rolled on his back and piddled in the air with excitement. Fang jumped over him and got squirted. Luke looked at them with a mix of disgust, endearment and disappointment. ‘Why couldn’t you be blue heelers or something useful?’
‘Dingo, Dingo, quick!’ Toby yelled urgently, galloping up behind him and pulling Greybo to a sliding stop. ‘The coppers are here, they’re asking for some fella called Luke Matheson! That you?’
Sister Suzie!
Luke’s eyes darted about. He saw it. A big four-wheel drive with blue-and-white checks down the side and sirens and aerials all over it. Sister Suzie in the front seat, pointing at him.
‘It’s the grey nurse!’ shrieked Toby.
Luke looked about frantically. ‘They’ve seen me, Toby, where do I go?’
‘Jump on the back!’ screamed Toby. ‘I’ll take you to the river. Jump on quick!’
Luke sprang up behind Toby and both he and the boy flapped their legs against the horse’s sides, galloping straight for the gap between the cop car and the dagwood-dog stand.
Sister Suzie stepped out and tried to block them, waving her arms and hopping about like a soccer goalie. But Toby rode straight over the top of her, sending her leaping out of the way and crashing into a queue of hungry dagwood-dog customers. Luke turned to see Fang and Filth take flying leaps and land on her. Fang took hold of her trouser leg, growling with high-pitched puppyish rage. Filth lay on her chest and smothered her with kisses. She screamed at the police to get them off.
Luke and Toby sailed over a timber fence and headed straight for the scrub. They galloped in and out of trees and the scrub got thicker and thicker. As the showgrounds grew further and further behind them, they slowed to a walk, keeping under the cover of the trees. Soon they reached an overgrown section of the river, choked thick with pandanus and palms.
