Do You Dare? The Last Horse Race

by James Moloney

  ‘Would your father let me work for him?’ Toby asked Sprout the next morning as the Mackenzies were getting ready to head back to the Downs. Toby had his mother in mind as much as himself. If he got a job on the Darling Downs, his mother could come too and fewer people meant less chance of being recognised.

  His question took Sprout by surprise and he needed a few moments to understand what Toby was saying. Once he did, his eyes became as large as dinner plates. ‘That means you’d come back to the Downs with us. We’d be together all the time.’

  ‘Exactly! What could be better?’ said Toby eagerly. ‘I’d be working with horses and I’d have a good friend to hang around with.’

  ‘What happens to me, then?’ said a voice from near by. Robert had come to say goodbye to Sprout.

  When Toby saw the hurt in Robert’s face he felt awful and then made things worse without meaning to. ‘But you’ve got school to go to.’

  Robert looked ready to cry.

  ‘No, I mean, your mother and father think you have to learn things in books, but that’s not the life for me.’

  At this, Robert looked ready to punch him.

  Toby was jumping ahead a long way, of course, and he knew it. So did Sprout. They went to see Mr Mackenzie and that was where the mad, wonderful idea fizzled out like a candle in the rain.

  ‘I’m sorry, young man. I’m sure my boy would like a friend to share his days with, but I need a worker, not an extra son.’

  Sprout looked as disappointed as Toby felt. ‘I just have the girls and they act more like young ladies every day. It’s going to be harder now, when I know you two are down here doing things together. Sometimes I think it would be better to go to school to be with other kids.’

  ‘You’ll come back again,’ said Toby, trying to sound hopeful. ‘Our gang’s not finished yet.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be back. You can bet ten pounds on that,’ said Sprout.

  They shook hands to make it official and that seemed to help Sprout – a little, anyway. An hour later Toby and Robert stood waving one last time towards the fading figure of Sprout Mackenzie on Lottie’s back.

  ‘I suppose I’d better return these,’ Toby said, taking off the shoes he had ‘borrowed’ from Mr Poole. They were crusted with mud and the sole had begun to come away on one of them.

  ‘Keep them,’ said Robert. ‘My father won’t want them back like that.’

  In the weeks after Sprout set off for home, Robert found new ways to duck school, more out of cleverness than daring. He convinced Mr Wallace that children should learn about frogs, and was given permission to spend a whole day with Toby catching tadpoles. Mr Wallace helped in other ways, too. He liked rum as much as the horsemen in Bow’s Hotel and on some mornings couldn’t stand up straight in front of his pupils. Robert didn’t tell his mother that lessons were cancelled for the day – he went in search of Toby.

  But that was no more than a day here and a day there and apart from these, the two friends had only Saturdays because Mrs Poole always found something for Robert to do after church on Sunday. Which left Toby mostly alone. When he could get away from his chores at home, he roamed the riverbank or waited near the hotel for the least sign of excitement. Men still raced their horses to see which was the best, but even that thrill was becoming rare. During one race, Old Ted had wandered into the path of the horses and almost been knocked senseless. After that, the sergeant of police stood in the bar of Bow’s Hotel and said, ‘If someone is hurt in one of your steeplechases, there’ll be charges. You can have your sport, but find a different course.’

  Toby listened to the men talking in the street afterwards. ‘A proper racecourse would take all the fun out of it. We don’t want to be like the toffs racing thoroughbreds in front of the Queen.’

  Toby recognised the bitterness in their voices. What was the point of living in a place like Moreton Bay if you couldn’t do wild and dangerous things whenever the whim took hold? That was why Toby loved living here so much.

  What Toby missed most was the feel of a horse beneath him. He began wearing Mr Poole’s shoes when he lingered in the street and if a man appeared on horseback, he’d ask to help with the horse. Some told him, rudely, to go away. One thought he was planning to steal the animal. Men heading for the hotel were eager for a drink, though, and when Toby offered to remove the saddle for them and see the horse was watered, it meant the men could go into the bar immediately. He began to find takers and, as more of the men trusted him, he became bolder.

  ‘Should I take your horse out to the paddock to graze?’

  Whenever he got the nod, Toby would wait until the fellow was inside then mount up. When he reached the paddock, he’d ride a circuit among the cows before tethering the horse. He began to learn the difference between horses and how to handle the skittish ones. Some he didn’t ride at all because the look in their eyes warned him not to try.

  More than a month after Sprout’s departure, Toby was tethering a horse when a familiar voice called to him. He turned to find Stan approaching on Trojan.

  ‘You’re here for another race, are you?’

  ‘I could certainly do with some winnings. Then I could hire someone to help on my farm.’ He seemed to have given himself an idea because he stopped and stared a moment at Toby.

  ‘Do you fancy some work? I don’t mean fixing horse races for me.’

  ‘Would I be working with horses?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Toby. Mostly chopping down trees and putting up fences. My wife’s a fine cook, though. We’d take good care of you.’

  Toby shook his head. ‘Sorry, I want to work with horses.’

  Stan offered a smile to show he understood. ‘That’s what I would do all day long if I had the choice,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve become quite the young horseman.’

  ‘A friend taught me. He’s gone now, but I’m trying to keep at it.’

  ‘No longer a beginner, then. Do you think you’re up to handling Trojan?’

  Toby didn’t wait for a second invitation. Stan laughed at his battered shoes. ‘Riding boots,’ he called them, as he watched Toby hoist himself into the saddle. The mocking tone only made Toby more determined to impress.

  Sprout’s Lottie was a sturdy beast and the horses Toby had ridden in recent weeks were much the same. As soon as Toby took his place in the saddle he sensed Trojan was special. Of course he was. Hadn’t Toby seen him beat every horse he was matched against, even when the race wasn’t fixed? He urged the gelding into a trot and enjoyed the power he felt beneath him. Barely out of a walk, Trojan was moving faster than any horse he’d ridden since Lottie.

  He made two circuits of the butcher’s paddock, aware of Stan’s eyes upon him every lope of the way until he brought the horse back to its owner.

  ‘You sit very well on a horse for a boy who hasn’t had much riding. Have you tried a jump?’

  Was he joking? Toby didn’t want to admit he was still a novice, but he’d given himself away by not answering.

  ‘Have a go now,’ said Stan.

  Toby looked at the fence that kept the butcher’s cows from roaming. The top rail was as high as a man’s chest.

  Stan laughed, ‘Not the fence. I don’t want the troopers on my back for murder.’ He looked around. ‘There, that log.’

  Twenty yards away lay the remains of a gum tree felled for firewood. The limbs had all been cut away leaving the trunk.

  Stan stroked Trojan’s neck while he explained, ‘He knows what to do. Run him towards the log and don’t hesitate. If you do, he’ll feel it and shy away at the last minute. You move well with his stride. Just do that when he jumps and lean forward with all your weight in the stirrups, otherwise you’ll go straight over the back of him when he leaps. Use your legs to stop yourself going over his neck when you land, too.’

  There was a lot to remember. Toby turned the horse’s head and guided him a good distance back into the paddock. ‘Heels down, lean forward,’ he muttered over and over.

  Tro
jan sensed what was coming. When Toby kicked him into motion towards the log, he didn’t veer away. They were closing faster than Toby anticipated, in fact they were already . . .

  Stan hadn’t told him that a horse often increases its speed in the final bounds before a jump. This caught Toby by surprise and he panicked, forgetting everything Stan had told him. The sudden surge brought the saddle up underneath him as Trojan leapt into the air. The powerful back of the horse slammed into Toby’s bottom, forcing him forward. Before he could get his balance, the horse’s front legs met the ground and Toby was jolted from the saddle onto Trojan’s neck. Despite a desperate grab for the mane, he slipped to the ground, landing on the point of his shoulder.

  The grass was long and lush after recent rain and the ground soft for the same reason. All the same, Toby’s shoulder felt like it had been rammed into the centre of his chest. In only moments Stan was with him.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Stan saw him clutching at his shoulder. ‘I hope it’s not your collarbone.’

  He made Toby sit up and gently prized his hand away to take a look. ‘You’re lucky. Nothing broken, I’d say.’

  ‘Feels like half my body is broken,’ said Toby.

  Stan laughed, although Toby hadn’t meant it as a joke. ‘Come on, up you get.’

  Toby wasn’t keen, but the shock was starting to leave him. Not the pain in his shoulder, though. On his feet, he swayed a little until the giddiness stopped and he winced when he raised his arm on the injured side.

  ‘If you can move it like that, you’ll be all right.’

  Stan went off to fetch the horse, leaving Toby to convince himself that he was okay. He expected Stan to mount up and wave farewell, but instead he led the horse back to Toby.

  ‘Back in the saddle,’ he said.

  The words were out of Toby’s mouth before he’d even thought them. ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘Yes, you can. It’s important that you do.’

  ‘My shoulder,’ said Toby, exaggerating the wince when he rubbed it gingerly. The shoulder was hurting, but that wasn’t why Toby refused. He kept seeing the moment he was thrown onto the horse’s neck and, worse, the desperate slide once he began to fall.

  ‘I’ve had enough riding for today.’

  ‘Toby, get back on the horse.’

  ‘No!’

  Stan said nothing more, but he didn’t turn away. He stood with the reins in his hands, as though he would wait forever. The look on his face said more. He wasn’t inviting Toby to prove himself as a rider anymore – he was inviting him to prove himself a man.

  Toby reached for the reins then imagined falling again. He barely swallowed the gasp that threatened to betray him. He had to do this.

  ‘Do I have to jump the log?’ he asked.

  ‘No, once around the paddock is all you need.’

  He couldn’t believe it was his hand that took the reins. Was he crazy? But he wasn’t just doing it to show courage. Toby wanted to be a horseman like Stan and what Stan was holding in front of him was his chance.

  ‘Good lad,’ said Stan. ‘I’ll help you up. Once round the paddock, then you can go home knowing you’ll ride again tomorrow.’

  Toby dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and took in a sharp breath when it lurched forward. Walking the horse wasn’t enough – he had to break into a trot, at least. That wasn’t so hard, he told himself when they had picked up the pace. He was almost back to Stan.

  He decided on another circuit, just to be sure. Toby urged the horse a little faster. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the log. It didn’t look so high, certainly not deadly.

  Do you dare, Toby Thompson? he asked himself. He lived in a place where dangerous things could be done on a whim. How many boys got the chance? He turned Trojan towards the log.

  Toby knew what to expect this time. He was ready as they closed in on the log. Up they went, with Toby out of the saddle as he was supposed to be, his entire weight in the stirrups, and then the impact as they came back to earth. He’d done it! He shook a fist at the sky and called, ‘Woo-hoo!’ while he galloped another full circuit of the paddock.

  Stan waved him back to where he was standing and helped him down.

  ‘You’re going to be a good one, Toby. Men will have to watch out for you.’ He clamped a hand onto Toby’s uninjured shoulder. ‘Well done, lad.’

  Only one thing could have made Toby happier – to have Sprout and Robert there to see what he’d done.

  Time seemed to move slowly in Moreton Bay and a second month passed even slower than the first. Even though Sprout might not be back until next year, Toby thought about him every time a ship came in to Queen’s Wharf where he’d first seen his new friend across the river.

  On a day in November, hundreds came to welcome The Shamrock, the first steamship to sail into the Brisbane River, and Toby was among them.

  ‘We’re a proper town now,’ he heard one man say to no one in particular.

  Toby wondered, was Moreton Bay a town? Wood from the sawmill near the boiling-down works at Kangaroo Point slowly became new houses. There was talk of stables. In the meantime Toby helped his mother and ran errands for anyone who would pay him a penny.

  ‘Toby!’ a voice called to him one morning and when he looked around he saw a man emerge from inside a half-built house. It was Harry Kelso, the carpenter who’d arrived with a heavy bag of tools months before.

  ‘Do you want a day’s work, Toby? My partner has cut his finger and I need another pair of hands. I’ll pay you a shilling.’

  ‘Done!’ said Toby, who had heard men do deals this way.

  For the rest of the day he held weatherboards in place while Harry drove in the nails. He’d already spoken to Harry a few times and had always come away smiling at the stories the man told. They chatted happily again all day, until late in the afternoon when Harry asked a question many men had asked before him:

  ‘What happened to your father, Toby?’

  Toby knew why Harry was asking and he knew what he was supposed to say. On this day, though, he told a different story. Later, on his way home, he wondered what his mother would do to him when she found out.

  ‘If I’m right about Harry, then I’ll know soon enough,’ he said out loud and, despite his misgivings, he smiled.

  Three days passed before the moment finally came.

  ‘Toby Thompsom! Get here to me right this minute,’ Mrs Thompson called. ‘What did you say to Mr Kelso?’ she demanded.

  ‘I told him my father was dead.’

  ‘That’s not the story and you know it, Toby!’

  ‘Yes, but you must admit it sounds a lot better if he died in a shipwreck.’

  ‘Now I’m a widow! You know what this means, don’t you? Every man for a hundred miles will come traipsing to my door wanting a wife.’

  ‘No, they won’t. I only told Harry and I doubt he’ll share the news.’

  When he said this, Toby’s mother went red in the face; she was blushing.

  ‘I should box your ears until they fall off your head,’ she said, but she hugged him roughly instead.

  ‘He’s a good man,’ Toby whispered from inside their embrace.

  ‘Maybe he is, but I’d rather find out for myself, if you don’t mind.’

  Harry Kelso called on Toby’s mother that Sunday when she had her half-day off. She didn’t send him away. But she did send Toby to fetch more water from the creek, even though the cistern was full.

  When Harry knocked at the kitchen door a week later, the pair went walking up to the windmill and didn’t come back until dusk. When they returned, Harry stayed on a while and Toby joined in the talking and laughing.

  ‘You’re going to have a father after all,’ Robert teased, when Harry’s visits to Dr Ballow’s house became known in the main street. ‘There are terrible stories about stepfathers. They beat you and sell you to pirates.’

  ‘Harry doesn’t live in a fairytale,’ said Toby. But he was nervous about what
he had started. ‘Things will be different with Harry.’

  ‘Fathers make you do things you don’t want to do,’ Robert went on. ‘Mine says I have to be a lawyer just like him and marry someone who is respectable.’

  Toby was suddenly gripped by the deepest sympathy for his friend. ‘Respectable’ meant a woman like Mrs Poole, who never smiled and spent most of her days wishing she lived in Sydney or London. What was wrong with Moreton Bay? he wanted to ask her.

  Thinking about what changes a father might bring to his life made him realise one thing had changed already. ‘Do you know what the best thing is? Mother laughs a lot of the time now, even when Harry isn’t around.’

  Toby decided that Harry and his mother looked so happy together they were sure to get married soon and the idea sounded pretty good to him, despite what he’d decided about fathers years ago. Would he change his name to Kelso? Why not? Thompson wasn’t his real name anyway.

  This thought set him worrying again, though, and one afternoon he went to his mother, making sure that no one was close enough to hear.

  ‘What if Harry finds out the real story about my father? You know, that you weren’t properly married to him and so you’re not a widow like I told him.’

  ‘He already knows,’ Mrs Thompson replied with a smile. ‘I was straight with him about that. You’re right about him, Toby – Harry is a good man. In fact, it’s time you knew. Harry has asked to marry me.’

  But Toby’s mother couldn’t marry anyone until Dr Ballow found a servant to take her place. This was a promise she’d made to Dr Ballow to thank him for guarding her secret so faithfully. The search was going slowly, however, and boredom might have become a daily concern for Toby if Sprout hadn’t accompanied Mr Mackenzie to the township to settle a legal matter.

  As soon as Toby heard, he grabbed Robert and headed for the riverbank, eager to reach the other side. But there was no need! The punt was halfway towards them with Sprout waving from the bow.