by Janet Gover
Trish vanished through the doorway towards the back of the hotel, still talking. Quinn tuned the voice out and typed brumby rescue once more into her search engine.
‘How many brumbies are there?’
Quinn turned around to find Carrie standing in the doorway of the pub. Quinn knew Carrie was in her mid-twenties, but at that moment, she seemed very young and very uncertain.
‘Dan thinks there are about forty of them.’
‘I’d like to see them.’
‘Of course.’ Quinn looked at her watch. ‘They come to drink at the billabong at sunset. At least they have been. It’ll take about an hour and a half to get there. We should make it just in time.’
‘Dan isn’t going to … tonight? Is he?’
‘No. He’s holding off as long as there is still some hope we can rescue them.’
Carrie nodded. Quinn had the feeling the girl was holding on very, very tightly to her emotions … and whatever those emotions were, Quinn would have bet money that fear was right on the top of the list.
Quinn quickly darted up to her room to put her laptop away and collect the keys to her HHcar. She thought briefly about trying to let Dan know they were on the way, but decided against it. She wanted to get back to Carrie before the girl changed her mind.
Apart from a brief exclamation of awe when she saw the Hummer, Carrie spoke very little during the long drive to the national park. Quinn didn’t push her. When they reached the ranger station, one glance at the carport told Quinn that Dan wasn’t there.
‘He’s probably at the same spot we’re heading to,’ Quinn told Carrie. ‘He’s monitoring the brumbies fairly closely.’ She didn’t want to tell Carrie how badly the horses had been spooked – and by whom.
They set off in the direction of the billabong. Quinn spotted Dan’s Land Rover and pulled up next to it. She and Carrie climbed to the top of the ridge. Quinn noticed that Carrie made light work of the steep scramble. Whatever physical injuries she had suffered in that fall, she seemed to be completely recovered.
Dan was already there, hidden among the rocks. He was not carrying his rifle. Of the brumbies, there was no sign. Carrie barely acknowledged Dan’s presence. She carefully and quietly lowered herself into position among the rocks, a little distant from the others, where she had a good view of the billabong.
Dan looked at Quinn, raising one eyebrow in question. Quinn shrugged. No one said a word. An almost tangible stillness settled over the three people as they waited for the herd to appear.
The sky was turning all shades of purple and pink when they finally came. They walked slowly down the base of the gorge, heads turning to look around them. They were still wary. The stallion brought up the rear, his shapely head tossing as he scented the air, alert for the merest suggestion of danger to his herd. His white blaze was easy to spot in the gathering twilight. Quinn’s fingers twitched, aching for the camera that she had left in the Hummer. She hadn’t dared risk it. The horses were so nervous now, that even the clicking of a shutter would send them flying.
Beside her, Dan silently reached out and placed his hand on her arm. She turned to look at him. Silently he directed her gaze towards Carrie.
Carrie was staring down into the gorge, her face shining with emotion. Quinn thought she caught a glimpse of tears. She hoped that was a good sign.
Quinn turned back to Dan, and saw that he was smiling. A slow, satisfied smile that looked very good on him. Quinn became very conscious that his hand was still on her arm. His touch was warm. She felt slightly bereft when he moved it away.
The three sat in silence for what seemed like half a lifetime, as the horses drank their fill, then turned and made their way back up the gorge at a leisurely pace, picking at the vegetation as they went. The sun was long gone, and soon the horses faded into the darkness, leaving not even the sound of their passing.
Quinn sighed and got to her feet, stretching her cramped muscles. Beside her, Dan was doing the same when Carrie leaped to her feet.
‘I know him!’ she said, her voice brimming with excitement.
‘Know who?’ Quinn asked.
‘The stallion. I know him. I’ve ridden his sister. She was just wonderful.’ Carrie shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just seen. She took a long slow breath to calm her emotions. When she spoke again, there was a firmness and confidence in her voice that Quinn had not heard before.
‘I know how we can save them.’
Chapter Nine
Justin Fraser tossed his broad-brimmed Akubra into the air. The big bay gelding snorted in fear and leaped away. The reins in Justin’s hand snapped tight, spinning the gelding to face him. The horse quivered with tension as it stared at the hat, now lying in the dust at Justin’s feet.
‘That was not so good,’ he said in a low soothing voice. ‘It’s just a hat you know. It’s not all that scary.’
The gelding seemed to disagree. He snorted again and tossed his head as Justin bent to retrieve his hat.
Chuckling quietly, Justin stepped closer to the horse, and threw the hat up into the air again. This time the gelding kept all four feet on the ground and contented himself with rolling his eyes in protest.
‘That’s better.’
Justin picked up his hat again. Instead of putting it on his head, he placed it against his saddle, and then began moving it over the horse’s rump. The horse sidled away but Justin stayed with him, continuing to move the hat over the animal’s side and onto its neck. When the horse had remained stationary for almost a minute, Justin tossed the hat into the air again. This time the gelding ignored it.
‘Well done,’ Justin said, stroking the bay’s nose. A horse that spooked every time a man’s hat blew off was no good to anyone. ‘That’s more the sort of behaviour we expect from a Fraser horse. You keep that up, and you’ll go far.’
At least, Justin hoped he’d go far. And bring a good price at sale when he did.
Justin retrieved his old Akubra from the dust. The hat had been through the same process with quite a few young horses and looked very much the worse for wear. But it was comfortable and it still kept the sun off his face. He had his good Sunday hat, of course. Not that he used it often. Running a property like this single-handed was hard work. He seldom took a day off.
Beside him the big bay gelding raised his head and whinnied loudly, gazing into the distance. Justin followed the horse’s gaze, taking in the broad flat paddocks, the scattered trees. The grass still retained a touch of green from the rain, while above the sky was a brilliant blue. He took a deep breath to breathe in the scent of the land. Fraser land. Land that he loved, as had his father and grandfather before him.
‘So, feel like stretching your legs?’ Justin asked.
In response the gelding tossed his head.
‘All right, then,’ Justin said. He swept the reins over the horse’s head and moved to its side. Anticipating what was to happen next, the big gelding started to prance. Justin tightened the inner rein, forcing the animal to circle him, rather than step away. He lifted one booted foot to the stirrup and lifted himself smoothly into the saddle. The gelding humped his back and gave a small jump.
‘So, that’s how it is,’ Justin said, closing his long legs firmly against the animal’s side. He seldom wore gloves when working a young horse, preferring to keep a more sensitive contact on the reins. His hands responded as the horse dropped its head again and bucked once. Justin held his seat easily. He urged the horse forward with legs and hands and body. The gelding complied. He pranced a few more steps before breaking into a long striding swift trot. Justin curtailed his own impatience for another two minutes, holding the horse at a steady speed to make sure the lesson registered. Then he nudged the animal gently with his heels.
The horse leaped forward. He stretched his legs into a ground-eating gallop. Justin held himself easily in the saddle, his body completely in tune with the movement of the horse beneath him. This was the best part of his day. This was w
hat made the sweat and the sacrifice worthwhile. This feeling. This was what made his heart beat and his lungs draw breath. This was why he was born. Justin lost himself in the joy of the moment.
All too soon, he began to bring the horse back to a slower pace. The gelding was young. He couldn’t stand up to this hard pace across the dry earth for too long. But one day he would. Justin stroked the horse’s neck, now dark with sweat, and the animal relaxed, its breath still heaving through flared nostrils. The gelding was a good horse. Not quite the quality Justin was striving for, but a good animal none-the-less. He would certainly make a good stock horse. Maybe even make a showing at campdraft competitions, or picnic race meetings. Justin would get a reasonable price for him. There were a couple more youngsters also showing promise. Maybe this year he’d have enough money for that infusion of new blood his stock needed. He’d prefer an infusion of old blood, but that just wasn’t possible any more.
Justin was feeling pretty good as he rode back through the home paddock towards the yards and stables. He let the gelding relax, stretching its head long and low as it walked quietly. It was almost midday. Justin decided he’d have a quick look through the latest sales catalogues as he grabbed something for lunch. He had a couple of horses almost ready for sale, and it would be good to know what else was on offer, and what sort of prices were being paid. And there’d be listings of potential stud stallions for sale too. Even if he wasn’t ready to buy yet, it couldn’t hurt to know what was out there. This afternoon he had two more horses to work – and he wanted to check the water level in his dams. Then he needed to check the fence line.
The gelding lifted its head and whinnied loudly.
‘Eager to get back?’ Justin asked. Then he realised what had attracted the horse’s attention. There was a vehicle parked in his stable yard. And three people obviously waiting for him. He didn’t get visitors often – and now three in one go.
‘I wonder what this is all about?’ he mused.
He didn’t hurry. As always, his first thought was for the animal he was training. That was always how it was. His father, the legendary trainer, Sean Fraser, had taught him well. Justin could no more have broken that rule than he could have caused rain to fall from the achingly blue sky above.
The gelding did not put a foot wrong as Justin opened the last gate without dismounting. They approached the stables at a walk. As he drew closer Justin recognised the National Parks logo on the door of the vehicle. He also recognised the park ranger. They had met once, briefly, while both were buying supplies in Coorah Creek, his nearest town just fifty kilometres away. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but did remember his distinctive red hair. The tall blonde woman was a stranger to him. And the third …
The gelding tossed his head as Justin’s hands clenched on the reins. For once, Justin didn’t instantly respond. His eyes were fixed on the third person waiting for him.
It was Carrie Bryant.
He’d seen her ride more than once. The first time was at Mt Isa Races. She was mounted on a big grey. The horse had been a top earner as a two-year-old, and was looking to set some records in its second year on the track. Carrie seemed so tiny up on his back, but she had been totally at home; moving with the horse and keeping it controlled until that moment when the barriers lifted and the horses flung themselves at breakneck speed down the track. That ride had truly been something to see. Carrie held the big grey just behind the leading pack until exactly the right moment, then unleashed the animal’s power and speed. More than that, she had somehow managed to tap into the horse’s psyche and desire to win. On the straight, Carrie steered her horse wide and they passed the pack as if the others were standing still. She won that race by more than two lengths.
Justin was one of thousands of people cheering her as she rode to the winners’ circle. She removed her helmet and held it high over her head to acknowledge the adoration of the crowd. Her face was stained with dust and sweat. Her short dark hair stuck out around her head in a spiky mess. But her face was shining with sheer joy and Justin thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
On reaching the winners enclosure, Carrie had leaped from the saddle and pulled her gear from the horse’s back. In the few seconds before going for the official weigh-in, she paused long enough to stroke the big grey’s face. When the animal lowered its head to accept her hand, Carrie had leaned forward and planted an exuberant kiss right on the animal’s nose.
At that moment, Justin had fallen just a little bit in love.
He’d fallen a little further each time he saw her ride until that terrible day at Birdsville Races when her horse stumbled, sending her rolling beneath the flashing hooves of the racehorses. He’d watched helplessly as she’d been rushed to the air ambulance and flown to the hospital for surgery.
He’d only seen her once since then. At the back of the feed store, when he was picking up supplies. She had looked tired and thin and pale. Just a shadow of the woman she’d been. They hadn’t spoken. He would not have known what to say to her.
And now here she was, standing in his stable yard. Waiting for him. She still looked a little pale and thin. He didn’t like to see her looking so fragile. There was sadness in her eyes and is heart ached for her.
Justin halted the gelding and swung down from the saddle. As he did, the gelding took fright at some imaginary hazard and shied to one side. Carrie’s face paled even more and she quickly stepped back. Almost as if she was frightened. Justin took a firmer grip on the animal’s reins.
‘I don’t know if you remember, I’m Dan Mitchell.’ The red-haired man stepped forward and extended his hand. ‘I’m the ranger at the Tyangi Park.’
‘Of course.’ Justin took the man’s hand.
‘And this is Quinn. She’s a wildlife photographer.’
Justin shook the woman’s hand, impressed by the firmness of her grip and the clear friendliness of her eyes.
‘And this is—’
‘Carrie Bryant,’ Justin interrupted. ‘I know. I saw your ride on Hawkwood at Mt Isa a couple of years ago. It was really something to see. I lost a few dollars that day because I didn’t have the sense to bet on you.’
Carrie smiled, but didn’t step forward or offer to shake his hand. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said in a too quiet voice.
‘Don’t worry. I got it back next time you rode and I bet on you.’ Justin watched her face for a few seconds, but apart from a quick glance up at him, she kept her eyes fixed on the horse moving restlessly at his side.
‘So, what brings you here?’ He directed the question at Dan.
‘It’s a long story,’ Dan said. ‘But we are here to ask for your help.’
Before Justin could respond, Carrie took a step sideways to put a greater distance between herself and the horse. Only then did she take her eyes off the animal to look at Justin. She fastened her deep amber eyes on his face as she said, ‘We’ve found Mariah’s son.’
A photo in a plain wooden frame sat in pride of place on the bookshelf in the spacious living room. It showed a tall thin man holding a horse at some event. The horse had a ribbon around its neck. The man had a smile that seemed about to split his face in two. He was an older version of Justin; tall and lean with a craggy and weathered face that could have been hewn from rock. Despite that, he was a handsome man, as was his son. Carrie picked the frame up and after a long look at the image of the horse, she passed it to Quinn.
‘That’s Mariah … or to use her full name, Mariah’s Light. Isn’t she extraordinary?’
‘I don’t know anything about horses,’ Quinn said as she passed the photo to Dan. ‘She’s beautiful, I guess. But I don’t get it.’
‘Is this Justin’s father with her?’ Dan asked as he looked at the photo.
‘Yes. Sean Fraser. He was a great horseman,’ Carrie said. ‘He built this place, and a reputation for breeding the best Australian Stock Horses in Queensland. Among the best in the country. People would come from all over to
buy his bloodlines. They were pretty successful rodeo and campdraft horses. Won more than a few amateur races. But they were good working stock too. Out here, that counts for a lot. People were willing to pay a lot of money for a Fraser horse. Some were even exported to other countries.’
‘And this mare?’ Quinn asked as she returned the photo to its place on the shelves.
‘The whole Fraser bloodline was based on one horse – a big blood bay stallion called Finnegan. He was getting old and Justin’s father needed to replace him. He bought Mariah and bred them. The first season they got a filly. She’s racing now. I rode her once.’ Carrie hesitated, fighting back emotions that threatened to surface at the memory of that glorious ride. Not now, she told herself. Not now. Not ever. ‘What Sean really wanted was a colt,’ she added.
‘To take his sire’s place.’ Understanding was evident on Quinn’s face.
‘That’s right. The next year Mariah was again in foal to Finnegan when a bushfire swept through this area. Several of the horses were injured – including the stallion. He had to be put down. In the confusion Mariah vanished. It was always assumed she went bush and died.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Quinn asked.
‘It’s a local legend among the racing fraternity,’ Carrie replied. She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Sean Fraser was a great horseman. Fraser-bred horses were the best. Growing up, all I ever wanted was to own a Fraser horse.’
‘What Carrie is too polite to say,’ said Justin coming through the door, ‘is that things went downhill for us after that fire. My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It progressed rapidly. We weren’t able to replace the lost stock … at least not with horses of similar quality. My parents moved east. I kept the place running, but most of the money went to Dad’s treatment.’
Justin joined them at the bookshelf and picked up the photo of his father and the mare. ‘He’s gone now.’
Carrie heard the deep sadness in his voice.
‘Mum moved in with her sister on the coast,’ Justin continued as he replaced the photograph. ‘She said it was too lonely here for her without Dad. I’m trying to get the place back on a solid footing again. Which brings me to ask …’ He turned to look at Carrie, his green eyes troubled. ‘What did you mean that you’ve found Mariah’s son?’