by Brian Cain
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
The camp fire put a golden glow on the gum tree leaves as they rustled in the night wind, the moving shadows dancing in the light of the flame set an eerie backdrop to a grazing black stallion as he happily mowed the lush grass in the Stewarts Brook camp site. Anna got up walked to her dad sitting on the opposite side of the fire and hugged him. "Thanks dad, that was the best story I ever heard." She looked at the colossal silhouette grazing by the gum studied creek. "Can we have him dad and call him Flaxmead."
Bob fields held his daughter sitting her on his knee. "Someone must own him, like I said before the story, we won't leave him alone here. We'll report him to the RSPCA and make sure someone takes care of him."
"He's the same as the horse in the story dad."
"I had to get the idea from somewhere love."
Dylan pitched in out of the blue. "His names Flaxmead and he's coming home with us."
Anna and Dylan looked at each other thorough the flickering light of the fire, a warm smile griped there faces. "Will we get into trouble for breaking the lock dad," asked Anna.
"Sometimes it's okay to break the rules. He's had three lovely days here with us. We'll never forget them."
"Where an earth did you get that Bob, Anna's right, it is the best story we ever heard."
Bob looked up at the stars and then the horse. "I don't know, it just kept coming to me in the wind. Maybe Jorroks is still running in the valley winds and the cries we hear in the night are his." A gust of wind drove the fire bright, the horse reared up and let out an uncanny cry and it echoed down the valley.
"Wow, I love him dad," said Anna.
"He is a bit infectious, maybe he is a racehorse that can run like the wind. Come on its late, were up early and pack for home."
George the cockatiel was sitting on Bob's shoulder, he had been there the entire three day story. Harold the rat was sitting upright on Dylan's head eating a piece of mouldy cheese; he occasionally sniffed the night air and looked around in the flickering light. Pipa lay at the horse's side, she had not left him since they arrived. Bob looked around at this family with deep contentment, the fire he had watched for the last three days now glowed inside him. They had come to rest and relax, mission accomplished. They retired to their sleeping bags, the fire died to a dull glow and the stars beamed down from the clear night sky. A giant black horse and a small blue dog stood sentry, with the sound of trickling water as a lullaby they slept.
Bob was awoken by laughter and a barking dog, he peered outside the tent and Anna and Dylan were by the creek tree line playing with the horse. Pipa was teasing the horse and the horse ran around encouraging Pipa, Bob noticed the horse's incredible agility regardless of his size and he often affectionately muzzled Pipa catching her out. Marie stretched to life and watched the show. "How an earth are we going to part them Bob."
Bob shook his head and put his clothes on. "I've only just come to that bit, got any ideas." Marie pouted and shook her head. They got on with dressing, taking the tent down and packing. They were ready and Bob was about to decide what to do when through the quiet early morning air a small open animal float truck rumbled to a halt at the gate. Two men climbed out, one came through the gate walked to through the creek ford to the holding pen where the horse had been locked up. He returned and approached Bob. "Excuse me, that horse, was it in that pen over the creek."
"Yes it was," replied Bob.
"It's dangerous and apparently killed a man. I have to take it to the abattoir before it hurts someone else."
Bob looked dumfounded. "That horse has been playing with my children all weekend." The man looked at the cavorting trio, he looked puzzled.
"I've been instructed to have it destroyed, sorry but I'll get a bridle from the truck." He began to walk away towards his truck.
Marie objected. "Bob do something."
"Wait!" said Bob. "That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard, go near that horse and Ill call the police."
"Not much you can do about it mate," said the man as he turned back around.
Bob strutted to his vehicle and retrieved a pen and note pad from the glove box. With a look of anger he walked past the man towards his truck until he could clearly see the registration plate and name on the door. He noted them both and walked back toward his vehicle past the man. "What are you doing mate."
"Something odd here, I'm going to report this to the police and RSPCA immediately," replied Bob.
The man ran around Bob putting up his hands in front of him waving and walking backwards. "Hang on mate, I'm just doing a favour for a friend. I don't want any flack."
Bob stopped with a look of anger. "Who owns this horse?"
"I'll give you a number to ring, that's all I have. Sort it out with him."
Bob handed the note pad and pen to the man. "The name Crow is on the side of the truck I assume that's you. Write the number below your details, if it's bull I'll still go to the police.
"Keep your hair on mate," the grubby unshaven man scribbled a number down and handed it back to Bob. "Its dinkum, I'd rather the story was, I wasn't here mate if ya know what I mean. The people who have this number can be counted on one hand."
"If your right I'll keep my word, I'm the winemaker at Loudbark wines."
"Fair enough," replied the man as he walked briskly back to his truck. The two men climbed back in the vehicle and it roared off down the dirt roadway in the direction it had come.
Bob spoke to Marie. "Stay here I'm going to mobile range to sort this out. Don't say anything to the kids I don't know what's going on."
Bob left the area and Marie closed the gate behind him. He raced along the dusty roadway and as he reached the bitumen surface of the main road to Scone his mobile showed service. He hastily rang the scribbled number.
A man answered. "Hello."
"I'm looking for the owner of a horse, Mr Crow just gave me this number in regards to a horse we've been with all weekend."
"Where are you?"
"I have driven towards Scone from Stewarts Brook until I was in phone range."
"Who are you?"
"Bob Fields I'm a winemaker I've been camped with my family at the Stewarts Brook camping ground."
"What did you want with me?"
"We have been looking after a horse, big black stallion with perfect white markings in a yard near the camping ground all weekend and were packing to leave. Mr Crow arrived early this morning attempting to take the horse away. I stopped him and will call the RSPCA and police if the horse is harmed. He gave me this number and your name and left."
"The horse is dangerous don't go near it, it has to be destroyed."
"Dangerous my children have been looking after the horse all weekend and playing with it. We broke the lock on the gate. They've been riding around on his back with a hand made halter. I find your comments ridiculous I'm calling the police."
"Wait, you say your children are riding around on his back."
"Yes. Destroy this horse, my children would love to have a horse like this. The thought of such an animal being destroyed is ridiculous. Dangerous please." There was silence for a few moments.
"I can be there in an hour can you wait."
"Yes, if you're not here in an hour and a half I'll go into Scone and report it to the police.'
"I'm on my way."
The man arrived, a small old frail man with no teeth. He wore an old black suit and a flat cap. Upon meeting with the Fields family and watching the children his face began to beam with contentment. He wrote out a bill of sale and sold the horse to them for one hundred dollars. He shook Bob Fields hand rubbed the tops of each of the children's head with his hand saying nothing just glowing with joy. He bowed to Marie and climbed back in his car to leave, as the car began to roll forwards Anna shouted to the man.
"Hey Mr, does this horse have a name!?" the car stopped abruptly and the man looked back at them.
"Yes he does love! He can run like the wind, I've seen him do it and I'll ne
ver forget it!" the car began to roll away. "He's a galloping thunderbolt, he's safe now. His name's Flaxmead!"
