Group A, to which Shelby found herself elevated, moved in single file into the arena.
Just as she reached the gate Mrs Hockings stepped forward, blocking her path.
'Did you remember to bring your membership fees today?' she asked.
'Oh.' She hadn't even thought about it. 'No, I forgot.'
'Well, I'm sorry, Shelby, but you'll have to sit this one out.'
Shelby looked around desperately at the other parents. This couldn't be happening. One day was all she was asking for. Erin's mother stepped forward. 'Let her go, Joy. I'm sure she'll remember next week, won't you, Shelby?'
Shelby nodded. 'Yes, I promise.'
Mrs Hockings sniffed and folded her arms. 'I'll let it go this time, but that's it. This isn't a charity, you know.'
'Of course, Mrs Hockings, I understand.'
Shelby joined the others in the ring. She could hardly keep from grinning. It was so good to finally be where she belonged. She looked over at the edge of the arena where the parents were lined up. Erin's mum gave her the thumbs-up sign and Shelby responded with a little wave.
Calvin Protheroe had them all walk around in a circle, and then move into a trot. He made a few comments here and there about the placement of people's hands and heels, but he didn't single Shelby out. She thought that must mean she was riding well.
Once all the horses were warmed up Mr Protheroe divided them into two groups. She waited at the side with Erin while the first group had their lesson. He was quite severe on Hayley, telling her that she had stiff arms and shoulders, and that this was restricting the movement of the horse. He called one of the other girls into the centre of the ring and took her stirrups away, crossing them over onto the horse's shoulders the way Miss Anita had when she rode Brat.
Erin whispered that he was being mean, but Shelby thought it was good. He only had an hour to make an impression on their lives. Shelby preferred him to be honest with them, even if it was hard to hear. She was listening carefully. In the background she could hear Mrs Hockings's high, strident voice. That sound used to go through Shelby's head like an icepick. She indulged in another smile.
A little while later it was the second group's turn. Erin and Shelby climbed on their ponies and joined the others around Mr Protheroe. Shelby had barely completed half a circle when the instructor called her into the ring. She felt the blood drain from her face. It was happening exactly as she'd imagined.
'Hop down,' he said, holding one of Brat's reins.
Shelby dismounted. She looked around at the other riders and smiled, trying to keep the smugness out of her eyes.
'Your horse is lame,' Mr Protheroe said, pointing. 'She's got a bit of swelling in the near fore.'
'She'll be OK when she warms up,' Shelby said.
Calvin Protheroe stared at her.
'I've really been looking forward to your lesson,' Shelby said. 'I think I can learn from you.'
'The first thing you can learn is that when I say your horse is lame, it's lame. It needs rest. I suggest you put her on your float and take her home.'
Shelby didn't want to tell him that she didn't have a float.
'Can I put her in a yard and watch the rest of the lesson?'
He shrugged. 'Suit yourself, but I think it's irresponsible.'
Shelby was ashamed. She wanted to explain that she was a responsible owner – if it had been Blue she wouldn't have brought him at all. But Mr Protheroe had already turned his attention to the other riders. She led Brat, now limping noticeably, out of the arena and towards the yards.
Erin's mother fell into step with her. 'What's happened?'
'Brat's got a sore leg,' Shelby said.
'That's a pity,' she said. Then she walked back to the other parents to report. Shelby could feel their eyes on her back. She wondered if they were saying that she was irresponsible too. She wished she hadn't come. Shelby led Brat past the yards and down the road. She didn't turn back.
Once they were out of the Pony Club grounds Brat's limping seemed to lessen. They came to an intersection on the dirt road. Shelby headed left, taking the shorter route that led to the trail home. Looking right, she could see the traffic rushing along Gully Way.
Shelby had thought that this day would make everything better – that she would be the star and that the committee would see what a good rider she really was. She had imagined that the other girls would accept her as an equal – even admire her. Now their opinion of her was worse than ever.
'Stupid horse,' she said, tugging at the reins.
None of it mattered now anyway. Who cared what they all thought? She would report Brat stolen as soon as she got home, Brat would be returned to her real owners, and then she would have no horse at all.
11 Cat and Mouse
It was around noon and the cicadas shrieked from the trees above her. Heavy clouds were creeping across the blue sky, making the day duller. Her boots slid across the stones, and a couple of times she nearly lost her footing. Brat trudged along behind her with her head down.
Blue would never have stuck his foot in the stupid fence. The whole time she had owned him he had never so much as put his head through the railings. He would have made quick work of this trip home too – picking his way along the path, jogging along the flat and breaking into a canter up the hills.
Maybe if she'd had the lesson on Blue, Mr Protheroe could have taught her how to stop him tossing his head? He might have shown her some way to make his movement more supple. He would never be a fancy show horse, but he was useful for what she wanted.
Who did she think she was kidding with this dream of showing? She wasn't like Hayley. Her parents would never be able to buy her all the things she would need. If she wanted to show, she would need a float at the very least, and for that they would need a car that could pull it. Her dad would never give up his Spyder just for her hobby.
The whole thing was crazy. She hadn't thought it through, and now she was never going to see Blue again – trusty Blue, who was, after all, everything that she needed in a horse: faithful, affectionate, sensible and practical.
A tear welled in her eye, and she blinked it away. She'd thrown him away like garbage, and for what? Ludicrous daydreams.
She heard a crashing noise through the undergrowth ahead and she stopped, automatically drawing Brat's loose reins tighter. Brat skipped sideways, startled, jerking Shelby's arm. Her ears were pricked towards the noise. There was a scratching sound, and Shelby saw a goanna crawling up a tree through the bushes ahead. She waited until it stopped, gripping the tree with its claws, its closest eye watching them warily, and then she tugged at the reins. 'Come on.'
Brat snorted, stepped forward, and then stopped.
She clicked with her tongue, but Brat resisted, lifting her head up and taking two steps backwards. Shelby felt that surge of fear through her stomach again.
I'm scared of this horse – scared like Hayley. I don't want a fancy horse if it's not going to be my best friend.
The goanna lifted one leg from the trunk. A piece of bark dislodged from the tree and fell to the ground, hitting a branch on the way down and scattering some leaves. It didn't sound frightening to Shelby, but to Brat it was terrifying. She lifted up on her back legs and surged forward, stumbling a little as her hooves hit a rock.
Shelby felt the reins slide through her fingers. She tried to grip them, but they whipped through her hand, burning the skin on her palm. As the buckle whisked through her curled fingers the reins flicked sideways. She reached out to grab them, but Brat leapt away and trotted ahead down the trail. She stopped and turned, watching Shelby over her shoulder.
Shelby stood still, trying to think what to do. Should she rush at her and try to grab the reins, or creep up on her slowly, cajoling, to gain her trust first? If only she knew this horse better.
'Steady, girl,' she said, taking one step forward. Brat stepped out of her reach. The loose reins snagged on a rock. Now was her chance. Shelby took two quick steps forward.
Shelby slapped her hands to the sides of her face. 'No, you stupid horse!' she called after Brat, running behind her along the trail. Brat had picked up the pace, her legs moving powerfully underneath her. She took the corner sharply, flicking gravel into the bush, and disappeared from view.
'Whoa, girl,' Shelby called out. Her voice sounded feeble and pathetic. She ran faster, her arms swinging at her sides, but skidded as she hit the corner. Her ankle twisted underneath her and gave way, sending a sharp pain up the side of her leg. She put out her hand to stop herself from falling and her palm hit the gravel. She felt the sharp stones biting into her skin. Shelby pushed hard against the ground and started running again. Each step sent a jabbing pain through her leg, but she didn't stop.
She ran on and on, up the hill and down the gentle slope on the other side. She splashed through a puddle and the muddy ground beyond it sucked at her boots. There was a flat slab of rock exposed out of the hillside, whittled away in layers like terraces. Shelby leaned forward, clambering up it. Her smooth boots slid, scattering small pebbles, and she grabbed at a nearby bush to steady herself. The sharp serrated leaves stuck into her raw palm.
At the top was a level sandy patch. Shelby looked down and could see the sharp arcs of hoof marks going every which way. Most were dry and worn but one set was fresh, uncovering the moist soil beneath. They were widely spaced and deep. Brat must have still been galloping when she reached this point.
Shelby stopped running and listened for the rumbling, clattering sound of Brat's hooves somewhere up ahead. All she could hear was the cicadas, and her own panting. She put her hand to her chest and her heart beat fast underneath it.
She started to run again, this time more slowly, every now and then skipping a step to rest her injured ankle. Here and there along the trail bare rock jutted out of the hillside. Water seeped from it, fed by natural springs, and formed puddles underneath. There the air smelt moist and coppery. Shelby splashed through the puddles. Her boots were soaked, rubbing uncomfortably against her skin.
She kept her eyes to the ground and followed Brat's hoof prints along the trail. From time to time Shelby would cross a flat section of rock, or a part of the trail that was deep with small gravelly stones, and here Brat's engraved hoof marks would be indistinct from all the others. Shelby would search on ahead until she found them again.
After a while it seemed to her that Brat might have slowed down. The prints were not as deep, nor so wide apart. Shelby reasoned that if she ran a little faster, she might just catch up. She made herself run, even though her ankle was screaming, her lungs were burning and she could feel a blister forming where her heel rubbed against the back of her boot. She comforted herself with the idea that when she finally caught up with Brat she could rest her aching feet.
When I catch you, I'm going to ride you home – lame or not. I don't care.
In the distance she heard the buzzing sound of a trail bike. She frowned. The trail bike and equestrian communities in her neighbourhood often disagreed about the space out here that they shared.
Further along, the trail branched off in a Y shape. Shelby stopped to catch her breath. The ground beneath her was gravel and she couldn't tell which tracks were Brat's.
Which way would she have gone? Shelby wondered. The left side wound down around the hillside, while the right curled away uphill. She knew if she followed the right-hand trail it would loop around in a loose figure eight, heading back towards the Pony Club grounds, and ending up at a T-intersection on Gully Way. The left-hand trail sloped downward for a way, and then snaked up the hillside, finishing on a dirt road near the cul-de-sac and Shelby's paddock.
She would have gone uphill just to make it that little bit more difficult, Shelby decided. She took another deep breath and jogged up the hill. About halfway up the incline she saw a round smudge in the dirt and smiled. She had been right, but she also had a sinking feeling. What if Brat hadn't slowed down and was now heading straight for the busy roadway?
About a hundred metres ahead the trail curved away to the right. There was a branch hanging down across the trail and it swung gently, although there wasn't any breeze that she could feel. Shelby slowed and looked up through the trees to the sky. It was now quite grey overhead and the air was still. From the bottom of the valley she could hear the chattering of water flowing over rocks in the creek, and the intermittent buzz of the bike.
The branch could have been swinging because something had recently brushed past it. She had either gained on Brat much more than she realised, or the trail bike that she could hear – more loudly now – had recently come this way.
Shelby leaned to the side to peer around the corner. She caught sight of something moving ahead. She started humming so as not to startle the horse, although she suspected that Brat would have already heard her running along the trail.
As she came around the bend she saw Brat standing in the middle of the trail facing her. She must have stepped over the reins, because they were now hooked around one of her legs. She held up the injured hoof. Shelby could see how swollen it had become. She discarded any idea of riding her home. Brat was lame.
It had started to sprinkle light feathery raindrops, like a mist. Shelby blinked as the droplets settled on her eyelashes.
'Settle down, little one,' Shelby said. She cupped her hand and held it out, rubbing her fingers together. 'You know what's in my hand, pretty girl? Molasses and oats and carrots – just about every yummy thing you can imagine. You just stay still and I'll let you have some.'
Brat stretched her neck forward, her nostrils dilating as she sniffed.
'That's right. Yummy scrummy. You must be tired and hungry from all that running.'
Brat hobbled towards her on three legs.
'Yes. Good girl.'
Suddenly Brat swivelled her head in the opposite direction. The trail bike was louder even than before. It was moving this way.
Please don't come any closer, she thought. Just give me one more minute.
'Brat,' she called out in a singsong voice. 'Come to me, little one.'
Brat swung her head towards Shelby again, her eyes wide with confusion, and then back to the source of the noise. She snorted. While she was distracted, Shelby took another step closer.
The trail bike was almost upon them. Shelby could hear its strident whine approaching just over the crest of the hill. She would have to grab Brat quickly before the horse panicked.
Brat hopped on three legs away from Shelby, backing into a prickly shrub, which shook and crackled under her weight. She wheeled around on her hind legs. Shelby made a lunge, landing awkwardly on her twisted ankle. The pain flared up her leg. She felt the very tips of her fingers brush against the reins.
Brat leapt forward, knocking Shelby over. Shelby stuck her hand out for support, but her wrist buckled beneath her, sending a new pain streaking up her arm. Her shoulder hit the ground. Looking up, she could see Brat's hind foot coming down towards her and she rolled to the side. Brat's hoof grazed her shoulder as it hit the ground. Shelby let the momentum roll her over, and she pushed herself off the ground, onto her feet.
Shelby pivoted on her uninjured ankle and watched as Brat vanished from view around the bend.
The trail bike was metres away now. She stepped into the middle of the trail and put her hands up.
'Stop!'
The rider squeezed the brakes and the back wheel spun around on the loose gravel. Shelby closed her eyes and braced herself, feeling the stones showering her legs. She opened her eyes and the trail bike rider flicked up the visor of his helmet with his gloved hand. He was not much older than Shelby, with honey-coloured skin and dark eyes.
'What?' he shouted over the engine noise.
'You can't go that way,' she said, cupping her hands to her mouth. 'My horse is loose.'
&nbs
p; 'Stupid bloody things,' he replied, shaking his head. 'Why would you have them?'
Shelby wasn't sure if he expected an answer so she stood in the middle of the trail with her hands on her hips.
'I have to go that way,' he said. 'It's my way home.'
'Can't you go by the road?' she asked.
'My bike's not registered for the road,' he replied. He twisted his wrist and the bike's engine revved higher. He shook his head again. 'I don't have to explain myself to you.' He flicked the visor down and pushed past her.
'No, stop!' Shelby called out. But it was no use. The trail rider was off again, herding Brat towards Gully Way with his noisy engine.
Shelby followed the trail bike rider for a hundred metres and then stopped. There was no point following him. He was travelling much faster than she could, and Brat would run away from that sound.
Her only option was to head home and ask her parents to help. Hopefully, Brat would still be in the gully somewhere, and not have found her way out onto the road.
It was now raining in earnest and Shelby's Pony Club uniform clung to her skin, weighing her down. She took off her helmet, which was making her head hot, and her hair stuck to her forehead and neck. With one twisted ankle and a blister the size of a twenty-cent piece on the opposite foot, each step was painful. Shelby was exhausted and hungry. All she wanted was to lie down in her nice soft bed and sleep for a week.
Her soaked boots squished with each step. Another blister was forming on the side of her little toe. She sat down in the middle of the trail and pulled off her boots. The stones were sharp and unforgiving, but she reasoned that her feet couldn't possibly feel any worse.
Shelby inspected her new blister. It was only a small white bubble of flesh. The one on her heel had worn through and a flap of skin hung down revealing raw, angry tissue underneath. A drop of rain splashed it, making it sting.
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