Kahu and Lara watched helplessly as Tusker dragged the white stallion away. Without the stallion to lead them to safety, the straggling band was soon rounded up by Tusker’s men. Even the old grey mare became flustered as Tusker’s men mustered them up into a frightened huddle. As they passed, Kahu reached out to Lara and touched her arm. ‘Koura needs our help now,’ he said to her.
They turned back to where Koura lay in the ditch. Although her knees were badly gashed, she was breathing evenly. ‘I don’t think she’s broken anything but we have to stop the bleeding,’ Kahu said. He gave Lara a knife and asked her to ride to a clump of flax growing on the lower slopes. She was to cut the long fibrous leaves and return with them as quickly as possible.
When Lara got back, she found Kahu cradling Koura’s head in his arms. He was stroking her face and speaking softly to her in Maori. He took the flax leaves, stripped off the outer leaf covering, and wrapped them tightly around Koura’s knees. ‘They act as a tourniquet as well as a natural antiseptic,’ he told her.
Gently, Kahu encouraged the mare to stand. She scrambled to her feet and took a few tentative steps. She was obviously in pain and could barely limp forwards. ‘Koura needs a vet. Are you up to riding back and telling Dad what’s happened? He may be able to bring the float out to meet us part way.’
Lara surprised herself by saying yes immediately, even though the idea of being out in the desert alone frightened her. What if she got lost? Kahu must have read her mind, because when she agreed he said reassuringly, ‘Robbie will know the way. Give him his head and he’ll get you there safely.’
It was still early morning and the weather had cleared. If Lara left now she could be back to the DOC rallying point before nightfall. As she passed the tent and bedroll to Kahu, he pulled her close to him and looked steadily into her wide green eyes. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said. She leapt up on Robbie and turned him homeward.
The ride back alone was nowhere near as bad as Lara had imagined. She was confident in the saddle now and trusted in Robbie’s instincts. She even recognised landmarks, like the strange huddle of boulders tossed long ago from the crater of Tongariro as if the mountain had been playing knucklebones. They trekked across the pitted landscape at a steady pace, diverting from the path once to avoid Tusker and his men. With satisfaction, Lara saw that the white stallion was still giving them trouble. He wasn’t giving in. He yanked against the halter lead, even managing to lash out at the black mare with one fettered leg. Tusker whipped him angrily and Lara hurried on. The sooner she fetched help for Kahu and Koura, the sooner they could help the stallion.
Lara and Robbie rode into the DOC rallying point late that night. Kahu’s father was there, waiting for his son. When she told him about the accident, his face set firmly and he said, ‘We can make it to the Argo. I’ll tow the float out with the four-wheel-drive. We’ll leave first light.’
15
Walking wounded
Lara helped Kahu’s father hitch up the float early the next morning and they headed out into the desert. As they drove off, she saw a large herd of Kaimanawa horses pacing anxiously in a corral. They’d been mustered the previous day and were awaiting auction. She hoped they would all find homes though she knew it was unlikely. There were mares and stallions past their prime and stroppy youngsters too spirited to make quiet pony-club mounts. She thought of Tusker dragging the beautiful white stallion back to this.
‘Have you ever heard of the white stallion?’ she asked Kahu’s father as they lurched across the desert in his four-wheel-drive. They were following in the tracks of the army vehicles and tanks that practised in the desert. As Crew Commander of an armoured-vehicle brigade, Kahu’s father knew the area well.
‘Hunters tell stories about a pure white stallion, but he doesn’t really exist,’ he said.
‘He does. I’ve seen him. And so has Kahu. He’s spent whole weekends with him.’
Kahu’s father studied her face. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Tusker and his men have caught him. That’s how Koura hurt herself, chasing after him.’ She told Kahu’s father about the brave white horse and how he had tried to protect Koura and Kahu from the men.
‘That’s a pity. The stallion couldn’t have fallen into worse hands,’ he said, adding chillingly, ‘Tusker lives up to his name.’
After driving for a few hours, they saw Tusker and his men herding the white stallion’s band towards them. Kahu’s father stopped the four-wheel-drive as Tusker passed by, dragging the stallion.
‘If my son’s hurt, Tusker, this will be your last muster,’ he yelled.
Tusker grimaced. ‘His donkey’s cut up, that’s all. Next time tell him to keep to the track.’
Kahu’s father looked at the white stallion for the first time and his face darkened. Sweat lathered the horse’s body and his sides heaved. He jerked his blindfolded head wildly and pulled hard against the chain shank.
‘That stallion’s stressed, Tusker. For pity’s sake take off that hobble and shank.’
‘Show me one wild horse that isn’t stressed today. Least he’s not going for pet food.’
‘Be kinder if he was,’ Kahu’s father replied, revving up the engine and gunning past the group.
‘Doesn’t DOC have anyone checking the condition of the horses when they’re brought in?’ Lara asked Kahu’s father angrily as they drove on.
‘They have vets monitoring the muster, but a slimeball like Tusker knows how to slip past them,’ he said furiously. Lara thought how much he sounded like his son.
It was late afternoon before they reached the foothills of the Argo where she had last seen Kahu. They came to the end of the tank tracks and were forced to stop and wait in the hope that Kahu and Koura had made it across the ridges and into the valley. Lara stayed with the vehicle as Kahu’s father tramped out to see if there was any sign of his son and the injured mare. She felt a rush of relief when she saw them coming over the brow of the hill towards her. Koura was limping and Kahu walked along beside her.
Kahu called the vet as soon as they got home. He could do little for Koura. Although nothing was broken, her knees were badly gashed and bruised. The vet warned that she might never be ridden again and it made more sense to have her put down. Kahu thanked him for his advice, and set to work healing her.
16
Healing hands
Lara walked home with Kahu each day after school to help with the horses. She groomed and fed Robbie and Hiriwa while Kahu treated Koura. He ran cold water over her injured knees for twenty minutes every day and massaged them with warm liquid made from the boiled leaves and bark of the manuka tree. He had learned the traditional healing treatment from his grandmother and she from her mother before her. Lara noticed the swelling in Koura’s knees ease slowly each passing day.
Hiriwa, the white stallion’s spirited young son, couldn’t understand why Kahu no longer worked with him. While Kahu tended to his mother, Hiriwa was always close by. Occasionally he reached out his velvety muzzle to nudge Kahu. Kahu would always stop what he was doing to gently stroke the colt and talk to him. ‘Don’t fret, when your mother’s better, we’ll get back to your training.’
‘Why don’t you let me treat Koura some days and then you could work with Hiriwa?’ Lara asked.
‘I caused the accident; I’m the one who should care for her,’ was all he said.
Kahu had become more solemn and quiet since the muster. At school he was the same old Kahu, cheeky and brash. But Lara knew it was just an act. When they were alone, he fell into long silences. And he never spoke of the white stallion.
She tried to talk to him about what might have happened to the horse. Ninety of the 200 horses mustered had found homes and the rest had been sent to the abattoir. But there had been no word of the white stallion or his band. No one had seen Tusker and his men bring them in apart from Lara and Kahu’s father.
A month after the muster, Kahu and Lara rode out on Koura and Robbie. The mare showed no signs of lam
eness now and was excited to be back out. She held her tail proudly and her ears pricked forward. Lara thought Kahu would be pleased with her progress. Instead, he seemed preoccupied. When they returned home, Lara went to his room to change out of her dirty jeans. She noticed a carving of a horse standing on his desk. It was the same height as the one he had carved of the white stallion, except whereas that carving stood tall and defiant, this horse had his legs splayed out as if struggling to stand. A heavy wooden collar hung around his neck and a long whip coiled across his back. As Lara ran her fingers over the wooden horse, she felt Kahu watching her from the doorway. He was waiting for her to say something.
‘It’s the white stallion, isn’t it? You’ve seen him again!’ she said.
‘Tusker has him penned up near an old tramper’s hut in the Kaimanawa Ranges. It’s where he takes his horses to be broken.’
‘How is he?’ she asked, knowing already by the carving and Kahu’s manner that the answer wasn’t good.
‘Tusker thinks he can break him in the old way. He has him hobbled and tied. If he shows any resistance, he whips him,’ Kahu explained sadly. ‘Tusker’s horses end up working out of fear. This horse is different. He’ll fight till the end.’
‘He can’t treat animals like that. Why don’t you tell the SPCA about him?’ Lara said angrily.
‘Tusker’s clever. His whips leave no marks. The SPCA would need to see him in action before they’d believe us. That’s how you can help,’ Kahu said.
‘Me? How?’
‘By asking your mother if she’d take photos of Tusker mistreating the stallion. If the SPCA had proof of what he was doing they could prosecute.’
‘No way! I’m not asking Mum for help. Why can’t we just take the photos?’
‘Because we’d have to hide, and the nearest cover is a long way from the hut. We need telescopic lenses and all the gear your mother’s got.’
‘Mum will freak if we ask her to hide and sneak around like that.’
‘Not if we tell her how Tusker is treating the stallion.’
Kahu didn’t know her mother. She was a real stickler for the rules, and she wouldn’t put herself out for Lara anyway. But she promised Kahu she would think about it and maybe approach her mother when she returned from a business trip to Wellington.
A few days later, something came up at school that gave Lara another idea of how they could help the stallion. They were in Mr Talbot’s art class and the kids were acting up as usual. Tane, Joe and Kahu were drawing cartoon faces in their sketchbooks and Aroha and Tammy were flicking paint at each other. Mr Talbot walked behind them, took the brushes off the girls, and looked over Kahu’s shoulder at the sketches he had drawn. ‘Very clever, Kahu. Why don’t you put your talents to use and enter the national school art competition?’ he said in passing.
Lara pricked up her ears. ‘Who can enter, Mr Talbot?’ she asked.
‘It’s open to Year 9 to 13 students whose artwork is chosen to represent their school. There are cash prizes and the winning entries tour nationally,’ Mr Talbot explained, pleased she had asked.
‘Yo, Mr Talbot,’ Tane called out. ‘You’ll be entering my plaster cast of Bart Simpson then?’
‘Of course, Tane,’ Mr Talbot said, playing along good-humouredly. ‘But I can certainly think of one person in this class who has the ability, if not the inclination, to enter.’ They all looked at Kahu.
Later as they strolled home, Lara put her idea to Kahu. ‘Why don’t you enter your carvings of the white stallion into the art competition? That way, people will learn about the Kaimanawa horses and how they’re being treated,’ she said excitedly. ‘Artists always have to talk about their work in articles and stuff, and when you win the competition they’ll want to know all about the inspiration for your work.’
‘What do you mean, when I win the competition? Come on, Lara, get real,’ Kahu said dismissively. ‘Those carvings are just lumps of wood.’
‘No way, they’re amazing. The first one you did looked wild and defiant, and the last one made me sad. Only good art can make you feel those sorts of things,’ Lara said firmly.
They walked on in silence for a while until Kahu said to Lara, ‘OK, I’ll do a deal with you. If I enter the art competition, you have to ask your mother to help us.’
‘You’re on!’ Lara said, wondering how on earth she was going to ask her mother for such a favour.
17
Witness to cruelty
Lara’s mother returned home from Wellington late that evening. Lara was sitting up waiting for her, the television casting a blue haze across the dark lounge. She wasn’t really watching it. She was running over in her mind exactly what she would say to her mother.
‘You don’t usually wait up for me,’ her mother said, surprised to see her. ‘How have you and Mrs Clarke been rubbing along?’
Mrs Clarke was their housekeeper. She looked after Lara when her mother was away, which was a lot lately. Lara didn’t see that much of her anyway because she was usually over at Kahu’s place.
‘Fine,’ Lara said. She went on in a rush, ‘Mum, can you do a big favour for me?’
‘I thought you wanted something. What is it this time?’ she demanded, sounding peeved already.
They hadn’t got off to a good start, Lara realised. She gabbled on, explaining about the white stallion and his capture and how Kahu had seen Tusker mistreating him. As she talked, she knew there was just no way her mother would help them. She played by the rules and wouldn’t trust the word of two teenagers anyway.
Lara’s mother watched her closely as she spoke, frowning when she heard about Tusker. When Lara finished she said, ‘You’re obviously upset. But what can I do?’
‘Come with us to the hut and take photos of Tusker to show to the SPCA so they can prosecute him,’ Lara asked half-heartedly.
She was astounded when her mother didn’t even hesitate. ‘Of course, if you think it will do any good. I can’t abide cruelty. On one condition—Barry comes with us. I don’t like to think what a man like Tusker might do if he found us snooping around.’
Kahu wasn’t in the least surprised when Lara said her mother had agreed to help. He planned for the four of them to head out to Tusker’s hut in the Kaimanawas that Saturday. They would drive out in Barry’s ute and leave it parked a few kilometres away, walking the last stretch. Kahu knew Tusker’s routine exactly. He had spied on him for the past month. Tusker lived on site in the old hut and kept a close eye on the horses. When he wasn’t working the stallion, he padlocked him up in a windowless shed near the hut. He had the stallion’s band corralled nearby.
Saturday lunchtime, they loaded Lara’s mother’s camera equipment into the back of the ute and Barry drove them out to the Kaimanawa Ranges. The native bush became denser and darker as they climbed into the rugged hills. ‘The deer hunting’s great up here,’ Barry said, trying to make light conversation. He told Kahu about his huge station to the southeast of the Kaimanawas, and the few wild bands of Kaimanawa horses he allowed free range there. ‘They were captured in the musters and destined for the freezing works. I’m happy for them to live out their days on my spread,’ he said. Lara had to admit he was a kindly man, even if he was a bit boring.
When they came to a clearing on the side of the gravel road Kahu told Barry to park the ute. They clambered out and headed into the thick wet bush, each of them lugging a piece of camera equipment. It was like going on a photo shoot, Lara thought, except instead of wild animals they would be photographing a madman. Her mother tramped on ahead, dressed in army fatigues and looking like something out of the pages of the Australian & New Zealand Defender magazine. Lara sighed. At least she’s trying to help, she growled at herself.
As they neared the hut, Kahu told them to stay quiet. They crept up behind the spreading branches of a kahikatea tree and peered out at an area of ground stripped of trees and baring red clay soil. A rough corral hewn out of old manuka stumps was directly in front of them. To the side a c
ouple of ramshackle huts teetered on stone foundations. Some horses huddled in the muddy corral, stomping at the ground and shuffling against the fence. Lara recognised the white stallion’s band.
Lara’s mother set up the camera gear quickly and noiselessly. Of course, she was a nature photographer, it dawned on Lara; she was used to operating in secrecy and concealment. Kahu had said that Tusker usually worked the stallion for a couple of hours in the afternoon. All they had to do now was wait until he appeared.
It was wet and uncomfortable crouching in the dripping dense bush. They stared at the door to the hut waiting anxiously for Tusker to come out. They knew he was inside as smoke billowed from the rickety chimney. While they waited, they heard thumping and stomping coming from a shed near the corral. The white stallion. Lara was pleased he still had the will and energy to lash out at his prison walls.
Finally, Tusker stepped out of the hut into the sodden yard. He cursed the weather, hoisted his jeans up over his bulging stomach and hauled on an old oilskin. He squelched along a muddy path leading through scrappy manuka trees to the stallion’s shed. He disappeared into a lean-to attached to the shed. Lara’s mother tracked him with her telescopic lens, training the lens on the door. The white stallion kicked out at the wall dividing them. ‘Shut up, ya brute,’ Tusker yelled at him. He emerged from the lean-to carrying a wooden head collar, saddle and ropes. He leant across the iron railings leading out from the stallion’s hut and unlocked the padlock on the door with an iron key dangling from his belt. The chains fell apart and the white stallion burst out of the door like a racehorse out of a starting gate.
Lara gasped as a metallic crash reverberated through the bush. A large iron crush, the type used to restrain cattle, clenched around the body of the white stallion. Next to her, Lara’s mother began to take photos. Tusker heaved the heavy collar over the stallion’s thrashing neck. He tied six strong ropes to the sides of the head collar, released the crush, and dragged the stallion out by the ropes. The stallion bucked, twisted and turned, struggling to break free. Tusker fastened the ropes to six posts placed an equal distance apart and began to tighten them. When he had finished the stallion stood pinned to the spot in the small corral. From their hiding place in the bush, they could see the horse’s eyes rolling in terror. Lara’s mother caught her breath and continued to take photos.
Restless Spirit Page 6