Penguin Books Australia

Diesel and Gibbo cast out perfectly around the mob on the river flats. Jim had taught her to work her dogs using their natural instinct to pull the mob towards her. She drove slowly towards the gate, knowing she could rely on the dogs to guide the sheep to her.

After shutting the gates around the house paddocks, Rosie drove quickly along the track, the fat tyres of the ute splashing mud up over the doors. The windscreen wipers smeared brown droplets over the glass and Rosie leant forward trying to see where she was going as the ute bounced, bumped and fish-tailed along the track. At last she saw Jim waiting at the gate with the two horses. She got out and ran to him.

When they pulled the horses up at the river bank, Rosie sucked in a breath. The river looked sinister. White froth tinged with brown gathered beside the swirling eddies and clung to the tangled heaps of bark, sticks and branches at the river's edge. In the centre of the river, water surged forward as if it was boiling over. Further downstream, rapids roared over rocks in the shallows and threw up white spray. Rosie sat back in her saddle in fear when she saw it. Steam rose from their hot horses as Jim and Rosie surveyed the scene.

'Where do you think we should cross?' Rosie yelled through the rain.

She had been out to the ford before, on picnics, when the river had gleamed and was still; she had launched her body into its comfort and coolness in summer heat. But the prospect of crossing the river in flood terrified her. On the other side, the cows were stranded on low rises in the marshes, bellowing at their calves. The calves gambolled in the shallows of the rising water, lifting their little tails and kicking out their hind legs. They seemed unaware of the danger they were in. The cows trotted after them, lowing urgently.

'It's not so bad here at the ford,' said Jim, his mare dancing on the slippery rocks and mud at the river's edge. 'The horses will be fine. I've crossed worse than this in the Kimberley.' He stretched out a cold reddened hand and touched Rosie's face. 'Trust your horse. He'll carry you through.'

'And the dogs?' she asked.

'Current's too strong. We'll have to give them a lift.'

He whistled the dogs to him. 'Hop up,' he said, and Thommo and Daisy leapt up to sit at the front and rear of his saddle. His mare flattened her ears back as she felt the dogs land on her, but she stood still.

'See if your dogs will do the same,' he said.

Rosie patted her leg and said, 'Hop up.' Diesel and Gibbo ignored her.

'Say it like you mean it, girl!' said Jim. 'We don't have time to waste.'

'Hop up,' she commanded in a voice that didn't seem like her own. Diesel instantly leapt up and settled himself at the front of the saddle. Sam had clearly trained him to do that. Gibbo whined and hesitated. He put his paws gingerly on Rosie's foot in the stirrup and tucked his tail between his legs. She reached down, spilling rain from the brim of her hat onto the ground, hauled up the lanky dog and draped him over Oakwood's rump. Oakwood gave a small buck at the sensation, then settled.

'Right?' said Jim.

Rosie nodded, swallowing the fear down into the pit of her stomach. Following Jim on his mare, Oakwood ambled into the river as if he was on a pony club trail ride. Then his ears shot forward in excitement and he snorted as he felt the current racing past his legs. Branches skidded by over the rocks and Jim's mare shied a little, but he talked to her and gently urged her forward, giving her time to find her footing. As they moved deeper into the river, the current swept past with terrifying strength. The horses grunted with effort, trying to keep their footing on the round river rocks that lay unseen beneath the frothing rapids. The water rose to Oakwood's chest and Rosie could see the tail of Jim's mare being swept sideways downstream by the current. Sticks and leaves were catching in it. Icy cold water soaked into her boots and rose up her jeans, but just when she thought they must be swept away, the water level began to drop and the horses seemed to walk more freely.

Shaking more from fear than cold, and sighing with relief, Rosie began to relax. But suddenly Oakwood stumbled, his front legs tumbling deep into a hole. His shoulder fell away from beneath Rosie and his nose dipped below the muddy waters. His hooves flailed. Then his body surged sideways, and he fell. Rosie went with him. The dogs were washed from Oakwood's back, and from the corner of her eye Rosie saw their tiny heads being swept away. Then she felt the water grasp her chest. It constricted her breath as coldness and fear choked her. She felt her legs float and lift away from the saddle as she was submerged in the angry water. It tugged her feet from the stirrups and began to pull her body downstream.

'Jim!' she screamed. She and Oakwood had been washed from the crossing and were now in the deep swirling water, moving rapidly downstream. She saw him turn and the look of terror on his suddenly pale face was the image she took with her as she was dragged under by the current. Her fingers grappled to find Oakwood's mane or saddle. Anything. Whatever she could reach. She slung her arms about his neck. Oakwood's every muscle was taut with fear and exertion as he battled to swim against the current to the bank.

When Rosie surfaced, clinging to Oakwood and his reins, she saw the terrified roll of his eyes. His nostrils were flared up, red, like a dragon's, then they would flatten and close as he breathed heavily and snorted, his big hooves thrashing in the current. Rosie felt the river's fury. It sucked her boots from her. Her coat was drawn from her body like a rabbit's skin: Time and again, she and Oakwood were pulled under, spinning about. Logs battered them. Sheep, long since drowned, ghoulishly bunted them as their bloated bodies floated past, their tongues swollen and pale, their eyes glassy.

Beneath her, from the bottom of the muddy river, it was as if the fingers of the dead were grappling Rosie's ankles, dragging her down. One moment she was in the dark raging underworld, then she was back looking up at the grey sky and watching the river bank pass by. She could feel Oakwood beginning to give up the fight. He was getting tired. Her muscles screamed with exhaustion too. The panic in her head, that fierce instinct to survive, was subsiding. Rosie began to relax. She realised in a calm, strangely detached way that she and Oakwood and the dogs were going to drown.