Diamond Spirit (17 page)

‘Thank God she’s not drafting,’ said Jess.

‘She’ll find some way to cause trouble,’ said Rosie, yawning and stretching. ‘Harry reckons we should go into the arena and help the stewards put cattle away. That way we can practise a bit. I’m going to go and get some jeans on.’

‘Okay,’ said Jess.

She saddled Dodger as he finished his grain and then let him digest his breakfast while she changed into her riding clothes. She spent a few minutes in the back of the truck, plaiting her hair and polishing her boots, and as she did so she imagined herself riding a perfect round.

I have to get a good beast.

She buckled up her helmet as she walked out the door. She was ready.

Dodger nickered and stamped his foot.

‘Righto, boy, let’s do this,’ she said, pulling his bridle over his ears. She walked him over to the practice arena.

Dodger felt good. Seasoned horse that he was, he was fit and energetic without being over-excited. Handbrake, meanwhile, trotted lazily behind them.

‘Wanna swap horses?’ Grace said to Jess as she urged the young mare to catch up. ‘I’m up next and I can barely stop her from snoring.’

‘No, thanks!’ Jess laughed.

The girls reached the camp-yard gate and Jess wished Grace good luck. She stayed and watched Grace kick hopelessly at Handbrake’s sides while her chosen beast darted back to the mob. In less than a minute, the judge, who sat outside the camp on his horse, lifted his arm, gave a sharp crack of his whip and disqualified her. Jess gave her a pat on the back as she came back out of the camp.

‘Old donkey,’ said Grace. ‘How come I always get stuck with the crap horses?’

‘Because you can never just stick to one horse,’ said Rosie.

‘Because you’re the most adventurous rider,’ said Jess. ‘You’re good at training them.’

‘Wish Dad would find a buyer for her so I can start training something decent,’ said Grace as she led the mare back to the truck.

The announcer called another series of numbers.

‘My turn!’ said Rosie, in alarm. She rode Buster into the camp. After a great cut-out, she burst through the gates and shouldered a small heifer around the first two pegs before it frolicked off to the sidelines and went off course.

Jess clapped madly, and then took Dodger for a walk around the grounds. She visualised her perfect round over and over in her head, imagined galloping after the beast and shouldering it around the pegs. She went over everything she had learned.

Keep your legs forward, supple waist, soft hands, pick
a good beast, stay off its heels.

By the time the announcer called her name, Jess could no longer think. She could no longer plan or practise. She just had to go out there and do it. All that remained between now and Walkabout’s destiny were five other kids, lined up outside the camp, and about thirteen and a half minutes. She took a deep breath.

The camp yard was made from steel railings and screened with hessian so the cattle couldn’t see out. Jess sat on Dodger, looking over the top rail. At one end a small mob of mixed-breed cattle huddled together. At the other a stockman stood behind a large set of gates, ready to let the next rider and his chosen beast out into the main arena. A judge sat near the gates on a grey horse, holding a stockwhip in one hand, reins in the other. A scorer sat on the fence nearby, with a small chalkboard.

Jess took her place in line with several other competitors outside the yard as a boy entered through a narrow side gate. He nodded to the judge, picked a beast and began trying to cut it from the herd. His pony darted back and forth while the rider kicked madly. The beast scooted away, and in his excitement, the boy and his horse charged straight into the mob, scattering them about the pen. Jess frowned as she watched him chase them into a frenzy.

‘Oh, good on ya,’ said a girl in a loud voice. She pointed at the cattle that were now crushing up against the back fence, trying to climb out. ‘Now they’re all panicked. He’s wrecking it for everyone. They shouldn’t let beginners ride at championship events.’

Jess tried to tune out.

I thought they used quiet old dairy cattle for the juniors.

When the boy had clearly lost control of his beast, the judge’s whip split the air, disqualifying him. The stockman opened the gates to let him out and three steers escaped after him.

‘At least that got rid of a few jumpy ones,’ said the girl next to her. ‘Glad you’re on next and not me.’

Jess forced a smile which she hoped exuded confidence and experience. On the microphone she heard the announcer introducing herself and Dodger.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, this next horse has seen a cattleyard or two. He’s by a local stallion called Rough Nut, and I guarantee he’ll give any beast a run for its money. Originally owned and bred by the Hayward family on Triple Bar Stud, he’s been carting juniors around the drafts for nigh on twenty years. He’s a pocket dynamo, this one, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s see what he can do today!’

Jess listened in astonishment. The announcer knew more about Dodger than she did.

A stockman ushered her inside the small pen, where a dozen or so rangy beasts stared at her with goggle eyes. People were perched along the rails in boots and broad-brimmed hats, watching her.

In the distance, a judge sashed a brilliant white horse with a blue ribbon.

Don’t even think about her.

In the stands, a red hat stood out amid rows of brown Akubras. Both Caroline and Craig were waving madly.

Stay focused. Find a good beast, just peel it off the edge
of the mob and call for the gate.

A tall Aboriginal stockman in a big black hat walked up to her. ‘Bin a while since them cattle have been handled,’ he said. ‘You wanna give them some time to settle.’

Jess nodded. She couldn’t agree more. The cattle were agitated and twitchy, and bellowed whenever she moved. Too soon, the judged called for her to start. She had ten seconds to begin.

A deep red steer with big shoulders broke away from the mob, rushing down the side fence. It wasn’t the kind of animal she was looking for, but she took her chance, slipping Dodger in behind it and placing herself between it and the mob.

This is for you, Wally.

The steer darted to the end of the yard and, finding itself alone, did an about-face and bolted back towards the others. Dodger shot out from under Jess and galloped into its path. The beast slid to a stop. It broke away to the right. Jess grabbed the front of her saddle as Dodger spun away again. He galloped three strides to the fence and slammed to a halt with a jolt that made her wince, but she managed to rein him back to the centre of the yard.

Jess held the saddle tight and sat deep. She could barely keep up with Dodger’s rushes from side to side. Fortunately, neither could the beast. It gave up, ran to the front of the yard and slammed up against the gates, bellowing loudly and swishing its tail. From somewhere, she could hear whistles and a dull roar.

‘Gate!’ she yelled to the gate men. They swung them open, and the beast whooshed out of the yard into the main arena as though it were being sucked into a black hole. Dodger leapt after it. His hooves thundered over the freshly ploughed ground. He flew up behind on the tail of the beast. Jess brought him up onto the steer’s shoulder at a full gallop. Dodger leaned heavily and pushed it around the first peg in a wide loop.

She wrestled Dodger back behind the beast for the crossover.

Without warning, the steer stopped abruptly and she and Dodger went flying by. Dodger hit the skids. He ducked back to the beast and took control again. It headed towards the second peg at a slightly slower pace, and Dodger settled comfortably on its shoulder, bringing it around in an easy loop. They headed for the final gate.

This is it; we’re going to make it . . .

Abruptly, the rhythm in Dodger’s stride broke. He paddled wildly as he tried to regain balance. Jess lurched out of the saddle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and closed her eyes tight, waiting for the earth to swallow them up. She felt a bump and Dodger skidded to a stop, grinding a long smooth channel into the ploughed earth.

She looked down and saw a mangled horseshoe hanging from the side of Dodger’s hoof. As two stockmen galloped out to her, she slipped off his neck and onto the ground.

‘I’m fine,’ she said to the men, and bent down to pick up Dodger’s foot. A large piece of hoof had been ripped away with the shoe. One of the stockmen jumped off his horse and helped to remove it, pulling carefully so as not to cause any further damage.

‘Better get a farrier onto that foot, love,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’ll take some artwork to get a shoe back on that.’ Then he pointed at the finish flag next to her. ‘By geez, you just made that by the skin of your teeth.’

‘Did I finish?’ asked Jess, unsure if she had blown it or not.

‘Judge called an eighty-two,’ he said, giving her a nod of approval. ‘That oughta put you in the finals tomorrow. That’s if you can get that hoof fixed. Lawson Blake is on the ground. If anyone can fix that mess, it’s him. He could put shoes on a mosquito.’

Lawson Blake? He’s not touching my horse!

Jess led Dodger from the arena, relieved to find he was not lame. His hoof, however, was a mess. There was no way she could ride him in the second round without a new shoe.

At the truck, she pulled her saddle off and rubbed Dodger down with an old towel.

Harry limped over to congratulate her. ‘Great round, Jess. Well done. Eighty-two is a darn good score for your first go.’

But Jess was far from happy. She held up the mangled shoe. ‘Look at his foot, Harry. It’s a mess.’

‘Is that what happened?’ Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘I saw him have a bit of a stumble at the end of the round. I thought he just lost his footing.’

‘He ripped off the shoe with his back foot. He must have overreached.’

Harry ran a hand down Dodger’s leg and picked up his foot. He let out a breezy whistle. ‘You’ve done a job on that, haven’t ya, fella!’ He dropped the foot and gave the horse a slap on the neck. ‘You wanna get Lawson to look at that. He could put shoes on a mosquito.’

Some sort of local saying?

Jess felt her heart run down into her boots. ‘I know he’s your son, Harry, but I really don’t want to ask him.’

‘You’ll find he’s not such a bad bloke, Jess. He’s your only hope at this stage.’

Jess sighed and gave Dodger a pat. He was frothy with sweat and needed a good hose down and a drink. So did she. The day was growing hotter and a westerly wind had come up. Dust blew through the air, drying Jess’s throat and scratching at her eyes. She led Dodger to the horse wash and filled a bucket. The water was deliciously cool and she was tempted to stick her whole head into it.

Suddenly she felt a sharp push on the back of her legs and her knees buckled. She spun around. A familiar slobbering dog grinned at her.

‘Hex!’ said Jess in astonishment. ‘What are you doing here?’ There was no mistaking that blue eye and the chunk missing from the tip of his ear. Hex jumped up, leaving two muddy streaks on the front of her jeans. ‘Get down!’ she growled, pushing him off.

At that moment, Katrina Pettilow walked past leading Chelpie. The pony was immaculate, her hooves painted glossy black and mane plaited into neat little baubles, and her neck was covered with blue ribbons. Katrina smiled. ‘Now who’s the poo-magnet?’

A sharp whistle made Jess turn. ‘Shara!’

‘Hex, come here,’ said Shara, ignoring Jess. At her feet sat Petunia, panting in the heat. Behind them both, tied to the side of the float, was Rocko, swishing his tail at a fly and picking at a net of hay. It was like déjà vu. Jess had spent so many weekends with Diamond tied to the other side of that horse float: Rocko on the right and Diamond on the left. Her first instinct was to throw her arms around Shara and jump up and down in excitement.

But Shara’s face was hard and closed. She whistled up her dogs and walked back behind the float. Jess turned to the tap and made herself busy, filling a bucket with cool, clean water for Dodger, while her mind whirled with hurt and disbelief.

What was Shara doing here?

22

THE LOUDSPEAKER BOOMED.
‘This is the final competitor in the first round of the juniors, ladies and gentlemen, and it’s Shara Wilson on Rocko. He looks like a handy little fella, and young Shara seems to have a good handle on him. Some very nice blocking manoeuvres from the horse.’

Jess listened to the announcer’s seamless monologue from the back of the truck. She couldn’t believe Shara was here in the middle of the outback. It didn’t seem possible.

‘Nice control of the beast around the first peg, and just look at that horse go, ladies and gentlemen, and she nearly lost it at the finish pegs, but she seems to be back on its heels, a very gutsy performance out there. And her time is up but a very tidy round, and the judge has given her a score of eighty-two, which will put her in the finals tomorrow.’

It was the same score as Jess’s. Shara had always talked about campdrafting. But here? Now? In Longwood?