by Karen Wood
Mandy shot Corey a look of fury. ‘You’ll never ride in rodeo again, Corey Duggin.’ She pointed at him. ‘We’ll black-ban you! We’ll rig it so you never get good stock again. You’ll pull the most feral cattle and get the worst draws. No one will sponsor you because they’ll know you’ll only ever lose! No one will even speak to you after this!’
‘This isn’t about you, Mandy,’ said Corey.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘It was never about me, obviously.’
Corey held her gaze for a short moment before riding Chelpie towards the Connemans’ stockmen. Shara watched him roll his spurs up Chelpie’s ribs, and the dainty white horse swished her tail angrily and bit at the air in front of her. ‘Follow me!’ he said, waving Shara after him.
‘What about all the papers?’ she called back. Rocko cantered on the spot and she felt the skin tighten over his wither as he bunched his muscles beneath her.
‘Leave them, we don’t need them!’ Chelpie bounced sideways, clearing a big space, and Corey sent her leaping forward. She rushed at the people blocking her, teeth bared. They scattered.
‘Good girl, Chelpie!’ said Shara.
‘She’s a weapon on legs,’ said Corey.
Behind them, the other riders filtered through the small gap between the truck and the fence, looking down at the Conneman staff as they clattered past. In a huge nodding and tossing and tail-swishing throng, with clanging stirrups and brushing saddles, they began to move slowly past the rodeo grounds.
The front fence looked as though it had just had a lick of fresh paint to spruce it up for the event. Shara could smell cut grass and knew volunteers would have spent long days getting the grounds ready. In the gateway, an elderly couple sat under a beach brolly with a pouch of small change on their laps, an esky between them like a coffee table. Their faces were stony as their eyes followed the procession.
People in fluoro vests directed a dozen or so cars into a neat row beside the arena. It was a poor turnout. People must have heard about the brumby ride.
But the show went on. Crooning cattle and a loud voice broadcast over the event, cutting through the din of the brumby ride. Guitars twanged and horses whinnied. As the thunderous noise of horses’ hooves neared, the people in the grounds began walking to the roadside, staring at the huge procession coming their way.
They waited with hard faces, watching. One threw a Coke can out onto the road. Shara felt a hot thwack on her cheek and something bounced off her shoulder. A hot chip? ‘They’re throwing food at me!’
‘Just keep going,’ said John beside her. ‘Don’t react.’
The whole cardboard cup came next, complete with tomato sauce, and she dodged the spray of greasy crumbs and red goo. Rocko stepped sideways as the cup tumbled down his shoulder. ‘And they say brumbies are feral,’ said Shara, as she looked down at the red splatters on her shirt.
‘Hey!’ Corey yelled angrily.
‘It’s all right. I’m fine,’ said Shara quickly. ‘It was just some sauce. It was nothing.’
‘Hey, it’s Corey,’ yelled someone.
‘Yeah, it is, and that’s my friend you’re chucking stuff at,’ he yelled back.
‘Don’t get in a fight, Corey,’ Shara pleaded. This was the last thing she needed.
‘Look straight ahead and keep riding.’ John trotted up beside his son. ‘Don’t bite, Corey. You knew it would be like this.’
Corey looked away, holding Chelpie in a steady jog-trot, his feet jammed down hard in his stirrups. Chelpie, as though feeding on the hostility that percolated around her, pressed her ears to the back of her head and screwed her nostrils into the nastiest face Shara had ever seen on a horse. She pulled her lips back, bit at the air in front of her and rolled her eyes towards the crowd.
‘I like your little show pony, Duggin!’ another voice teased.
Corey spun Chelpie’s hindquarters towards the voice and rolled a spur up her side. Chelpie lashed out with both back legs.
Laughter rippled through the rodeo crowd.
‘Corey!’ John warned.
Corey lowered his spurs, but Chelpie still swished her tail and the rodeo crowd stepped back as he pranced past, despite the timber fence rails.
‘You okay?’ asked Shara.
‘Just gotta get past this crowd.’ He shot her a sideways grin. ‘I like this horse, though. She’s got some attitude.’
‘She’s done heaps of dressage.’
Corey gathered up Chelpie’s reins and pushed his seat into her, making the mare spring into a bouncy passage. She arched her neck, fanned her tail from side to side and lifted her knees one at a time in big, exaggerated movements. Corey lifted his cowboy hat and waved it to the rodeo crowd in a grand, sweeping gesture. Before he could clamp the hat back on his head, Chelpie pigrooted and bumped him out of the saddle for a stride.
More chuckles wove through the onlookers. Corey sent the little white horse in an extended trot along the fenceline, legs punching and toes flicking dramatically out in front.
‘Show-off,’ John muttered beside Shara.
She rolled her eyes and watched Corey finish his dressage workout with a half-circle to change direction, then a collected trot straight back to the rodeo people. He halted, gathered his reins in one hand, saluted in true dressage style and then dropped Chelpie’s reins.
‘I give you a fifty-two for that, Corey!’ a woman called.
‘You big girl! Get some jodhpurs!’ yelled another.
Corey rode towards a small crowd that he seemed to know. But as he neared them, more riders pushed their horses menacingly towards him and Shara was glad of the fence between them.
‘We’re not riding against rodeo,’ he told them. ‘We’re riding against the wild horse race. It’s crap. It’s not even a recognised event. It’s giving rodeo a bad name.’
‘Yeah, well, your ride has gone and halted the whole event,’ said a man in a red shirt. ‘We travelled for miles to get here and now the whole thing’s cancelled. People have been working for months to run this event.’
‘It’s not our fault the event was cancelled,’ argued Corey. ‘It was the dodgy stock contractors.’
‘Those dodgy contractors have been supplying you with good horses to ride for the last couple of years, mate. You’re a hypocrite.’ The red-shirted man walked away.
‘Oh, come on, Danny,’ Corey implored.
‘All the stock’s being seized,’ said another. ‘They’re perfectly healthy, nothing wrong with them.’
Behind them Shara saw a stock truck – the one from the animal shelter? – drive into the grounds and head towards the yards. Jess gasped behind her. ‘They’re taking the brumbies!’
A cheer went through the protest riders and horses began shifting restlessly, eager to move.
Corey slipped off his horse and handed the reins to Shara. She inwardly groaned as she took them. ‘Don’t go in there, Corey, you’ll get killed!’
‘They’re my mates,’ he said. He slipped through the fence and ran after them.
Next to Shara, John cursed quietly. He reined his horse about and kept moving with the brumby ride. ‘Keep riding, Shara.’
Corey looked back over his shoulder as he ran into the rodeo grounds. ‘Wait for me, Sharsy!’
‘Easy, Rocko.’ Shara tried to hold her horse steady but it was like being caught in a rip. A hundred horses were moving away from her and she could hardly hold Rocko and Chelpie against the undercurrent. Jess, Grace and Rosie were well out of sight, at the front of the ride.
Rocko and Chelpie shifted about and she struggled to hold them off each other. Rocko bounced beneath her and Chelpie swung her hindquarters, tossing her mane and gnashing her teeth.
Shara saw John’s back disappearing in the sea of riders and looked back into the showgrounds at Corey, who had reached his friends and stood arguing with them between the parked cars. His arms were waving around as he talked. The men were leaning forward and yelling back. They didn’t look in agreement at all.
He nodded towards the stockyards. Graham Conne–man, his fists clenched, was marching towards the car park.
Shara reined Rocko away. ‘I can’t watch.’
But a hand grabbed hers. Lawson was off his horse, wrapping his reins over her arm. ‘Hold Chocky a minute.’
‘I can’t hold all of them,’ she complained, as Chelpie lunged and the gelding pulled away. ‘Chelpie’s a psycho!’
Lawson shut her up with a look. ‘Corey’s out there, sticking his neck out for you. You do the right thing and wait for him.’ And with one hand on the fence rail and two feet leaping over it he was off, after Corey.
Shara had so much trouble trying to keep the horses together, she couldn’t watch anyway.
She did see the last of the brumby riders disappear up the road without her, and she listened to the sound of their hooves fading. Her parents were going to freak if she didn’t show up at the sausage sizzle.
Finally, she managed to get Chelpie’s reins tied around the branch of a tree, and Lawson’s gelding tied well away from her, so she could watch what was happening. In the middle of the car park, a crowd of people had gathered. Through them, she caught a glimpse of Corey’s friends restraining him by the elbows as he struggled and yelled at Graham, who in turn was held back by Lawson. Two police officers walked briskly towards the scene, waving people away.
Corey stopped struggling when he saw them. But Graham only yelled louder and the police had to help Lawson restrain him. The crowd moved in closer and obscured Shara’s view, and she rode up and down the road trying to see what was happening. Through a gap in the mob, she saw a pair of denim-clad legs writhing on the ground beneath two police officers, and she prayed they weren’t Corey’s.
And then Lawson broke from the crowd, dragging Corey by the shirt sleeve. He had lost his hat, and Lawson pulled him along so fast he struggled to keep his feet. Corey took a last glance back at the rodeo grounds and Shara saw the red-shirted man dip his hat to him. Corey lifted a hand, turned towards Shara and sprinted in her direction.
25
COREY RODE IN SILENCE, letting the rhythmic nod of Chelpie’s walk pull the reins back and forth in his hands, in time with her stride. He turned and looked back at the rodeo every twenty metres or so. Lawson cantered ahead.
‘If they’re real friends, you’ll see them again,’ said Shara quietly.
Corey didn’t answer.
‘Besides,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘You could have a real future in dressage.’
‘No, thanks,’ he said, sounding flat. He picked up his reins and kicked Chelpie into a canter. ‘Let’s catch up with the ride.’
Shara followed for several minutes, enjoying the canter and the movement of air it brought to her face until they reached the tail end of the ride. The horses, perspiring now from the excitement and contagious energy of each other, walked along the road with barely a breath of wind to clear the swelling dust or to dry their sweat-soaked coats.
They reached a long, grassy stretch that followed a powerline up and over the mountain. It was steep, but wide enough that riders could travel alongside each other, talking and laughing and enjoying the day. Kids scooted back and forth on their ponies, and parents nagged them to behave. Dogs trotted happily alongside, tongues flapping from their mouths.
At the top, Shara and Corey stood their horses side by side, letting a gentle breeze cool their skin. Chelpie blew heavily from the effort of carrying Corey and he jumped off and loosened her girth. ‘Better lead her for a while,’ he said flatly. ‘Don’t want her blowing a gasket.’
Shara slipped off Rocko and did the same. They stood aside and let the riders pass onto a pebbly fire trail leading to a large forest reserve.
A sudden piercing whistle shot through her ears. Corey turned to look behind them, and curled a thumb and a forefinger beneath his teeth. ‘Danny!’ He waved like an excited schoolkid. ‘Emma!’ Down the track, Shara recognised the man in the red shirt, Corey’s friend. A woman rode beside him, and trailing behind them on lead ropes were two small kids on adult-sized horses, barely big enough to stay in the saddle. They held tight to the horns of big western saddles with their feet in little stirrup clogs. Their round white helmets on their tiny twiggy bodies reminded Shara of Chupa Chups lollipops.
‘The kids talked us into it,’ said Danny as he rode closer. ‘They started crying when they saw the brumbies being put through the yards.’
‘Jackson said the stockmen were mean,’ said Emma.
‘He’s a smart kid,’ said Corey. ‘You guys should listen to him.’
Emma held his hat out. ‘I told him that event was a disgrace.’ She looked at Shara. ‘Did you organise this ride?’ She legged her horse over, leaned across and held out a hand. ‘I’m Emma. Good on ya, matey.’
‘Some of the others are coming too,’ said Danny. ‘Nothing else to do, now that the rodeo’s over.’ He still looked unimpressed. Then he ran his eyes over Chelpie. ‘Where the hell did you get that horse? You should put it through the chutes. I reckon it’d buck like a demon.’
Corey shot him a shut-up look and then rolled his eyes at Shara.
Danny quickly shut up. ‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘She’d ditch both you idiots,’ said Emma.
‘I wanna run, Dad,’ said one of the kids, waving a whip at the flank of his horse. ‘Make him run again!’
‘Me too!’ demanded the other, pulling and yanking on the pommel of the saddle.
‘Better do as I’m told,’ said Danny with a wave.
‘There’s a free sausage sizzle at the top,’ Corey called after him.
As Shara watched them trot away in a little mob, she thought how glad she was that she hadn’t cancelled.
She looked back down the line and watched all the horses coming up the trail. They were an awesome sight as they clambered, pushing their shoulders into the climb; a wonderful mix of all horsey types, with their varying styles of leather and buckles and their different dress codes. Whether stockmen, dressage riders, pony-clubbers or weekend trail riders, the riders were all one and the same, all horse lovers who cared about the wellbeing and dignity of their horses’ wild cousins.
This was just a wonderful thing to be a part of. Her dad had been right. This wasn’t about her. This was all about Goldie and his mother and horses just like them.
Looking back over the view, Shara could see across the golden-green fields, the grey snake of bitumen cutting through them, lined with gum trees and alive with traffic. The Connemans’ big red semi was still parked across the road and police cars and other vehicles were dotted around it. Tiny people walked between them. The rodeo grounds were emptying fast, with catering vans driving away and tents being dismantled.
The yards were still full of cattle, and among them, a mob of horses stood quietly in the sun, mostly browns and chestnuts, swishing tails at flies and nuzzling into each other for comfort: the brumbies, the wild horses. They would be spared. Nearby was the animal rescue truck. She wondered where the brumbies would end up. Somewhere much better than a wild horse race, she hoped.
‘Sorry we shut down the rodeo,’ Shara said to Corey.
‘They’re good people,’ he said. ‘None of them want to hurt horses.’
‘I guess every horse sport has its good people and bad people.’
‘They sure do,’ said Corey. ‘Now, did you say there’ll be a sausage sizzle? I’m starving.’
‘Half an hour down the fire trail,’ she said. ‘But it’s not free. Grace is going to kill you for saying that! She wanted to raise money for brumby groups.’
‘Whoops.’ Then Corey patted his pockets. ‘Hope I get a freebie. I’ve got no cash on me.’
‘I’ll shout you one, come on.’ Shara led Rocko back onto the trail and walked a
long, finding a space where she and Corey could be together alone.
‘Now do you believe me?’ he said, as he led Chelpie along beside her.
‘Believe what?’
‘That I like you.’
‘Yes.’ She held out her hand and he wrapped a strong, calloused hand around hers, entwining their fingers together. She bumped her shoulder to his and they walked the fire trail together, leading Chelpie and Rocko behind them on long loopy reins.
The smell of frying onions and sizzling sausages hit them before they got to the reserve. ‘I could eat about ten of those,’ said Corey, tethering Chelpie to a tree.
Grace stood nearby with a bum-bag, collecting coins and handing out tickets. A hotplate sizzled, and Chan bundled slices of white bread into serviettes, ready to be made up into sangers.
The CWA women had also set up a stall with trays of home-baked treats: cherry and coconut slice, lamingtons, hedgehogs, honey joys and chocolate crackles.
‘Now, that’s what I call real food,’ Jess was saying with approval. ‘None of that industrial processed rubbish. Real food made with real ingredients. I want one of everything!’ She piled cakes onto a small paper plate, oblivious to Chan glaring at her.
More cars parked nearby and a horse truck drove in behind them. ‘Hey, Jess,’ said Shara. ‘Is that Luke?’
Jess looked up. ‘Huh?’
Shara pointed to the truck, which had Ryan Blake at the wheel and a wild-haired boy in the passenger seat.
Jess spilled her cakes everywhere. A kelpie darted in and began devouring them from the ground. ‘Luke.’ She looked wide-eyed at Shara. ‘I’m not allowed to talk to him . . . for five weeks, four days and twelve hours.’
‘But who’s counting?’ said Shara. ‘Your parents aren’t here. Go and hug him!’
Jess jumped over the kelpie and ran to the truck. Luke leapt out and took her in a big swinging hug, lifting her feet up off the ground and whirling her in big circles. Shara sighed. They were so cute together.
She picked up a stack of sausage sangers, all dripping with onion juice and tomato sauce, handed three to Corey and gave him a wink. ‘I got friends in high places too, you know.’ She took one more for herself and sank her teeth into it.
