Brumby Mountain (9 page)

The bed creaked and she felt it sag. The big shaggy dog settled down next to her and she gratefully wrapped her arms around his warmth. Finally her thoughts led her into sleep.

Jess rose as soon as she heard the first bird. She wrapped her jacket around herself, slipped her feet into her boots and quietly creaked the door open. Cold air rushed in but Mrs Arnold kept snoring contentedly. Fang opened one eye and closed it again. All Jess could see of Grace was one arm flopped over the dog.

Outside, the sky was still dim with night and everything was shadowy. She stood next to Luke's ute and tried to stretch the saggy bed out of her spine. Her back complained bitterly while she spent a minute arching and bending and trying not to wake Mrs Arnold with her groaning. When she felt nearly vertical again, she looked around, wondering where Luke had spent the night.

Something cold wrapped around her ankle. A hand. Under the ute, she could see the edge of Luke's swag. ‘I nearly died out here last night,' he said. He went on to call Mrs Arnold a string of unflattering names. ‘I nearly freeze-branded my bum on that toilet.'

Jess crouched down. ‘Open up.'

He lifted the cover of the swag and she crawled in next to him, boots and all. His freezing cold nose nuzzled into her neck and she giggled as he made her skin tingle. ‘I was hoping you'd sneak out,' he said.

‘I can't wait to go riding today,' she whispered.

‘Me neither,' he whispered back. ‘Can you believe what Steve said? About the no-man's land, all the boundaries meeting.'

‘It's like your mum's stories,' whispered Jess. ‘It must be a real place.'

‘I couldn't stop thinking about it all night. My head nearly imploded. My parents are both buried here. I could hear the river where my mother died. I was haunted by them all night. It was
weird
sleeping here.'

‘Good weird or bad weird?'

‘Dunno,' he said. ‘But I can't wait to go back to the property. I want to find the place in Mum's stories.'

‘You weren't freaked out about the way . . . you know . . . your mum . . . '

Luke took a lingering breath. ‘I hate alcohol,' he answered quietly. ‘I'm never ever drinking.'

Mrs Arnold burst suddenly out of the bunkhouse door. She was a scary sight in her limp old nightie with hair poking out at strange angles. ‘
Jessica!
' she hissed, casting around the carpark. ‘
Jessica!

' Jess felt the swag cover being shoved over her head. ‘Shhh,' Luke laughed softly. She huddled in the warmth of his chest, where she could hear the beat of blood through his heart. He wrapped his arms protectively around her. ‘Old cow stole my dogs, she's not getting my girl,' he whispered under the covers. He lifted his head again and let out a piercing whistle.

Mrs Arnold swore as Filth cannoned past her. She mumbled something about bloody teenagers. Just before she slammed the door shut, Fang escaped too.

After much sniffing and peeing, the dogs found Luke under the ute and wagged apologetic tails at him. ‘On the back,' he growled at them, pointing to the tray of his ute.

‘Let them in,' Jess said, rubbing Filth‘s nose.

‘No way! They've lost their swag privileges. Get on the back, you disloyal mutts!'

The dogs leapt onto the ute like water flowing back up a waterfall.

‘Let's get going early,' said Jess, resurfacing. ‘I want to check on Dodge.'

‘Kiss me first,' said Luke, running his cold, work-cracked hands along her neck and up into her hair. ‘Before the old hag busts you out here.' She snuggled into the warmth and rustle of the swag and felt herself almost drown in his arms and lips and gorgeous soft whisperings.

The idea of jumping back out into the frosty cold morning was left behind until Mrs Arnold, fully clothed and in steel-capped boots, kicked at the swag from the side of the ute. ‘That's enough of that, you two, get up!'

‘
Lukey Pukey's
making
me
wanna barf,' said Grace, walking past in pyjamas and boots with no socks, a towel over one arm and a wash bag under the other.

When Grace and Mrs Arnold were both in the bathroom, Luke grinned at her. ‘Quick, let's nick off again!'

The property looked more inviting in the morning light. Kookaburras chortled in the gum trees and birds flitted down by the creek. The family of kangaroos grazed in a nearby paddock. A huge buck stood guardedly, staring unblinkingly at Jess and Luke until they were at a safe distance.

Luke picked up an old shovel and stepped through the front door of the house again. ‘Look out, snakes,' he said as he disappeared.

Jess went to the sheep yard to check on Dodger and Legsy. She found them finishing the remains of last night's hay, with a thick coating of crunchy white frost across their backs. Mist billowed intermittently from their nostrils. Dodger seemed unperturbed, but Legsy chewed with a tight muzzle and his ears pinned back.

On the hillside behind them Jess noticed the shaggy black horse staring at them.

‘Hello Rambo!' she called out. The horse flicked an ear back and forth, then walked away. One ear remained turned in her direction, she noticed.

Jess haltered Dodger and Legsy with red, icy hands and led them to the float so they could be saddled. Mrs Arnold's LandCruiser rumbled down the road towards them.

‘I'm going to ride Rambo,' said Grace, leaping out of the car with a halter in her hand. ‘Where is he?'

Jess pointed up onto the hillside. It was like sending a kelpie after a mob of sheep. Grace sprinted off.

A side window on the house burst open. ‘Hey, Jessy! Come and look at this!' Luke held a bundle of maps and papers in his hands. ‘I found Jack's records, look!'

Luke climbed out the window and spread his findings out over Legsy's horse rug. He unfolded a dog-eared topographic map, full of holes and splits at the creases. On the back was what looked like a big family tree, scrawled in different pens over many years.

‘They're horse names,' said Luke excitedly. Next to each was a year, a gender and a colour. Many were noted as having one or two blue eyes. The chart seemed to skip generations and peter out here and there. Most of the names at the top of the tree were crossed out.

Jess and Mrs Arnold crowded around Luke.

The maps covered nearly forty years. According to Jack's last records, there were still at least six families of wild horses living up in the surrounding mountains.

‘They go back to Saladin, like the Guy Fawkes horses,' said Mrs Arnold, pointing to a list of horses' names that were off to one side with question marks around them.

‘“1999,
Beech Boy
. Creamy colt. Two blue eyes.” I bet that's Sapphire,' said Jess, leaning over and placing her finger on some blue texta scrawl. She traced her finger along several lines to other names. ‘He's sired others, and look down here, he had different mares during different years. There are no others with two blue eyes.'

‘Here's one,' said Luke, stabbing at a name. ‘Granite.'

‘It's a bay,' said Jess.

They searched all over the brumbies' family tree and found no other horses with two blue eyes. About a third of them had one blue eye. Many were creamies or versions of creamies: palominos and buckskins, out of chestnuts and bays. There were a couple of golden colts with one blue eye and Jess wondered if one of them was the poor stretched animal they'd seen at the saleyards.

Luke flipped over to the topographic map and pointed to a spot. ‘We can get up into the mountains from here.'

Jess looked up to see Grace walking down from the hill paddock with a halter on her shoulder and a frustrated look on her face. ‘We've got Buckley's of catching that horse,' she said. ‘Damn, I want to ride.'

Jess and Mrs Arnold went to help Grace while Luke continued poring over the maps and brumby records.

Out on the hillside, Rambo did not want to be caught. Jess noticed, however, that the horse's attention kept going past them, back to Luke.

‘He keeps staring at you,' called Jess. She wondered whether Luke had the same form and shape as his father, or the same smell, the same voice and shaggy hair, perhaps.

Luke hopped over the fence and walked easily towards the horse.

Jess watched in amazement as Rambo allowed Luke to come close, standing still and quiet. ‘Hey fella,' he said softly, running a hand under its heavily bearded jaw. He brushed the thick dreadlocks of forelock from the horse's forehead and revealed a startling sapphire blue eye.

‘He's a brumby,' Luke whispered with quiet reverence. ‘He's got the blue eye.'

Jess got goosebumps. ‘He thinks you're Jack,' she whispered.

The horse nosed Luke gently, sniffed him all over and then put his head down near Luke's feet and kept it there.

‘What are you doing?' Luke asked. He put an arm over the horse's thick, strong neck.

Rambo tossed his head up suddenly, sending Luke sprawling onto his backside. The horse looked shocked, and jumped back a couple of steps.

‘Hey!' laughed Luke from the ground. ‘What was that all about?' He pulled himself up onto his feet.

After some ear-waggling, Rambo walked back to him, put his head down at Luke's feet again and stayed there.

‘That's an old bushie's trick,' said Mrs Arnold. ‘He's trying to lift you onto his back!'

This time Luke put two arms over Rambo's neck and once more the horse flung his head and neck upwards. Luke was ready for it this time, and he let Rambo lift him off the ground. He instinctively split his legs, threw one over the horse's back and sat upright. Rambo quivered through his shoulders but stood firm.

‘Never got on a horse
that
way before!' Luke rubbed Rambo's shoulders. ‘You're a bit of an old character, aren't you?'

Rambo turned around. With a swish of his tail he dismissed the girls and slowly plodded away from the house towards the mountain on his clumpy, split hooves and stiff old feathered legs.

‘Jump on the horses and follow,' Luke called back to them. ‘And grab the maps!'

10

THANKS TO RAMBO'S
ambling pace, Jess and Grace were able to saddle the other horses, canter through the creek and easily catch up to the big black horse. Mrs Arnold followed at a distance in her old LandCruiser with Filth and Fang chained to the back seat lest they eat wild dog poison. Grace immediately started complaining that
she
had wanted to ride Rambo.

‘He doesn't like you,' said Luke, his feet swinging nonchalantly back and forth by the horse's sides. ‘He only likes me.'

Jess laughed at Luke's teasing and Grace shot her a cranky look. ‘Don't expect me to double him home if the old nag conks out.'

They discovered there was no back fence to the property; farmed land just gradually turned into wilderness. Jess marvelled that Rambo stayed near the house by choice.

‘Well, he
is
only a gelding,' said Grace, as though she'd lost interest in him. ‘The wild stallions would probably beat the crap out of him.'

Luke ducked as Rambo carried him under the branch of a tree and began scrambling up a steep track. As the forest got thicker, the track became narrow and windy. Dodger and Legsy fell in behind Rambo. Mrs Arnold's fourbie roared and pitched and made scratching noises as it brushed through the dense shrubs.

Dodger blew heavily, pushing his shoulders into the climb. Jess gave him to the buckle of her reins and pulled her weight up and off his back. Drawing in mouthfuls of cold, thin air, she looked across wave after wave of tree-covered mountains, split by steep ravines and jagged cliffs. She wondered how anyone could find a brumby, let alone catch one, in that sort of terrain.

Rambo led them along an open ridge-top and then dropped back into a treed gully.

‘I'll drive along the ridge-top and meet you on the other side,' called Mrs Arnold from the window of the fourbie. She was clearly frustrated that she couldn't follow them. ‘If you don't find me, meet me back here on the ridge in an hour!'