Diamond Spirit

by Karen Wood

  ‘I knew it was him!’ Shara brushed Rocko with hard, sharp strokes.

  ‘No, listen to me, Shara. Lawson’s been seeing Katrina’s horse loose down by the river. You know, Chelpie. The other horses hate her. She gets them so worked up. I don’t know what it is about her.’

  ‘I wouldn’t believe anything that Lawson says.’ Shara slung the brush into a bag by the float. ‘Reality check, Jessica. Look what he did to your face when he let off that gunshot!’ She threw her saddle over Rocko’s back and yanked the saddlecloth up through the gullet.

  ‘He thought we’d been stirring up his cattle. Don’t you see?’ said Jess. ‘He knew something was bothering his stock, but he didn’t know what. When he saw us down there, he just assumed it was us. But it was Chelpie. Chelpie must have chased the cattle straight through the electric fence. That’s how the horses got out.’

  Shara was silent as she tightened her girth.

  ‘I should have talked to you. I’m really sorry, Shara.’

  ‘I bet you anything Chelpie chased Diamond through that grid, not Rocko,’ said Shara.

  ‘But didn’t you see Rocko do it?’

  Shara shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t. No one saw it happen. I just assumed it was him because he had been chasing her that morning. But what was chasing him, Jess? Why was he so stirred up? He knew Diamond, they travelled together every weekend. He wouldn’t chase her that far, not for a whole mile down the river. Diamond would’ve just turned around and kicked at him.’

  Shara was right, Diamond had never been frightened of Rocko. Only people were frightened of Rocko.

  ‘Katrina knew,’ said Jess slowly. ‘She set us up against each other. I bet she even saw it happen. She started the rumours about Rocko.’

  ‘Greasy low-life,’ said Shara, putting on her helmet. ‘I have to go warm up.’ As she rode away, she turned back to Jess. ‘This one’s for Diamond, Jessy.’

  Jess walked over to the arena and joined Tom and Rosie on the top rail of the fence. There were only two riders left to go before Shara, who sat with her long legs relaxed against the fenders of the saddle. She wore a pale blue shirt and her hair was neatly plaited. Rocko gleamed, looking powerful and fit.

  Questions hammered in Jess’s brain. Who did Shara ride with these days? Who taught her to draft? Did she have new friends now? From her new school?

  Jess felt she didn’t know anything about Shara anymore. But she wanted to. She wanted to know everything, the way she used to. If it wasn’t her destiny to win the draft, then it would be awesome if Shara did.

  ‘Come on, Jessy,’ said Rosie, shifting her bum along to let Jess in. Jess wrestled a leg over the fence and tried to make room for Grace, who squeezed in beside her and linked elbows.

  The rails were full of people watching the finals. In the camp, cattle bellowed while stockmen whistled and yelled and slapped their rumps as gates opened and closed. The announcer still prattled on, organising competitors, announcing scores and thanking sponsors.

  Luke appeared suddenly under Jess’s armpit. Jess tried to move along a bit. But Grace quickly moved to fill the space. ‘There’s no room,’ she said. Luke scowled, hopped down and resurfaced under Tom’s elbow further down.

  ‘No need to fight, guys,’ said Rosie.

  ‘Your friend’s going to be rich if she wins this, Jess,’ said Tom. ‘Reckon she’d buy Wally for you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask her to,’ Jess said.

  Shara guided Rocko through the gate. Inside the camp, she faced up to the cattle and ducked back and forth a few times. The mob huddled at the back of the yard and eyed her nervously, while she studied each beast. She spun Rocko away from them and stopped abruptly to face the judge. They exchanged nods and she spun back to the cattle.

  Shara approached the mob, and cleanly and precisely cut out a lanky black steer. It frolicked playfully to the front of the yard, then tried to dart back to the other cattle. Shara spun Rocko and galloped two quick strides to block it. The steer skidded to a halt, mooed loudly and tried to duck around in the other direction. Rocko pivoted neatly on his hocks and galloped ahead to thwart it. The steer darted back and forth, desperately trying to find a gap, but Rocko had it covered, block by block pushing him closer to the front of the yard. Shara yelled for the gates.

  The yard men swung them open and a cheer erupted from the stands. Rosie clamped a hand on Jess’s leg and squeezed it tight. ‘Wow! What a cut-out!’ she squealed.

  The steer burst out and Rocko exploded after it. Shara gave him his head, reining him out wide and driving the beast in a big loop around the first peg. She galloped up on its shoulder as it headed towards the cattle that remained in the yards, yelling at it to keep moving. As it bleated to the herd behind the gates, Rocko gave it a shove with his shoulder and herded it towards the next peg. It took off again, swishing its tail and kicking out with its hind legs. Shara raced after it, bringing it around the second peg in another big, tidy loop.

  The crowd stood up in the stands. Jess jumped to her feet and screamed. ‘Go, Shara!’

  Shara threw the reins at Rocko and he shifted into overdrive, thundering up behind the beast, forcing it into a U-turn back up and between the two finish pegs. As it ducked through the pegs, Rocko’s legs skidded madly to make the turn behind it. Shara’s balance shifted suddenly and her stirrup flew out from the saddle, landing metres behind her. But she didn’t miss a beat. She sat deep in the saddle and swerved with Rocko as they scrambled through the two white finishing poles.

  The grandstand went silent. All eyes shifted to the man on the ageing grey stockhorse, as they waited for him to call the score. Jess didn’t breathe. The judge lifted his head.

  ‘Twenty-two for cut-out,’ he called, then paused to let the scorers jot that down, ‘and sixty for horse work.’ He paused again. ‘Four for the course.’

  The grandstand began to murmur, people calculated out loud. The announcer finally called it: ‘That’s our last competitor in the Junior Draft and it’s also our winner, folks. Shara Wilson has it with a score of eighty-six on top of a score yesterday of eighty-two. That’s an impressive total of one hundred and sixty-eight!’

  Jessica jumped off the fence and into the camp with the cattle. ‘HAH! ’ she yelled at them, sending them to the back of the yard. She squeezed through the gate panels, into the arena and ran out to the finish poles.

  She spotted the stirrup, grabbed it and dusted it off on her jeans. In front of her, Shara loosened the reins and walked Rocko towards her. Both horse and rider blew heavily.

  Jess held out the stirrup. ‘That was amazing, Sharsy!’

  A smile spread across Shara’s lovely moon-face; a smile that could light up a midnight sky. ‘Thanks, Sis,’ she said, breathlessly.

  My buddy, my bestie – you’re back!

  Shara took the stirrup and fumbled around under her leg, clipping it back onto the saddle. Rocko fidgeted around, flicking his ears back and forth and chewing at the bit. He almost looked happy.

  Jess reached out and gave him a couple of slaps on his neck. He was hot and damp with sweat. ‘You’re a good boy, Rocko,’ she said, then took a step back as he flattened his ears and screwed up his nose at her.

  Shara laughed and threw her arms around his neck. ‘I knew you could do it, Rocko. You’re a good horse. I don’t care what anyone says.’

  ‘Are you two going to do a lap of honour or are you gonna stand there smooching all day?’ Jess asked.

  ‘You bet,’ said Shara. She lifted her reins and gave Rocko a kick. ‘Watch this!’

  Jess stood alone in the arena. She smiled as Shara cantered past the crowd and waved to them.

  Oh, she’s not . . .

  Shara turned Rocko in a big circle and brought him past the crowd again. As she approached the grandstand, she dropped her reins and waved to the crowd with both hands. Then as she passed them, she swung one leg over the front of the saddle and sat sideways to face them, both arms in the air, waving. As she departed, she s
wung her leg over Rocko’s rump to face backwards, still facing the crowd, waving as Rocko cantered away from them. The crowd roared with laughter and gave her a standing ovation.

  Jess shook her head and rolled her eyes. Shara always did love to show off.

  Shara swung her legs around and sat forward in the saddle. Then she made a beeline for Jess, leaned out of her saddle and held out an arm.

  Jess laughed and put her arm up ready for the grab. Their arms collided and locked in a tight grip. She took a quick step forward and swung up behind Shara onto Rocko’s rump. Jess felt Shara’s legs kicking and Rocko burst into a gallop. She put both arms in the air and screamed out loud, ‘Woohoo!’

  ‘Riders, please be aware that juniors are not permitted to ride without helmets. Please dismount immediately or you will be disqualified. I repeat, please dismount immediately or you will be disqualified.’

  ‘That announcer just never shuts up!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, you’re disqualified anyway,’ laughed Shara as she pulled Rocko back to a walk.

  ‘Yeah, but you’re not,’ said Jess. ‘Better let me off or you’ll lose fifteen hundred bucks!’

  ‘Will that rider please dismount,’ called the announcer again. ‘I repeat, will that rider please dismount and leave the arena.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, give us a chance,’ said Shara as she pulled Rocko to a halt. ‘Some people just have no sense of humour.’

  As Jess slipped off Rocko’s rump, she said, ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Sharsy.’

  Shara brought Rocko around to face her. She grinned. ‘You wanna know the funniest thing?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I took up campdrafting so I wouldn’t have to run into you!’

  ‘Heyyy!’

  ‘Riders, will you please leave the arena,’ called the announcer again.

  ‘Oh, all right!’ said Shara. ‘I’d better go before he blows a gasket,’ she said to Jess.

  ‘When you get Rocko hosed off, come over to our truck. You absolutely have to meet my new friends,’ said Jess.

  ‘Who’s the boy?’ grinned Shara.

  ‘Hey?’

  ‘The redhead.’

  ‘What redhead?’

  ‘The one that can’t take his eyes off you, der.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  Shara just shrugged and gave her a knowing look.

  Jess changed the subject. ‘You have to meet Gracie!’ She grinned and said in a teasing voice. ‘She’s my new bestie!’

  ‘Oh, is she now?’ laughed Shara as she rode away. She looked back over her shoulder and called out, ‘But is she your best bestie?’

  ‘Will that person on foot please leave the arena immediately,’ called the announcer again. He was beginning to sound cranky. ‘There are cattle loose in the arena!’

  Jess saw a huge red bull clambering over the rails with half a dozen stockmen waving and shouting at it. It rolled over the top of the fence, landed on its side in the arena with an ungraceful thud, and then scrambled to its feet.

  ‘Holy . . .’ Jess began running to a fence as the bull spotted her. It lowered its head and charged.

  ‘Someone get the gate!’ a person yelled, too late.

  The bull trotted through the open gateway, and into the show arena. Jess hauled herself onto the rail and watched it canter blindly through bunting and tents as several stockmen gave chase. People scattered and horses shied.

  In the centre arena, Katrina Pettilow stood in the winners’ line waiting for her Best in Show trophy. As the judge approached with the gleaming golden cup and a satin sash, Katrina leaned across and held out her arms, smiling proudly.

  Chelpie snorted and began to shift about. Then, like a stack of dominos, the line-up of horses scattered in all directions as a bull and twenty stockmen came galloping towards them. Katrina clung to Chelpie’s pure white neck while the pony bolted from the arena. The judge dropped the trophy and ran, leaving it to be trampled by the bull and its chasers.

  27

  AS SHE ROLLED UP swags and packed away buckets and saddles, Jess saw a big golden cut-out trophy sitting on the fold-out table in the back of the truck. She smiled and looked out the window, searching for Harry. She saw Ryan drive into the grounds. On the back of his ute, a rotund figure on four legs balanced precariously, snorting and grunting noisily. Biyanga heard the commotion, and let out a shrill whinny from where he was tethered at the truck.

  ‘Grunter!’ Jess called out in delight. ‘Grace! Rosie! Grunter’s here!’

  Grunter stomped around noisily, freaking out several horses when he paraded past as though he were on a Mardi Gras float. He was huge. In three months he’d doubled in size.

  Harry came limping out from between two trucks. ‘Well, I’ll be jiggered,’ he chuckled.

  Ryan leaned out the window of the vehicle. ‘He turned up in Mum’s veggie patch yesterday. She said if I didn’t get him out of there, she’d put him in the freezer.’

  ‘We can’t let that happen,’ grinned Harry, as he pulled down the back of the ute.

  Jess watched as Harry led the pig over to Biyanga. The two buddies grunted and snuffled each other for a few minutes before Grunter found his way to the feedbin. She smiled and continued to pack up her gear.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Lawson. He glared at Ryan and then turned his back to talk to a man in a big black hat. Jess recognised him as the man in the camp who had asked her about the min min lights. They began walking towards her.

  She kept packing, pretending she didn’t see them.

  ‘Hey, Jess,’ said Lawson.

  ‘Hi Lawson.’ She nodded at the stockman. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Bob,’ he said, holding out a hand to shake.

  She wiped her hand on her jeans and shook it as she had seen her father do when he met other men. ‘Hi, I’m Jess.’

  ‘Lawson reckons you might sell that gelding for the right price,’ said Bob. ‘He says you’ve got your eye on a good filly back home. My boy needs a good horse to learn drafting on and I don’t reckon he’d get any better than old Dodger.’

  Jess stared at Lawson in surprise. ‘But don’t you want to buy Walkabout?’

  ‘Bob’s a mate of mine, Jess. He’s got a nine-year-old son who’s a pretty handy young rider and helps work the cattle around the yards at home. Dodger would have to work the yards and then draft on weekends.’ Lawson gave her a nod. ‘He’d get a pretty comfortable retirement when the kid outgrows him too.’

  ‘I couldn’t sell him for less than two thousand dollars,’ said Jess in a dismissive tone. No one in their right mind would pay that much money for Dodger. She ran her eyes over her horse: a twenty-two-year-old station-bred gelding with a remarkably ugly head and a badly busted-up foot. He lifted his tail, did a large poo and ripped at his hay with an already over-full mouth.

  ‘Sounds like a fair price,’ said the stockman. ‘I see a lotta horses go through them yards, and there’s not many as good as Dodger. I’ve watched him for years, ay.’

  Jess was astounded. It was too easy. Two thousand dollars was enough to buy Walkabout. It was the whole reason she had come to the draft. All she had to do was say yes.

  This guy was actually going to give her two thousand dollars. She could have Walkabout.

  But it meant losing Dodger . . .

  ‘Can I have some time to think about it?’

  ‘Sure. You tell Lawson when you make up your mind. No hurry,’ said Bob. ‘He’s a top little horse, that one, and we’d give him a good home.’ He turned to Lawson. ‘Thanks for the intro, mate. Catch up later, hey?’

  Jess watched him walk away and then stared at Dodger again. He had become so special to her. He was no longer her cousin’s horse. He was her horse; her buddy, who she had come to know and trust.

  You’re worth two million to me, Dodgey.

  ‘What’s the matter? Can’t part with the old fella?’ Lawson put his hands in his pockets and stared at her. ‘Come over here. I want to talk to
you.’ He walked over to the truck, sat on the tailgate and patted the floor next to him. ‘Bob’s right about that horse. His type is real hard to come by. He’s honest, experienced and tough as old boots. You’ve still got a lot of days ahead of you on that horse, Jess.’

  ‘But what about Wally? I’d have more days with her.’ Jess was arguing with herself as much as Lawson.

  Lawson rubbed his chin and was quiet for a moment.

  ‘You want her for yourself,’ she said.

  Lawson nodded. ‘Yep.’ He nodded again. ‘Yep, I do. I’ll admit that.’ He turned to her. ‘But you do too, from what I’ve heard.’

  Jess was silent.

  ‘Hey?’ He pushed her for an answer.

  ‘You’re going to think I’m really stupid, but Walkabout was born on the same day as my first horse died. Diamond died under a coachwood tree and Walkabout was born under a coachwood tree. I sort of feel Walkabout was meant for me. It’s spooky.’

  Lawson laughed. ‘Did the old man spin you that yarn about ancestral spirits?’

  ‘Yeah, he did. Why? Do you think it’s crap?’ She tried to gauge his thoughts.

  ‘No, not at all. But you’ve twisted it all around, Jess. I know you’re just trying to make sense of things, but totems aren’t about reincarnation. They’re about story and kin. They’re about how people place themselves in the world. It’s serious business. You shouldn’t go messing with it like that.’

  Jess sighed and stared at her shoes.

  ‘Jess, at some time, everybody loses their first horse. Every rider in the country has memories of their first horse, even world champions. They’re special. They’re the ones that are the hardest of all to let go.’

  ‘You ought to know.’

  ‘Yeah, old Dusty.’ He picked a piece of hay off the floor he was sitting on and played around with it thoughtfully. ‘Dad caught a brumby mare down in the Snowy Mountains. She was the first brumby he ever caught. She was a feral old thing, wild as. I called her Frosty because she was white as snow.’

  Jess laughed. ‘She wasn’t truly white, was she?’

  ‘Stuffed if I know.’ He chuckled. ‘She was just a feral brumby. But I wanted her so bad. The old man said she was too old to break in and train. So he let me have her first foal.’