The Quicksand Pony by Alison Lester Read Free Book Online

climbed up the slippery rock, scraping his knees, but hardly feeling it for the cold. He peered into the gloom of a low cave, then the clouds parted to let moonlight in, and he saw a dingo pup, whimpering beside its mother. He crawled under the overhang. The pup bared its teeth and growled at him fiercely, backing behind its mother. She didn’t move. Joe put his hand on her and knew that she had been dead for days. She was cold and stiff. Joe sniffed. She smelt bad. He gagged at the thought that this would happen to Joycie, too.
    â€˜Here, pup,’ Joe crooned. ‘Here, pup. We need each other, I reckon.’ He grabbed the dingo, ignoring the needle-sharp teeth, and held him close in the folds of his shirt, then wriggled to the edge of the cave where the air was fresher. He looked out into the night, into the rain, and rocked to and fro, talking to the pup all the time. ‘There, there, little dog. There, there. You’ll be right, mate. You’ll be right.’ It was the way Joycie used to talk to him when he got scared of the dark. It made him feel better, too. After a while the tiny body began to nestle against him, then a small black nose and two bright eyes peeped out between his buttons.
    When the rain finally eased and the moon came out, Joe climbed down the rock, holding the pup close with one arm, picked up his bag, and slipped like a shadow through the bush.

The cattle splashed between the paperbarks that grew in the shallow tannin-stained river. Massive granite boulders loomed over the stream. They were patched with orange lichen and blackened by centuries of trickling rain. The mountains rose steeply on either side.
    Biddy and her parents had rounded up two hundred and three cattle altogether, which meant there were five missing. Perhaps they’d died, or maybe some were tucked away in a far-off gully that hadn’t been searched. They’d have to wait until next autumn to find out. Biddy rode on the side of the mob, keeping them headed down the river. The bush above was dense, making the valley hot and ripe with the smell of cattle, sweat and earth.
    At the beach the air suddenly freshened. When the cattle saw the wide expanse of sand they broke into a trot. Biddy cantered to wheel them to the right, towards home, and it felt good to be out of the bush at last, out in the open, with the seagulls scattering ahead. The wind had died away and a gentle breeze blew up from the south, pushing fat puffs of cloud through the blue October sky. It was a perfect day.
    Once the cattle were all on the beach and had settled into a mob, Biddy reached into her saddlebag and found the sandwiches her mother had made that morning. They wouldn’t have time to stop for lunch today. It would be low tide soon, and they would have to keep going to get the mob around the entrance to the inlet while there was still enough room on the beach. Once the tide was right in, the water ran swift and deep against the cliffs. Grandpa had been trapped there years ago with a freak tide, and the thought of cattle drowning in the cold current still gave Biddy the horrors.
    It was easy droving along the beach. The sand dunes were as steep as cliffs, so the cattle couldn’t drift back into the bush. Biddy’s dad rode in the lead, ahead of the mob, steadying any that were inclined to run, and giving the others something to follow. The Wild Ones, as they’d christened the big steers from behind Mount Smoky, were right behind him, heads up and bellowing. Mad barking and whip-cracking told Biddy each time one tried to break past the lead, as her father plied his stockwhip and the dogs headed the beast.
    It was almost as though the dogs enjoyed having a few bad cattle; it gave them an excuse to do serious biting. They trotted along before the mob, watching the Wild Ones over their shoulders, as if to say, ‘Come on then, do you want another go? Come on, we’re ready.’ They would be much quieter cattle