Post by Corowa on Nov 28, 2011 3:54:33 GMT
Bill was startled by the chestnut filly’s unexpected reaction. His head flew up, and the usually unflappable gelding found himself ready to bolt. The filly charged the stout yard fence, as if she could knock it over. She bit at the fence several times before she swung round and started to walk back and forth along it. All of a sudden, the filly stopped and let out a piercing neigh. The other brumbies jumped nervously at the sound, and Tom looked up sharply from where he was oiling his boots.
A few hundred feet away, Jack and Pilot stood tied side by side. Pilot heard the filly’s neigh, and the colt pawed at the ground. He pulled back, but the rope held tight, and seeing that it was useless, the colt gave a forlorn whinny.
Soon enough, the filly realised there was no way out of those high, rough-hewn fences. Bill turned his head to watch as she walked back towards him. It was quite obvious that beneath the sweat stains and dust, she was an attractive filly, and the gelding was surprised to find he was unhappy with the fact that she had been caught.
“You’ll probably be sold down at Cooma,” Bill told the filly uncertainly, as he glanced over at the small mob of brumbies gathered by the fence. “Maybe further south at Jindabyne. There are plenty of drovers and stockmen who pass through there for supplies.” The old packhorse wondered suddenly if the filly, and all those other captured brumbies, even realised what it meant to be sold. Bill snorted softly to himself. Perhaps it was better if they did not know.
A few hundred feet away, Jack and Pilot stood tied side by side. Pilot heard the filly’s neigh, and the colt pawed at the ground. He pulled back, but the rope held tight, and seeing that it was useless, the colt gave a forlorn whinny.
Soon enough, the filly realised there was no way out of those high, rough-hewn fences. Bill turned his head to watch as she walked back towards him. It was quite obvious that beneath the sweat stains and dust, she was an attractive filly, and the gelding was surprised to find he was unhappy with the fact that she had been caught.
“You’ll probably be sold down at Cooma,” Bill told the filly uncertainly, as he glanced over at the small mob of brumbies gathered by the fence. “Maybe further south at Jindabyne. There are plenty of drovers and stockmen who pass through there for supplies.” The old packhorse wondered suddenly if the filly, and all those other captured brumbies, even realised what it meant to be sold. Bill snorted softly to himself. Perhaps it was better if they did not know.