She had been pushing through the undergrowth for some time before it occurred to her that she should be heading downhill by now, if she was to return to the bottom of the cliff. The path didn't seem to be turning at all. She rotated on the spot and considered going back. That would just leave her with the same problem as before.
Perhaps she could make her own path? She made her way between the trees to the right, stepping over roots and small bushes, and ducking under the lower branches. It was hard being bent over all the time, and her thighs were sore from having to lift her legs up so high with every step. She found it impossible to keep a straight line because of the dense vegetation, but whenever she veered in one direction, she tried to correct it at the next opportunity.
After a while she turned right again. According to her calculations she should be near the power lines again. She looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the cables overhead, but she saw nothing but the crooked undersides of gum boughs.
'I'm lost,' she mumbled. Lost in the scrub. People died in situations like this. They died of dehydration, or exposure, or snakebite. She'd seen it on the news, and who would know where to begin looking for her? Nobody.
I could end up walking around in circles until I die of thirst. They'll never find me, she thought. Her bones would be discovered one day, years from now, by some random park ranger setting bandicoot traps.
'Mustn't panic,' she said, swallowing. Her mouth was so dry all of a sudden. The day was really warming up now. The cicadas were shrieking at full throttle. For a few seconds they all chirped in time, and it was so high-pitched and loud that it almost sounded like a low thrumming in the middle of her brain.
Shelby crashed through the bush, breathing heavily. A branch thwacked her in the mouth and she could taste the grittiness from the leaves. She closed her eyes and kept moving forwards, crossing her forearms in front of her face. Her shin hit an arching tree limb and it ached. She tried to step over the branch, but didn't lift her foot high enough and tripped. Her hand clipped a narrow eucalyptus trunk on the way down and it scraped some skin off her knuckles.
I'm panicking, she thought. She scrambled back to her feet and moved forward again, more carefully this time. She was so thirsty. Each breath sent hot dry air down her throat, and she felt as though it would crack like the clay bottom of a dry creek bed.
All she needed to do was keep heading downhill. At the bottom of the gully was the creek, and once she found that she would be able to follow it, or at least have a drink. Her mother had told her she shouldn't drink from it because it was full of industrial runoff and nasty bacteria, but Blue used to slurp it up all the time and he survived. Besides, she was sure that even nasty bacteria couldn't be as bad as this horrible parchedness.
Got to go downhill.
The undergrowth was so compact that it was hard to tell which way was down, but as she made her way through it, she sensed the slope beneath her feet.
She heard a buzzing motor again and stopped, cocking her head to the side. It sounded much closer this time and moving, so definitely a trail bike. She staggered faster towards the sound. She pushed through a particularly thick stretch of trees, with sappy-smelling needles, and on the other side she found herself on a trail – a proper, sandy, human trail.
She listened for a moment for the bike, and looked along the trail, but there was no sign of it. I imagined it, she thought. It was a noise mirage.
Shelby sat down to inspect the angry red welts and grazes up her arms. Some of the scratches had formed little beads of blood. None of them were too serious, but now that she was sitting still they started to sting. She rolled up the leg of her pants to examine her shin.
It had already turned a puffy grey-blue that would make an impressive bruise the next day.
She looked up and down the trail again. The gully was long, but it was finite, bordered on all sides by houses. If she followed a proper human trail then she would eventually end up on a street, or else in someone's back yard. She had been heading left for so long that it was probably the closest to civilisation, but it was also the furthest away from home. The idea of walking again made her feel exhausted.
Her eyes were sore and she rubbed them. She was so tired and all her muscles ached. When she got home she would stretch out in bed and sleep for the whole day, and half of tomorrow – right after she had eaten ten hot dogs, and drunk two litres of water in one go.
The trail bike burbled and blurted further down the hill. It's real after all, she thought. It seemed so close now that Shelby decided to see if it headed along this trail. If it didn't pass this way in five minutes then she would walk. Five minutes' rest sounded like heaven. She stretched her legs out in front of her. The back of her pants was caked in sand, and when she eventually stood up she would probably look like a schnitzel, but Shelby didn't care.
Five minutes passed, then ten, and just as she was about to get up and brush herself off she saw the bike approaching along the trail. When it was about ten metres away it skidded to a stop. The rider flipped up the visor, and Shelby could see his dark eyes and the furrow over his eyebrows.
'Have you lost your horse again?' he asked.
'No, I . . .' And then she burst into tears.
24 Pillion Passenger
The trail bike rider's name was Chad. He only lived a few blocks away from Shelby, but he went to the Catholic college, while Shelby went to the local state school. The bike belonged to his older brother, who was grown up and had moved out of home.
Shelby thought it was weird that they were sitting so close together, with her arms wrapped around his waist, and her stomach pressed against his back, and yet he had to yell all this over his shoulder to be heard above the engine noise. She tried to ask a question but her words were whipped away by the wind.
Riding a bike was different from riding a horse. The bike leaned from side to side, and Shelby was worried that they were going to topple over. It had hard suspension, and Chad put his feet on the ground when they went over rocky parts, or around corners. The main difference was that Chad had total control. He and the bike were one unit, whereas working with a horse was a partnership – ask and response.
It was the partnership part of horse riding that Shelby liked the most. The horse was so much bigger and stronger that it didn't have to do what she asked, like a motorbike did – it chose to. No matter how exhilarating riding a bike was, there could never be any understanding or harmony between bike and rider.
But then, bikes don't change their mind, either.
They reached the bottom of the gully, crossed the causeway and whizzed up the other side. Shelby realised something else – a bike could never enjoy being ridden. Blue loved this hill. He used to prick up his ears and jog jauntily towards it, looking forward to stretching out.
At the top of the hill, Chad stopped and Shelby climbed off the bike.
'Thanks, and sorry for being a cry-baby back there.'
'That's all right,' Chad replied.
'I promise I won't say rude things about trail bikes any more,' she added, smiling.
Chad nodded. 'Well, I still think horses are dumb and dangerous.'
They stared at each other.
'But the people on them can be OK, I suppose. And they can be really pretty.' He blushed. 'The horses, I mean. They are kind of majestic and noble . . . when they're not being dumb and dangerous, that is.'
He stared at his boots for a moment. 'Yeah, well, I'll see you next time you fall off, or get lost, or whatever.'
Chad walked the bike around, and then let it roll down the hill, waving to her over his shoulder.
Shelby trudged along the dirt road, and when she reached the cul-de-sac she stopped at one of the empty half-built houses to drink from the tap in the front garden. The cold water tasted so good. She splashed some of it over her face and washed her arms, and as she walked home along the road she enjoyed the feel of the sun and hot wind drying her skin.
The front door was open and, when she
stepped inside, she saw her father standing in the lounge room holding the cordless phone to his chest. He stared at her, his face turning completely white. He dropped the phone on the floor, and as he rushed towards her, he kicked it and it spun around on the carpet.
'Shelby!' he said, hugging her so hard that it hurt. 'Oh my God, oh my God.' He held her at arm's length for a second, examined her face, and then squeezed her again. 'Oh, Shelby. You gave me a fright – such a fright.'
When he let go of her again she could see that his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was wet.
'Are you crying?' she asked.
He frowned, and wiped his face. 'Yes, I think so. Yes, I am.'
He picked up the phone and punched in numbers with his thumb. 'Marie? She's here. She's come home. She's . . . here.'
Shelby thought she could hear screaming from the other end.
25 Justice
Shelby had never been inside a police station before. It looked like the front office at her school, or like the doctor's waiting room. There was a rotating brochure stand near the front door, and a few vinyl armchairs that faced a wooden reception desk.
Sergeant Everard – the policewoman who had come to her house about Blue – appeared in the doorway and asked Shelby to make her statement. They went into a small room with timber panelling on the wall and a table in the middle. Her mother sat next to her, and Shelby started the story from the very beginning. When she got to the part about the plan the girls had made, she hesitated.
'. . . So we came up with a plan – more of an idea. We thought if we could get him to come to the stables we'd be able to get his number plate. But we forgot.'
Sergeant Everard frowned. 'Who's "we" ?'
'I meant "I" . I came up with an idea.' Shelby glanced at her mother's face and saw embarrassment there.
'Can you go through this plan for me?' asked the sergeant.
Shelby squirmed in her seat. 'Well, the Mulligans said that they didn't want to swap, but Mr Morgan came back and took Poppy anyway, and we . . . I thought if I could lure him to the stables, he might try to steal a horse, and if I had his number plate, you could find him, and it wouldn't be civil. You would arrest him, and he would have to tell you where Blue was. Then everyone could get their horses back, and he would go to jail, so he could never do it to anyone else.'
The sergeant scribbled on her notepad for a moment. She put down her pen and laced her fingers together on the desk.
'Shelby, you do know that your plan was very foolish, don't you? It was the wrong thing to do.' Sergeant Everard looked at her severely.
Shelby nodded, biting her lip. She took a deep breath. 'Can . . . can you tell me what the right thing would have been?'
'It was a civil matter, as I told you at the time. Your solicitor would have requested that the horse be returned, and if your Mr Morgan didn't agree, it would be decided in the courts. Most likely, he would have had to provide you with a sum equal to the value of the property in question.'
'But we didn't know who he was!' Shelby paused. 'You're saying that he wouldn't have to give back Blue anyway, only the value of him? Not go to jail?'
'That's right.'
'But that's not fair!' she blurted.
Sergeant Everard blinked.
'What will happen to this man now?' Shelby's mother asked.
'As it turns out, there were a number of horses on the property which this fellow can't account for, and unless he can, he will be facing prosecution. We'll also investigate a few other leads that turned up when we searched the place looking for you.'
'So he might go to jail?' Shelby asked.
'It depends on his record, and a few other things. It's complicated,' the Sergeant replied. 'It's possible that he will.'
'But my way was the dumb way?' Shelby said.
Sergeant Everard sighed. 'Shelby, we thought you had been abducted. You put yourself and your friends at considerable risk. You worried your parents half to death, and you jeopardised Lindsey's mother's business. You also put in danger all the horses at the stables. Not to mention that you have broken several laws. I don't think you realise how many police officers – how many citizens, too – were involved in the search for you this morning. Your little stunt wasted a great deal of our time and resources – at the tax-payer's expense.'
'Yes, but –' Shelby interrupted.
'Time and resources that could have been better used elsewhere on much more serious and, I might add, genuine cases, where the victim did not deliberately generate the hazard.'
'But I –'
'We have a very important job to do here, and I don't appreciate – the community doesn't appreciate – police time being wasted on frivolous young ladies who decide to take the law into their own hands. And you still don't have your horse back.'
Shelby closed her mouth. The car she'd heard before she ran, the helicopter. Now she understood.
Sergeant Everard continued. 'There is no way this man is going to incriminate himself by telling us where your horse is. So frankly, after all this kerfuffle, you're no better off than you were before.'
Tears of anger and frustration welled in Shelby's eyes.
Her mother rubbed her shoulder. 'You're tired, Shel. It will seem better after you've had a sleep.'
'It's not fair.' Shelby shook her head. 'This is a stupid system.'
Sergeant Everard stood up and opened the door. 'We consider this matter closed. Fortunately for you, we will not be laying any charges against you, nor attempting to recoup any financial losses we have suffered. I hope we don't have to see each other again.'
'So what am I supposed to do now?' Shelby said. 'What's the right thing to do?'
Sergeant Everard looked at her with cool eyes. 'The right thing is not to gamble with your horse in the first place, unless you're willing to lose him.'
26 A Long Tail
When the alarm first started beeping, rousing Shelby from a deep sleep, she didn't know where she was. She sat up, feeling a little bit panicked, but then she saw two sleeping forms stirring nearby and she remembered. She was in the Crooks' rumpus room and this was the day of the show.
The air in the room smelled strongly of freshly oiled leather. The three girls had sat up late the night before pulling all of Hayley's equipment – tan for Ditto and black for Echo – into pieces, carefully washing and oiling each part until it was soft and supple. Hayley apologised to Shelby about having to do it, but Shelby had never minded cleaning tack.
The previous week Shelby had cleared out the shed at Blue's paddock, crying the whole time. She left the feed there because her parents said that it would just attract rats if she put it in the garage, but she couldn't bear to throw it all away. She brought her tack home and cleaned it with her Christmas polish. She wondered if she should try to sell her saddle, and that made her cry some more.
'Just ten more minutes,' Hayley grumbled sleepily.
Shelby was wide awake. A little buzz ran through her stomach, but it was different from the feeling she had when she took Blue to a show. The pressure of riding was not there for starters but, better than that, this time she would be with horses that actually had a chance of winning something.
As soon as she had the thought, Shelby felt guilty.
Hayley and Erin dressed in their best jodhpurs, pulling a pair of light tracksuit pants over the top to stop them from getting dirty. Shelby had her Christmas jodhpurs on – not because she was really going to ride but because, secretly, she wanted the other competitors to think she was. She hated the idea of all the riders looking at her as though she was just some curious onlooker.
Mrs Crook made a thermos of coffee and filled an esky for lunch. Shelby watched her reaching into the cupboards for packets of chips, biscuits and chocolate bars. The pantry cupboard was full of them. Shelby looked inside it with wonder. Shelby's mum's idea of a sweet snack was jam on toast.
Outside, Mr Crook was in his gown and slippers hitching the float to the back of the Crooks' four-wheel drive
. His hair was scruffy and a thick salt and pepper stubble ranged over his face. Shelby had never seen him looking so rumpled. He always looked smart, with crisp creases down the front of his pants and shiny shoes. When he gave her a warm smile with his eyes still puffy from sleep, Shelby felt special, as though he was sharing a secret with her – as though she were one of the family.
The girls piled into the back of the car and they drove to the stables. The morning sun spilled over the horizon, but Mrs Crook drove with her lights on for safety. Hayley was quiet in the front seat, rubbing her eyes and yawning, but in the back Erin and Shelby grinned at each other with excitement.
Once they arrived at the stables Erin left to give Bandit his breakfast and get him ready. Shelby and Hayley peeled back Echo and Ditto's rugs and brushed them down while Mrs Crook dumped their breakfast into the black rubber bins.
Shelby started on Echo's mane, carefully dividing it up into equal parts and tying them off with small rubber bands. Then she started plaiting. It didn't take long for her hands to become stiff and sore.
Mrs Crook came out of the equipment room brandishing a pair of clippers and tidied up the hair around the horses' hooves and legs. 'Those plaits are good,' she commented and Shelby felt proud. Once all the plaits were complete, Shelby looped them through and around to make a row of neat rosettes.
Hayley was having a harder time. Ditto was going in the Turnout class and so his mane had to be secured with thread. To make it that little bit more difficult, Ditto was vigorously enjoying his breakfast, sifting through the feed with his nose to search out the sweet grain. 'Hold still, you stupid horse!' Hayley shouted.
'And so you see,' said Mrs Crook, giving Shelby a wink, 'our Hales is not exactly a morning person.'
With all three horses plaited and bandaged, the rugs were put back on again and the girls led them onto the float. Mrs Crook told Shelby that she was in charge of Echo for the day, and Shelby beamed. 'No problem, Mrs C.'
For Sale Or Swap Page 12
