‘Yes they could,’ replied Biddy. ‘They could of eaten grubs and berries and stuff, like Biddy the convict did.’
Lorna snorted. ‘They’d be pretty skinny if they’d been eating berries and grubs for nine years. And it’s could have, not could of.’
Biddy pushed her chair aside and walked across to the stove. She hated it when Lorna treated her like a little kid. She stood with her back to the room, pretending to warm her hands on the heat from the Aga, but really hiding her face from the adults. She could see her reflection in the shiny lids, burning red. It was suddenly very important that her family listened, listened seriously. She took some deep breaths, then, when she could trust her voice not to break, she started to speak, still keeping her back to the room.
‘You just don’t want to believe that it could be true, but think about all the things that have happened . . . I reckon they have been watching us while we were down at the headland. I reckon they stole the bacon the night before last.’
She turned from the stove as her father began to speak. ‘No, it wasn’t Top.’ She looked down at Tigger, who was doing figure-eights around her legs. ‘Top was in my swag. I was using him as a hottie. Anyway, what about the plaits? Who plaited the horses? And plaited them the same way that Irene plaits? Irene’s aunty, that’s who.’
Dave scratched his head. ‘Look, mate, I know what you’re saying makes sense, but I just can’t believe a girl and a little baby could survive in the bush for nearly nine years. It doesn’t seem possible.’
‘They wouldn’t be a girl and a baby any more, Dad,’ Biddy cut in. ‘Joycie would be twenty-six, and Joe would be nine. You have to say it’s possible, at least. Don’t you reckon, Pa?’
Grandpa ran his gnarled hands slowly over his face and sighed. ‘Hmmnn.’
‘What? What do you mean, “hmmnn”?’ asked Biddy. ‘Tell us, Grandpa.’
‘Well, I don’t know how to say this without looking like a complete fool, but I’ll say it anyway. I haven’t been out to the headland for, let’s see, three years, but there were times in those last trips when I could swear someone was watching me. You know, when the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Perhaps it was Joycie. There. You can send me off to the nut-house, if you like, but I’ll stand by what I’ve said.’
Biddy put her arms around his bony shoulders and glared at her parents. ‘See. I’m not just imagining it. Grandpa thinks Joycie and Joe have rescued Bella too.’
‘But if that’s true,’ said Lorna, ‘how come there was only one set of footprints beside Bella’s tracks? Little ones, too. Why was Joe by himself? Where was Joycie?’
‘I know what we should do!’ shouted Biddy suddenly. ‘We should ring Irene and her mum and dad and tell them.’
‘No, Biddy!’ Her mother’s voice was harsh. ‘They mustn’t know anything about it.’
‘Why not? They’ll be so excited—’
‘That’s just why we can’t tell them. Because they’ll be so excited. Imagine how terrible it would be for them if they got their hopes up and it turned out to be nothing.’ Lorna’s eyes filled with tears. ‘They’ve already gone through the pain of losing Joycie and Joe, all those years ago. We couldn’t make them do it again.’
Grandpa patted Biddy’s back. ‘Your mother’s right. Let’s keep it quiet. We’ll go down to the headland tomorrow and have a bit of a poke around and see what we can find. Here, bring that map over and I’ll show you where I think you should look.’
When Joe woke up he didn’t know where he was. He hardly knew who he was. His sleep had been filled with dreams, dreams of horses, dogs, cattle, Joycie, and him running, always running, and never getting there. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. It was cold in his house. He remembered then that he’d draped his rabbit-skin rug over Bella last night. Bella! A terrible fear struck him—that she might have died while he was asleep. Her breathing sounded awful by the time they’d got back last night.
He pushed aside the bag in the doorway, almost afraid to look. She wasn’t there. He stepped outside and put his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. It was late. He must have slept nearly all day.
As his eyes adjusted, Joe heard a twig snap and looked to the edge of the clearing. His worries vanished. There was Bella, by the swordgrass, grazing peacefully. Devil sat beside her. He looked up as Joe walked towards them, as if to say, ‘I like her and she likes me, too.’ Joe felt as light as air.
The rabbit-skin rug had hardly shifted on Bella. Joe felt underneath it, and she was warm and dry. She stopped grazing for a moment to nuzzle at his pockets. She had kept doing that to him last night when they were coming through the tea-tree. It had taken ages. The branches were so low that Joe had to push or break nearly every one to make the tunnel big enough for Bella. She had stood behind him patiently, just nudging him with her nose from time to time. It had been so good to get to the path in the swordgrass, and then to get home. His house had looked welcoming in the moonlight, but Joe had been too tired to make a fire. He’d just tied the rug on Bella and slept.
Bella nudged him again, this time in the belly. His insides felt tender, and he realised how hungry he was. He could eat a horse, as Joycie used to say. He smiled. ‘Come on, you two. I’ll make some damper for tea.’
He walked along the valley, picking up sticks for his fire as he went. The pony and the dingo followed him, and the three of them shone in the golden evening light.
Biddy sat on Blue, one foot crossed over the front of her saddle. Her father told her not to do it. ‘If that horse gets a fright, you’ll go over backwards. You will, you’ll go bum over breakfast.’
Biddy laughed. She loved it when she and Dad were together. ‘Mum does it all the time,’ she pointed out, ‘and you don’t tell her not to do it.’
‘It would take a braver man than me to tell your mother what to do. Anyway, she can ride,’ he teased. ‘She’s not just a little beginner like you.’
He laughed as he handed her Gordon’s reins. ‘You wait here with the horses. Don’t go anywhere, understand. I’ll be a while. I want to follow this stony ridge, and it’s too steep for the horses. I might be able to spot something from the top.’
He reached into the pocket of his oilskin coat and pulled out a handful of mints. ‘Here, these should keep you busy. I’ll see you soon. Now, what do you have to do?’
Biddy screwed up her face, and said slowly, as if she was reciting tables, ‘Wait . . . here . . . don’t . . . go . . . any- where.’
‘Good girl.’
Dave patted Gordon on the rump, turned, and vanished into the bush.
Biddy could hear her father crashing through the timber for a while, and soon it was quiet. And then, from the silence, grew tiny bush sounds: birds, the breeze in the scrub, the horses’ breathing, a fly bumbling past. It was amazing how much noise there was in silence. She wondered if Mum and Grandpa had arrived yet in the ute. She and Dad had ridden down this morning and led Mum’s horse, Dusky. It felt just as scary, riding over the cliff path the second time.
Mum would drive down, when the tide had gone out far enough. Grandpa refused to be left behind, so they decided he could come in the ute. Biddy and her father had tethered Dusky to a bush, close to where Bella had disappeared. Lorna was going to leave Grandpa in the ute, on the beach, with a thermos and sandwiches, and then ride along the back of the dunes, searching for tracks. Grandpa had been given even stricter instructions than Biddy about staying put.
Biddy put her foot back over the saddle. It looked good when Lorna did it—she looked really relaxed—but it didn’t feel that good for Biddy. She twisted in the saddle and tried her other foot. That was worse. She spun around so that she was sitting backwards on Blue. Hey! She was doing around-the-world. They used to do this at Pony Club, when she was little. She and Irene were in red group together. Biddy thought about Irene, and going around to her place.
‘Guess what, Rene?’ she’d say. ‘You know your cousin, Joe . . . ’
Biddy snapped out of her daydream as Gordon suddenly pulled backwards. ‘Whoa, boy, whoa!’ she called to him, hanging onto the back of her saddle. She had dropped Gordon’s reins and they were tangled around a low branch. Every time Gordon moved, the branch moved too, and the horse was panicking. ‘Stand still, you stupid horse!’
Biddy leaned across to free him, but as she did, a rosella flew out of the bush, right beside Gordon’s face, and it was too much for him. He went crazy, pulling back in one direction and then the other, pounding his hooves into the earth, snorting and rolling his eyes. Suddenly, with a crack, the branch broke, and this terrified him even more. Every time he moved back it followed him. Gordon’s eyes were bulging out of his head. He looked at the branch as though it were a monster, then whirled around and galloped off with it bouncing beside him. Blue spun as well, dumping Biddy from her backwards position, and chased after Gordon, whinnying like a lunatic.
Biddy landed flat on her back, and the fall knocked the wind out of her. She lay on the ground, trying to breathe, listening to the horses bolting back to the beach. As her eyes filled with tears the leaves waving above her blurred into the sky. Bloody, bloody horses, she thought. If Gordon was supposed to be such a good horse, why did he act like a half-wit when she was looking after him? And Blue, she sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand; who did he think he was, nicking off like that?
Her dad would skin her alive. It was ages back to the beach. And when the rotten horses did get there, Lorna and Grandpa would think there had been an accident, and worry themselves sick. Biddy was so angry she felt like exploding. She’d mucked up everything again. She’d made things harder instead of easier. She stood with her hands on her hips, looking bitterly along the track where the horses had bolted. ‘I hate you both!’ she screamed, but her voice sounded shrill in the silence.
Joe knew that he should be leaving, should be taking Bella up the beach to where Biddy and her parents lived, but it was perfect in his valley so he decided to stay one more day. Anyway, it would be good for Bella to have another day to rest. The morning was sunny and still and he’d woken up with a full belly, full of damper from last night. The walk to the farm didn’t seem nearly as bad now he had Bella to share it with.
He ran his hand over Devil’s ears. ‘I really am going tomorrow, boy. This is our last day together.’
Devil didn’t seem too worried, and Joe couldn’t blame him. Their goodbyes were going on forever.
Bella nibbled the grass beside the log Joe was sitting on; tearing, chomping and snorting now and again, as though an insect had flown up her nose. She nudged him and he slipped forward off the log, laughing. ‘You look so much like the Phantom’s horse, I think I’ll change your name. From now on you’re Hero. Hero! Come here, Hero!’
The pony walked around the log to where he lay and began to graze near him. Her warm horsy breath tickled his neck. He giggled, not just from the tickling, but because he could trust her to stand so close yet so carefully over him.
He noticed that her belly and legs were caked with dried mud. Her mane was tangled and knotty, too.
‘I reckon you need a clean-up, horse,’ he said. He felt his own hair. ‘I reckon we both do.’
Joe led Bella down to the stream, then walked her into the water. When they got to the deepest part and the water reached his chest, the cold made him gasp, but Bella didn’t mind. ‘Good girl, Bell—er, Hero. Now it’s rub-a-dub-dub time.’ He set to work with the soap, foaming up her mane and her tail, all along her back, down her legs and under her belly. He soaped himself all over, too, then climbed onto Bella and washed her mane again. He swam underneath her, then climbed on and slid down again, like a seal off a rock.
Devil sat on the bank, his head tilted, puzzled, but enjoying the show.
‘Watch this!’ Joe yelled. ‘Watch us be a whale!’ He lay on Bella and squirted a mouthful of water up to the sky, then flopped into the stream. Bella pawed the water, sending up huge splashes that made Devil scurry out of range.
When they were both clean and rinsed, a shivering Joe led the pony out of the stream. She shook the water from her coat in a spray that made a rainbow for one brief second, then folded her legs and lay down on the grass. First she rubbed all one side, from her neck to her hindquarters, then, grunting and groaning, she rocked and rolled over to her other side. Finally she clambered to her feet, had another huge shake, and looked at Joe as if to say, ‘Mmmm, that feels good.’
As the sun dried her coat, Joe combed her mane and tail with his old tortoise-shell comb, carefully working out the tangles and knots until the hair flowed free. It made him think of Joycie’s beautiful hair. He tried to comb his own, but it was just too matted, so he used Joycie’s good scissors to cut it off. He kept snipping and snipping until there was nothing for the scissors to cut. He ran his hands over his scalp, feeling the bristles. His head felt light and exposed, but there was also a wonderful feeling of freedom, of shaking off a burden and starting again.
Biddy sat and waited for her father. She dreaded telling him what a mess she’d made. She wished she could fix things up. Maybe she could. Maybe the horses hadn’t gone all the way to the beach. Blue was such a pig, Biddy was sure he’d stop to graze if he came across some good grass.
She started imagining what would happen . . . She’d walk back to that little flat they passed on the way in, and Blue and Gordon would be there. Gordon’s bridle wouldn’t be broken, and she’d catch them easily, and ride Blue back, and lead Gordon, and she’d be sitting there as though nothing had happened when Dad got back. She wouldn’t even have to tell him what had gone wrong. Maybe she’d tell him when she was really old.
Her father’s voice echoed in her head. Wait here. Don’t go anywhere. Biddy ignored it. She’d easily get to the flat and back before he returned. She set off at a brisk walk, and immediately felt better to be moving. The further she walked, the fainter her father’s voice became.
She got to the flat quicker than she expected, but there were no horses, just deep hoofprints where they had galloped through. It looked as though they’d been really flying, the mongrels. ‘I’ll never forgive you for this, Blue, never,’ Biddy growled to herself. ‘I’ll never give you carrots again.’
She trudged despondently back along the track to wait for her father. Wrens were darting through the bush, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes were down, staring at the hoofprints those stinking horses had left.
Hang on, why was that set of prints going across the track? Biddy stepped back, to get a better look, then realised that a horse had plunged off the side. The tea-tree made a thick screen on both sides of the track, and when Biddy looked closer she could see that the slope fell away steeply on one side. She could see, too, where a horse had skidded down through the bushes. She inspected the branches closely and, yes, there was a single white hair.
Bella! It had to be Bella! She jumped through the gap and slid down the sandy slope on her oilskin, like someone on a toboggan, whooping all the way. At the bottom she was sure. The soil was damp here, and she could see the tracks clearly: hoofprints, pawprints and footprints. She was going to find Bella!
Her father’s instructions crossed her mind again, nagging at her conscience, but she pushed them aside. It wouldn’t matter so much about losing the other horses if she found Bella. And Joe . . . She felt a bit nervous about Joe. What if he didn’t want her to find him? What if he was nasty? What if he smelt awful? Would Joycie be mad? She shrugged her shoulders and kept following the tracks. She’d messed up everything so far—now she had to keep going and turn it into something good.
The tracks led into a forest of tangled tea-tree, along a tunnel that twisted like a worm. Biddy had to bend over to fit through, and her back was soon killing her. Now she knew how Grandpa felt, with his aches and pains. A lot
of branches had been broken or pushed aside. Joe must have done that to get Bella through. Biddy could imagine her, biffing Joe with her nose as he worked.
She knew she’d have to turn back soon. She stopped to listen every now and then, in case her father was calling, but the wind had come up and was roaring through the tea-tree, drowning out everything else. I’ll walk for a hundred more steps, she thought, and then I’ll turn back. She took big ones, so she could go as far as possible within the bargain, and at eighty-nine she stepped out of the tunnel into the afternoon light.
The tracks crossed a shallow creek, fringed with ferns and reeds, then disappeared into a mass of swordgrass. Biddy crossed the creek, ninety-three, ninety-four—Suddenly she could see a path through the swordgrass. It was a real path. A path somebody had made. She forgot her bargain and hurried along.
The swordgrass waving high above blocked out the sun. All she could hear was the rustle of dry leaves under her feet. Biddy began to call as she walked along, softly at first, then working up to a shout: ‘Bella . . . Bellaa . . . Bellaaa.’
When she stopped to get her breath, she heard a whinny. It couldn’t be. She called again. Yes! It was Bella answering her. She could hear hoofbeats, too. Bella was galloping towards her. And there was another noise as well: someone up ahead was calling a name over and over. Biddy couldn’t work out what it was. Suddenly, in a flurry of hooves and flying mane, Bella flew around the corner and propped in front of her.
Biddy never knew you could cry so much with happiness. She pressed her face against Bella’s velvety nose, rubbed her ears, and hugged her and hugged her. The voice kept calling from where Bella had come. It sounded so strange that Biddy suddenly felt scared, afraid to meet Joycie and Joe. I’ll go back, she thought. I’ll take Bella back to Dad and then we can all come here together. ‘Come on, Bella, let’s go.’
The Quicksand Pony Page 7
