by Gloria Bevan
Pain twisted Angela’s heart. If they were husband and wife, Mark and herself. She knew with an ache of longing that if that were so she would never get accustomed to the dangerous sport, never!
A man speaking through a microphone interrupted her thoughts. There was a hush among the crowd as the first event of the day was announced and a call made for youths who had entered their names for the steer riding. “Good luck!” Angela called to Kevin, who was already hurrying towards the chutes where the steers were penned. Her good wishes mingled with the varied comments from the station staff.
Mark came to drop down at her side. “Don’t look so worried. They’re only riding calves, you know—”
“I know, but—” Angela held her breath as a chute was flung open and a steer rushed out, twisting and turning wildly. She caught a brief glimpse of Kevin’s bright green shirt as he kept a precarious hand on a thick rope. Then the boyish figure was tossed down into the dust of the arena. As the steer rushed wildly away in a cloud of dust Kevin, apparently unhurt, snatched up his precious rodeo hat from the ground and hurried away.
One after another, competitors followed the same pattern, each youth keeping aloft for only a few seconds. Angela couldn’t understand why the fallen riders weren’t trampled to death beneath the flying hooves. More and more steers crowded the enclosure until at last a man in a wide stetson and high boots entered the arena and sent them through a gate and into a paddock. The final competitor, a young Maori lad clad in jeans, scarlet shirt and with flapping sheepskin chaps, miraculously kept his balance until the bell rang and, smiling and waving to the crowd, he dropped to the ground.
As she watched the various events Angela had all but forgotten Pamela’s agitation until the open saddle event was announced, a chute was flung open and out shot a bucking, snorting, rearing animal, a rider clinging precariously with his long legs. Angela was aware of Pamela’s quick intake of breath as her eyes clung to Barry’s set face. He stuck to his mount for a torrid five seconds, then a sudden twist sent him flying ungracefully to the ground. He lay still as the bucking bronco cleared the gate and continued to buck his way amongst the milling steers in the fenced enclosure. Pamela’s fingers dug into Angela’s bare arm as two ambulance men ran forward, but the next moment Barry was springing to his feet and hurrying out of the ring.
“Thank heaven it’s over,” Pamela said on a sigh of relief.
Not for me, Angela thought. Deep down she knew that she was as apprehensive at watching Mark ride as Pamela had been about Barry. It made no difference that the circumstances were entirely different, that probably Mark hadn’t given her a thought since they had watched Kevin’s brief period in the ring. He had left her shortly afterwards. Of course he would be in the secretary’s tent with Susan, where else?
At that moment he came striding towards her, but almost at once the open buckjumping event was announced and he turned aside. “Guess that’s my call.”
She managed a bright smile. “Good luck, number thirty-five!” Good-natured masculine comments flowed around him. “Keep up the good work, boss!” “You can do it again, Mark!” Then he was moving towards the enclosure.
Angela was tense as she watched the chute open and the wild mounts released. Rider after rider came on and without lasting the distance was thrown almost immediately to the ground. Then came the signal for the chute to open for the final competitor. Angela felt her heart plunge as she recognised a familiar lean masculine figure astride a bucking, rearing fury. With his wide sombrero pulled low over his eyes and one hand held aloft Mark stuck to his command. It was clear that his mount was determined to unseat him, but Mark too was determined, even though it appeared a fairly close thing. As the seconds ticked away Angela was holding her breath, barely aware of the encouraging shouts and cries echoing around her. “Stay with it, Mark! Don’t forget the glue!” But surely no rider could for long retain his seat on that twisting, bucking mount! Yet still he continued to keep his balance through an interminable ten seconds.
Angela was jumping up and down with excitement, yelling with the rest, then sighing with a terrific sense of relief as the judge’s bell shrilled. A cheer went up from the crowd as the rider slipped to the ground and as the horse leaped and bucked its way down the enclosure Mark’s glance sought that of the party from the station. No, not the party but—herself! Angela had the ridiculous feeling that he was especially pleased because she had been there to witness his victory. Now he was strolling across the grassy area in the direction of the familiar group, but his gaze was seeking her out. Relief and emotion chased every other thought from her mind and as he reached her she looked up at him, hazel eyes brilliant. “You were marvellous, staying put like that! I couldn’t breathe, I was so excited wondering if you’d last the distance! I even forgot to think to myself, what if he falls, gets badly hurt—”
His warm intimate glance belied the lightness of his tone. “And then I lived to ride another day! Anyone would think you cared, Twenty—”
“Oh, I do! I do!” She laughed on her breathless husky note. “I never knew ten seconds could be so long! Mark—”
A group of shepherds and their wives surged between them offering congratulations laughing and talking all at once. “Good for you, Mark, you’ve kept up the record! Why don’t you give someone else a chance for a change?”
Angela was scarcely aware of the chattering voices. The heady sense of excitement still possessed her. He’d looked for her, no one else, in the crowd! Those cold blue Hillyer eyes had lighted up at last, and for her! The heady sense of elation lasted even as she watched him leave the party and stroll away in the direction of the secretary’s tent.
The picnic lunch was leisurely and enjoyable. There had been no serious accidents to mar the enjoyment of the morning’s programme and everyone was in holiday mood. Even when Mark brought Susan with him to join the group on the grass Angela still felt that dizzy sense of happiness. Susan announced to all and sundry that she couldn’t afford to stay long, her time was precious, but if they liked she could join them for a quick sandwich and a cuppa. To Angela the other girl’s attitude was very like that of a monarch conferring a favour on the rabble. She brought her thoughts up short. There she went again, indulging in a private hate session against Susan, or trying to. Somehow today she was finding it difficult to hate anyone.
It wasn’t until a loudspeaker blaring over the crowd called for the entrants for the bulldogging event that Angela realised that so far today she hadn’t caught sight of Brian. Perhaps he , had met friends and lunched with them. A masculine voice somewhere near at hand was saying, “Bulldogging, isn’t that Brian’s speciality?”
“There he is now!” a man’s voice answered, “going towards the chutes.” A few minutes later someone said “Wait for it!” and Angela watched fascinated as a bull was released from the chute and galloped down the arena. There was a hush amongst the crowd as a rider galloped alongside the enraged beast, flung himself on the animal’s back grasping the horns and endeavouring to slip to the ground. Before he could do that, however, he went flying to the ground, then hurriedly picked himself up and ran out of the ring.
Over and over again the procedure was repeated as various riders were eliminated. One bull that managed to break free of the enclosure was chased by two outriders.
Last of all came Brian, a slight figure mounted on his sturdy stock horse Blazeaway. The next moment he was galloping alongside the beast, flinging himself on the animal’s back. Still grasping the horns, he slipped to the ground and digging in his heels as a brake, brought the huge beast down. A roar of applause went up from the watchers and Brian rose to his feet. Angela saw him give a thumbs-up sign to someone at the far end of the enclosure and her gaze went to the chutes. A quick breath escaped her. It couldn’t be, not Martha! But it was! There could be no mistaking that cloud of fiery hair. Almost as if she realised Angela had recognised her the other girl moved out of sight amongst the makeshift buildings.
All at once Angela recalled
Brian’s furtive tones in the telephone conversation on the night of the barbecue, the parting words she couldn’t help but overhear. “See you at the rodeo.” So—he had had to prove himself to Martha, to demonstrate his manly prowess despite his slight physique and his recent accident. And Martha? How else could she see Brian? How could she visit Waikare knowing that everyone there was aware of the way in which she had let Brian down, and especially herself!
Her thoughts in a wild tumult she realised that Brian was making his way towards the party from the station. A quick glance around her made her aware of the next event as girls wearing jeans, colourful shirts and wide hats moved towards the stands. At that moment Mark strolled into view at the side of a golden-haired girl leading a spirited palomino. All the brittle happiness of the morning died into nothingness, for it was clear that at this moment neither the red-haired stranger nor Twenty, his employee, would interest Mark. He was totally involved with Susan and her barrel race. Surely she must have imagined that look in his eyes this morning!
Getting to her feet, she pushed her way through the groups gathered near the railings and made her way to the back of the chutes and the restless horses penned in the corral. For a moment she feared she was already too late, for Martha was seated at the wheel of a yellow and black rental car.
“Martha! Wait!” Had the other girl heard her frenzied cry? She couldn’t tell. Either Martha was avoiding her or the clamour of the crowd had drowned her tones.
Martha had already turned on the ignition key of the car when at last Angela stumbled breathlessly to the window. All the angry accusations that had crowded her mind vanished and instead she demanded “What are you doing here?”
She flinched at the angry, tight look. “What’s that to you?” She had forgotten the cruel line of Martha’s lips when anyone got in the way of her plans. Already the engine was purring softly and she knew she would have to speak quickly. “You might have told me what you were letting me in for instead of pushing all the blame on to me!” she said hotly.
Martha’s cool gaze surveyed her dispassionately. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about! All I did was to put you in the way of a good thing.”
“You were looking for work on a back-country sheep station, you told me so yourself.” The icy tones cut deep. “They tell me the boss is single and quite a charmer. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”
Angela floundered. She had noticed, that was the trouble, but how hide all that from those probing eyes? “That’s ridiculous! He’s an employer, that’s all!” If only Martha hadn’t noticed the flags of colour in her cheeks.
The other girl shrugged. “If you want to play it that way, neglect all your opportunities—but then you always were a bit naive and soft as butter when it came to looking after your own interests.”
A sick feeling of frustration swept over Angela. Too late she realised she had been successfully diverted from the subject that really mattered. “It’s Brian,” she said very low, “he’s been ... pretty ill.”
With an angry flick of her anger Martha turned off the ignition key and swung around to face Angela. “I suppose you think it’s my fault that the idiot turned his car over?”
“It was your fault, in a way.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Angela! You sound as if you’ve been pressured into thinking all sorts of wild things about me. If that’s what comes of your staying up in the wilds with Brian’s folk I’m sorry I sent you there. Just because I didn’t jump into his arms the moment the ship docked at the wharf in Auckland—anyway. I’ve got to go!” Once again the engine purred softly. “I’m not used to these roads and it’s a fair mileage back to Whangarei.”
“But what about Brian?” Angela was determined to have this out. Martha’s cold stare was intimidating, but Angela clung determinedly to the window ledge. “You’re not thinking of changing your mind again, going on with things the way you planned them at first?”
“Wedding rings and all that stuff, you mean?” Martha’s flashing smile was untinged with humour or gaiety. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Why don’t you ask Brian yourself if you’re so keen to meddle in other folks’ affairs?” The car was moving slowly away when Martha flung from the open window, “Not that he’s likely to tell you. He’s got more sense than I credited him with!”
Angela stood watching the rental car as it bumped and lurched its way over the dried grass to turn into the track winding over the hill towards the main road. Why don’t you ask Brian? But what good would that do? Martha was perfectly safe in giving the advice. She was making her way back through the group of picnic parties when someone took her arm and she glanced up into Mark’s smiling face. “Come and watch this, Twenty!” He was guiding her towards the railings. “It’s something you might be interested in!”
How could she tell him that watching Susan win her barrel event wasn’t exactly her idea of riotous enjoyment? Nevertheless she went with him, watching the women riders turn on the barrel where wide cornering loses time yet being too close could upset the barrel and cost the entrant a penalty. When Susan’s turn came she made an eye-catching figure in blue jeans, a chased leather belt, pale blue shirt. Her blonde hair was flying behind her as she urged on Coffee, her well trained mount, and of course she won the event. Wouldn’t you know that Mark would be there at the railings to watch her ride to victory! When the event was over she came riding towards them and Mark was the first to congratulate her on her win while Angela stood forgotten in the crowd.
When the events were over and Susan had gone they turned away. For a moment Angela was tempted to confess her meeting with Martha a few minutes previously, then she decided against it. It could do no good to mention the other girl’s visit here. Oh, come, now, be honest with yourself for once! You know very well that to bring up that subject will be to invite even more suspicion and questioning. Why spoil this moment in the sunshine with Mark’s bronzed fingers resting on her bare brown arm, his deep voice saying “Come along and we’ll take a look at the tug-of-war.”
What matter that the only reason he was with her was that his girl-friend was confined with her duties in the tent? That to him she was merely a girl to whom he had given employment, and temporary employment at that! It was no use, nothing seemed to register today but the bittersweet happiness of just—being with him. That was the way he affected her and there seemed nothing she could do about it.
When they reached the long stock truck, muscular men were pulling on either side of the rope. The two sides strained and at last after a hefty tug the rope yielded. Then one party fell in a heap and the victors cheered wildly.
They strolled on together and all at once it seemed to Angela that sunshine blurred and shimmered over green hills and colourful garments. Mark bought pieces of water melon from a small Maori boy and they ate the cool pink wedges, wiping sticky hands on Mark’s snowy handkerchief.
The soft lilac dusk was stealing over the hills when the last horse bucked its way down the enclosure and through the gate. Presently Mark, Brian and the shepherds from the station were herding the horses together. Men in high boots and stetsons joined them to move the wild rodeo mounts into paddocks for the night.
It seemed, however, that the day’s activities were not yet over for in the grounds wisps of steam rose from the hangi prepared earlier in the day by local Maoris.
When the men returned they joined groups gathered around the steam-filled pits. The food was delicious, Angela thought, succulent pork and tender chicken that had been covered in leaves and steamed for hours in the earth ovens. There was sweet corn, pumpkin, kumera, all in portions wrapped in a white napkin and served in a native basket woven from freshly-pulled flax. All at once Angela lost her appetite for the delectable food. Was it because she had just caught sight of Mark standing beside Susan? The two appeared oblivious of the crowd around them as they discussed matters apparently of interest only to themselves. If only it didn’t hurt so much. Angela swung blindly away and a male voice said. �
��Pleased to see me, Angie? I made it!” John’s bearded kindly face, dark eyes that were warm and friendly. Perhaps something a bit more than friendly. “We just knocked off work an hour ago and I had a shower and a change in five minutes flat! One of the gang lent me his old bomb. I told him it was something important, I just had to get here tonight. So it was—important, I mean, to me!” His brown eyes smiled into hers with an expression that was warm and loving. No questions there, no suspicions spoiling everything. She was pleased to see him, of course she was!
Soon the hills around were dark smudges against the golden bars of sunset and as the apricot sky faded a lone star glittered in the clear pale blue. A few of the Maori rodeo riders had brought guitars with them and presently in the star-flecked darkness soft voices took up melodies that ranged from the latest hit tunes to native chants as old as time. To Angela the plaintive. Maori songs had an almost unbearable poignancy. Or was it merely that her own feelings were so hopelessly caught up with Mark? As the evening wore on she saw that he had left Susan’s side to merge in with various groups of young farmers, his pipe alight. Perhaps he and Sue had quarrelled, perhaps—Oh, why must she think of him all the time? She must stop her gaze from straying endlessly towards the tall lean figure, make a better job of acting out a happiness she was far from feeling, else John might suspect the truth.
It was a relief to her when at last families began folding rugs, gathering up sleepy children and moving towards cars and trucks. All at once she was aware of Mark approaching her. “Time to get cracking, Twenty!” Nothing could be more careless than his tone. She might just as well be Kevin, the way he spoke to her. All at once she was swept by a wave of frustration and anguish. Oh, it was easy for the boss to be nice to her, when it suited him. To share his favours between Susan and herself, never giving himself away. But it was a game at which two could play. She was glad, glad, glad that John had made such a determined effort to be with her tonight. He couldn’t have arrived at a more opportune time. “Sorry,” she hoped her voice sounded light and disinterested and not sorry at all, “but I promised John I’d go back with him.”