Free Brumby Mountain by Karen Wood Page B

haltered Dodger and Legsy with red, icy hands and led them to the float so they could be saddled. Mrs Arnold’s LandCruiser rumbled down the road towards them.
    â€˜I’m going to ride Rambo,’ said Grace, leaping out of the car with a halter in her hand. ‘Where is he?’
    Jess pointed up onto the hillside. It was like sending a kelpie after a mob of sheep. Grace sprinted off.
    A side window on the house burst open. ‘Hey, Jessy! Come and look at this!’ Luke held a bundle of maps and papers in his hands. ‘I found Jack’s records, look!’
    Luke climbed out the window and spread his findings out over Legsy’s horse rug. He unfolded a dog-eared topographic map, full of holes and splits at the creases. On the back was what looked like a big family tree, scrawled in different pens over many years.
    â€˜They’re horse names,’ said Luke excitedly. Next to each was a year, a gender and a colour. Many were noted as having one or two blue eyes. The chart seemed to skip generations and peter out here and there. Most of the names at the top of the tree were crossed out.
    Jess and Mrs Arnold crowded around Luke.
    The maps covered nearly forty years. According to Jack’s last records, there were still at least six families of wild horses living up in the surrounding mountains.
    â€˜They go back to Saladin, like the Guy Fawkes horses,’ said Mrs Arnold, pointing to a list of horses’ names that were off to one side with question marks around them.
    â€˜â€œ1999, Beech Boy . Creamy colt. Two blue eyes.” I bet that’s Sapphire,’ said Jess, leaning over and placing her finger on some blue texta scrawl. She traced her finger along several lines to other names. ‘He’s sired others, and look down here, he had different mares during different years. There are no others with two blue eyes.’
    â€˜Here’s one,’ said Luke, stabbing at a name. ‘Granite.’
    â€˜It’s a bay,’ said Jess.
    They searched all over the brumbies’ family tree and found no other horses with two blue eyes. About a third of them had one blue eye. Many were creamies or versions of creamies: palominos and buckskins, out of chestnuts and bays. There were a couple of golden colts with one blue eye and Jess wondered if one of them was the poor stretched animal they’d seen at the saleyards.
    Luke flipped over to the topographic map and pointed to a spot. ‘We can get up into the mountains from here.’
    Jess looked up to see Grace walking down from the hill paddock with a halter on her shoulder and a frustrated look on her face. ‘We’ve got Buckley’s of catching that horse,’ she said. ‘Damn, I want to ride.’
    Jess and Mrs Arnold went to help Grace while Luke continued poring over the maps and brumby records.
    Out on the hillside, Rambo did not want to be caught. Jess noticed, however, that the horse’s attention kept going past them, back to Luke.
    â€˜He keeps staring at you,’ called Jess. She wondered whether Luke had the same form and shape as his father, or the same smell, the same voice and shaggy hair, perhaps.
    Luke hopped over the fence and walked easily towards the horse.
    Jess watched in amazement as Rambo allowed Luke to come close, standing still and quiet. ‘Hey fella,’ he said softly, running a hand under its heavily bearded jaw. He brushed the thick dreadlocks of forelock from the horse’s forehead and revealed a startling sapphire blue eye.
    â€˜He’s a brumby,’ Luke whispered with quiet reverence. ‘He’s got the blue eye.’
    Jess got goosebumps. ‘He thinks you’re Jack,’ she whispered.
    The horse nosed Luke gently, sniffed him all over and then put his head down near Luke’s feet and kept it there.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ Luke asked. He put an arm over the horse’s thick, strong neck.
    Rambo tossed his head up