Socks let go his second grip so that he could rear up and strike with his forefeet.
He got in one blow with his off forefoot, then a cloud of snow came around the Brumby Hunter and his horse, and the Hunter was puzzled. From inside the cloud, the Brumby Hunter shouted a rather muffled shout.
Socks could barely see what was happening, but he knew that the Brumby Hunter was turning tail and going, pursued by a cloud of snow, and that cloud was suddenly the shape of a great, strong, silver stallion. There was a rush of wings and the white owls came again and beat their soft-feathered wings against the head of the Hunter’s horse — by then he was galloping.
Socks galloped after him, and a white hawk joined in harassing the Brumby Hunter. Suddenly it seemed to Socks that the Silver Horse had called up all the help he could get from the birds of the air. He thought he’d seen Thowra transform into a hawk once before, in a similar time of trouble. Had Thowra transferred some of his magic to Socks? Was he, himself, the white hawk? Because that white hawk seemed to be ‘riding off’ the Brumby Hunter’s horse away from the cliff that was the edge of the Secret Valley, the edge of the drop.
Socks was certain that Thowra had jumped over that cliff and would be — by some marvellous magic — alive, with Boon Boon, down below.
And down below the Silver Brumby, having seen the Brumby Hunter, was filled with dreams of his beloved high mountains, and perhaps of leading the Brumby Hunter a great dance in that high country. To lead him a dance, Thowra must first get out of the valley, and the only way was through Son of Storm’s.
Socks watched. There seemed to be no movement below, but there was movement, and quite silently someone crept up beside him! All he knew was that a sudden, cold blast of air carrying snow covered him all over. Someone was there.
Then his withers was nipped! Out of the snowstorm appeared a silver horse and the one who nipped his withers — Son of Storm.
Socks could only think that Thowra had come up through Son of Storm’s Hidden Valley.
Now what were they going to do — that silver horse and the big brown son of Thowra’s half-brother?
Storm had always run with Thowra, and here was Son of Storm backing him up in some wild escapade in the high mountains.
Son of Storm nipped Socks again on the withers, and bent and tugged at Lightning’s ear, so the two friends followed him.
Socks thought he heard a distant sound of galloping hooves coming from the direction in which they were going, but all he really could think of was the cloud of snow that wavered and blew in front of them — Thowra or a ghost!
Then he realised that the sound of a galloping horse was getting closer and closer. Surely it was not the Brumby Hunter returning?
For one instant the snowfall seemed to abate — and Socks saw the Brumby Hunter and his horse quite clearly. Man and galloping horse were heading in a direct line for that willy-willy of snow, and what would happen if they clashed?
With a gasp, Socks stopped to watch the inevitable confrontation, but suddenly the elements themselves took a hand.
Snow came pouring down. Horse and rider, silver cloud, were all invisible, and then out of the snow storm there galloped a great, strong silver stallion, but there was no sign of the Brumby Hunter.
Socks galloped forward to the place where they should have met — what had really happened then? The vanishing Silver Brumby had vanished again.
The Brumby Hunter’s horse somehow was gone. What made it invisible?
Socks stared at the shape which he thought was prosanthera bush, but could see nothing. After a while he noticed what looked like the possibility of a depression in the ground behind some bushes.
Socks moved forward, but not as quickly as Lightning did. Lightning’s curiosity had been aroused. How could the Brumby Hunter’s horse run headlong into the Silver Brumby and then vanish, leaving neither hide nor hair nor even a hoofmark? There must be something.
Dog and horse, they looked all around but could see nothing unusual, yet they were sure that there was something strange about this small grassy hollow. Socks moved one foot and the hoof-fall sounded hollow on the ground.
Where had he heard that hollow sound before?
There was a picture coming into his mind of a great grassy flat and a little stream flowing through it; what had this got to do with the two secret valleys?
Quambat Flat? Quambat Flat? It was quite a distance away? But there was a sunken hollow there — where the ground sounded hollow under a horse’s galloping hooves.
Socks knew it quite well — remembered the hollow sound. Now he and Lightning stood tense and still — listening. Then, they heard a muffled neigh and — less muffled and quite recognisable — curses in the Brumby Hunter’s voice, and a queerly echoing whip-crack. And the whimper of the Hunter’s injured dog.
Both horse and dog stopped entirely still — there was something eerie about the sounds — not ordinary. They were close by — there, and yet not there — so close and yet more distant.
Even Lightning was baffled.
He could usually tell exactly where a sound was coming from. This time, somehow, it came from all around them.
Then the neigh came again, and for one flashing second they seemed to see through a cave wall, see a silver horse rearing up, threatening the Brumby Hunter with its forelegs. A scream rang out and everything blacked out.
Both Socks and Lightning sprang forwards and found themselves in a terrifyingly narrow dark space — and galloping hooves rang hollowly far ahead.
Lightning began to sniff a way out of their enclosure in the darkness, Socks following him closely — and both of them listening keenly to the hoof-beats ahead.
It was a narrow passage, but had to have held Thowra and the Brumby Hunter’s horse and rider.
Then the sound of hooves began to change; fewer echoes, as if they were galloping in a more open space.
The darkness began to go faintly grey — Lightning quickened his pace … a little faster, a little faster, until suddenly they burst out into glittering, silver light — and were on a platform behind a waterfall!
They stopped! Where was the Brumby Hunter? Where was the glorious silver stallion?
Four
There had been a legend of Thowra’s son Wirramirra escaping from a bushfire by becoming part of the spray of a waterfall; was Thowra vanishing now, by becoming the spray from a wonderful waterfall as it emerged from a hillside?
Cold, cold water, from the depths of the earth; icy water filled with mountain magic.
Socks crept closer, extending his nose, and there he saw the Silver Brumby, standing in the centre of the falling water, a perfect and lovely horse — every line of him expressing love of life, expressing love.
Lightning pressed against Socks’s foreleg. Thowra’s expression was the same as when he and Boon Boon had stood looking in the friends’ sandy cave one night promising safety, and as far as Lightning was concerned, all was right with the world. He and Socks were safe.
The Silver Brumby would be safe and he would guide Socks and Lightning back to his Secret Valley; sometime they would get back to the hollow tree on the Ingegoodbee and Lightning’s dear Miss Dingo.
Lightning and Socks stood watching the Silver Brumby, sometimes half-hidden in the silver spray. Sometimes the spray itself seemed to fly into the shape of a rearing horse.
Then suddenly Lightning’s hackles rose. There, above the waterfall, where the stream gushed out of the mountainside, stood the Brumby Hunter’s horse, the Brumby Hunter sitting firmly in the saddle.
Perhaps Thowra had seen him and did not care?
What would happen next?
Thowra seemed almost to be teasing, never coming out of the lace of falling water. Lightning got tired of waiting. He knew he could safely walk along the ledge of rock that became quite a wide shelf below the falling water.
He began to tiptoe carefully across. Socks followed as far as he could before the rock grew very slippery. From there he w
atched Lightning going under the silver spray — shaking the water out of his ears.
Socks took a few tentative steps forward — glistening black as the spray soaked him — then Thowra saw both Lightning and Socks and came towards them, not realising that the Brumby Hunter was following.
Lightning saw what was going to happen and dodged past Thowra, his claws clinging to the wet, slippery band of limestone.
The Brumby Hunter cursed! Lightning hurled himself at the horse and there was a slithering and scrabbling of hooves, a great barking from Lightning, a furious curse from the Brumby Hunter, two neighs from Thowra and Socks.
Quite a commotion!
Thowra seemed to pivot on his neat, hard hooves and almost dive down the waterfall. To Socks it looked like suicide, but he heard a little whinny from Thowra which undoubtedly said, ‘Follow me,’ and he charged down through the water — aware, as he went, that Lightning was following.
Thowra leapt from wet, slippery rock to wet, slippery rock — Socks tried desperately to put his feet on the same rocks, and to call to Lightning. From one fairly stable, stone platform he looked back to see if his friend was safe behind, and saw that the Brumby Hunter’s horse had slipped off the limestone track and Lightning was forcing it to slide.
He paused for a moment and called, saw Lightning throw up his head and then turn through all the glistening spray and come after him.
Thowra had managed to get a little further ahead. Socks tried to go faster — and found his feet slipping.
He was trying hard to save himself and realised, gratefully, that Lightning was quite close and getting closer. Then he saw that Thowra seemed to be waiting, standing on a flat rock on which the spray kept constantly breaking.
Socks tried to steer his slide towards that rock. Lightning was beside him now, his claws stopping him sliding so fast, but unable to help. Thowra stood waiting.
Socks made a huge effort and slid closer towards the flat rock. Lightning was there already.
Socks’s slide slowed and Thowra and Lightning both grabbed him.
Silver horse, black-and-blue dog, black horse with the four white socks — there they all were, covered in glittering spray from the waterfall, tight together on the flat rock.
Thowra gave Socks a little nip to follow him, and tugged at Lightning’s ear. Then he jumped into the falling water.
There was nothing for Socks and Lightning to do but follow.
Five
Water crashed and sparkled all around them.
There was the shape of the Silver Horse ahead — there shining silver, and then just a shape made of diamond spray, like Wirramirra had been when the fire was on ‘the tops’.
Socks felt Lightning against his legs, but he knew that they must both walk forward — however slippery the rocks were — to join Thowra and go with him.
In fact Thowra was just moving slightly and Socks could see some sort of a corridor beyond him, and the creek rushing down the floor of it.
The corridor looked quite dim, and as Thowra moved out of the waterfall, he walked into darkness.
Socks did not like the look of it, but Thowra gave that faint, whinnying neigh that quite clearly said, ‘Follow me.’
Socks and Lightning followed. More suddenly than they expected, they were in the darkness, so thick that one could feel it. Ahead were the faint sounds of neat hooves on limestone.
The morning light came quickly. Thowra went through a horizontal grevillea that Lightning realised hid this opening from the corridor, and saw that the grevillea grew on the banks of the creek.
They were in the Secret Valley, but both Socks and Lightning were puzzled about the way they had got there. Memory seemed filled with a shining waterfall that clothed a silver horse, or even a silver horse that became a shining waterfall, but Thowra was starting to trot along the valley floor.
That evening Socks and Lightning were curled up on the sandy floor of their usual cave — but Lightning was restless, and when the sky above the valley began to get darker and dingo howls started to echo in the hills around, he got up and began to pace around. The howls were making his longing for Miss Dingo even stronger.
He knew the sound of Miss Dingo’s howl among many others, and her howl was not there, but the dingo voices were making him more and more disturbed.
He walked to the mouth of the cave and back again. Socks watched him anxiously.
Then a bark — exactly like Lightning’s bark — sounded far away and high above.
The Brumby Hunter’s dog!
The Brumby Hunter must have worked his way back to the cliff above the Secret Valley. Perhaps he may never have seen Thowra vanishing in the silver spray of a waterfall.
Socks got to his feet, too, and found himself looking straight at Thowra, who had come to the mouth of the cave.
Thowra gave a very soft whinny to call them to follow, and led them back up the valley, and soon Socks saw that they were going to make their way out of the Secret Valley, the way they had come.
Though the snow had stopped and the sky had cleared, that was not exactly Socks’s idea of fun! And how did they jump up a waterfall, anyway?
It was best to follow the Silver Brumby without hesitating.
There was that dog barking again. His bark did not sound friendly like Lightning’s bark did. Socks felt the hair rising on his back, even as he followed Thowra, and he was shivering as he crept round the horizontal grevillea into the black, dark tunnel.
He followed on, trying to imagine Thowra shining silver in the darkness.
It would not be long till they reached the place where they had jumped down the waterfall. Was the Silver Brumby going to try and jump up it?
Lightning was nervous, too, in that dark tunnel, but Thowra kept striding on.
They would soon be out of the tunnel — and what then! Socks was almost holding his breath; Lightning’s heart was beating uncomfortably. His feet, with their claws, did not slip on the wet limestone. Socks’s feet did keep slipping.
He could hear the tapping of Thowra’s hooves ahead; it was an encouraging sound in that black, dark tunnel, but he felt his heart beating harder and harder against his ribs.
There had been faint moonlight before they went into the tunnel, but Socks was not expecting a full moon to have risen above the waterfall, and was surprised when suddenly Thowra, in front of him, stepped out of the tunnel into the glittering silver spray, so that he was standing there, cast in silver.
Socks stopped and Lightning bumped into his hind legs, but then looked up in amazement. There was Thowra, still standing, as though made of molten silver, looking keenly to the right of the waterfall. Something seemed to have cast a spell over him, but both Lightning and Socks realised that he was gazing at the rocks beside the waterfall, working out footholds where they could climb up.
Then the dingo howls started again — a song to the risen moon.
Thowra moved forward a few steps — to the right of the waterfall. Socks, so relieved that they were perhaps not going to jump up the waterfall, took a couple of steps after him into the moonlight. Looking down he saw that his own white socks were shining silver. Suddenly he felt as though he were touched by magic, and that his silver fetlocks should be able to carry him anywhere that the Silver Brumby went.
Carefully Socks watched where Thowra put each foot, and he, too, started to climb the great tumble of rocks beside the waterfall.
Thowra might be magic, but Socks felt that his legs had magic in them, too, and looking down beside him, he saw Lightning silvered over by moonlit spray and felt assured that Lightning was fired with magic, too.
Obviously Lightning, with his sharp claws, could climb the tumble of rocks, all wet with spray, more easily than Socks could, but however difficult it was, they would both be lent some magic by the moon.
On and on the enchanted three went, led by the glittering magic of the Silver Horse.
Six
It was a difficult climb but never impossible, not wi
th the Silver Horse moving on ahead. Socks found it easier if he managed to keep close behind Thowra, putting his feet exactly where Thowra’s neat hooves had been.
Lightning was right beside him, climbing easily.
Sometimes they heard the Brumby Hunter’s dog bark, but it was some distance away. Lightning knew well not to answer it. He knew that they were, all three, really in hiding — or seeking a hiding place that was not in the Secret Valley.
In fact the Silver Brumby was intending to lead the Brumby Hunter right away from his Secret Valley. He knew that there was very little chance of hiding from that man and his dog except in the Secret Valley, and now the Brumby Hunter had an idea where that was, perhaps even had an idea that Thowra had jumped into it, but he certainly would not know just how; not even that clever Brumby Hunter would imagine him jumping over the edge of the cliff, landing on one ledge, and jumping off it onto another, till he reached the valley floor. The way into the Secret Valley would always be his secret; he had never yet shown anyone else. One day he might show Socks, but Socks would never leave Lightning, and to get down the cliff Lightning would have to fly.
All the time he was thinking, Thowra was moving upwards; clouds had come across and snow was falling quietly; not much snow lay on the ground till they got higher. Flakes were falling into the head of the Crackenback River when they crossed it.
Socks knew where they were going. Thowra was making for the Ramsheads — his country forever and ever.
Socks was glad because he knew the Ramshead country, and the Leatherbarrel Valley, and he followed the Silver Brumby as though he had springs in his legs, feeling wonderfully inspired by the strength of the silver horse. Maybe some of the magic that flowed from Thowra had really gone to him and to Lightning.
Socks glanced at Lightning and saw that he looked pleased and happy, but, he thought, as soon as the dingoes started howling if the moon reappeared, Lightning would worry about Miss Dingo.