"Old Battleaxe"
We first noticed him by the whisps of dust floating between his horse's
legs as he moved up the lane towards the yards. Him on an old bay mare,
leading a pack horse, the finest piece of horseflesh we had seen around
our parts for many years. He climbed off and led both horses to the
trough. When they had finished he dusted himself off, removed the
battered old hat he wore and dunked his head in the trough. He never
spoke, just nodded at us as he tied both horses to a rail and loosened
the girth straps. He never said a word as he joined us on the top rail
to watch the antics about to start in the round yard. Hejust nodded at
us as he settled his lean frame on the rail..
"Battleaxe", so named 'cause that's what you reckoned you had been hit
with after he finished with you, stood wide eyed, nostrils
flared,snorting and with his ears laid as close to his head as
possible. Two minutes before he had tossed the boss like he (the boss)
was a novice jackaroo. This had been a Sunday morning ritual for nigh
on three months and the boss was growing out of patience as well as
alcohol rub.
"I've had enough for today,let that bastard back in the night paddock.
There's not much feed there. It might make the bastard weak and i'll
deal with him next week," yelled the boss to the two ringers who
wouldn't dare let him see the smile on their faces for fear of
receiving a backhander as he walked past them and out the rail gate.
The boss had been a champion rough rider for years and had earned a
name for himself riding broncs, but old Battleaxe had thrown him as
many times as the boss had swung aboard. It was usually all over in
about eight seconds each time, always with the boss having to give him
best. Next Sunday would be the same, but we never missed the chance to
see the boss get thrown every which way. It was good for our ego also,
as none of us could ride that boneshaker either. We all had tried but
all of us carried the scars of defeat.
The pack horse caught the boss's eye as he closed the yard gate. He
just stood there, taking in that pack horse as his well educated eyes
followed the outline of that horse. He looked up at us and spotted the
new face amongst us. "That's a mighty fine horse you have there. I
suppose you have a paper that says he's yours?"
"Yep", was all the stranger muttered as he rolled himself the thinnest
fag he could. A sure sign that he was almost out of tobacco and
probably down to his last tin of "bully" also.He was so lean we
reckoned he'd had more than a few Dingo breakfasts lately.
Now the boss knew horses and that pack horse was something he had
dreamed about since he was a new chum ringer. "Don't suppose you'd part
with him, eh?"
"Not fixin' to,"said the stranger. "But I might do a deal with you."
The boss's curiosity got the better of him."Whatcha mean, a deal?"
"Well," said the stranger, "the last few months I've had it a bit rough
sort of.Don't suppose you 're lookin for another on the payroll?"
"Nope," said the boss."Full house at the moment. Nothin' doin' for a couple of months."
"Yair, I reconed as how that would be. I'll do a deal with you,"offered the stranger.
"What sort of a deal," asked the boss cautiously.
"Well, I need some tucker, a few bucks to see me till the next job and
I see you have a good eye for horseflesh. I won't sell him, but I'll
tell you what I'll do. If I can ride that thing you call 'Battleaxe',
I'll swap him for my packhorse, a full tucker bag and a few dollars,"
said the stranger.
"What if you don't ride him?"asked the boss.
"Then the packhorse is yours but you give me the tucker and the money", replied the stranger.
You could see the cogs turning over in the boss's head. It ws a win win
situation. He couldn't lose. No one had ridden Battleaxe before, and
this bloke looked like he didn't have it in him. Besides which, that
packhorse was worth a lot of money at any sale yard. Talk about a gift
horse....
"Run that deal past me again fella. I know there has to be a catch
somewhere. Just can't put me finger on it,"said the boss. The stranger
went through it again. The boss stood there lookin' into the strangers
face. After about 30 seconds of thinking about it, the boss yelled out
to anyone in particular, "Go run that bastard back in the yard. We got
a show to watch."
He turned back to the stranger, stuck out his hand and said, "You got yerself a deal,son. Good luck. You're gonna need it!!."
As we knew he would, Old Battleaxe stood there quivering as the
stranger climbed aboard him. As soon as the ringer shook off the saddle
blanket we used over his eyes he dropped his head. We started counting
, just to see if the stranger could stay on as long as the boss.None of
us knew how long it lasted. we had more to do than count.
That horse knew something. He had never put on a turn like he did when
that stranger raked him. He twisted like a cock-eyed bob. He tried all
the tricks he had used before.We had never seen him try to flip
himself. It was beautiful to watch. The stranger just slipped out of
the chair as battleaxe flipped, and stood back in the irons as the
horse righted itself. We sat there with our mouths like fly baits. No
one had seen anything like it before. It was poetry in motion. Old
Battleaxe was finished. We all could tell. The stranger yelled to drop
the rails and he sent the horse down the lane towards the creek. Before
we could get off the top rail and to a horse they came back up the lane
and the stranger stepped down in front of the boss.
The boss just stood there. his hat pushed back on his head and with a
look of disbelief on his face, said,"Well son, I reckon I've seen some
good rides and riders, but I aint seen anything like that. After that,
I couldn't take yer horse from you."
"No way", said the stranger. "A deal's a deal. I don't welch on a deal.
My handshake's my word. Besides which...."and here the stranger was
silent for a few seconds, "At least I can ride Battleaxe. I can't ride
that packhorse !"
