But Choopa’s whole self was taken up with his enormous effort to reach Jounama, where she was still sliding down in the almost-dark above him. Somehow he knew that if he waited for her to slide down towards him, her pace would only get faster — possibly carry him with her down the steep slope.
So he kept straining upwards and Jounama, her slide indeed getting faster and faster, kept coming towards him.
She hit a bump in the snowgrass that tossed her up and half around. Choopa saw her mane fly up in the air — or did he dream it? Dreaming so much of how he would pull her by her mane, with its strawberry strands, pull her and hold her with all his strength, digging in his hooves. After all, he had pulled her out of Club Lake. Now, surely, she would not be too heavy to hold — he would have to grab quite a large mouthful. He could dream of that beautiful, faintly-coloured mane flowing over his face.
Then he was there, just close to her, watching her struggle to get her legs and hooves underneath her, while he tried to work out how to grab her.
Son of Storm knew he was too far up the gully to help. Dandaloo was closer.
Choopa called, aloud.
Then, strangely, they all heard a man’s voice. Choopa’s heart seemed to leap with joy.
‘I’m coming, Pferdl, I’m coming,’ and then, leaping down from rock to rock, sliding on the snowgrass, came Franz.
Just then Jounama made a prodigious effort to dig in her hooves and slid a little closer to Choopa. Now was the time to grab her mane.
Choopa grabbed, and Franz called out, ‘Fest halten, Pferdl.’
Choopa held on tight, thinking of how he held her from drowning in that freezing Club Lake, and then pulled her right up onto the bank.
But now, there was Old Strawberry coming angrily over from the rocky basin, the wish to destroy Choopa written all over him. Choopa stood there, still holding a mouthful of Jounama’s mane. Suddenly he let go and succeeded in doing a courbette to greet Franz, who was there now to help, with a coiled rope in his hand. There, sitting, watching, was the wombat, and close by stood Dandaloo.
Then Choopa, with one eye on Old Strawberry, watched Franz put the rope round Jounama’s neck and then run his gentle hands over her ears and head till he had quietened her.
It was then that the big stallion came for Choopa.
Franz was expecting him, and he threw a stone to land clattering on a rock to deflect the mad charge; the noise also got Old Strawberry off-balance, which gave Choopa the chance to rush at him so that he fell.
Dandaloo, knowing that her furious screams horrified Old Strawberry, came hurrying over. Then screaming, and as he struggled to his feet, chasing Old Strawberry, galloping, stumbling, falling, down off the slopes of The Sentinel, to the flatter floor of the gully.
Franz was patting Jounama with his gentle, magic touch, persuading her to be led towards the gully’s floor.
The night seemed to have got even darker, but Choopa realised that the two white foals were following unerringly. There, on the flatter floor of the gully, Choopa did a levade for Franz, and then stood while his own ears were rubbed. He found, then, that Franz was still holding Jounama, shadowy in the dark night, holding her and bringing her up close to him, so that he could touch her nose with his.
Jounama pulled back at first, until Franz gently edged her closer to Choopa, just her shadow in the night, but Choopa could see her as though in starlit memory, the lovely conformation of her. Her mane and forelock were tinged with sunset-coloured roan threads as she came closer, gently walking beside Franz. It was as though Franz was handing Choopa a gift, but Choopa had already accepted a gift from Club Lake and again from The Sentinel’s steep slopes.
Son of Storm was carefully picking his way down and Dandaloo was still facing Old Strawberry with tremendous defiance.
The two white foals also danced nimbly down the steep slopes and as they got closer, Choopa noticed their queer eyes, and wished he could see as well in the night as they obviously could.
Franz let Jounama loose, just when Son of Storm reached the little group, and drew some carrots out of his pocket.
‘I knew you needed me, Pferdl,’ he whispered.
As Choopa munched the pieces of carrot, and giving a final rub at the base of Choopa’s ears, and Jounama’s, Franz, in his sturdy mountain boots, melted off up the gully.
Dandaloo watched him go.
They all heard the mopoke’s soft call from the trees below, coming like a benediction — mopoke, mopoke, a gift of love — and Franz vanished into the night.
Though he could no longer see him, Choopa saluted Franz and his gift with a graceful dance and a last loving call, throwing all his heart to the invisible man who was climbing up to his bivouac below a big rock outcrop.
Thirteen
The winter had come in with rain first and strong winds, then snow and stronger winds, snow falling down at Quambat Flat. The wind was not so fierce, low down, but the horses, seeking shelter, could hear the noise of it down by the streams that feed the great Murray River.
Choopa was restless.
Dandaloo knew that he was wondering about the promise that seemed to have been made, up there, about the gift that Franz seemed to have bestowed, or that seemed to be part of the high country.
Choopa, himself, was dreaming about the wind roaring up the Northcote Canyon and The Sentinel gully, wondering if Old Strawberry had recovered from the beating which Son of Storm had given him or whether Old Strawberry would always want to give a beating in revenge, wondering where the three young horses were wintering? Wondering why they had suddenly vanished away?
One morning he began to plod through the driving snow and the wind that pushed him from behind, snow coating his eyelashes and stinging his eyes. That wind and driving snow seemed to come in all directions, but Choopa kept on going. The same old image that had drawn him to the high lakes, was calling him again — the same voice, the same sound, like the music of water and of wind in the rocks.
He crossed the head of the Ingegoodbe. An unusual shaft of sunlight illuminated one of the snowmelt pools. He went on in the direction of the Cascades, although the snow lay more deeply. The shaft of sunlight had changed his mood and the mood of the day rather, and the little blue roan went dancing up the track. As he went, the snow became deeper and more frozen and crackling.
When he reached the Cascades, the creek was edged with ice, with the water bubbling below it. Up higher, maybe the lakes and the Snowy River would be frozen. Choopa did a somersault with joy in the increasing snow, in the frozen pools, in the very fact of being out, doing what he wanted to do, going where he longed to go.
Later, later, he would miss Dandaloo and Son of Storm.
He hurried on up the steep track out of the Cascades, breathless when he reached Bob’s Garden, and the snow was even thicker, even more frozen, with a fine covering of falling snow helping to make his hooves grip. Surely snow had not fallen as thick as this so early last winter? How much might there be right up on the tops?
Where would those three beautiful young horses be wintering? Where would Old Strawberry be?
Old Strawberry still offered some danger, Choopa knew, and he was not very keen to meet him. The very thought of that big horse made him imagine that he saw him in every looming shape of rock and tree trunk.
A cloud of snow swirled around him as he crossed Dead Horse Gap on to the Ramshead Range. No matter; soon he would be in the shelter of trees, as soon as he crossed the cattle track. He was in trees for quite a long way, then he could hear the pardalote’s voice in the last of the snow gums.
Out in that big basin, above the trees, the snow beat relentlessly, but Choopa loved that basin and went dancing out into it, throwing a somersault for sheer joy.
There was not a wombat to be seen, though Choopa knew that several lived around that area. Perhaps they knew the weather was going to get rough and the snow heavier.
Surely there was danger for anyone as small as Choopa.
It see
med to him that he could hear that music as though he were standing on Charlotte Pass above the Snowy River, but the snow was falling faster, now, and the wind blowing it into sheets of rough ice. He went on; the weather was too rough for dancing and there were none of his animal friends about.
One lone currawong flew overhead, among the falling flakes, calling, calling …
Choopa knew that the cold was getting more and more intense the higher up the mountains he climbed. A swirl of snow cloud cleared, momentarily disclosing the curve of the cornice that every winter hung above the lake.
Choopa knew exactly where the lake was, and he scratched through the snow with one hoof.
There was ice below, as he expected, and the cold wind ruffled the surface as he pawed at it. He looked upwards. The great, high cornice, directly above the lake, looked more menacing under a grey sky. Then the sky was blotted out by the clouds, and by the fading of the day.
Choopa shivered with the intense cold. Never, not even in the heavy winter before last, had he felt such bone-breaking cold, and night was closing in … This was where Franz had caught him. Franz should be here.
Never mind, he would be a little warmer at Lake Albina, but he did wonder if it, too, would be frozen solid — whether he would be able to dance on it, like the young horses did in his vision of them, clothed in rainbows.
On he went, up on to Rawson’s Pass, slower now. Kosciuszko, the highest mountain, was up above that pass, but he intended to cut across, where the summer track went, just below Mueller’s Pass and across onto Northcote Pass, from where he could see his beloved double lake. He could remember galloping down there, and plunging into the lake in summertime.
As he thought of it, he thought how Dandaloo and Son of Storm were with him then, and suddenly the cold became more piercing. He knew he wanted to find them there. He had lost the joyous feeling and sense of adventure. To have Dandaloo with him, as always, would be perfect.
Son of Storm was Bri Bri’s father. Who was his, Choopa’s, father? Somehow it had always seemed as if Dandaloo and Son of Storm belonged to each other, and in fact Choopa’s first memory, other than Dandaloo, was Son of Storm’s head outlined by moonbeams as the big brown horse looked down at him, lying in the bushes — and first memories have amazing strength.
It was slippery where the summer track cut across onto the Northcote Pass; anything on a traverse was slippery with ice underneath a light coating of snow. Then, all of a sudden, he reached the pass and should have been able to see the lake, like a piece of sky.
Lake Albina, like Lake Cootapatamba, was covered with snow.
Choopa stood for one second, overlooking that lake — or where he knew it to be — and then, though he knew that there was ice under the snow, and slippery underfoot, he sprang into a gallop down towards the flat canyon floor.
Snow spume flew around and behind him from his flying hooves, so that he was like a galloping snowcloud. He had to keep going so that he did not slip or fall, and he got faster and faster, not knowing what might happen at the bottom, but just filled with excitement.
The freezing air bit into him. He was flying and it was entirely wonderful. Then he heard a neigh from somewhere below him, and through the cloud of snow that he made himself, he could see shadowy shapes and was certain that they were dancing on the ice.
Choopa gathered his breath and neighed, too. Ribbons of moonlight and snow spume seemed to encircle those young horses.
Then they heard his call, saw him coming, and they stood at the edge of the lake to greet him — or, perhaps, to slow his headlong gallop.
Choopa was rather puzzled. He suspected that to gallop on to the lake might invite the force of his gallop to break the ice, but he knew that there was a small bank of flat snowgrass at the edge of the lake, which would give him space to slow his mad gallop and perhaps start to dance. He began to prop to a standstill. It was not the place to somersault — that would surely break the ice! Instead he waltzed and danced on his hind legs.
Jounama moved forward a step and the two white colts stood behind her. Choopa looked around as if expecting Franz, because somehow he heard Franz’s waltz playing.
The moonlight was shining on Carruther’s Peak.
Then, from across the lake, there came a trumpeting neigh.
Choopa felt a shiver go down his back.
Old Strawberry could not possibly have climbed that steep Sentinel gully with this ice. But how could he have got here? And how would any of them get away without freezing to death?
Fourteen
Choopa felt the bone-breaking grip of the cold as he stood for a moment, looking at the big stallion’s bulky shape on the slope, way above him.
He would dance now, just as he had in that dream … make the dream come true … dream and music all interwoven, and then, as the music from below Charlotte Pass seemed to sound in his ears, he danced out onto the lake.
The snow began to fall in a curtain, through which moonbeams fell, reminding him of the lights which Franz played on the spangles around his legs. Snow spume rose around his legs, gleaming and glowing. If only Franz were there; if only, perhaps, Dandaloo would come and see him dancing on the surface of the lake …
Tears gathered in his eyes as he danced. He knew, so well, how much Dandaloo wanted him to be beautiful. Then he heard her call from the Northcote Pass.
Jounama did not seem to have heard her. The little filly walked over the frozen lake towards him.
This time she would not run away, as she had when he lay in the sun outside the wombat hole.
Then Old Strawberry’s neigh sounded, and Choopa realised that she was frightened of the big roan because she jumped a little, touched her nose to his, looked in the direction of her father, and shivered slightly.
Choopa looked at the two foals. They appeared to be a little nervous, too.
As Jounama touched her nose to Choopa’s, Old Strawberry gathered himself together and began to hurtle down the slope, slipping and stumbling. The big stallion remembered falling into the lake and knew the lake must be there, and was afraid of going through the ice. Choopa could see the shape of him in moonglow, beginning to go around the edge of the lake.
Strawberry was cunning.
Those two March-fly foals followed Choopa’s dancing towards the edge, and rushed at Strawberry. Dandaloo, coming down from the Pass, began a scream of fury. Choopa called her, and encouraged the foals to leap at the big stallion, nipping and kicking. They seemed to be able to see perfectly.
Dandaloo came down more carefully than Choopa had done, and she sent a call to Son of Storm as she descended; his answer caused Strawberry to stop in full stride. If Jounama was afraid of him, he was afraid of Son of Storm.
It only needed an echoing neigh from Strawberry to bring Son of Storm galloping down from the Pass to join Dandaloo.
Dandaloo felt the intense cold. She, very experienced in many winters, knew that they must get far lower down, but there was Choopa dancing on the frozen lake. She called him, and he called Jounama. Strawberry trumpeted his anger. Son of Storm, aware, too, that it was time they all went, took some menacing steps towards the roan. The two foals bit and kicked at him, and the clouds grew lower, the cold more intense.
Dandaloo’s call said ‘home’, but Choopa kept on dancing, closer and closer to where Strawberry stood, and Jounama kept right beside him. All of a sudden Choopa took a great leap towards the heavy horse, striking him on the shoulder and making him slip.
For a moment Jounama was standing in front of her father, unprotected by Choopa. Just as she gathered herself to jump after Choopa, her father, maddened with jealousy, charged at her, trying to swing her round. She fell on the slippery snow-covered ice, and Choopa was there beside her in an instant, and the white March-fly foals, to protect her.
It was time, then, for Son of Storm to step in and drive Strawberry away; to punish him.
Home was, for Son of Storm and Dandaloo, the lower end and bush of Quambat Flat; for Choopa,
‘home’ was beginning to be the Northcote Canyon and Lake Albina, but he knew, as the snow fell more thickly, and as he felt the aching cold, that it was time to go lower down, among trees.
After helping Dandaloo and Son of Storm to drive Old Strawberry away on the faint track that threaded its way through the huge boulders down the Northcote Canyon, Choopa led Jounama back the way he had come, over the headwaters of the Leatherbarrel Creek and out on to the Ramshead Range and the Basin.
Through the muffling snowfall, he heard the voices of the brown hawks.
The snow fell thickly, plastering the big snow gums below the Basin. Rocks loomed up through the snowflake curtain, and there was the sound of the Bogong Creek.
Sometimes trees separated Jounama and Choopa and he would try to see her through the silver-barked snow gums. Occasionally a splash of red on the bark would look like a roan streak in her mane or tail.
Then she would just be a flitting ghost among the trunks — beautiful, silent-footed — and Choopa would hurry to join her. The slope steepened and the trees were smaller and closer together. They slipped and slid down the last timbered slopes to Dead Horse Gap, then out onto the wider cattle track and across it under scudding snow clouds, that little wraith of a filly keeping close to Choopa.
The climb up Dead Horse Ridge made them warmer. Then, at last, they were going along the top of the ridge, dropping down into Bob’s Garden, heading towards the Cascades.
Choopa knew every tree, every little tea-tree-filled creek, but it was a long way through strange country for Jounama.
Choopa watched her trotting along through the trees and the falling snow. She was a lissom shadow between the silver trunks. As they travelled further and further from the high mountains, she came after and ran beside him, flank to flank. In fact, she clung more closely beside him when a few other brumbies appeared, just above the Cascades. There was one young stallion whom Choopa knew and did not really like, but who admired Choopa’s tricks. He noticed that young one trying to cut Jounama off from him and from Son of Storm and Dandaloo. So, without seeming to hurry, he edged over himself and pushed the young colt away.