The Silver Brumby (9 page)

Thowra did not forget that the men had come early last spring, so even when the long fingers of snowdrifts still stretched down the southern slopes and deep snow lay in the gullies, he kept a careful lookout.

He was both proud and embarrassed by the size of his herd now. Besides a rather handsome black mare of Arrow’s that he had added to his greys, there were two strange-looking little dun-coloured foals, Arrow’s chestnut daughter, and one creamy colt. He did not take much notice of the foals, but he realized that they made his herd slower and less easy to hide.

For a week or more they had been grazing near the head-waters of the Crackenback and Groggin Gap, when one evening, quite late, Thowra heard sounds in the bush, first the jangle of a bit, and then the frou-frou-frou rub of packs on tree-trunks.

He and his herd were not on the stock track, so, telling his mares to stay still, he slipped silently through the already darkening bush, closer and closer to the sounds. Then suddenly he stood absolutely still. Walking along the track, her rider leading one pack-horse, was a cream filly. There were other pack-horses and one stock horse and rider at the end of the procession, but Thowra could look at nothing else but the creamy, with her proud carriage and swinging stride, the lovely silk of her mane and tail.

For a while, he moved silently through the trees parallel with the track, watching and watching her.

The men seemed to be tired out and swaying, half-asleep in their saddles. They did not even hear her whinnying softly when she looked through the bush and saw Thowra.

Thowra knew quite well that the men must be going to the Dead Horse hut, their pack-horses loaded with stores of tinned foods, and flour, and salt for the cattle. He turned back to his herd to put them in a safe place for the night, knowing that he must return to the hut himself. A half moon came up a few hours later, enough to see by and yet not so light that Thowra could not keep himself well hidden.

Before going very near the hut, he walked along the horse-paddock fence. He could see the pack-horses, moving like restless shadows, but there was no sign of the two riding-horses, neither the creamy nor the other whose colour he had not even noticed. He had rather expected that they would be left in that new yard whose high fences he and Storm had studied more than a year ago.

The timber was cleared quite a long way back from the yard, which stood out on its own against the horse-paddock fence, in front of the hut.

Thowra moved through the trees very slowly, seeking the dark pools of shadow and avoiding any glades where the moonlight shone. A possum watched him with its wistful yet curious, pointed face. It gave a deep, throaty qua-a-r-rk, and he heard the sound of horses shuffling in the yard. He stood at the edge of the trees looking across. Yes, there, silvered by moonlight, was the lovely filly. She whinnied softly again, and a man opened the hut door, the light from a hurricane lamp blending with the moonlight.

A voice said, ‘The brumbies might be about.’ And another voice inside the hut answered: ‘Don’t worry. The fence is mighty high, but you was a fool to bring her, all the same.’ Then they shut the door again and soon the hurricane lamp was turned out.

After waiting a long time, Thowra walked across the open ground to the yard. The cream filly came up to the fence, trembling with excitement, and put her nose through to snuff him.

As she started to whinny he said:

‘No. No. You must learn to be silent, if you would come with me. What is your name?’

‘They call me Golden. You must be Thowra of whom all the other horses speak — and the men even have songs about you that they sing to the cattle, but they call you Silver.’

‘Thowra is my name,’ said Thowra proudly. ‘The name my mother, Bel Bel, gave me.’

Just then the bay stock horse, who had been standing trembling in the yard, let out a shrill, ringing neigh. Thowra was gone in a flash, silent-footed but fast, back into the bush. He was barely hidden in the trees before he heard the hut door opening and saw a man come out with a torch. Thowra watched him go right over to the yard, where the horse and the cream filly stood snorting, and turn his torch on to the ground. When he heard him say, ‘Huh, an unshod horse!’ Thowra knew it was time to go, and to go on rocks and grass where he left no track.

Last year the men who had brought the pack-horses out early had stayed two nights. These men would probably too — but would they perhaps hobble the horses the next night, or watch over them in turns, hoping to catch him? He decided to wait till later in the night and then go back.

The moon had gone behind a bank of cloud when Thowra next stood on the edge of the bush and peered through the leathery snowgum leaves towards the yard. He could see Golden moving restlessly about, but the other horse seemed to be asleep.

Stepping from one snowgrass tussock to another, he moved towards the yard again, this time making for the only place in the fence where there was grass and not bare earth.

Golden came up to him again.

‘How high can you jump?’ Thowra asked her. ‘There is one lower place in this fence over there in the corner.’

‘I’d never clear that,’ said Golden.

‘Not even if I jumped in and gave you a lead out over it?’

But he eyed the bay horse. With that silly jackass there to bray, the game would be given away before they could get out.

Just then the bay horse stirred; he threw up his head with a startled snort, and then neighed loudly.

‘Jump, and come with me,’ Thowra said, as he turned to go. Already there was a clatter in the hut and a man’s voice cursing.

Thowra bounded away over the grass. He looked back, but Golden was not following, and before he had quite reached the trees he heard the door open. He was hidden by the time the man appeared but it had been a near thing. Thowra watched the man prowling around, saw that he could find no more tracks and that he was puzzled. Presently he went back inside, but there were still sounds of him moving about, and then came the smell of smoke as it poured through the hut chimney.

Just then the dawn wind came, stirring the darkness of the night, touching with cool long fingers Thowra’s coat, his ears; whispering through the snowgum leaves. Daylight would soon come, and he must not be seen, but he could not tear himself away and he remained, never taking his eyes off the yard. The man came out with a pannikin of tea in his hand and leant on the yard fence. He called Golden. To Thowra’s amazement he saw her walk over to him and take something out of his hand and eat it.

Thowra tossed his head and turned away into the thick bush. He made no sound as he went back to his herd, but Golden’s whinny followed him. He stopped for a second and listened, not understanding how she could whinny to him and yet accept something from the man. But the whinny sealed his determination to get her for himself.

The presence of his own herd made it awkward. He realized that fully when he came through the trees and found them in a glade that was filled with the liquid gold of early morning sunshine. They looked beautiful, his greys with their tiny odd-coloured foals, and the one lovely cream one. He must not take the chance of being chased by the men himself, and his herd being found — but how wonderful it would be to have Golden there with the greys.

That morning he led the herd up towards the Ramshead, and put them in a gully that opened to the north-west and was bare of snow. Then he turned back to the hut, going carefully and quietly through the thickest bush, and leaving hardly a hoofmark,

All his senses were alert. He heard the faintest rustle made by an early-moving snake, saw its beady eye. He felt, before he saw, the gang-gangs looking at him, their red crests up. When two kangaroos went hopping by rather quickly he went more carefully still. Then, in the distance, he heard the sound of a shod horse. Thowra slid farther into the thick scrub, and stood waiting.

Presently he heard two horses approaching, and when he knew they had passed, he drew closer. There were the two men riding Golden and the bay horse. The packs must have been left behind, which meant the men would stay another night. He followed for a while to see what they were doing. They were wandering without direction, looking for something — and, if it were his tracks they were looking for, they were wasting their time, because they were not going to find any.

He turned back to the hut and had a look around. The pack-horses were grazing in the horse paddock. Everything was as he thought. He headed for the Ramshead and the herd.

That night Thowra went to the hut again, stepping proudly through the dark forest before the moon had risen. Leaves brushed his shoulders and there was the lovely damp scent of the bush at night. He kept thinking of what Bel Bel would say to such a foolhardy expedition as this — and yet he knew she would understand. She was creamy herself and could appreciate how lovely the cream filly was. It was Storm who would really consider him a fool.

He kept watch for a long time from the edge of the trees, slightly surprised that Golden showed no sign of knowing he was there, but he had been even more silent than before, and Golden’s senses were not as sharp as a wild horse’s.

The fire and the lamp were both out in the hut, and all was quiet. He could see no man watching over the horses, and the horses were not hobbled. Still suspecting a trap, he came out of the trees slowly, thankful that the moon had not yet risen. He reached the fence, his skin pricking with nervousness, but nothing happened. The bay was sound asleep.

He measured up the fence again, and in the springtime surge of strength and spirits, he felt sure that he would be able to jump out and lead Golden away.

He backed off, speeded up as quietly as he could, and jumped.

‘Now, come on and follow me!’ he said to Golden.

The bay woke with a startled squeal. A man burst out of the hut, shouting:

‘Got you, my beauty!’

‘Come quick!’ said Thowra, and with only the very short run available in the yard, he took three strides and made a prodigious leap. His knees rapped the top rail, yet he still seemed to lift higher. A rope whistled and fell short. Thowra felt his heart almost bursting with fear and effort, but he was over! The other man was running with a rope, too.

Thowra swung wildly and felt it hit his flank. Golden called, but she was still in the yard. The first man had roped her, but Thowra did not know this. He called in answer, but she still did not come. He galloped towards the trees, hearing the men getting saddles and bridles. But a brumby stallion who knew the country would get a good start while they saddled up. He raced away towards the Cascades, taking the opposite direction to that in which his herd lay, the one the men might easily expect him to take.

Through the night he galloped, darkness like a. curtain around him. A white owl flew, crying, from a tree and he shied in sudden fear. He could hear the men close behind, so he branched off the track and down a rock gully; the men, when they found they could not easily capture him, soon gave up. The owner of Golden had no wish to lame her in a midnight brumby hunt, and anyway it was obvious that Golden might very well bait a trap for Thowra. They decided to stay at the hut another night.

In the morning they built up the rails on the lowest side of the yard.

Thowra watched the track to Groggin and knew that they had not gone down from the mountains; he watched the sky, too, because he could see that bad weather was coming, and sensed that it was coming very quickly. When the men had not gone by mid-afternoon, he hastened off to his herd and took them lower down the Crackenback, where, if there were snow, they would be sheltered. Before they had reached the glade to which he was taking them, the wind was howling over the mountain-top and bringing with it biting flakes of snow. The foals were frightened and kept getting under their mothers’ feet. Thowra felt responsible for them and stayed with them in the gathering storm. His knees were bruised and stiff from their rap on the fence, and he was glad to be with his mares.

All night long the cold snow fell. At Dead Horse hut the men gave up hoping for the cream stallion to come, and worried about their own horses. The pack-horses were better off than the two riding-horses because there were trees in the paddock under which they could shelter.

Golden’s owner was particularly worried. There was not room for even one horse to stand in the skillion; it was full of wood and bags of salt.

At midnight they decided to turn them out of the yard into the horse paddock. Already the snow lay inches deep on the ground; covered rails and fence-posts; slithered with a soft thud off the trees. The cream filly and the bay horse walked gladly through the gate and towards a clump of trees.

The men sloshed their way through the snow back to the hut, shook the flakes off their coats, threw more wood on the fire, and settled down again for what remained of the night.

It was in the heavy, dark hours of the very early morning, when the blizzard was at its height, that Thowra came.

He had to walk right to the yard before he was sure it was empty, then he went, silent-footed in the snow, right up to the skillion, but there was nothing there. He went back to the horse-paddock fence and followed it till it went through some trees. Here he could hear the snuffling and shuffling of quite a number of horses and guessed Golden would be with them.

He retreated a little way until he found a panel of fencing over which he thought he might be able to jump — it was not so much the height of the fence that bothered him, but rather where it was and where to jump — in the blizzard it was difficult to see anything clearly. He cantered towards it, making an enormous leap.

The snow beat in his eyes, hit his legs, his chest, his belly. He was flying through the blizzard — waiting for the ghastly check of biting barbed wire if he had miscalculated his jump. But there was no check, no terrible bite of wire on his legs. He slithered a little on landing and drew a huge breath of relief. He was safely over!

He jogged down the fence line until he came to the trees, then sneaked in, moving silently from tree to tree, conscious of every sound, feeling the cold touch of the snow on his coat. It was easy to see the dark-coloured horses, as he drew close to them, but Golden, like himself, was invisible in the snowstorm, and it was Golden he must find.