The Horse Who Bit a Bushranger Read Online Free

cart.’
    The man looked thoughtful. ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Billy Marks, sir.’
    ‘Can you read, Billy Marks?’
    ‘Yes, sir. A bit.’ Ma had taught him to read. So long ago…He added, ‘I’m a bit rusty now. But I can read a newspaper.’
    The old man nodded. ‘Wait by the gangplank, Billy Marks.’
    It had taken all his strength to keep upright; he felt he would fall into a puddle on the deck if he had to take another step. But he had to keep going for a little longer now. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Sir…what’s your name, sir? Who will I be workin’ for?’
    ‘My name is Roman John. I’m foreman at one of the Reverend Hassall’s farms.’
    ‘Thank you, Mr John. I’ll work hard. I promise.’ To his surprise he almost meant it.
    Roman John nodded. ‘We’ll see. This is your second chance, Mr Marks. Everyone deserves a second chance. Let’s see what use you make of yours.’
    He walked on, down the lines of convicts, assessing again.
    Billy walked unsteadily over to the gangplank, and leant against the rail. He looked over at the dock: already Jem’s cart had vanished.
    But Billy would remember. Somehow he’d find Jem again. They’d be bushrangers, roaming the mountains. On the bridle con, just like Flash Harry.
    Yes, this was his second chance.

CHAPTER 5
The Horse, 1831
    Day after day we stood there. The water grew thick and foul. Some of the stranger horses tried to stop the others drinking, but I nipped the hindquarters of any who tried to take control. That water belonged to us all.
    I didn’t know what it was to be a king, when I fought Highest. But now I knew what a king’s duty had to be.
    A king should protect his mob.
    Every few days the men pushed more horses into our canyon. Hunger nibbled at my belly. The mares nursing foals grew thin.
    And then one day it changed.
    I had been standing, half asleep, when the air behind me ripped apart.
    Men whipped their long hard tails, waving and cracking them about their heads. The fence that had contained us was gone.
    Were we free?
    The horses at the edge began to run, and then they screamed. More men lashed them, these ones on horseback. For long moments all was yelling, foals neighing for their mothers, long high cracks…
    And then I realised what was happening. We were moving—but we were not free. The men on horses surrounded the whole mob of us. They whipped our flanks if we tried to break away.
    I pushed my way to the edge of the mob. The other horses parted before me. I was bigger than them all. I had grown since I fought Highest.
    ‘Oi oi oi oi oi!’ one of the men yelled. The air sang above my head. The strap bit deep into my side, but I had seen my chance. If I could lead the mob up that gully we’d be free. I broke into a canter, and then a gallop. My legs were stiff, after moving so little for so long, but I forced them forward.
    Were the others following me? I could hear hoofbeats. The whip thing shouted again. My back stung. I could feel blood flow down my coat. I put my head down and began to gallop.
    Another sting, and then another. Horses surrounded me: not my horses. These ones had men on their backs, the whips lashing back and forth. I stopped, swivelling my ears, twisting from side to side, trying to work out where to go.
    But there was no way out. I trotted on with my head down as, slowly, they forced me back into the mob.
    And so we plodded forward through the trees, into the world of men.
    They let us stop to drink by a river, the water curling through wide banks of sand, too deep to wade through and escape. They let us ramble along the bank and graze. It was good to taste fresh grass again, not to be crammed together in the canyon.
    The shadows lengthened. It seemed we were to stay here for the night; the river a barrier on one side, and men on horses prowling around us, stopping us from straying too far. By now all of us knew what the sting of the whip things was like.
    I lifted my head and called the others of