Chapter 15:
Heath sat up with a start, a loud noise having startled him awake. He looked out the window, no wind, no clouds. All quiet, then the noise came again, a loud boom, thunderous gunfire echoing across the silvery, moonlight paddocks.
"Heath?" Claire stirred and murmured.
"Noise Claire, go back to sleep. I'm going to check it out." By the time Heath had finished speaking she was already asleep. Slipping his jeans and trail jacket on he headed down stairs barefoot, putting his boots on at the back door. He stood quietly observing. He saw the shadowy figures, heard the engines and saw the flash of the muzzle of the rifles. Someone was shooting at the brumbies as they ran wild out of the national park. Heath shouldered his rifle, but couldn't see well enough. They disappeared over the bank and the noise slowly droned away, the shots getting quieter. He returned to bed.
The alarm blazed at 530 AM and Heath jumped straight out of bed, still dressed, he headed downstairs and straight out to the stables, with Johnno saddled he rode out straight away, heading to where he saw the shooters only hours before. Squatting down he looked at the tracks, standard road tyres and a quad bike. From the nearby grass a fresh brass cartridge gleamed in the sun, he picked it up.
'243' he muttered reading the stamping in the bottom of the shell. He found a wounded horse nearby, it had been gut shot, Heath pulled the rifle from the scabbard, he cycled the action, and placing the muzzle at the horses head he pulled the trigger, putting the horse to rest.
'Gutless bastards' he muttered. As he heard an engine and a white Holden ute appeared to his right. A stocky bloke in a black hat and checked shirt got out and walked over. Heath was about to say something when the bloke saw the horse.
"So it's you is it?" the stranger said. "You gutless son-of-a-bitch." He spat.
"Hang on," Heath replied. I came out here after I heard the shots last night, someone's been using a .243, mines a .45 Carbine."
"Bullshit." Said the Starnger. "Who the hell are you anyway? This isn't National Park."
"I know! Heath spat back. "I'm from Drovers Run mate, this is our land, and you are trespassing. So who the bloody hell are you?"
"Sorry, Names Riley, Riley Ward."
"Heath Beresford." And they shook hands.
"This one was gut shot with a .243, small calibre for taking down a horse."
"Yeah, I've got a .308, bit better for dealing with them." Riley replied.
"I'd rather yard em and try and break em." Heath said.
"I've already yarded a few." Riley said, as they both broke into a grin.