The Golden Stranger (19 page)

‘From the Coachwood Show,' he said.

‘Ah, yes, that show,' said Shara awkwardly, trying not to remember the day Corey had watched her tumble head-over-heel off a stockyard rail.

Corey chuckled and looked away.

‘Let's not go there,' said Shara, kicking Rocko up. ‘Come on. Let's ride, cowboy!'

People laughed and called out to each other, bits and spurs jingled and horses whinnied. The entire crowd surged forward.

Shara sat tall as she rode. At last she could put things right. She had her friends and her family and her community behind her, she had her good horse beneath her and she felt totally unconquerable. She patted the fat bundle of petitions that sat snug beneath her jacket, and urged Rocko onward.

24

THEY LEFT THE
soft grassy oval behind, and a hundred horses' shoes clopped and clattered on the bitumen. It was an awesome noise, like the beginning of a summer rainstorm on hot corrugated iron, building into one big thundering downpour.

The road had been cleared and four empty lanes stretched ahead. Shara felt like royalty as she led the ride towards the rodeo grounds behind a single police car. Corey, Jess, Rosie and Tom rode to the left of her. Elliot clung on behind Grace on the steel grey, with his glasses half falling off, looking mildly terrified. John and Mrs Arnold were on her right. A photographer snapped away, dashing and dancing backwards in front of them. Shara rode with one hand, settling into the rhythm of Rocko's keen stride.

The road was lined with brush box trees, and beyond them lay quiet paddocks from which cows looked up, alarmed at the commotion, and hustled their calves away. It took a good fifteen minutes to come within view of the Kympania rodeo grounds, by which time there were more photographers and a news crew standing by a white van. A cameraman hoisted a large black box to his shoulder and began shooting.

‘How good is this?' said Shara. ‘I can't believe how big this has turned out to be.'

But Jess's answer was not so awestruck. ‘Is that what I think it is?'

The cameraman pivoted and began filming in another direction. From a side road, not a hundred metres from the rodeo grounds, a huge red semitrailer rumbled directly across in front. It slowed to a stop, blocking the entire road, and hissed as its brakes were let off. Across the cabin door, in gold swirly letters, were the words:

Bred to Buck
Conneman Brothers
Rodeo Stock Contractors

‘Holy . . . ' Shara brought Rocko to a stop and heard the rising murmur of the riders behind her. A shout went up and ricocheted back down the line. But she could feel the restless energy bustling up behind her, unwilling to slow. John rode to the front.

A cabin door swung open and Graham Conneman slid to the ground. He stood, arms folded across his chest, jaw set stubborn and hard under a broad-brimmed hat. Mark Conneman, shorter and more wiry, stepped down from the other door and walked around to join him. They stood side by side like king brown snakes, provoked, territorial and clearly angry.

Three stockmen descended from the trailer, and Mandy appeared behind them. She stepped forward and stood next to her father with hands on black-jeaned hips.

All around the sound of hoofbeats continued and the rumble of voices rose. Shara looked quickly to John.

‘Just carry on riding,' he said calmly. ‘They have as much right to be here as us.'

‘In the middle of the road?'

He paused. ‘Let's see what the police do.'

Shara was relieved to see the police car stop and two officers get out.

John urged his horse into a jog and took the lead. ‘We'll go around them.'

But the truck stretched from the side road to the opposite fence and the Connemans' stockmen filled any gap. The ride was blocked. Behind Shara and her friends the procession still bustled, and she felt Rocko being nudged forward. The horses were now flank to flank, locked together in a steady push. They lifted their heads and whinnied nervously.

Shara yelled over her shoulder for the riders to back off as she tried to hold Rocko steady. He reared beneath her. She threw her arms forward to go with him, and felt the envelopes inside her jacket slip. The bundle dropped over her leg and onto the ground. ‘The petitions!' Rocko spooked and leapt sideways, slamming into another horse.

Envelopes tore open under a stampede of hooves. Papers spilled out, were picked up by the breeze and carried between the horses' legs. They whirled and flapped and a current of panic shot through the horses.

Voices yelled, horses shied, papers whipped with the wind, photographers snapped. Before Shara knew it, the ride had not only come to a complete halt, but it had begun to break up, backwards, sideways, all over the place.

‘No, don't give up,' yelled Shara. ‘We can go around them!'

From the sidelines, Anita looked at her and shook her head.

‘No . . . ' Anita pointed to the side street. Shara followed her gaze. Another police car rolled slowly up behind the semi–trailer and three more officers got out. They were followed by an RSPCA van. A door flung open and Lurlene Spencer stepped out. From the other side came Mr Hoskins.

Graham Conneman roared, ‘You've got no right to take my animals. They're my livelihood!'

‘The RSPCA are seizing the brumbies,' said Shara, spinning around and facing Corey, who was holding a prancing Chelpie steady, pulling at the bit as she drummed her hooves on the bitumen.

‘Yyyup! They're seizing all the Connemans' animals.'

‘Sampson?'

‘Hope so!'

Shara felt a rush of hope that in some way she might have helped him get ownership of his good horse. ‘Oh my God, this will shut down the whole rodeo! The Connemans are supplying all the cattle, too.'

Mandy shot Corey a look of fury. ‘You'll never ride in rodeo again, Corey Duggin.' She pointed at him. ‘We'll black-ban you! We'll rig it so you never get good stock again. You'll pull the most feral cattle and get the worst draws. No one will sponsor you because they'll know you'll only ever lose! No one will even speak to you after this!'

‘This isn't about you, Mandy,' said Corey.

‘No,' she replied. ‘It was never about me, obviously.'

Corey held her gaze for a short moment before riding Chelpie towards the Connemans' stockmen. Shara watched him roll his spurs up Chelpie's ribs, and the dainty white horse swished her tail angrily and bit at the air in front of her. ‘Follow me!' he said, waving Shara after him.

‘What about all the papers?' she called back. Rocko cantered on the spot and she felt the skin tighten over his wither as he bunched his muscles beneath her.

‘Leave them, we don't need them!' Chelpie bounced sideways, clearing a big space, and Corey sent her leaping forward. She rushed at the people blocking her, teeth bared. They scattered.

‘Good girl, Chelpie!' said Shara.

‘She's a weapon on legs,' said Corey.

Behind them, the other riders filtered through the small gap between the truck and the fence, looking down at the Conneman staff as they clattered past. In a huge nodding and tossing and tail-swishing throng, with clanging stirrups and brushing saddles, they began to move slowly past the rodeo grounds.

The front fence looked as though it had just had a lick of fresh paint to spruce it up for the event. Shara could smell cut grass and knew volunteers would have spent long days getting the grounds ready. In the gateway, an elderly couple sat under a beach brolly with a pouch of small change on their laps, an esky between them like a coffee table. Their faces were stony as their eyes followed the procession.

People in fluoro vests directed a dozen or so cars into a neat row beside the arena. It was a poor turnout. People must have heard about the brumby ride.

But the show went on. Crooning cattle and a loud voice broadcast over the event, cutting through the din of the brumby ride. Guitars twanged and horses whinnied. As the thunderous noise of horses' hooves neared, the people in the grounds began walking to the roadside, staring at the huge procession coming their way.

They waited with hard faces, watching. One threw a Coke can out onto the road. Shara felt a hot thwack on her cheek and something bounced off her shoulder. A hot chip? ‘They're throwing food at me!'

‘Just keep going,' said John beside her. ‘Don't react.'

The whole cardboard cup came next, complete with tomato sauce, and she dodged the spray of greasy crumbs and red goo. Rocko stepped sideways as the cup tumbled down his shoulder. ‘And they say brumbies are feral,' said Shara, as she looked down at the red splatters on her shirt.

‘Hey!' Corey yelled angrily.

‘It's all right. I'm fine,' said Shara quickly. ‘It was just some sauce. It was nothing.'

‘Hey, it's Corey,' yelled someone.

‘Yeah, it is, and that's my
friend
you're chucking stuff at,' he yelled back.

‘Don't get in a fight, Corey,' Shara pleaded. This was the last thing she needed.

‘Look straight ahead and keep riding.' John trotted up beside his son. ‘Don't bite, Corey. You knew it would be like this.'

Corey looked away, holding Chelpie in a steady jog-trot, his feet jammed down hard in his stirrups. Chelpie, as though feeding on the hostility that percolated around her, pressed her ears to the back of her head and screwed her nostrils into the nastiest face Shara had ever seen on a horse. She pulled her lips back, bit at the air in front of her and rolled her eyes towards the crowd.

‘I like your little show pony, Duggin!' another voice teased.

Corey spun Chelpie's hindquarters towards the voice and rolled a spur up her side. Chelpie lashed out with both back legs.

Laughter rippled through the rodeo crowd.

‘Corey!' John warned.

Corey lowered his spurs, but Chelpie still swished her tail and the rodeo crowd stepped back as he pranced past, despite the timber fence rails.

‘You okay?' asked Shara.

‘Just gotta get past this crowd.' He shot her a sideways grin. ‘I like this horse, though. She's got some attitude.'

‘She's done heaps of dressage.'

Corey gathered up Chelpie's reins and pushed his seat into her, making the mare spring into a bouncy passage. She arched her neck, fanned her tail from side to side and lifted her knees one at a time in big, exaggerated movements. Corey lifted his cowboy hat and waved it to the rodeo crowd in a grand, sweeping gesture. Before he could clamp the hat back on his head, Chelpie pigrooted and bumped him out of the saddle for a stride.

More chuckles wove through the onlookers. Corey sent the little white horse in an extended trot along the fenceline, legs punching and toes flicking dramatically out in front.

‘Show-off,' John muttered beside Shara.

She rolled her eyes and watched Corey finish his dressage workout with a half-circle to change direction, then a collected trot straight back to the rodeo people. He halted, gathered his reins in one hand, saluted in true dressage style and then dropped Chelpie's reins.

‘I give you a fifty-two for that, Corey!' a woman called.

‘You big girl! Get some jodhpurs!' yelled another.

Corey rode towards a small crowd that he seemed to know. But as he neared them, more riders pushed their horses menacingly towards him and Shara was glad of the fence between them.

‘We're not riding against rodeo,' he told them. ‘We're riding against the wild horse race. It's crap. It's not even a recognised event. It's giving rodeo a bad name.'

‘Yeah, well, your ride has gone and halted the whole event,' said a man in a red shirt. ‘We travelled for miles to get here and now the whole thing's cancelled. People have been working for months to run this event.'

‘It's not our fault the event was cancelled,' argued Corey. ‘It was the dodgy stock contractors.'

‘Those dodgy contractors have been supplying you with good horses to ride for the last couple of years, mate. You're a hypocrite.' The red-shirted man walked away.

‘Oh, come on, Danny,' Corey implored.

‘All the stock's being seized,' said another. ‘They're perfectly healthy, nothing wrong with them.'

Behind them Shara saw a stock truck – the one from the animal shelter? – drive into the grounds and head towards the yards. Jess gasped behind her. ‘They're taking the brumbies!'

A cheer went through the protest riders and horses began shifting restlessly, eager to move.

Corey slipped off his horse and handed the reins to Shara. She inwardly groaned as she took them. ‘Don't go in there, Corey, you'll get killed!'

‘They're my mates,' he said. He slipped through the fence and ran after them.

Next to Shara, John cursed quietly. He reined his horse about and kept moving with the brumby ride. ‘Keep riding, Shara.'

Corey looked back over his shoulder as he ran into the rodeo grounds. ‘Wait for me, Sharsy!'

‘Easy, Rocko.' Shara tried to hold her horse steady but it was like being caught in a rip. A hundred horses were moving away from her and she could hardly hold Rocko and Chelpie against the undercurrent. Jess, Grace and Rosie were well out of sight, at the front of the ride.

Rocko and Chelpie shifted about and she struggled to hold them off each other. Rocko bounced beneath her and Chelpie swung her hindquarters, tossing her mane and gnashing her teeth.

Shara saw John's back disappearing in the sea of riders and looked back into the showgrounds at Corey, who had reached his friends and stood arguing with them between the parked cars. His arms were waving around as he talked. The men were leaning forward and yelling back. They didn't look in agreement at all.

As she looked back up the line of brumby riders and wondered whether to wait for Corey or to just keep riding, Lawson Blake rode up behind her on a small brown horse. ‘Look out,' he said. ‘Here comes trouble.'