The Golden Stranger (2 page)

It always seemed to take forever to get home: five hours of driving along winding roads and long smooth highways with Shara's dad's baroque operas tinkling out of the stereo; through the hustle of Brisbane and up the Bruce Highway towards Coachwood Crossing. They turned onto a small tarred road with potholes that the council never fixed, and followed the bends and curves of the Coachwood River. Barry slowed the car as they crossed the railway line and rolled into town.

‘Welcome home!' he said.

There were more cars than usual in the main street, and Shara noticed four men in big black hats and dirty jeans, standing outside the bakery eating pastries. The town was coming alive for the annual show, and she felt a rush of excitement. They'd be getting more than they bargained for this year!

As Barry drove past the derelict service station, the show–grounds behind it came into view, already bustling with people. A ferris wheel had been erected and tents were being put up. Miles of flagged bunting marked out the car park, and a few livestock trucks had already arrived.

Two kilometres on, they swung into their long, steep concrete driveway which ran down past a huge quadruple-bay shed and into a large gravelled yard cut into the hillside. Hex, Shara's shaggy yellow bitser, gambolled out to greet her, followed by Petunia, her little foxy cross.

Not much had changed since she'd last been home. Her older brother's Holden wrecks, a haven for mice and snakes, still sat in a row along the fence with grass growing around them. David had finally given up on them two years ago and headed north in a Mazda to work on prawn trawlers.

Near the house, a feed and tack shed sat just inside the horse paddock, which was lush with native grasses. The rest of the property sloped down in rolling hills and ridges grazed by purebred Droughtmaster cattle, her father's hobby.

Shara had barely led Rocko from the float into the horse paddock when Hex and Petunia went nuts, alerting her to a posse of three riders cantering beside the shady creek at the bottom of the property. Shara waved madly and did star jumps.
‘Coo-ee!'

Jess, Rosie and Grace let themselves through the bottom gate, then thundered up the steep hillside, squealing and laughing and scattering Barry's cows. Shara glanced nervously at her dad, who looked mildly annoyed but tolerant. ‘Sorry, Baz,' she grinned.

He muttered something and wandered to the house.

Her friends' horses were blowing heavily when they halted in the yard. Jess, small and nimble, squealed as she took a dramatic leap from Dodger's back and landed with her arms around Shara's neck.

Shara laughed and squeezed her. ‘So good to be home!'

2

THE NEXT MORNING,
Shara scanned the yard to check that no one was about. She unzipped her jacket, pulled out two cans of coloured hairspray and stuffed them into Rocko's saddlebags.

She felt a queasy twist of nerves in her gut. At school, five hundred kilometres away, this had sounded like a fun idea. But now that the day had arrived, she was beginning to think she must have been nuts to let Jess talk her into it. Were they actually going to go and sabotage a rodeo event in front of the entire town? She'd never done anything so
out there
in all her life!

Shara swallowed hard, breathed in and ignored Rocko's usual cranky face as she hoisted herself into the saddle. Too late now – she was committed.

As she rode past the house she could hear the ever-present sound of the washing machine swish-swashing its way through the mountain of dirty clothes she had brought back from boarding school. ‘I'm going now, Mum,' she called in through the back door.

‘Okay,' her mother sang from inside. ‘Have fun!'

‘Oh, I think I will,' muttered Shara.

Hex and Petunia pulled at their chains as she rode past, wanting to come for the ride. ‘You'll have to stay behind today, my stinky ones.'

Home disappeared behind her as she turned off onto an adjacent trail. Before long she heard a trotting horse approaching, and Jess appeared around a bend on Dodger. Jess held her reins at the end of the buckle and let the old bay stockhorse pick his own way over the rocky track. She pulled Dodger to a stop when she reached Shara, green eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘Got your spray-paint ready?'

‘I can't
believe
you talked me into this,' said Shara.

Jess laughed. ‘I can't believe you
let
me talk you into it.' She turned Dodger towards the Arnolds' place. ‘It'll be great. Come on, let's get Rosie and Grace.'

At the Arnolds' gate, Rocko raised his head and neighed loudly. Rosie, immaculate as always, trotted up on Buster. ‘This is insane. Those rodeo guys will make dog mince out of us.'

‘Only if they catch us,' said Grace, riding up behind on a dishevelled grey. Unlike her sister, everything about Grace was a mess. Her jeans had holes in them and her helmet had stickers peeling off. It was always hard to believe the two were even related. ‘But I don't intend to get caught.'

‘My
parents
would make dog mince out of
me
,' said Shara. ‘Getting caught is not an option, okay, guys?'

The girls rode down a steep easement onto the flats and cantered through a series of river crossings. As they neared town, they slowed the horses to a walk and rode single-file along the edge of the road before splashing into the creek that ran around the perimeter of the show–grounds. The show was clearly in full swing, with the ferris wheel rolling and carnival music twanging through the smells of popcorn and hot dogs.

‘Did you talk to Elliot about getting photos, Grace?' asked Shara, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

‘Yep, he's all ready,' said Grace. ‘He's going to get a front-row seat so he can take photos and then send them straight to the newspaper.' She pulled her buzzing phone from her pocket. ‘Oh, here's a text from him now. He says the brumbies have been moved to the yards behind the secretary's tent.' She began thumbing a message back.

‘I know where that is!' said Shara, turning Rocko up the bank.

‘Oi!' called Jess. ‘We don't want to be conspicuous. Let's just tether the horses here.'

‘Mmmm, smell the Dagwood dogs,' said Shara, inhaling deeply as she tied Rocko by the river.

‘They're making me wanna puke,' said Jess, who was a fresh-food freak. ‘Those things should be illegal.'

Shara and her friends emerged from the creek bed and hurried alongside a tall cyclone-wire fence that ran along the perimeter of the competitors' area. As they walked they peered through the wire mesh at the cluster of trucks and floats.

Horses were tied everywhere. Some people stood talking in small groups while others polished saddles. A cowboy practised roping on a straw bale with a set of horns attached to it. Ramps strewn with horse rugs and open bags of rodeo gear sloped to the ground from the backs of big horse rigs, in which rows of saddles and bales of hay were stacked.

‘Look!' Grace pointed excitedly. ‘Is that them?' On the other side of the fence was a huge red semitrailer with a double-deck stock crate on the back. On its cabin door were swirly gold letters:

Bred to Buck
Conneman Brothers
Rodeo Stock Contractors

‘That's them,' hissed Jess. ‘They're the new stock contractors, trading on the misery and trauma of wild horses.'

‘Harry would never have let this happen,' said Rosie. ‘This new show committee has no idea.'

The girls continued on foot until they came to the abandoned service station. Behind a rusty gas tank was a hole in the fence, through which local kids had been sneaking into the showgrounds for decades. The girls slipped through one by one and came out at the back of a brick toilet block. They squeezed along the narrow gap and walked out unnoticed into the backstage competitors' area.

They made a beeline for the secretary's tent, passing the stockyards and the contractors' semitrailer. Three scruffy, bony horses stood tied to its side. A small, taffy-coloured mare whinnied anxiously over the din of carnival music. Her dull red coat was thick and rough, and her creamy tail hung to the ground in matted coils.

‘Reckon she's a brumby?' asked Shara, noticing the thickness of her bones and the slight feathering at the back of her fetlocks.

‘Probably,' said Jess. ‘Wonder why she's calling?'

‘Maybe she has a foal somewhere,' said Grace. ‘That's how our brood mares sound when we wean the foals.'

The mare screamed again and a man appeared from behind the tailgate carrying a stockwhip. He was lean-jawed and leathery, with a half-smoked cigarette in his mouth and a freshly rolled one behind his ear. He swirled his whip and gave the horse a sharp crack under the tail.
‘Stand up, feral!'

The mare stood hard up against the truck, trembling, her head high and ears flattened. The other two horses jostled nervously. The man yanked the mare's rope so short that she could hardly move, re-tied it and disappeared.

Shara spun around to face Jess, her mouth wide open.

‘Told you those Connemans were horrible,' said Jess. ‘Wait till they get the brumbies in the ring!'

‘Come on,' said Shara. ‘Let's show them what we think of their wild horse race!'

When they reached the back of the arena they climbed up onto the rails and looked out over the entire show. In the distance were the pavilions and trade stalls, rides and jumping castles. People swarmed between them carrying showbags and fairy-floss sticks.

Directly under their noses were the rodeo pens. In a runway between the yards and the chutes, calves stood in single file, waiting to be roped. In the box next to the chute, Corey Duggin, Elliot's older brother, sat loose and supple in the saddle with the reins gathered in one hand and a lariat in the other. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, a classic black Stetson with a pinched crown, and faded denim jeans. Sampson, the sleek red horse he rode, shifted in anticipation.

Shara climbed right up onto the top rail, swung her legs over and lifted her chin to get a good view. Corey would be chasing points for the breakaway-roping national finals in a couple of weeks' time. This would be
fast
.

She watched as he ran a soothing hand down his horse's neck and sat calm and quiet, waiting for him to be still. Then he tilted his head towards the stewards and gave a small nod. There was a clunk of gates, and no sooner had a small steer bolted from the chute than Corey was after it, lasso whirling. He gave three quick swings of the rope and released it into the air, looping it over the horns of the steer. Sampson ground to a stop and as the steer reached the end of the rope, the loosely tied end broke away from his saddle, sending a small flag into the air, which signalled the end of his run and a blazingly fast time score.

‘Woohoo!' Shara yelled. She turned to her friends and beamed. ‘How quick was
that
?'

Three pairs of cold eyes stared back at her.

‘What?'

‘That poor calf,' said Grace.

Jess and Rosie let themselves down from the fence, looking decidedly unimpressed, and headed for the secretary's tent.

‘What do you mean?' said Shara, twisting around and calling after them. ‘Do you know how much skill that takes?'

She swung one leg back to dismount the fence and, as she did, her hand slipped off the smooth top rail, sending her catapulting over sideways. Her shoulder banged painfully on the rail on the way down and her feet somersaulted back over her head. She landed ungracefully, wedged against the fence, coiled over like a coffee scroll. Her lungs were so crushed inside her chest that all she could do was grunt.

As she tried to unravel herself, Corey rode past with his rope looped up and draped over Sampson's shoulder. He looked down at her with an amused glint in his eye, winked and kept riding.

‘He's got tickets on himself,' grunted Jess, as she grabbed Shara by an elbow and yanked her over onto her knees. ‘So much for being inconspicuous. You okay?'

Grace chortled. ‘I've never seen anyone trip over their own head before!'

‘Special talent,' said Shara, pulling herself up and brushing off her clothes. She turned to watch Corey's retreating back. A girl on a bay horse rode up beside him and bumped her horse against his. Corey legged Sampson over and bumped her in return. ‘Hey, Mandy.'

‘Is that his girlfriend?' asked Shara.

‘Just some rodeo tart,' answered Grace. ‘One of his many.'

‘Ease up, Gracie,' said Shara. 'He could be your future brother-in-law.'

‘Oh,
shut up
,' whined Grace. She always denied having a crush on Elliot, even though she had once admitted to kissing him.

‘Corey rides saddle broncs too, you know,' said Jess to Shara, as though that were an unforgiveable sin.

‘Oh, I didn't know that.' Shara wasn't game to admit that she liked watching the bronc riders as well.

‘He's a cruel, macho, schmucky rodeo scumbag,' said Grace. ‘He's nothing like his brother.'

‘I can't believe they're even related,' agreed Shara. Elliot was a total geek, always tinkering with the latest techno-gadget. He wore his shirt buttoned up too high, and sneakers instead of boots. Corey, on the other hand, was more the rugged farm-boy type, always with the rolled-up shirtsleeves and big black hat. ‘Since when did you guys start hating rodeo so much?'

‘Since they included wild horse races,' said Jess.

Corey and his horse disappeared into a stable block and Shara watched as Mandy rode into the practice arena, raked her spurs up her horse's flanks and kicked it into a canter. When it leapt forward she gave a sharp tug on the reins.

‘Ouch,' said Jess as they watched the girl pulling at her horse's mouth.

‘Hey, look at the broncs,' said Shara, changing the subject. She peered into a pen full of big muscular animals, chewing slowly on hay. They were a mix of flashy colours: pinto, red roan and buckskin. A white gelding came to the fence and hung his head over it. Shara gave him a rub around the ears. ‘You don't look too scary.'