The Silver Brumby

Chapter Three LEADING THE FOALS A DANCE

NOT LONG AFTER this, when the weather was becoming much warmer, Yarraman suddenly led his herd off, away from the Cascades towards the rough range that the mares had pointed out to the foals on the other side of the Crackenback River. When they got there, there was a whole new world to be discovered – not the wide valleys and spacious grassland of the Cascades, with large snowgums and sometimes candlebarks, but rough, rocky ridges and stunted trees, tiny threads of streams, and hidden pockets of snowgrass.

The foals enjoyed it. They played hide-and-seek in among the rocky tors and challenged each other to races down the steep hillsides where the stones broke away from under their hooves and went clattering down, down, even faster than they could go. Best of all were the bathing parties in the Crackenback, when the days grew really hot, and they could splash and blow bubbles in the water where it ran over the cool, brown stones and the shining mica; and then they would chase each other and roll in the sand.

The foals were two months old, and Mirri and Bel Bel had lost no opportunity of teaching them their way around the new country. None of the other mares wandered so far off on their own and, when it came to a really good game of hide-and-seek, none of the other foals knew the country as well as Thowra and Storm did.

Brownie was a lazy mare. She stayed around near Yarraman, queening it, as Mirri had guessed she would, and Arrow learnt little else than to be a nuisance – in fact, what else could Brownie teach him, Bel Bel said – but he was still the biggest and strongest foal in the herd. Several times he had given Thowra or Storm vicious bites, and once Thowra was lamed for a week by a kick on the hock.

Then, one hot, sultry day, with big thunder clouds sitting lazily along the mountain tops, Arrow was stung, it seemed, to thorough nastiness by the great March flies, and he chased Thowra, biting him unmercifully.

Thowra called Storm:

“Come on!” he said. “He won’t catch us!” And away they galloped with Arrow and half the other foals after them.

“We’ll lead them a dance,” Thowra said to Storm, as they galloped side by side down into a steep ravine. “If we can lose Arrow, we will!”

They went crashing down, Arrow and his followers not far behind, down, down the rocky slope and then into some very thick scrub. Here, Thowra pulled up sharply on his haunches, and swung on to a tiny narrow track that led towards the head of the ravine.

They heard the other foals go thundering by straight on down, while they went trotting quietly on, making as little sound as possible. The track turned upwards, and they knew they would be quite a height above the other foals when they got out of the scrub.

Thowra led the way on to the rocky hillside again and, sure-footed as a wild goat, cantered across it upwards to the tumbled mass of rock that formed the headwall of the ravine. He and Storm had found a track through, but he was pretty certain Arrow would not know it. He looked down once and saw the other foals far below, but already starting in pursuit.

They had to let their pace drop to a walk when they reached the rocks, and for a moment it was hard to find the start of their track; then they picked their way carefully through, and round and over the great rough rocks with almost a sheer wall of rock up on one side of them and a tremendous drop on the other.

They could hear the other foals crashing and stumbling across the side of the hill, but they didn’t stop or look back: they had to watch every step they took on their precipice or they might find themselves hurtling down through space to the floor of the ravine, far below. Thowra felt his coat prickling with fear, and then the sweat running on his neck and flanks. How foolish it would be to fall! But at last they were over, and there, safe on the other side, they neighed and mocked at Arrow who was still looking for a way across the headwall.

At this, Arrow became so angry that he started to climb right round over the top. Thowra and Storm could afford to rest before galloping off. Then they were off again, through very broken country of granite tors, rough scrub, and low snowgums, directly away from where the mares had been grazing. There was no grass here, and Thowra guessed that the other foals had never bothered to explore this way.

Both foals noticed how hot it had become. Thowra’s cream coat was all dark with sweat. They stopped for a moment to get their breath and watched black clouds massing over the sky.

“We may be glad we know our way,” Thowra said.

The others were drawing nearer, so they led them on, up a little hill. Already the grey mist was sitting on top of it.

As soon as they saw the other foals following up the hill, they went through the mist and quickly down the other side, then jumped down into a sharp-sided creek bed that cut straight across the foot of the hill. They turned east up the creek and trotted along, presently stopping for a drink.

There was no sound of pursuit, although once Thowra thought he heard a neigh.

“This creek will take us nearly all the way home,” he said.

“Yes,” Storm answered. “Come!”

“I’m wondering about the others.”

They both looked around. Clouds had boiled up and poured right over the mountains, and it was impossible to see more than a few yards.

“It’s all very well to get Arrow lost on a fine day,” Thowra said, “but the weather is changing. Also,” he added, “the mothers of the other foals will be wild with us, even if they do think Arrow deserves all he gets.”

“That is quite true,” Storm said. “Perhaps we had better go and find them.”

They went back along the creek, and scrambled up on to the hillside again. Now, they could hear neighing coming from the top of the hill.

Storm threw up his head to listen:

“I expect they are wandering round in circles,” he said. “Don’t let’s hurry; give them time to get to know what it’s like being lost in a cloud.”

But when they reached the top of the hill they could just make out the group of foals through the cloud, all huddled together in the shelter of some rocks.

Thowra and Storm went up to them, emerging like shadows out of the mist.

“Don’t you know your way home?” Storm asked.

Arrow said nothing, but the other foals came crowding round.

“Can you lead us back even through these clouds?” they asked.

Thowra looked at them without speaking for a moment, then he turned to Arrow.

“Do you want to go home, O swift Arrow?”

Arrow nodded glumly. Just then there was a great roll of thunder, and a whip-like streak of lightning seemed to strike the rocks. Thowra took no notice.

“Are you going to behave yourself and be nicer to everyone else?” he asked Arrow.

There was no answer.

“Oh well,” said Thowra, “Storm and I will go home on our own,” and he moved as if to go back into the cloud and mist. More lightning blazed behind him, and he seemed to be made of silver.

The other foals crowded after them but Arrow stood quite still.

“Arrow will behave, or we will all set on him this minute,” spoke up Star, a brown filly who had always wished she could go wandering with Thowra and Storm and their mothers.

“All right,” Thowra and Storm both agreed. “Follow us then, closely.” Their last words were almost lost in the rumble of thunder and the sudden sound of pouring rain.

Shivering with cold now as well as fear, the foals followed them as they turned and made their way down into the more sheltered creek bed. Here, the noise of the thunder was almost like something striking at them, and Thowra noticed with pleasure that Arrow was as frightened as the others.

In places the creek bed widened, and there was grass or sand over which they could canter; sometimes they walked through stones. Then the creek turned in a long northward curve that led them back towards where the herd had been. Even when they were quite close to the mares, the clouds were so heavy and black that only Thowra and Storm knew they had arrived back.

Quietly they led the foals into the herd. They could tell by the restless moving of the mares that they were worried. Brownie gave a silly-sounding neigh when she saw Arrow and started sniffing him all over.

“What have you been up to?” muttered Bel Bel as Thowra came up beside her for a drink.

“Maybe Arrow won’t be such a bully for a while,” Thowra answered.

“Take care – that colt may always be bigger and stronger than you,” Bel Bel said.

Just then Star’s mother came up.

“No good will come of you teaching your sons to be so independent,” she said to Bel Bel and Mirri angrily, and then turned to Thowra. “Where have you led our foals to, today?” But Star, looking miserable, said:

“It was our fault – and Arrow’s.”

“That Arrow!” said the mare sourly. “He will grow into a bad horse.”

“He’ll be a bad enemy,” said Mirri, looking with meaning at her own son and at Thowra.

Chapter Four BRUMBY DRIVE

ON VERY CLEAR days the wild horses could see the cattle grazing on the other side of the Crackenback River. Sometimes they might meet an odd beast down drinking, but the horses mostly kept to drinking places where the cattle never came, because where there were cattle there could be men.

One day Bel Bel and Mirri and the two foals were climbing up behind a particularly high granite tor. They were still in the trees, and out of sight themselves, when they saw a man standing upon the top of the tor, gazing over the country.

The wild horses came to a dead stop, nostrils quivering. There the man stood, a wide hat shading his eyes, a red scarf round his neck, wearing faded riding-trousers, and with a coiled whip in his hand.

“Stockman,” whispered Bel Bel. “His tame horse must be somewhere, and maybe a mate or two. Our scent must be blowing straight to him.”

“He won’t smell it,” said Mirri scornfully.

“His horse may, though.”

Sure enough, there came the sound of neighing and stamping, and even the jingle of a bit.

“It’s not very far away. We must go!” Bel Bel turned to Thowra: “Look well at the man, my son. He is your greatest enemy.”

Thowra could not really remember the man who had tried to catch him as he slept on the slopes of the Ramshead Range, but that day had planted the fear of Man deeply in him. All he said now was:“Let’s go!”

They moved away quietly, and that evening, as they grazed with the herd by a wide creek bed, where good grass grew, Bel Bel and Mirri told Yarraman and the gathered mares and yearlings what they had seen.

“I don’t like it,” said Bel Bel. “He was a mountain man and he will have come here for some purpose, not just curiosity.”

“They are sure to know that many of us always spend the summer here,” Mirri said. “It wouldn’t be good if they came back to hunt us.”

“We know this country too well,” boasted Yarraman, but he did not look overpleased.

The two mares kept an even more careful watch on their foals, and would never let them go down to the river except very early and very late when men who live in huts or tents are always busy with their queer cans of water that bubble by their smoking fires.

Once again, the man was seen, this time by Yarraman himself as he and the herd were in their customary grazing ground. The man was standing right above them as though he were cut out of rock.

The news of this was very disquieting to Bel Bel and Mirri, and they kept an even stricter watch.

There were many hot, sleepy days that summer, but though the foals lay in the grass, flat out, their switching tails their only sign of life, the two mothers kept watch in turns, never, during the day, sleeping at the same time. Even so, they were both sleepy enough, standing in the shade of a low snowgum, to get badly frightened when they heard an unusual noise far below them.

What was it? Something was moving through dead timber the way no wild animal would move! Perhaps a tame horse with a man on its back?

They could not smell anything. Nostrils to the wind, they listened. There was the sound again, something unusual going through the bush, they were sure. They roused the sleeping foals and began to move quietly upwards.

When Thowra made to jump up on a large rocky outcrop, Bel Bel nipped him and pushed him back.

“Don’t be so silly,” she said, “making yourself a clear mark for anyone to see! Keep in the trees and keep quiet.”

Sometimes they stopped to listen, but for a while there was no sound except that of a kurrawong and the chatter of gang gangs in the trees. Then, during one such stop, they heard a faint sound of movement, so faint that no one except those who lived in the bush would have heard it, and they knew it was something wild like themselves. Presently three silver-grey kangaroos went hopping by.

Thowra and Storm were delighted to see them, but both Bel Bel and Mirri looked worried. Not long afterwards, they saw four young colts making up the hill too.

They came to a small clear stream where the foals wanted to play.

“Have a drink, but not too much, and come on,” said Bel Bel. Three black cockatoos flew out of the trees by the water, with their weird, wild crying, and the foals jumped back, startled.

Mirri looked back fearfully.

“Something’s happening, I’m sure,” she muttered.

Even a gust of wind rustling the shiny leaves made the mares start nervously, then they saw some of their own herd heading towards their main camping ground which was in an unexpected hanging valley not far from the top of the range. They caught up to these mares and foals, and Bel Bel said: “Have you seen anything strange as you travelled homewards at midday?”

One was Star’s dam, and she answered fearfully:“No, but we heard the sound of horsemen and a faint whip crack. What business have men here?”

Then through the bush, some distance off, they saw several more kangaroos flitting between the trees, upwards, upwards.

Bel Bel turned to Mirri.

“We’re being driven uphill,” she said. “There must be a great many men.”

“Well, we’re going,” said Star’s mother. “We’ll be safer with Yarraman and the others.”

Bel Bel looked at Mirri.

“It must be us wild horses they’re after, not kangaroos,” she said.

“Good luck!” said Mirri to the others, as they jogged away, then to Bel Bel, “Shall we try to go across the hill and escape the men?”

“That’s the best thing I can think of. We might make the ravine and hide there, but the men will probably have dogs and though we might race them, it’s not going to be so easy with the foals – but we must go.” And, as usual, the creamy mare led off, the two foals following her, and Mirri close behind them.

All of a sudden, the bush seemed dreadfully still and hot, so hot, and the scent of the turpentine bush was all around. Bel Bel leapt to one side sharply as a big copperhead snake slid across some warm, bare earth almost under her feet, and she felt the sweat break out behind her ears.

Coming up the hill towards her she saw a pair of brown wallabies.

“Yes, we’re being driven,” she whispered to herself.

Further on they met more brumbies, panting and sweating. The leader only stopped for a second to say to them:“You’ll meet stockmen if you keep going that way. They’re not far behind. Better follow us.”

“There are men everywhere,” said Bel Bel. “The only thing to do is to try and get back between them.”

But the other horses just went on upwards, their flanks heaving and the smell of their sweat heavy on the air.

Bel Bel led off again, faster, threading through thick snowgums, even breaking into a fast canter when they reached a grass glade. As much as possible she avoided rocks on which their hooves would make a noise. If only they could reach the ravine …

Then she saw the first of the men, sitting easily on a neat grey horse, a Queensland blue cattle dog padding along beside him.

She doubled back quickly, driving Thowra and Storm in front of her. Perhaps he had not seen her. Perhaps he would not hear them. If they went back a few hundred yards, and then turned downwards, they might just get through the cordon of men and dogs… but when she turned down, there, galloping across in front of her, was the same man and his dog.

The dog saw the wild horses and rushed to head them, snapping not at her or Mirri, who might have kicked, but at Thowra.

Thowra, who had never seen a dog in his life, turned in a frenzy of fear. Bel Bel galloped after him, trying to swing him back to make another effort to beat the man and the dog downhill, but the dog knew his game too well and kept heeling Thowra. Thowra was soon beyond being able to hear anything his mother neighed to him, and all that Bel Bel could do was to go with him in his mad gallop up the hill, trying to strike or kick at the dog. At last she quietened the blue heeler by galloping at him when he snapped at Thowra’s heel and giving him a nasty bite on the back.

Bel Bel then galloped shoulder to shoulder with Thowra, speaking to him, trying to steady him, and all the time wondering what they should do next. In a few quick, backward glances she could see no sign of Mirri and Storm. The man was a good way behind and had called off his dog. Anyway, the dog had done his job of heading them uphill only too well.

She gave Thowra a gentle nip on the shoulder.

“Slow down!” she said. “They are not following.”

Thowra, who was blowing frightfully, slackened his pace and at last dropped to a walk.

“We will have a little rest in that thick belt of snowgums,” Bel Bel said, “and, from there, try and cut across to the ravine again.” But the time had gone for escape. The men and their dogs were closing in.

Bel Bel found herself and her foal driven relentlessly uphill. Each time she hoped to cut across she saw a man. Presently they came up with several trembling mares and foals, and they could hear others moving on ahead. Bel Bel made one more bid to break away south to the ravine, but just then she heard a whip crack, and another, from the direction of the ravine, and some more brumbies came galloping towards her.

“Don’t try to go that way,” they said. “Lots of men and dogs there. Quick, quick!” and they galloped on in terror.

Bel Bel realised that they were all being swung round in the direction of their main camping ground.

“The men will have made a yard somewhere,” she thought, because this was not the first time she had been caught up in a big hunt when the stockmen came after the brumbies. She wished Mirri was still with her. Mirri was a good friend, and she understood more about the habits of men. Mirri would know where they would build a yard in which to catch wild horses. As for Bel Bel she could think of no place more likely than in the narrow mouth of the valley at its farthest end.

She tried to talk to Thowra before he got completely infected with the panic that was gripping all the other horses.

“Son,” she said, “you must stay absolutely beside me. Somewhere these men will have put up fences with which to stop us escaping. If you stay right with me, I may be able just to miss going into their yard and we might escape.”

Thowra thought he would never forget all that happened after that. First he heard sticks and branches breaking as though hundreds of men and horses were chasing them, then he heard the unknown ring of a shod horse’s hoof on stone, and then whips cracking, many whips, cracking and cracking, right behind them.

The brumbies really started to gallop, and he and his mother with them.

The little foal stretched his legs out beside his mother, stretched his neck too. He could feel his heart thundering unevenly in his chest. They were right in the centre of the mob. It was Brownie’s shoulder that touched him on his near side, and he felt her hot breath. Everything was bound up with the tremendous pounding, thundering of hooves on hard ground, the pounding and thundering of his own heart, the blowing of breath, the gasping of all the horses.

A snowgum branch whipped him across the eyes, and brought stinging tears. He could hear his own breath sob and felt as though his pounding heart would burst. His legs and hooves seemed no longer to belong to him.

Then they were out of the trees and they spread apart a little in the open valley of the camping ground. The men forced them together again into a mob that moved almost as one horse, but, while they were spread out, Thowra had felt Bel Bel pushing him over to the left wing, not quite on the outside of the mob, because their colour would be too noticeable there, but just near the edge. He heard his mother give a gasping sort of whinny, and, through the tired haze that was over his eyes, recognised Mirri and Storm on the wing.

The noise of whips never ceased now, as the men drove them faster and faster. The horses were in a frenzy of fear. Thowra wanted to cry out with the terror that seemed to run like a flame through the mob, but he had no breath for anything except to keep going. Bel Bel spoke to him several times and he hardly heard. Then he knew she was saying something that mattered.

“In a second we will swing to the left,” she said, “through the gap in the trees.”

With a tremendous effort he focused his eyes on something other than the outstretched noses and heaving flanks beside him, and saw that they were nearly at the end of the valley.

“Now!” said Bel Bel, and edged him out of the mob, neighing to Mirri as they went.

Only a few strides and they would be in the trees. Thowra realised it was Storm beside him and that the two mares were driving them. He felt a searing cut across the face from a whip. A dog fastened on his heel and he heard Bel Bel’s scream of rage, but his mother and Mirri forced him on.

There was a jumble of men’s voices, one calling:“Hold the ones we’ve got!” Another singing out:“No! I swear I’ll have the creamies.”

Then they were in the trees and pounding over rocks, one man and his dog still with them. Bel Bel raced into the lead and Thowra suddenly knew why. There was quite a drop ahead of them, over some rocks. He and Storm had played there often and knew just where to jump. All at once he felt strong enough to go at the faster pace that his mother was setting.

Bel Bel leapt over the edge, jumping on to a little rocky shelf, sliding down from it on her haunches, jumping again, and he was following, legs trembling so much that he could barely stand up when he landed.

Standing at the foot of the little cliff, legs apart, shaking, shaking, he looked up. Mirri and Storm were nearly safely down, but the man had reined in on the top and was left behind.

“Come on,” said Bel Bel, and the four brumbies vanished into the trees.

Chapter Five MAN, THE INVADER

THAT NIGHT THE weather changed suddenly. Stars faded under cloud, a whining wind crept around the rock tors and down the grassy lanes between the snowgums. Far up on the range, the dingoes howled.

Where Mirri and Bel Bel and their two foals lay, there was no other sound except the whining wind and the dingoes, but nearer the top of the range there were rustlings and stealthy movements. Kangaroos that had been driven from their usual haunts were carefully looking around and starting home again. Birds were disturbed and anxious, unable to settle for the night. Brumbies who had escaped the hunt or broken out of the yard, footsore and exhausted, moved fearfully into the back country.

A large camp fire blazed in the grassy valley and nearly a dozen men slept around it. In the rough yard they had built, there were about fifteen brumbies. There would have been more, but a great heavy colt, in trying to jump out, had smashed one corner of the yard, and quite a few, including Brownie and Arrow, had escaped. Yarraman and others of the herd had never been in the original round-up.