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took the gelding
and led it down the ramp and she quickly fixed up her shirt. She untied the
next horse and passed it to Brett, who took it out and handed it to one of the
waiting Bangaloo boys.
    Sophie got the horses
saddled and kept the touchiest one for herself. Iceman, she called the big
black gelding, because he had a cold back and bucked like a demon. He was a
rough-looking horse, with his mane half scratched out from itch and a dunny
brush for a tail, but she loved the spirit in him.
    As she girthed him
tight, she noticed his back hump and his tail clamp down tight between his back
legs. She grinned. This would be fun.
    ‘Get on him in the
yard,’ said Jim, leading the chestnut past. He knew what the black horse was
capable of. And she was glad that he also knew what she was capable of. He
never treated her like a girl, which she appreciated. ‘Better put a helmet on,’
he added.
    She took one from the
dog boxes under the truck and jammed it on her head. By the time she got to the
yard, most of the hands were resting a foot on the rail, waiting. Iceman was
always a crowd puller. She noticed Brett glance over his shoulder.
    One of the hands closed
the gate after her. She threw the reins over Iceman’s neck and brought his nose
to his ribs. Without hesitating, she stuck her boot in the stirrup and swung
her leg over. Iceman stood like a statue while she found her other stirrup. His
back, as tight as a drum, arched up under her. He felt like a bomb that was about
to go off. She took a deep breath and prepared to release his head. As soon as
she did, she knew it would be on.
    She turned his head.
Iceman snatched the reins, stuck his head between his knees and honked like a
donkey. He exploded into a furious bucking frenzy, with all four legs off the
ground, landing on his fronts and then switching to his hinds before lurching
into the air and kicking his legs out behind her head somewhere. Sophie sat
deep in the saddle and rode every buck.
    ‘Stick him, Soph,’ Jim
called out. She heard the smile in his voice.
    There was much hooting
and hollering and Sophie revelled in it, riding until the big horse smoothed
out and cantered around the ring with only the occasional skip of his hind
legs.
    Too quickly the show
was over, but she knew it was moments like this that earned her that respect
with the men. She rode the puffing gelding out of the yard. Young Pete held the
gate open for her and she found Brett waiting with her second horse. He handed
her the reins. She took them without a word and led the second horse alongside
Iceman. Brett still didn’t know who he was dealing with.
    * * * * *
    The country was endlessly flat – so
flat the Bangaloo boys reckoned that on a clear day they could see the backs of
their own heads. The black gelding danced beneath Sophie and she ignored it,
knowing he would soon tire and get bored. She was right. By the time they left
the home paddocks and got to the legume pastures, the horse had settled and the
bay she led plodded through the rows of saddle-high saplings, his hooves
occasionally clacking on upturned rocks.
    Brett rode in silence.
She was glad that he wasn’t much of a talker. She loved the serene openness of
this country, the carolling birds and raucous cicadas. The music of it was too
beautiful to be spoiled by words.
    They rode to every
gate, criss-crossing fields and checking on cattle as they went. They dodged an
angry Micky bull in some of the scrubbier country and stopped to fix a broken
ball-cock on one of the troughs. Then they got into sparser country, with the
grass clumps fewer and further apart. They rode on as the sun beat down hotter
and hotter, casting a shimmer across the land. Sophie rolled down her sleeves
and lifted her collar around the back of her neck to keep the burning sun off
her skin.
    Towards noon, the
horses began to lag. Sophie searched for the next bore, so they could stop and
water them. She saw the windmill in the distance. ‘There’s our