The horse took the decision from her. He cantered around the yards once, twice. She bent and grabbed his mane, still clutching the sack. On the third time around, the big horse ran right at the fence and leaped over the final two railings as Mr Clancy stepped quickly back. And then the horse galloped, across the yard and past the house, Mr Clancy gazing at her with an expression she had no time to understand . . .

He could follow on his horse. She had seen Mr Clancy ride like she did now, without a saddle. It would take him only seconds to mount one of the horses in the barren paddocks by the house. Even if he waited till she got away — and she thought perhaps he would wait until she and the horse had vanished — he could follow her, and so could Boss, and the other men on the property.

No other horse could catch them, not this big horse, if she could just stay on. But horses left tracks that even Mr Clancy could follow. Some time even this stallion must stop. If the men followed, soon they would find her.

She let the horse find his own way at first, galloping along the dry river bed, his hooves digging at the sand, then, tiring of that, he headed into the trees, hard soil and almost as bare as the sand, its small shrubs and tussocks lost to the blunt-toothed faces of sheep. The horse slowed to a canter, and eventually a lope.

She did not know if she could control him, though in their nights when she sat on his back she had tried patting one side of his neck, pushing with her knee, to make him go in one direction or another. He had not obeyed her then. She doubted he would now.

She was terrified at the power under her, at moving so fast, so high. How long could she cling on like this? What would happen if she fell? But at the same time it was the most joy she had ever felt, for she was free, the wind shrieking past her face, almost like the owl cutting through the air with its wings.

She had watched men stop horses by pulling on their reins, leaning back and sometimes calling ‘whoa’. She had not tried it. Nor would she, for the horse seemed to know as well as she did that they must get as far away from men as possible.

At last he slowed a little of his own accord, sniffing the air. He set off in a new direction, walking. Some of her terror eased. Balancing was easy now that the stallion walked so slowly, his gait even. Rose reached into the bag, took out a johnny cake and ate it. The horse seemed to know where he was going.