When the cattle no longer came to the snow country for summer grazing, no men rode out, either. There were no cattle to be salted, none to be checked, day after day, or brought back to their own snowlease if they had wandered. No smoke went up from the chimneys of the old slab huts. After whole summers without being disturbed at all, the brumbies grew more confident that there would be no more brumby drives. It seemed safe to go right up on to the bare ‘tops’, just as Dandaloo and Son of Storm had gone to visit the topmost lakes.
As more and more snow melted and ran away in streams to join the big rivers, both Dandaloo and Son of Storm were possessed with the longing to move on, up to the highest peaks. They had seen that men walked there, but men on foot, without whips or lassos, really could not present much danger. So, when most of the slopes of the Ramshead Range, above Dead Horse Gap, were free of snow, except in the steep gullies, they started to graze their way upward.
A fitful wind was blowing when they did the final climb up to the rocky horns of the South Ramshead. Instead of lying down to sleep in the lee of a big rock, Dandaloo began trotting along the snowgrass highways, splashing through the occasional pools that reflected the first stars as they appeared in the sky. Dandaloo looked back often to check on Choopa, but her very small yearling was coming along strongly. In fact Choopa was leaping and bounding with excitement.
The weird night was exciting — the enormous rocks were exciting, taking on strange shapes and forms. Sometimes it seemed that great dark horses were galloping past him in the wind, threading their way through rocks — becoming rocks, themselves; or rocks becoming huge horses with flying manes and tails, then merging with the few clouds that occasionally veiled the stars. Soundless hooves galloped over stones … starlight even shone on the wild whites of eyes — eyes that were not there … thrilling evocations of wild horses who had once raced with the wind, and of Choopa’s own excitement.
For years and years, from a time well before the last of the wide-horned cattle came, there had been a queer stone hut in the hollow below Mt Stilwell and Charlotte’s Pass. Dandaloo had seen this strangely intriguing building twice, and once she had heard something.
Choopa was listening to the sound of the wind in the tors of the Ramshead Range — for wild horses are absolutely attuned to the wild mountain winds. Then it seemed that a mob of gallopers hurtled by in the blasting air, until they reached Charlotte’s Pass and the wind dropped them there, among the miniature snow gums.
A faint sound came from the hollow below.
Choopa heard it. He pricked his ears. The sound grew a little louder, yet it seemed to be absolutely part of himself, in himself. He stood, so small, in front of Dandaloo and Son of Storm, trembling.
The moon had risen, huge and round, almost resting on the rocks of Mt Guthrie and the couloir of snow coming down between the main rock peak. Moonlight flooded the valleys on either side of the Pass. On one side, the Snowy River was a wide silver ribbon, on the other the creek meandered in bright loops. Mingling with the moonlight was a myriad of lights shining from the stone hut.
As the moon rose, the sound of music swelled, and lilted and throbbed through the night. Choopa felt it flow through his whole body, beating in his heart, in his legs, in his hard little feet, till he was pirouetting on a circle of snowgrass. He looked down and saw his white fetlocks all silvered by the light of the moon, and his swinging legs were moving perfectly with the swing of the music.
There he was, up with the stars and the moon. There he was in the centre of the Pass, swaying and dancing to the music of the waltz … He saw the moonlight shining on the Snowy River and, as the music died down for a moment, he heard the song of the Snowy.
The dwarf snow gums of that high pass brushed against his flanks, as he danced to the edge of the snowgrass clearing. His mother was standing in amongst the snow gums. He could see the moonlight making her eyes shine.
Far below, a child’s voice called:
‘There’s a tiny horse dancing on the pass.’
The music grew louder again, and Choopa’s blue and white legs and body waltzed above the Snowy River.
Then the music died down to the faintest, thrilling whisper, falling away to nothing, and only voices could be heard.
Dandaloo and Son of Storm called Choopa to follow them, and they went from the disturbing voices, away to the source of the Snowy River.
A man climbed up to the Pass, by the light of the moon, seeking the vision the child had seen. All he saw in the moonlight was a shadowy group of horses and a small foal, far along the road to the Snowy Crossing. He went back to the Chalet, certain in his mind that the foal must have played there, on the Pass, romping to the sound of the waltz.
Hands grabbing out of dense mist … A man and a dog appearing from a hut that was shrouded in a curtain of falling snow … A man in a summer blizzard by the shores of Lake Cootapatamba … A man sleeping above Lake Albina, who woke to see a blue foal rearing up, in the wind-ruffled waters of the lake.
Dandaloo, walking along towards the Snowy Crossing, was troubled. There was a danger which she did not understand. The scent of the white-starred heath bushes rose around them in the warm night. Choopa occasionally brushed against her flank. It was as if the unknown danger was something inherent in Choopa himself, as though he created his own danger.
She, too, found that the sound rising up from the valley, sometimes blending with the song of the Snowy River, had an eerie attraction, but, for Choopa, it had obviously been totally compelling. What was in Choopa that was so different from other foals she had had? Something caused by his smallness … perhaps a gift to compensate or to protect?
Standing in an ice-cold pool at one head of the Snowy River, Dandaloo gave a great sigh. Never before had there been a foal like him; never had she loved a foal so much.
She watched Choopa drinking that water at the very source of the great river. She had always hoped that he would suddenly start to grow, become a great blue stallion. Without even being aware, she now simply felt that he was perfect and that he possessed a mysterious strength.
The little blue dwarf pawed the water so that it spangled in the moonlight and moonlight flowed with it into the Snowy River.
Escape by the Wombats’ Slippery Slide
‘It’s me they’re after,’ Choopa thought, and his breath rasped in his throat, his heart thundered, his legs trembled as he sank into the grevillea scrub.
Presently, as there was no sound of anyone following him, he lay down. He lay still for quite a few minutes, then he realised that he could see through the thick branches, first his mother’s head, and then the whole shape of her. Somehow, without his hearing her, she had got herself quite close.
The horsemen had not been trying to catch her. In fact, one of them had cut Choopa off from her and chased him. She must have watched all that from some hiding place. Now, she was looking at him intently, almost willing him to make eye contact, and then it was as though beams wove their eyes together. Imperceptibly she moved closer towards him. Not one branch, not a leaf was disturbed by her movements, and all this time her eyes held him, so that he lay quite still. Only his ears flickered as he tried to pick up any sound … a nerve jumped in his shoulder … a rather distant occasional crack of a twig, nothing close to him at all. Then Dandaloo was beside him, nose touching nose. She quietly nudged him to follow her.
Choopa had learnt some hard lessons that afternoon — first, when he realised that the man with the lasso was after him and him alone. He had also learnt that it was difficult, but quite possible, to move through the bush absolutely silently. It gave him a very queer feeling, to know that the man was after him — uncertainty had come into his life, as though he were walking through a sphagnum bog. There were the high peaks of the mountains, around him — durable rocks, there for ever — but he felt as if he was walking on a shivery bog, stepping on tiptoes, making himself as light as possible.
In the far distance, he heard a sound that he had never hear
d before. It called up no picture in his mind. Dandaloo kept urging him on until they came to a steep, dense patch of scrub into which they forced their way and then sank down to rest in the middle of it.
The strange noise came and went occasionally. Dandaloo knew what it was. She had seen the machine that made the noise, and she did not like it or the sound. She had had a bad morning, and she was really very anxious after seeing that one of the men on horseback was after Choopa, not herself at all.
She had watched a sort of cage on wheels being pulled across the flat country by a jeep. Four-wheel drives had been in the mountains before. Men got in and out of them. Dandaloo had seen these vehicles travel over even quite rough country — rather slower than a horse could gallop.
Life for an old mare had become too full of anxiety. One thing that was so queer — a worry at the back of her mind — was that she was certain there had been several men on horseback. One man and horse she had seen before. He was a quiet man who had made sure she escaped from the yards after the round-up, when she had been caught. And wasn’t he the one on his horse, whom she had seen by the light of the burning forest?
Queerer still: it seemed that the Quiet Man had driven Choopa away from the other horsemen, as though he were protecting her dwarf foal. Even if one man were trying to protect him, she felt a terrible foreboding.
As for Choopa, he became aware, more and more, that he had something to fear.
It was several days before he heard that strange purring, metallic noise again. It came from a long way away, but he already associated it with danger. He saw his mother, a few yards off, raise her head, saw her ears flickering as she tried to pick up the sound. Then she began to move and her whole body told him to follow her, but he was always beside her, without being told, always trotting along with her.
He had learnt, now, to copy her silent movements, but it was quite difficult not to brush against shrubs with legs that swung out sideways, and were not easily controlled …
Dandaloo kept them hidden in dense bush, through which they travelled steadily.
Even Dandaloo was unaware that the man and horse who she had seen before, by the light of the burning forest, were on a parallel ridge. She only knew that, as the sun got high in the sky, and slowly started to sink, a sinister warning seemed to flow through the bush.
A whipbird’s repeated whip crack made sweat break behind Choopa’s ears and down his back, where the sweat turned cold.
He was sure that Dandaloo was heading for some hidden valley. She was going faster. His mother must be very worried. Then he heard the purr of an engine again and crashing and banging noises. Dandaloo listened. She knew it was a sound she had heard before, of a vehicle going over a ‘corduroy’ crossing of a swampy place. There was a rough road running through the bush, not far from where they were, and some of the wet places had had logs placed close together to make it possible to drive a vehicle across.
And as he heard the noises, Choopa’s skin began to creep.
Two men … one did not seem to have a rope … two men and this strange noise … A little ground dove scuttled under fallen branches. Bright-eyed, it peered at Choopa through the dry leaves. As Choopa hurried after Dandaloo, he thought that the dove knew he was in danger. If only he were dancing inside the magic circle of his animal friends now, he would be safe, protected by some magic spell.
The trees were thinning out, or perhaps there was a cut through the trees … a track … a road?
Something was behind them, something hurrying towards the track … Whatever it was, the sounds grew louder. Choopa pressed close to Dandaloo, knowing she was nervous. She edged to the left, but there was someone there, then she swung to the right, but someone was there, too.
Choopa’s thoughts seemed to be twisting, turning, jolting. He pressed his head against his mother’s blue flank. He was so close to her that his swinging legs could have tripped her. A horse crashed through the trees behind them, closing in on them, driving them on.
There were men on horseback ahead, sounds of branches breaking, sounds of men’s voices, then the chug, chug of the vehicle mixed with all the other sounds.
The forest seemed to draw apart, and they were in an open space, a widening of a track, but this open space appeared to be full of horses and their riders.
A rope flew through the air and fell over Dandaloo’s head. A man on a big horse had the end of the rope in his hand, and he pulled it tight, as Dandaloo pulled back, trying to escape, then reared and fought. Choopa, horrified, saw another man spring off his horse, grab the rope, then get a cruel grip of Dandaloo’s soft nostrils, great strong fingers twisting the blue grey flesh. Choopa leapt forward, and with a prodigious jump upwards, he succeeded in fastening his teeth in the man’s hand.
For one moment he swung there, hooves off the ground.
The man yelled and let go of Dandaloo’s nose, trying to shake Choopa off his bleeding hand. Another man got hold of the rope. Choopa let the hand go and went for the man who now had the rope — miniature blue and white horse ablaze with anger, kicking, striking and biting … and as quick-moving as lightning.
‘Grab him!’ one man shouted. ‘He’s a devil.’
Choopa was wildly striking at the man who held Dandaloo, and if anyone came up behind, he would kick with all his surprising strength. He knew he had to save Dandaloo, and he did not know how to do it.
Dandaloo was putting up a strong fight, but really only making the noose tighter around her neck. Choopa was not thinking of himself as small, even though the horses at whom he struck and kicked were so much taller. He simply had to force the men to give up and let Dandaloo go.
A voice called — sounding over the noises of shouting, and over the snorting and neighing of horses. Dandaloo succeeded in turning her head towards that voice, just briefly, before sitting back on her haunches to strike at the man who held at the lasso.
Neither she nor Choopa knew the words that were shouted: ‘Let the old mare go with her foal. No good will come of being so bloody cruel.’
The man who was holding the rope with bleeding hands, was only too glad to let Dandaloo go, but Dandaloo was not going without Choopa, and Choopa was attacking every man within reach — a quicksilver dwarf, madly trying to pay back every hurt that had been done to Dandaloo. Dandaloo knew she was free, and set off, calling Choopa urgently. All she and Choopa knew was that they seemed to get a good start. They did not know that the Quiet Man stood across the track to hold the others back.
Dandaloo, exhausted though she was, stayed in the lead. Presently she slowed up a little, and began to creep around in a circle behind where the men had been. Choopa remembered that she had seemed to know where she was going, before the men found them, aiming for some secret place. Once again, he just followed.
Then he saw a part-grown wombat sitting by some thick bitter-pea bushes. He recognised the wombat as one of the members of the enchanted circle who watched him dance. He slipped past Dandaloo and went quietly up to the wombat, putting his nose down to the black-button nose in the brown face.
The wombat patted his face and gave him a tug, then led off round the bush, and through an even thicker one.
Choopa and Dandaloo followed. They came out of the bush right on the edge of a steep cliff, and at their feet was a well-worn track — or slide.
The young wombat gave a sidelong, twinkling glance at Choopa, and started down at speed. He was leaning well back and in a few seconds was sliding faster and faster. The soil already seemed to be moving around him when Choopa stepped out of the bush and over the edge of the cliff on to the top of the landslide track. He found, with a jolt of fear, that there was nothing solid under his hooves, then hooves and legs seemed to race away from him, and he was almost resting on his haunches. He heard Dandaloo give a little snort of fear, but short of throwing himself sideways and out of the gathering landslide, there was nothing he could do.
The wombat was sliding down ahead of him, quite comfortably, as though he h
ad done this often. Choopa could hear Dandaloo snorting behind him, and he managed to look back at her. Dandaloo being much heavier than he, would have crashed into him had she not dug her heels in deeply. This moving track was obviously well used. It must lead somewhere … and it was a way of escape, probably used by many animals.
The slope became much gentler, and soon they were no longer sliding and could gather themselves together, and walk down into a little hollow surrounded by trees and bushes. The wombat patted Choopa on the nose again, and vanished down a large burrow.
The old blue mare and her blue dwarf foal hid themselves in the bushes and lay down, trying to get their breath, trying to still pounding hearts, trying to calm down. There was the tinkling sound of a creek flowing over stones and, presently, the song of a lyrebird.
A Lasso Flew Through the Dawn
Dandaloo had taken a very careful look around before lying down and finally going to sleep. She had seen no recent sign of other horses having been in that forest-surrounded hollow. In the steep slopes that enclosed them, she only saw one small clear space, a little rocky promontory that overlooked the hollow. Certainly there was no one up there. Tired out, she settled down beside Choopa.
The moon rose some hours later. Its beams moved over the little rocky promontory, then slowly flooded the tree-encircled hollow, and Choopa woke. He was suddenly on fire with energy, blazing with relief at having got Dandaloo away from the men and their vehicle, their ropes and their cage on wheels, and he sprang up and began to whirl round and round with excitement. Dandaloo was lying there safely, half-asleep … safe … no rope around her neck, no hand cruelly twisting the soft flesh of her nose. All was well — at least for a while.
Silver Brumby Echoing Page 9