Moonstone Promise (13 page)

‘Hey!' said Tex in alarm, reeling backwards. ‘You're holding it wrong. Turn it out the other way so the line can come off.'

‘Sorry.' Luke pulled at the line, trying to yank the hook out of the tree. He was determined to catch a fish. He
had
to. Tyson had eaten every other morsel of food in the camp. The options were either to catch a fish or eat dry noodles.

‘Snagged
again
,' Tex grumbled, tugging at the line from every direction. It snapped and a thread of fishing line hung from the end of Luke's reel like a broken spider web. ‘I reckon there's an old stump down there that looks like a Christmas tree with all my lures on it.'

Luke laid his reel on the bank of the river, then pulled off his shirt. ‘I'm going in.'

Tyson walked past with an assortment of reels and tackle in one hand. ‘You got those feet connected, boy?' he enquired, before swinging his fist into Luke's belly.

Luke managed to brace himself, but had nowhere near the connection he'd had the other day. He got his breath back and stood straight again.

‘Yep,' he wheezed.

Tyson walked on along the riverbank. ‘Big old barra, here I come,' he said in a sing-song voice.

‘I'm headed north tomorrow, Luke,' said Bob, squatting next to him. ‘Where you headed? You want me to drop you back in Isa?'

‘What are Tyson and Tex doing?' Luke asked, hoping they would be staying on the river a while longer. He wanted to keep watching the brumbies, especially Rusty.

‘They've both got families and jobs they gotta get back to,' said Bob. ‘I'll be mustering up there all week for a local campdraft. I could ask the boss if he's got any more work.'

Luke thought about it. He had hardly any money and he was getting sick of sleeping on the ground. Clean clothes would be good, too. He'd been living in the old shorts Bob had given him and not much else. His jeans were beyond redemption. But he wanted to watch the brumbies some more.

‘When's the draft?'

‘Next weekend,' said Bob.

‘Can I meet you there?' One more week without money or clothes wouldn't hurt . . .

Bob shrugged. ‘Yeah. Tyson's driving to the shop. I'll get him to pick up some tucker for you, hey.' He looked at the reel in Luke's hand. ‘You might get a bit hungry otherwise.'

‘Hey, reckon you could get me a ride at that draft?' asked Luke. It was one way to get money – win it.

Bob pulled a
maybe
face. ‘See what I can do.'

15

THE NEXT MORNING
,
Luke rushed to the edge of the clearing where Tyson was stepping into the big twin cab. ‘Tyson, wait up!'

Tyson held out his hand and shook Luke's urban style again. ‘You keep your belly power strong, ay,' he said, ‘and when you go near them horses, it'll tell you if it's a good one or a bad one. If you feel it pulling, follow it. You still connected?'

Luke grinned and nodded, knowing what was coming next.

Tyson swung a fist into his belly and, as Luke twisted to deflect it, it connected heavily with his ribs. He staggered backwards. ‘Oh, geez.' He sank to the ground, clutching his ribs.

Tyson looked puzzled. ‘Where were your feet, boy?'

‘Ohhh,' Luke moaned. ‘I think you broke something.'

Tex pulled himself across the bench seat of the twin cab and peered out the open window. ‘Bloody 'ell, Tyson,' he grumbled. ‘Whatcha done to the little fulla
now
?'

Luke writhed on the ground. Tyson squatted next to him. ‘I didn't think I got you
that
bad.'

Tex got out of the ute. ‘Let me have a look,' he said, prising Luke's hands from his chest and lifting his shirt.

Luke opened one eye. ‘Is it bad?' he croaked.

A wave of seriousness washed over the men as they looked over his ribs. Tex looked perplexed. ‘Can't tell,' he said. ‘How many lumps you have before?'

Luke let out a painful wheeze. ‘Just three,' he lied.

Tex, with a look of intense concentration, poked at the various lumps and counted. ‘You got more than that 'ere, now.' His face turned thunderous and he swore as he slapped Tyson hard across the back of the head. ‘Go ring the flying doctors,
now
,' he ordered. ‘You probably punctured his lung!'

Luke rolled away from Tyson. He couldn't keep a straight face for much longer.

‘Can you breathe okay?' asked Tyson.

‘Just find a phone,' snapped Tex.

Luke nearly choked as a laugh escaped him. He tried to mask it as cries of agony. He caught a glimpse of Tyson's frowning face and couldn't help chuckling loudly. His ribs had never been so funny before. ‘Gotcha,' he squeaked.

‘You cheeky little . . .'

Behind Tyson, Tex hissed and chugged so hard he sounded as though he would split at the seams. Bob leaned against his ute, one hand over his mouth, trying to hide a smirk. But his welling eyes gave him away.

Tyson walked back to the twin-cab. He yanked the back door open, pulled out his swag and threw it on top of Luke, following it with a bag of instant oats. ‘Here, have some more horse food,' he said, lobbing them at Luke's head.

Luke ducked under the swag and deflected the oats. When he looked out the other side, Tyson was stepping into the driver's seat.

The wild-haired man grinned and started the engine. ‘The best teachers learn from their students, ay. You got me a good one.' He ran a hand gingerly over his left shoulder. ‘You got me a
couple
of good ones. I won't forget.'

‘Thanks, Tyson,' Luke said. ‘You got me some good ones too.'

‘Listen to your belly.' Tyson winked as he put the ute in gear. ‘It'll keep you safe.'

Tex leaned across Tyson. ‘Don't go too far from the river.'

The car rolled away over the bumpy earth and across the causeway.

Bob kicked dirt over the last coals of the fire and threw his swag in the back of his ute. ‘So, I'll see you at the draft. Plenty of trucks'll be headed up there. You just hitch a ride, ay?'

‘Yeah, yeah,' said Luke, nodding.

‘If you get in any trouble, there's an Aboriginal settlement about a half day's walk up the river,' said Bob. ‘It's on the way to the draft. Just follow the green suitcases. And tell 'em I sent you.'

‘Okay,' said Luke, wondering what on earth green suitcases could be.

Bob looked him over again. ‘I might stop out if I get time, ay? See if you caught a barra yet.'

‘Better bring some hot chips,' said Luke.

The following day was still new and untouched, with only a few birds beginning to twitter, when Luke threw on his backpack and set off towards the hills again. His first night alone at the remote river crossing had been long and sleepless, a mix of anxiety tempered by the excitement of seeing the brumbies again. All night he had thought about them and the way they looked after each other and fought and bickered, just like a real family. He could think of nothing but seeing Rusty again. It was as though he had lost the controls; someone or some
thing
else was driving him.

He found the mob in a small valley. The mares were lying down with their foals while the stallion and the older colts grazed quietly around them. The chocolate one, he noticed, still grazed on the outer.

Luke scanned the clearing, looking for the little red colt. Several of the mares turned their ears towards him. One stood up. The others kept grazing as though they knew he was there, but perceived no threat.

He soaked in the sounds of the valley: the soft contented snort of a sleepy horse, the swish of a tail. He studied the horses intently, watching the tiny signals they sent each other. The slight turning of one mare's head away from another established her place in the ranking system; a turn of a colt's ear showed that he was checking the boundaries for signs of danger; the lift of one mare's chin told another mare's foal to stay away.

But where was Rusty? In the half-light of the breaking day, the foals were just small dark blobs, curled up next to their mothers.

A small shadow slunk between two trees.

Luke strained his eyes to see, but whatever it was had disappeared. From the corner of his eye, he saw another shadow slide between clumps of grass. He spun his head around. There were three more shadows lurking. Dingos. They were everywhere.

He jumped to his feet. There were at least six dogs prowling around in a pack. The stallion stepped to the edge of the mob and held his nose up to the wind. The little brown mare scrambled to her feet, whinnying. Like dominoes in reverse, the others followed. They stood alert with their ears pricked, sniffing at the air.

The brown mare trotted a few steps beyond the mob. She spun around to put her rump to the dingos and lashed out with a hind leg, warning them to stay away.

The dogs kept circling, snarling, panting, dodging back and forth. The foals skittered about nervously, brushing up close to their mothers. Rusty erupted suddenly from a patch of tall grass, ran into the centre of the mob and gave a frightened whinny.

Luke picked up a handful of stones and threw them at one of the dark shapes. ‘Get out of here!' he hissed. He didn't want to make a big commotion and frighten the horses into a gallop. The dogs would only give chase.

As the dogs advanced into the clearing on slinky hindquarters, their lips curled into snarls, the horses crushed together, panicky. They lashed out with their hind legs as the dogs darted in and snapped at their heels. The old red stallion charged one of them and stamped his feet. It snarled viciously and rushed back at him. The stallion spun and lashed out at it with a back foot, sending the dog flying with a yelp.

The noise startled the mares and they fled across the gully, only to be met by more dogs. Confused, they scattered in all directions. Luke saw Rusty get separated from the mob. One dog turned its attention on him and two other dogs followed, sprinting and growling, surrounding him.

Luke ran up to them, throwing rocks. ‘Get out of it! Leave him alone!' His attempts to help only added to the chaos, scattering the horses further. He watched them gallop into the hills with the dogs on their heels.

Two dogs sprinted after Rusty and another came in from the side, aiming for his head. The young chocolate colt came out of nowhere and snatched one of them in his teeth. He shook it like a rag doll while it howled with pain, and then flung it on a rock with a bone-shattering crunch. Then the colt spun around and hoofed a second dog in the head. It went to the ground like a bag of rocks. The third dog fled, its tail between its legs.

‘Way to go, Chocky!' yelled Luke. He hurled another handful of stones at the remaining dogs as they scattered and fled. ‘And don't come back!'

The mares came galloping out of the tree-covered hillside, calling for their foals. They skittered anxiously back to their mothers while the colts circled protectively around them, pushing them back up into a group.

Chocky nickered gently to Rusty and guided him back to the mob. The mares welcomed the little colt back into their circle, and nuzzled and sniffed all over Chocky. He stood with his tail in the air and gave an impressive snort.

‘Chocky! You're a hero!' said Luke out loud.

The little brown mare stepped up to Chocky, sniffed him briefly on the nose and then walked away, inviting him to follow. She led him into the centre of the mob and together they resumed grazing.

Luke wandered over to the dog to check it was properly dead. He nudged the black lump with one foot. It was a bitch, with a full udder of milk, and it was very dead.

Her pups are going to be hungry.