by Karen Wood
‘Yeah, yeah,’ the man said, his face lighting up. ‘A few kays outta town. At the showgrounds.’
‘You riding in it?’
‘Yeah. That’s if me eyes are still working.’ He pointed to his face. ‘Gettin’ cataracts cut out. You goin’?’
Luke nodded. ‘Yeah, might have a ride on a mate’s horse. They put many cattle through up here?’
‘Few hundred,’ the man said.
‘They bring ’em in off the stations, do they?’
‘Yeah, muster up the scrubbers and the cleanskins, rough cattle, ay,’ the man grinned.
‘They heli-muster?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Horses too?’
‘A few for the wild horse race – there’s rodeo events too, bronc riding an’ that.’
Behind the man, out the window, Luke saw a small black horse wander onto the grounds of the hospital and begin picking at the green grass around the sprinklers. ‘Who owns all these horses?’ he asked. ‘Do they just wander around the town?’
‘Nobody owns ’em. We just live alongside ’em,’ said the man. ‘Till the grey nurse threatens to round ’em all up and shoot ’em – then everybody owns ’em.’
‘Grey nurse?’
The man snorted. ‘It’s not for the colour of her uniform, ay.’ He stood up, his hat in his hand and looked out the window. ‘Look, there she goes!’ He shook his head.
Outside, the horse trotted around the hospital gardens. Sister Suzie chased it, flapping her arms.
‘They any good for riding?’ asked Luke.
‘Bit skinny. Kids sometimes muck around with ’em.’ Then the man crinkled his eyebrows and looked thoughtful. ‘If they got fed right they’d probably be okay. There’s probably some real good blood running through some of them horses. Out on the stations the brumby stallions sometimes smash the fences to get in with the mares. Or the fences go down in the wet season when there’s big floods. The wild horses and the stockhorses get mixed up. Usually the domestic horses come back. But some of ’em are happy to stay out in the bush with the brumbies.’
He looked out the window and started chuckling again. ‘That horse has called his brothers in.’
Luke peered out the window. Two more horses had wandered into the yard and Sister Suzie was chasing all three of them with a mop.
18
LUKE FOUND AN external door in what looked like a huge laundry and discreetly discharged himself from the hospital, before anyone could confront him with his medical background, his history with welfare departments and his current state of homelessness.
He located the showgrounds on the outskirts of the settlement, right where the man had told him they’d be. There were stock trucks rolling up already and most of the yards were filled with big grey Brahmans. Several horses were tethered under trees with their saddles on. But he couldn’t see any wild horses. He wandered through the yards, the rails of which looked as though they’d been roughly cut from the branches of nearby box gums.
There were some sponsorship banners around the inside of the arena, a large Aboriginal flag, and a shelter at the end built from more local timber and roofed with leafy branches. There were murals with circled dot paintings and dreaming stories painted on a small block building that looked like some sort of canteen. Luke wondered what stories they told.
At the other end of the arena were rodeo chutes, and a big judge’s stand with speakers hanging off the sides.
Luke sat under a tree and looked down at his bare legs, his boots with no socks, and what was left of his shirt.
He looked like a complete derelict. How was he going to ride like this? Even up here they must have dress codes.
And then he thought he saw them. A small white truck rumbled past with several horses banging about in a stock crate on the back.
Luke got up and walked after it, trying to catch a glimpse of the horses. They were all ears and noses, peering through the rails of the crate, snorting and whinnying. From the racket, it sounded as though they were loose.
But when a man appeared and let them out, one had a saddle on its back and Luke recognised none of the others.
He walked back to his tree and sat in the heat, swishing flies off himself. More trucks rolled in. He kept an eye out for Bob, but hours later Bob still hadn’t appeared.
Some kids began galloping their horses around in a field opposite, wearing nothing but shorts, toes curled over their stirrup irons. Their bare backs gleamed in the sun.
More cattle trucks rolled into the showgrounds, day slipped into night and still there was no Bob. Several people camped in their trucks and horse floats or settled down under the trees to sleep in swags.
Luke took another of the pills Sister Suzie had given him for the pain and it made him warm, happy and drowsy. He had no blanket or swag, but curled up on his side under the tree and let his eyes close and his mind slow down into stillness.
He woke the next morning to something scratchy rasping over his cheek. A cold, wet bit of rubber snuffled in his ear.
‘Oh, yuck, get off me!’
Two pups were licking him. He pulled himself into a sitting position and wiped their slobber off with the back of his good hand.
One pup was yellowy-brown with black points. The other was black all over. Both had coarse fur, bony shoulders and round bellies. They stank.
‘They been eating sheep guts,’ said a boy standing nearby. He pointed away from the showgrounds to a stand of trees. ‘They found a dead sheep over there.’
‘Get away from me,’ Luke growled at the pups. His wrist throbbed under the plaster and his head hurt.
Both pups jumped on his lap. The yellow one immediately piddled and the black one pulled at his sling, ripping at it with sharp teeth.
‘Hey!’ yelled Luke. ‘You dirty little bugger!’ He shoved the incontinent one off his knee and grabbed the toothy one by the scruff of the neck. ‘Let go of my sling!’
When it clung on, he pulled his shirt off and scrunched it around its body, together with the sling. Then he flung the whole bundle away.
The black pup rolled around in delight, snarling and yapping at the shirt, its feet waving in the air. Then it pulled at the shirt with its teeth, ripping and growling, until it lay in tatters. Meanwhile, the yellow one slunk a metre away and vomited.
‘Take the shirt off my back, why don’t you,’ said Luke indignantly. He stood up and looked at the patch of piddle that had soaked into his shorts. ‘Who owns these dogs?’
A young boy trotted past on a grey horse and burst out laughing. ‘Them pups, they pissed all over him!’ he called to his friends. ‘They’re puking everywhere!’
Within minutes, Luke was surrounded by children on their horses. ‘Orrr, disgusting!’ they yelled. ‘Pworrr!’
Luke swiped at a pup with his boot. ‘Where’s the closest hose?’ he demanded.
‘Over there, at the yards. Don’t put dog spew in the trough!’ the kids sang, galloping off on their horses.
Luke walked after them to the yards, the two pups scampering around his feet. He quickly located the hose and began washing off his pants. ‘Trying to take my pants off me too, you little ferals?’ he said, squirting the pups in their faces. They yapped and bit at the water gleefully.
‘Who owns them?’ Luke asked the kids.
‘Looks like you do, now,’ one of the boys laughed.
‘They want to be yours!’ said another.
‘Not likely,’ grumbled Luke. He held the hose over his head and gave his body a quick squirt. ‘Get out of it,’ he hissed at the pups, lifting his boot sideways at them.
‘What you gonna call them, eh, dingo boy?’ said the boy on the grey.
‘Hydatids and Halitosis,’ said Luke flatly. ‘Filth and Fang.’ As he walked back to the tree, the yellow pup followed closely behind, its big tail wagging happily. Fang darted back and forth snarling at Luke’s ankles. Luke stooped, picked up the pup by the scruff of the neck and gave him a good shake. ‘If you wanna
hang around, you’ll have to learn some manners,’ he said, looking the pup in the eye. ‘Keep those teeth to yourself.’
Fang whimpered, lifted a lip and snarled back.
‘What was that?’ bellowed Luke.
Fang closed his mouth and wagged his tail sheepishly. Luke tossed him back on the ground. He sat against the tree and both pubs finally settled down and lay quietly at his feet. But Luke couldn’t relax. His wrist throbbed and he was starving.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small bottle of painkillers. He wrestled it opened and threw one down his throat. Then he pulled out his wallet and teased out his last fifty with his teeth. ‘When’s someone gonna start cooking some burgers around here?’ he asked the pups.
A semitrailer loaded with livestock rolled into the grounds and Luke saw the unmistakeable pointy ears of horses among the bedlam. He got up and followed the truck, then waited anxiously as it lined up the loading ramp and reversed in.
Stockmen hung off the sides of the crate, poking at the cattle with sticks and shooing them out the back door. In the middle of it all, Luke was horrified to see a small brown horse shoot out the gate and down the slippery race. She was panting heavily and nearly bursting with foal.
‘Get those horses into another yard,’ a stockman yelled. ‘That one’s gonna foal soon. She needs a drink.’
‘Separate those colts and mares,’ yelled another.
Luke was relieved to see the stockmen separate the horses from the cattle and put them in separate yards as they unloaded. He ran and jumped up on the rails. Rusty bumped against the brown mare, snapping his gums and bleating in his little goat voice. An old lead was dangling from his neck. There were rope burns around his throat, as though someone had had a go at handling him.
In the next yard, several adult horses bustled around nervously, bunching together at one end of the yard. Chocky pinned his ears back and snorted. The old red stallion was nowhere to be seen.
‘Woohooo! It’s gonna be a wild, wild horse race this year,’ laughed the gate man gleefully, as Chocky lashed at him with a hind leg.
Luke approached the other man. ‘What’s happening with those ones?’ he asked, pointing into Rusty’s yard.
‘Those ones?’ The man pursed his lips and thought about it. ‘Not good for much, probably go on an overseas holiday.’
‘Holiday?’
‘They’ll get sold for human consumption. The foreigners love ’em,’ said the man.
‘People eat horses?’
‘They your dogs?’ a stockman yelled at Luke.
In another yard, Filth and Fang were lurking about the heels of some cattle, sending them scurrying about the yard. Fang growled and snapped, while Filth slunk around with his ears back, dodging hooves.
‘Nuh, never seen them before,’ said Luke, just as Filth bounded over to him with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and a stupid grin on his doggy face.
‘Get out of here, you mongrel thing,’ Luke growled. Fang joined Filth, and the two pups pawed at his bare legs, whimpering.
‘Hey, dingo boy! Can my cousin play with your pups?’ called the boy on the grey as he rode up to the yard.
‘Never seen them before, ay?’ the stockman drawled.
Luke shrugged. ‘Give you a hundred bucks for that red colt in there,’ he offered.
‘Yeah, righto.’ The man answered so quickly that Luke was sure he would have taken half that.
He looked at the mare, bursting with foal, with sunken flanks and hollows above her eyes. She didn’t look good at all. And they were going to truck her to an abattoir.
‘How much for the whole pen?’
The man looked at Luke as if he was nuts. ‘Gotta feed those pups of yours, ay?’ Then he laughed and shrugged. ‘Hundred’ll cover it, if you want ’em that bad, kid.’
‘Can I pay you after the draft?’
‘Yeah, s’pose.’
Luke automatically held out his plastered hand to shake but pulled himself up just in time. ‘Hang on.’ He held out his left hand and offered an awkward cack-handed shake.
The man punched his knuckles. ‘They’re all yours, mate.’
19
LUKE WALKED BACK to his tree, his mind whirling.
He had to get some prize money. Where on earth was Bob? God, I hope he’s got me a ride. I hope he’s got some spare clothes!
Somewhere a barbecue was heating up and the smell of cooked beef wafted through the air. Luke’s stomach growled hungrily. He fingered the fifty in his pocket, knowing he would need it if he didn’t get a ride. He wondered how much the prize money was.
He walked to the secretary’s tent, behind the rodeo chutes, and took a program. It wasn’t big money – a hundred bucks to win the junior, two-fifty for the maiden. And he had no idea what horse Bob might come up with.
The waft of eggs and bacon hit him as he left the tent. He began to salivate.
‘Smells pretty good, doesn’t it,’ he said to the pups whimpering at his heels. ‘Come on, I’ll shout you.’
Luke sat under his tree and tore open the bag around one of two burgers. He gave it to the pups, who chewed it eagerly. ‘Better than sheep guts, ay, Filth,’ he said, biting into the other, closing his eyes and drowning in the sheer heaven of it.
He watched the showgrounds come to life. Trucks and utes and four-wheel drives rolled in until the grounds were choked with vehicles. An announcer started calling for late entries over a crackling loudspeaker.
The kid on the grey rode over with two other children, a girl and a boy, sitting behind the saddle. ‘See those pups? They been eating sheep guts,’ he told them proudly. ‘You shoulda seen ’em puking everywhere. And that yellow one, he crapped all over the place.’
‘Orr, deadly,’ laughed the boy.
‘Ewww,’ complained the girl.
‘Hey, Dingo, you riding in the draft?’
‘My name’s Luke.’
‘You riding in the draft, Dingo Luke?’
‘Depends if my ride ever gets here,’ he answered. ‘Do you know Bob Stockman? I’m waiting for him to get here.’
‘Yeah, yeah, we know Bob, don’t we?’ the boy said, turning to the other two children.
‘Yeah, yeah, Bob Stockman,’ they chorused. ‘And Paulie Stockman too.’
‘I know Ted Stockman and old Frank Stockman,’ said the girl.
‘And Perry Stockman.’
‘And One-eye Willy Stockman, him too.’
‘Big family,’ Luke commented.
‘Oh no, they not kin, they all just stockmen!’
‘Okay,’ said Luke, wondering if anyone really knew Bob, his Bob.
‘Hey, you can ride my dad’s horses. He can’t ride. He got his eye all cut up at the hospital and now he can’t see straight. His horses are just tied to the truck sleeping all day.’
‘Who’s your dad?’
‘He’s Pete Stockman,’ said the kid proudly.
‘Is he an artist, by any chance?’ asked Luke, beginning to feel confused.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
The man from the hospital waiting room walked up behind the kids. He had a large pair of sunglasses on and Luke could see a white patch under one of the lenses. The man slung an arm over the rump of the grey horse.
‘Dad, Dingo Luke can ride your horses, get your prize money for you!’
The man nodded to Luke. ‘You were at the hospital.’
Luke pointed to his plastered arm and nodded.
‘You looking for a ride?’ the man asked.
‘Well, yeah,’ said Luke. ‘My ride hasn’t turned up. Entries close any minute.’
‘You any good? Can you handle a stallion?’
‘No worries.’
‘With that arm?’
Luke stopped, unsure. Not only was he reduced to one hand, but it was his left hand. ‘Should be okay if he neck-reins.’
It must have been the right answer, because Pete nodded. ‘Wanna ride the young ones? Go e
asy on ’em, just give ’em a run?’
‘Yeah, yeah, for sure.’
‘Go halves in the money?’
‘Great. How many horses you got?’
Pete led him to a small white truck with four horses tethered to it. Luke looked over Pete’s entry forms and realised he could enter two horses in the junior event as well.
‘Sure, sure,’ said Pete. ‘Take the mare and the gelding in it. Better get your entries in quick, ay!’
Luke raced to the secretary’s tent with the two pups leaping and bounding alongside him. He picked up the form and when he saw the date at the top he paused and stared at it. October thirty-first.
Sweet sixteen, hey? Happy birthday to me.
Luke messily filled out a form with his left hand and paid an extra late fee.
He walked back to the truck via the cattle yards and stopped to look in on the brumbies. The little mare looked fuller in the flanks and more comfortable already. All four horses stood close together with their ears flicking back and forth, ready to take flight at the slightest provocation.
Rusty still had the rope around his neck and Luke could see that he had cuts up the side of one front leg.
‘I’ll get you out of there soon, Rusty,’ he said with a quiet intensity.
‘Can you get that pup outta there?’ demanded a voice. ‘Better tie ’em both up, hey?’
Luke hopped up on the rail and saw Fang, swinging off the nostril of a large red bullock. The bullock roared and flung its head around, but Fang held on for all it was worth.
‘Fang!’ Luke yelled. He looked earnestly at the irate stockman. ‘He’s honestly not my dog!’
‘Well, I’m gonna shoot it if you don’t get it out of there, real quick,’ the man grumbled.
The bull flung Fang clear over the rail. He landed with a yelp and scrambled to his feet. Luke pounced and dragged him away by the scruff of the neck.
‘What am I going to do with you?’
Back at the truck, Pete saw them coming and opened the hatch of a small mesh box behind the mudguard. ‘Chuck it in the dog box,’ he said.