There was no food, no rabbits, so Lightning had to go hunting and bring some rabbit back. Presently they all settled down for the night. Miss Dingo looked over at the dog pup’s nest, and finally curled up in it herself, whimpering. After a while Lightning curled up beside her and licked away her tears, and they slept there together.
But Lightning had a score to settle. The Brumby Hunter’s dog had killed the male pup.
Socks was wondering about Thowra. He knew he would have to go back because the Brumby Hunter was still somewhere near the Secret Valley — and so was his dog — but he suspected that Lightning wouldn’t go back with him, even if he did have a score to settle with the dog.
So it was that Socks set off on his own for Thowra’s Secret Valley, leaving the hollow tree one night as the full moon was waning.
Lightning licked his nose in farewell as Socks put his head down to the old dog. Then Socks went on his rather lonely way — wondering what he would find — Thowra in his Secret Valley, or Son of Storm with news of a big struggle and perhaps news of the death of the Brumby Hunter, trying to get down the cliff. Or would Thowra have gone off on his own to the Ramshead country — his country?
As he passed the Ingegoodbee Pools, Socks was beginning to feel more and more certain that Thowra would lead the Brumby Hunter a dance in the high country. There he would be absolutely in his own well-known country. He would know every hiding place.
Socks quickened his pace. He reached the Cascades in much better time than usual, in spite of quite heavy snow on the ground. Then he took an easterly line towards Thowra’s Secret Valley, ploughing through heavy snow as he got higher up.
At last he crept into Son of Storm’s Hidden Valley, thinking it might be best to go from there to Thowra’s Secret Valley and check whether Thowra was there before looking elsewhere for the Brumby Hunter.
Son of Storm seemed to know he was coming and greeted him with pleasure and friendship, then, as the dawn had not yet come, he escorted Socks to the nice dry cave in which Lightning and Socks had slept. There Socks lay down to rest, because he had covered a long distance very quickly and was tired.
He slept and was surprised to see Son of Storm asleep, too, when he woke; and wonderful, too, was it to see Lightning, who had travelled through the whole night to join him.
At the first grey sign of dawn, the three of them started round the cliffs to Thowra’s Secret Valley. Then through the grey dawn they could just see Thowra’s shape, and yes, Benni the kangaroo. They appeared to be almost tiptoeing, if a kangaroo could tiptoe! Thowra was making no sound at all, and looking all around as he climbed.
Socks had heard tales of Benni the kangaroo, and he guessed that Benni had come with a message for Thowra — perhaps something about the Brumby Hunter. Then he heard the whispering snowflakes, and their whisper as they fell through the sky told of the Brumby Hunter looking for the Silver Brumby’s tracks along the edge of the cliff, where surely he must have jumped — tracks that would tell if he had jumped to his death, or not.
There was Thowra, marvellously alive! What did the Brumby Hunter believe about him, anyway? Was it, as some said, just a ghost that the Hunter was hunting?
Ten
The ‘ghost’ climbed silently up the cliff track, Benni beside him. When he reached Socks and Son of Storm he signalled them to follow him back. Except for going into Son of Storm’s Valley there was nowhere to get to from the top of the track, and from the whispering snowflakes, they were safer hidden in the valley than getting out into the bush above.
Socks was wondering where Lightning was? He would like to have a go at punishing the Hunter’s dog himself. That dog deserved a hiding for killing Miss Dingo’s pup.
Thowra led them down onto the valley floor, and they got there just as the snowfall slackened. Thowra looked up and for one instant saw the Brumby Hunter. By the way he stared down, as though transfixed, Thowra was sure he had been seen. It was almost as if there had been eye contact between the Hunter and the hunted — the man and the Silver Horse — but the cliff top was too distant.
It was not too distant, however, for the man to make out the misty form of a silver horse standing on the valley floor in the falling flakes. ‘Like a cat with nine lives’, he cursed. ‘How the hell did you get there?’ Then the snow began to fall more steadily and blocked the man’s vision, making Thowra less clear.
Socks’s eyelids were matted with flakes, but he could still see the man and his dog and he heard the swearing; at the same time he wondered, ‘What now? Here are we, and here is that man. How can I get at the dog and pay him back for killing that dear pup? How can I stop the man hurting Thowra?’
Thowra knew what to do. He climbed back into Son of Storm’s Valley, leading Socks and Son of Storm, and then got up onto higher ground so that he could go round to mock the man on the cliff top. Socks wondered what way Thowra would take. Of course, if he were going to go jumping over the cliff, Socks would not know the way, but perhaps he would just lead the Hunter up into the Ramshead Range.
Socks followed with perfect trust, finding again that he seemed to have gained something from Thowra, more spring, more ability to climb slippery rocks. But something wasn’t right — he couldn’t hear Son of Storm behind him. He turned around to look for his friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. ‘He must have gone home,’ thought Socks. ‘Maybe there is more than one entry to the valley.’
They hurried, hoping to find the Brumby Hunter still there — and there he was, determined to find a way down into the valley, but the snow had covered the indented front hoofmarks where Thowra had jumped.
Thowra skirted round, far enough behind the Hunter and his dog to be neither seen nor heard, and went on further up through the bush, apparently looking for something. He found his way through the prosanthera bushes which suddenly opened out and revealed a promontory of rocky slate. Thowra stepped up onto it without making any sound and looked down on the Brumby Hunter. He was too far away to make eye contact now. Instead he threw up his head and neighed, one of his most come-hither neighs. Up from down in the bushes there floated a furious curse, ‘You bugger! I’ll get you!’
Thowra melted backward through the bush, and then led Socks on upwards. Presently they both heard the Brumby Hunter’s horse crashing through the scrub, following.
Thowra quickened his pace a little. He had his mind set on those rock tors of the Ramshead area. Already he could imagine the snow flying from his galloping hooves as he dodged around the rocks, and hear his neighs echoing off those rocks as he hid from the Brumby Hunter. Perhaps he might even stop to roll in the snow. Such fun, such fun!
But there was quite a long way to go before he and Socks reached the Ramshead tors, and once they got above the tree line they would not hear the Brumby Hunter’s horse following.
The Brumby Hunter could still hear Thowra’s mocking neighs, and they made him more careless than he might have been.
Once Thowra stopped and watched till his hunter got quite close, then from behind huge rocks he snorted snow at him — and then vanished!
It was easier for Thowra to disappear in a snow storm than for the black horse, Socks, but Socks was learning a few tricks from Thowra. All the same it was Socks, himself, who thought of standing under a snow-bowed young tree and shaking it so that its snow fell in great blobs on his black hide.
They had travelled very fast but, in spite of their speed, it was already getting dark and the wind was rising. They could sometimes hear the wind’s howl round the rocks. A willy-willy of snow swirled and rose up from the Leatherbarrel, buffeting them, filling up their hoofmarks.
A little further to go, and they would be among the rocky tors. The snow was wind-hardened now that they were getting higher up. Once they heard the Brumby Hunter’s horse neigh. It was then that Socks saw the crevice in the rocks where he and Lightning, Miss Dingo, and the pups had once sheltered, and wishing that they were still with him, he went towards the narrow opening.
Just then
the Brumby Hunter’s horse neighed and Socks neighed a wild call to the sky. Startled, Socks pushed his way into the narrow opening, away from the hundred and one echoes — some of them going far and wide, some of them muffled by the falling snow.
Thowra was looking startled, too, and he surprised Socks by quickly squeezing through the opening and, once inside, throwing a wild neigh.
Socks and Thowra were almost deafened by the enormous cacophony of calls.
They realised that the wild echoes would cause the Brumby Hunter to wonder where they were.
Both Socks and Thowra made out the Hunter’s shape go past two or three or four times … searching … searching … searching … Thowra threw another echoing neigh, to confuse the Hunter even more.
A dingo howled in the distance. Socks was certain it was Miss Dingo so he stuck his head out of the crevice, where there would be no echoes, and called, but Thowra pulled him by the ear. They were going to return to the Secret Valley.
Eleven
Thowra ducked back through the fissure just once more. Socks felt him go but even so he was not expecting the wild, rolling, echoing neigh. Then the echoes were taken up by the rocky hills around and above and rolled about.
The echoes were still rolling around as Thowra and Socks started for the Secret Valley, but as they turned down off the Ramshead Range, the lingering howl of a dingo was carried on the wind, and the howl was followed by a bark. Socks knew that Lightning and Miss Dingo were looking for him, and he began to go a little faster, urging Thowra on.
Another bark, just slightly different, stopped them in their tracks. It was not Lightning’s and was above and behind them. Suddenly Socks turned back — he would try to confuse the Brumby Hunter again. He hurried, cantering through the snow. It was not far to go to that fissure in the rocks. In his impatience to set those wild echoes ringing in every direction, he put his head through the narrow opening and called. Then he stepped back to listen. The sound came booming and rising to a high note. He pushed his head back in again, and this time gave a stallion scream. It almost pierced his eardrum; it was wild. As the echoes rolled, dying round the Ramshead tors — eerie in the falling snow — he heard the faintest of whinnies from close by, and knew Thowra had come back for him, so he stepped down from the fissure that led to the echo cave.
As Socks joined Thowra, he heard the distant dingo howl again, and was even more certain that it was Miss Dingo. Then came the bark that he absolutely knew was Lightning’s, and could hardly stop himself from neighing in answer. Dear Lightning, he missed him so, missed his company. Even though they had only been apart for a short while, it seemed like a lifetime because so much had happened and there had been so much uncertainty. Socks was glad his dear friend was safe. He remembered the old stockman’s whistle that was so like a bronze cuckoo’s in springtime. Poor Lightning, how the cuckoos’ calls had upset him when he heard them, and he knew his old master was dead.
Socks thought he would risk sending his special neigh to Lightning, and hope the Brumby Hunter did not hear it.
He and Thowra kept trotting along, listening and looking, looking into the bush on either side. They only heard the dingo howl that simply had to be Miss Dingo saying ‘Here we are’, but they could not see anything.
Lightning, however, must have seen them — the ghostly Silver Brumby and, perhaps, Socks’s four white legs in the darkness. Lightning’s low growl alerted Socks, and he trotted towards the dog and Miss Dingo, rubbing his head on the dear old dog’s coat.
They all stood together, Miss Dingo, Lightning, Thowra and Socks — Socks so delighted to be with Lightning again, and Lightning rubbing against him.
Then Lightning seemed to hear a distant sound. Socks and Thowra put their heads up to listen too. Far away they could all hear a heavy horse breaking through the bushes. It seemed to go more quietly for a few moments. There was just the whispering sound of many animals creeping.
They all listened for a while, and then Thowra led off again, moving more quickly now, because he knew that the Brumby Hunter was on their trail, and that now there would be Lightning and Miss Dingo to add to their tracks.
They went through patches of thick scrub, knowing that the snow shaken off the leaves would cover their tracks.
Socks and Lightning were so pleased to be together that they almost danced along — and Miss Dingo, knowing that Lightning was happy, danced along, too, and occasionally rubbed against Lightning.
The wind was coming now, in stronger gusts, and the taller trees were creaking. Strong limbs rubbed against each other, and a giant flying phalanger barked its repetitive bark. Everything was normal in the bush — for a night of rising wind — except for the whispered sound of animals creeping.
When they stopped to listen once, Socks saw that Lightning’s hair was standing up along his backbone, and he thought, ‘They’re getting closer!’ Thowra thought the same but also thought, ‘I’ve done it before, I can do it again, even if it is snowing hard. At least my tracks will be covered. He won’t see my exact take-off place!’ He trotted on a little faster, then faster.
Socks had an idea what was going to happen, but he was anxious. The snow was falling too thickly. He could hear the Brumby Hunter getting close. It was time to tug at Lightning’s ear and get further into thick scrub then head to safety, while the Brumby Hunter peered uselessly through the snow storm, listening for sounds he would never hear.
He urged Lightning and Miss Dingo into a thick wall of scrub, where he knew they could stay, and got a spot from which he could see out himself. By the sound of cantering hooves there would not be long to wait.
He saw Thowra hiding in another band of scrub, some distance from the cliff above. Then he saw him, all crusted with blowing snow, standing in a clearing, then rising up in a half-rear and suddenly throwing up his head and neighing, ‘Come and get me. Come and get me!’
The Brumby Hunter appeared, with his dog just at his horse’s heels. Lightning gave a faint growl and was ready to bound out at the dog, but Socks took hold of his ear.
Then Thowra took off at a gallop straight for the two candlebarks through which Socks knew he was going to jump. The Brumby Hunter leapt forward with a shout, but all he would have seen was the ghost of a horse leaping through the falling snow, as his horse slid to a stop on the snow-covered edge of the cliff.
Twelve
Two days later, Socks stood between Thowra and Son of Storm, staring up at the cliff top where the Brumby Hunter was walking about looking at tracks, or trying to find tracks that had vanished under the snow.
Benni the kangaroo had arrived at the Ingegoodbee, saying that Thowra might need help, and Socks and Lightning had gone back to the Secret Valley.
Socks touched Lightning with his nose. Lightning’s sixth sense should tell him what the Brumby Hunter was doing. Suddenly he felt Lightning’s hackles rising. Something must be happening up there!
Lightning stepped a few steps forward. He growled a deep growl.
Socks strained his eyes into the distance, through the faint predawn light. He realised that the dark bulk which he could see, hovering on the edge of the cliff, was the Brumby Hunter’s dog.
Lightning gave another throaty growl.
Then it seemed as if the dog on the cliff top took two tentative steps forward, hung there for a moment, then a half-step.
Even in the grey dawn, Socks could tell that the dog was trembling.
Socks knew that cliff top well. There was barely a foot hold for a cat, far less a heavy dog — but he watched.
Lightning watched, too, faintly growling way down in his throat.
Just then a great cloud of white rose-petal snow drops began to fall from the grey dawn, whispering snowflakes.
The dog on the cliff tried to bark. Socks and Lightning both saw that his feet were slipping. They could imagine the dog’s breath taken in sharply, and Lightning barked in sympathy, as though it were his feet slipping on the horrifyingly, steep cliff. Then there was the Bru
mby Hunter’s voice, calling his dog — but it was too late …
The dog had slipped and hurtled through the air. He gave one cry, and Lightning leapt forward as he landed on the first of Thowra’s landing places. He was apparently unhurt, though shaken. He had not folded his legs underneath like Thowra did when he jumped.
Lightning raced forward, heard the cry that the dog gave, but could see no way of reaching him, no way of him getting further down — or back up.
Suddenly feeling that the dog must be saved — even if he had killed Miss Dingo’s beloved pup — Lightning turned to Thowra to save him, but he found that Thowra was standing close behind him already.
They heard the Brumby Hunter calling his dog, and a faint whimper from the dog.
Lightning whimpered, too, suddenly feeling desperately anxious that the dog should be saved — even though he had a score to settle with him. Little did Lightning know that the instinct that was driving him was a family bond — the Brumby Hunter’s dog was in fact his half-brother.
Lightning looked anxiously at Thowra — his eyes pleading. Then he pressed against Thowra’s leg, asking him to help.
Thowra looked down at the old dog as he moved closer to the cliff, bent his head to him for one touch of friendship, and then looked up at the cliff again. By going round through Son of Storm’s Secret Valley and jumping over the cliff, he could land beside the dog on the little ledge. But that would give his escape route away to the Brumby Hunter. Better to keep his secret if possible, and find some other way.
He stood for a while, staring at the cliff — at the various little landing places for leaping down after the first wild jump through air.
Lightning looked from Thowra back to the cliff again. To him it looked impossible, but then so had the waterfall that Thowra had jumped into with Miss Dingo!
Then he saw Thowra begin to move forward, his eyes fixed on the cliff.
Lightning watched. Even if, by some miracle, Thowra got up to the dog, how could he get him down?
Silver Brumby Echoing Page 39