The Golden Stranger (5 page)

‘Hey!' Shara yelled after him. ‘Don't kick my dog!'

‘Put the mongrel on a leash,' muttered the man, without turning around.

Shara's mouth formed a huge, incensed
O
. Hex and Petunia were totally well-behaved. Who was this out-of-towner to tell her what to do with her dogs? ‘Big man,' she said sarcastically, loud enough for it to feel good, but not quite loud enough for him to hear. ‘Feel good to kick a defenceless animal, does it?'

‘It probably does, to him,' said Jess, appearing behind her. ‘He's one of the Conneman brothers.' She threw her bag down behind the counter and tied an apron around her back.

‘How do you know?'

‘I get all the gossip in here. He's been coming in and getting the day-old bread to feed the horses. Yesterday he parked the Bred to Buck truck out the front.'

‘I thought they'd left town.'

‘They must have some
unfinished business
.'

Shara felt an uneasy gnawing in her gut.

Jess took a crate of hot bread and carried it across the shop to arrange the loaves neatly on the shelves. ‘So what happened last night at your place?'

Shara filled her in on the night's events. ‘Sergeant Bigwood thought it might be a cow or something trying to get at the feed, but the door had two barrel bolts holding it closed.'

‘Well, that guy was pretty big,' said Jess, tilting her head out towards the street, as a small red car eased out of its parking spot and rolled down the main street.

Shara squirmed at the thought. ‘How would he know who I was or where I lived?' She paused. ‘Do you think he
might
know I was part of the protest?'

Jess shrugged.

‘Hex would've barked if it was a person.' Shara wished she could feel a little more certain of that.

‘You're probably right. Unless it was someone Hex knows.' Jess paused. ‘It wouldn't be Corey, would it? It was a bit weird how he came over to your house the other day.'

‘He came to tell me the brumbies had been rescued,' said Shara. ‘He was being nice.'

Jess arched an eyebrow. ‘Sure?'

‘No.' Shara couldn't hide her uncertainty. When she thought of Corey's easy smile, she was sure. But when she thought of his rodeo career and hard-handed girlfriends, she became decidedly unsure.

5

THAT NIGHT,
Shara lay in bed with her hands gripped tightly around her dad's giant spotlight. In the paddock beyond the window, two round-bellied cows lumbered down the hillside. More followed, breaking into a jog along the steep track that carved through the property. Had something disturbed them?

Shara stared hard into the darkness. Then, somewhere closer to the house, there was a low groan. Hex growled. Then silence.

Slowly, carefully, Shara slid the window open and listened. She heard a low whine and then a grunt. It didn't fit the usual night-time noises. Shara was startled to see a large dark shape near her brother's dead cars.

She tiptoed hurriedly to her parents' bedroom door. ‘Dad,' she whispered. ‘There's something moving down in the front yard. It's really big.'

‘Well, there's your burglar,' he said, pushing aside the quilt and reaching for a robe. He made his way to the door. ‘Got your torch?'

Shara flicked the spotlight on and cast sweeping beams of light over the front yard. Hex immediately whined. Petunia let out a small yap. There was a rustle of bushes. ‘There!' she hissed. ‘By the shed!'

Two red eyes glimmered in the torchlight. Then something groaned and dropped heavily to the ground.

The verandah lights snapped on.

‘A horse,' gasped Shara.

Startled by the sudden light, it scrambled to its feet and staggered sideways, placing itself back in the shadows of the garden, with its legs wide apart and its head low. Streaks of light from the verandah played on the silvery spangles of its mane.

But it was in trouble. It stood with flaring nostrils before lowering itself to the ground and rolling wildly with its legs in the air.

‘It's a colt! He's got colic or something,' said Shara, running down the front steps with bare feet. ‘We need a halter!'

‘You keep an eye on him, love. I'll get one from the shed.' Barry disappeared into the darkness.

Shara approached the horse slowly. ‘Easy, boy.'

The horse lay on his side and looked up at her, then curled his neck to look at his stomach.

‘I don't know who undid the barrel bolts for him, but he's been into the feedroom,' said Barry, reappearing with a halter. ‘There's hay and grain everywhere.'

‘No wonder he has a bellyache.' The horse groaned as Shara pulled the halter over his ears. ‘It's okay, boy, I'm not gonna hurt you.' She gave him a gentle pull and urged him to walk. ‘Better get up and keep moving, otherwise your gizzards'll get twisted.'

She pulled at the colt's head with all her strength until he struggled to his feet. He took one reluctant step after another and then pushed his head into her tummy as though begging her to stop. A long moan rumbled from his chest.

‘Oh, you poor thing,' she said, noticing the patches of sweat on his neck and over his eyes. ‘He needs a vet, Dad.'

‘Can't it wait till morning?'

‘I don't think he'll still be alive by then.'

The colt crumpled to the ground again and threw back his head, thrashing his legs. Shara pulled at the rope. ‘No, no, you have to get up!' She had the awful feeling that he might never rise again if she let him stay down. ‘Dad, this is an emergency!'

Barry groaned. ‘Why do these things always happen in the middle of the night? Don't horses know that vets charge double to make midnight calls?'

‘Mum, help me!'

Louise pulled on some boots and ran down the steps in her robe. ‘You pull his head. I'll get his tail.' She grabbed the horse's ratty, half-chewed tail and gave it a good firm yank. He put one leg out in front of him and lifted his head. ‘That's it, come on,' encouraged Shara. ‘Give him a kick, Mum.'

Louise gave the horse a few encouraging nudges on the rump with her foot. ‘Come on,' she said, in a no-nonsense voice. ‘Up!'

Shara was massively relieved when the colt struggled to his feet again. ‘I'll try to bring him into the light,' she said, dragging him closer to the house. Under the verandah's spotlight, the colt was so thin that his ribs stuck out along his back. His shoulders were flat and triangular and his flanks sank away from his hip bones. ‘He's an RSPCA case. Look at him!'

Barry let out a sigh and headed up the steps to the back door. ‘One big vet bill coming up.'

Shara half-led, half-dragged the colt around under the light to keep him moving while they waited for the vet and, as she did, she noticed something very interesting about him. His coat was a burnt golden-brown and there were black dapples on his hindquarters. His mane was silver, almost white.

This colt was a silver taffy, which gave Shara a powerful clue about where he had come from. She'd learned when researching her biology assignment that only a red taffy crossed with a black could produce a horse of that colouring. Her mind raced back to the frantic taffy mare, tied to the semi. This had to be her colt. The older Conne–man's words rang in her ears.
Find that stupid colt!

Shara kept walking and talked soothingly to the little horse. ‘You must be a tricky fellow to get into my feed bins. No need to ask how you got colic!'

Barry trotted down the stairs looking quite jolly for a man who'd just committed himself to a second mortgage. ‘John Duggin is on his way. He said he'll be half an hour and to keep the horse walking.' He surprised Shara by smiling. ‘He said that if we ring the RSPCA in the morning and surrender the horse, they'll cover the bill until they track down the owner.'

Shara couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed. There was something special about this little guy. She had the same feeling about him she'd had when she first saw Rocko. There was some sort of reason why their paths had crossed. She loved nursing animals back to health, and knew in her heart that this horse would be much better off with her than with its current owners.

Shara was still with the colt when the RSPCA arrived the next morning. Her legs ached and she was so tired she thought her head might drop off.

John Duggin had put a tube into one of the colt's nostrils and down into its stomach. Then he'd poured paraffin oil down to flush out any blockages. He gave the colt a needle to stop the spasms and told Shara to keep walking him until he did a poo. The poos came just as the sun was rising. Boy, did they come. With great relief, Shara had unclipped the colt and retreated a safe distance to let him do his business.

A few hours later, a white RSPCA van pulled into the driveway. Two women got out, looking very official with clipboards under their arms. ‘Shara Wilson?' asked the more matronly of the two.

‘Yes,' said Shara, holding out her hand.

‘Lurlene Spencer.'

‘And I'm Anita from the animal shelter,' said the younger woman, stepping forward with a smile. ‘We often work together.'

Lurlene stepped past them both and looked at the colt. ‘Is this the horse you reported?' She turned and glared at Shara as if she were responsible for the colt's suffering.

‘It ate nearly a whole bag of barley and then we found it last night with colic.'

‘Well, no wonder if it gorged itself on grain, especially when it's malnourished like that,' the woman snorted.

‘Oh, hello? I'm the one who has been dragging myself around all night keeping the poor animal alive! Our shed door had two barrel bolts on it, so it was hardly our fault.' Shara was tired and hungry and worried about the colt. She didn't need the third degree as well.

‘I see.' Lurlene Spencer opened her clipboard and began to take notes. ‘We'll call him Goldie, shall we?'

The younger woman caught Shara's eye and pulled a face that seemed to say,
You should try working with her
all day!

‘We got the vet out and he's treated him with paraffin oil and anti-spasm drugs,' said Shara, trying to stay polite. ‘And I walked him most of the night. He had a big poo at about five-thirty this morning.'

‘Yes, yes, we received the vet's report by fax this morning,' Lurlene said in a dismissive tone. She unbuckled the gate and entered the yard. ‘There's still a very high risk of founder.' She ran a hand down the colt's shoulder and spoke softly to him before stepping back and taking more notes. ‘And you don't know who owns Goldie?'

Shara hesitated. ‘Will they take him back if you find them?'

‘Hardly. They'll be lucky not to be prosecuted. If I have anything to do with it, they will be. Do you have the camera, Anita? We'll need some pictures.'

‘I think I have an idea who he might belong to,' offered Shara.

‘Yes?'

‘He might belong to the rodeo contractors who just left town: the Conneman brothers.'

The women looked at each other and then at her. ‘What makes you think it's theirs?' asked Anita.

‘Well, this colt is a silver taffy, and . . . ' ‘It's a palomino, dear,' Lurlene corrected.

What is your problem?

‘Actually, it's not. Silver taffies are often confused with palominos.' Shara spoke quickly before she was incorrectly corrected again. ‘See those black dapples on his hindquarters? Well, they can only come from crossing a red taffy with a black. So one of its parents must be a red taffy, which isn't very common.'

Both women looked totally gripped now, obviously dazzled by her expertise on equine genetics.

‘And when I was at the Coachwood Crossing Show the other day . . .'
Doh! Did I just admit that?
‘ . . . I noticed a red taffy mare tied to the Connemans' truck, and she was whinnying like she'd just lost her foal. This horrible man came out from behind the truck and whipped her. He was very cruel.'

‘Yes, we're familiar with the Conneman brothers and their training methods,' said Anita. ‘Actually, there was a protest staged there a few days ago, quite a successful one. It gained a bit of media coverage and it may lead to further investigations.' She looked the colt up and down and added thoughtfully, ‘The Connemans did leave the area in a hurry. Maybe they left this animal behind in their haste.'

‘So what will happen to him?' asked Shara, resisting an urge to boast that she had been involved in the protest.

‘He'll be taken back to the shelter and rehabilitated,' said Lurlene. ‘If we can prove that he's been neglected or cruelly treated, which shouldn't be difficult in this case, we can prosecute.'

‘Then what will happen to him?'

‘He'll be placed in a suitable home.'

‘So is there any chance of him staying with the current carer?' asked Shara. ‘Could I look after him here?'