Pony Stories (3 Book Bind-Up) (Red Fox Summer Reading Collections)

by K. M. Peyton

  Having prevailed upon Pearl – in vain – to join the Pony Club and accompany her, Ruth resigned herself to the awfulness of this first experience, and spent most of Tuesday on a marathon cleaning operation, of her pony, her tack, and her shabby clothes. As the day went on she got gloomier and gloomier, so that in the evening Ted and Ron kept passing remarks about the joy of owning the most faithful of man’s servants, a horse.

  ‘If I were you, I’d take up basket-weaving instead,’ Ted told her. ‘You could get a fair old load of cane for the cost of that brute.’

  But the brute, when she had finished, did look lovely. Ruth was cheered when she went out again in the evening, and saw him grazing under the trees in the last of the sun, the golden light adding an extra burnish to the work she had put in on his coat during the afternoon. He had filled out beautifully since the spring, yet was not too fat, for Ruth had been keeping him in the garden all day, where the grass was very spare, and only letting him into the builder’s field at night. And his extra inches were muscle, not flabby fat; his shoulders and quarters were hard and strong, his eyes bright with good health. When he saw her at the fence he came cantering up, as he always did now, and pushed his nose at her eagerly. She rarely gave him titbits, for he had taken to biting when she had given him too many. Now, at least, he never bit, but he still gobbled his lips at her in his thrusting pony way, all bounce and push. Fly had never been a pony to just stand and let himself be stroked.

  ‘Be good tomorrow, please,’ Ruth whispered, and sent up a little prayer to the first star.

  Having ridden very little on roads, Ruth had worked out a route to the meeting mostly through lanes, and when she had to go where there was traffic she got off and led Fly-by-Night. She supposed this was all wrong, but she did not want to be landed under a car for the sake of principle. As he was not shod, she had always put off taking him on roads, but now she realized that it was a part of his education that she would not be able to put off much longer.

  Fortunately for her pride, she was mounted and progressing quite satisfactorily when four girls on ponies clattered out of a turning just ahead of her. She felt Fly-by-Night gather himself together underneath her; she sat down tight and took a firm hold on the reins, and was just able to prevent him in his mad rush forward from cannoning into the hind quarters of the last pony. The rider turned round and gave Ruth a surprised look, as Fly-by-Night let-out an excited whinny. Ruth, crimson, said, ‘I’m sorry.’ She could feel Fly-by-Night’s excitement, the very thing she had dreaded; he was bouncing beneath her, snatching at the bit, swinging his quarters about.

  To her great relief the girls ahead of her turned into a field gate, and she found, following them, that she had arrived at her destination. She was committed now. Whatever happened, she felt, was now out of her hands. She could but do her feeble best.

  Beneath her, Fly-by-Night, taking in the scene, trembled with excitement. There were about thirty ponies in the field and a middle-aged, military-looking man with a fierce black moustache – whom Ruth remembered was Major Banks – was bawling at them all to assemble in the middle and circle round him. With him there were two or three older girls, more or less grown-up, and an elderly man sitting on a shooting-stick. She had just arrived in time. Without dismounting, she cast off her shoulder bag with sandwiches and her headcollar in it, so that it landed under a convenient bush, and headed Fly-by-Night hopefully towards the circling riders.

  He went like a coiled spring, in bounds of excitement whinnying loudly. Ruth was preoccupied with keeping him from getting out of control; she knew from the way he fought her hands that at any minute he would get his nose up in the air and rush off headlong. Major Banks was eyeing her nervously, but Ruth’s eyes were fixed on Fly-by-Night’s amazed ears, flexing backwards and forwards.

  ‘Steady, steady, you little idiot!’ she muttered, but her voice was as nervous as Fly’s progress.

  She managed to join the circle, with Fly dashing and darting, crowding the pony in front, and still letting out his frantic neighs. The girl behind wisely kept her pony at a distance, for which Ruth was greatly relieved, for she was afraid Fly would kick.

  Major Banks was picking out the competent riders for the more advanced training, and the ones left circling, Ruth concluded, were the ones for the elementary class. Just as she was thinking that perhaps the worst of Fly-by-Night’s astonishment was giving way to acceptance of this strange new game, the competent group was sent away to the other side of the field. As the riders set off at a fast trot, in a big bunch, Fly-by-Night took off in pursuit, whipping round out of the circle and breaking into the wild canter that Ruth had been dreading. She pulled at him, but he put his nose up, snatching at the bit.

  Ruth heard Major Banks roar something at her, but she knew she was on her own. She sat down as firmly as she could to the lurching, unbalanced pace, and heaved desperately on the left rein to circle Fly back to where he had come from. With his head pulled round he galloped on as best as he could, but Ruth’s brute strength gradually prevailed, and he started to slow up, in big jerks, showing the whites of his eyes.

  Ruth, bitterly embarrassed, turned him round towards the group she was supposed to be with, but he refused to go in this direction, and napped round to face the other way. With brute force once more Ruth hauled him round again, and drummed him with her heels. He faced the right way, but would not move, except backwards. By the time Major Banks reached her, Ruth was biting back tears of humiliation.

  ‘What’s all this, animal?’ Major Banks said quite cheerfully, reaching out a hand to Fly-by-Night’s bridle. ‘You want to be with the others, do you? Well, we want you over here.’

  He put a hand on the reins and led Fly-by-Night, who went without any more trouble. Ruth sat still, sick with despair. The two groups of ponies were now circling with one of the other girls in the centre of each; everyone was occupied, and Major Banks halted Fly-by-Night and looked at Ruth, stroking Fly’s neck.

  ‘You didn’t manage that too badly,’ he said. ‘Don’t look too worried. Young, is he?’

  ‘Yes, he’s four. I had him when he was three.’

  ‘You had him unbroken, I take it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Major shook his head and tut-tutted. ‘Same old story. These so nice but quite crazy parents will buy their children a sweet, wild pony, and expect them to grow up together.’ He smiled at Ruth quite pleasantly. ‘Hard, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ruth stiffly. ‘Only I bought him myself. My parents had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Even worse,’ said the Major cheerfully. He stood back, surveying the now resigned Fly-by-Night thoughtfully. ‘I’ll say this for you, you’ve an eye for a nice pony. Very nice.’

  Ruth’s spirits rose a notch.

  ‘We’ve had wilder animals than this in the Pony Club.’

  Ruth’s spirits rose another notch.

  ‘Join the others,’ said Major Banks. ‘He’ll be all right.’

  Fly-by-Night, having fastened his eyes on the right set of ponies, joined them without any further trouble, walking in a circle round the instructor, a dashing-looking girl of about twenty slashing a crop against her gum boots. Ruth could feel vibrations of amazement still coming up through Fly, but his demeanour was now more subdued. She began to think she might be able to cope.

  For an hour and a half they rode in circles, walking and trotting, first all together, then one by one, then in a long row over a very low cavaletti, then one by one. Ruth, concentrating hard, never had time to wonder what the others were thinking of her; they all had their problems, too, she came to realize. And most of them didn’t have such a handsome pony as hers. On the other side of the field the more advanced riders were doing much the same thing with Major Banks, only their jumps were bigger and their circles were smaller, and the performances were altogether more polished.

  At lunch-time Ruth had hoped to talk to some of the girls and perhaps find the understanding friend she was always hopi
ng for, but Fly-by-Night, tied to the hedge, kept getting his feet tangled up in his headrope because he was still excited, and she had to untie him after a few crises and spend the lunch-hour holding the end of the rope herself. As he kept darting about every few minutes, and she was trying to eat sandwiches at the same time, it was not at all restful. She was very envious of the girls whose ponies stood dozing, and who were able to picnic on rugs with bottles of pop and no troubles. She realized that there were things Fly-by-Night had to learn that she had not even thought of yet.

  When it was time to tack up again, Fly threw his head about every time she tried to get the bridle on, and while all the other girls calmly trotted off to the centre of the ring, Ruth was left fighting and dancing round in circles by the hedge. But the instructress came over and, with the same cheerful nonchalance that Major Banks had used, offered help.

  ‘Little beggar, aren’t you?’ she chided Fly, and had the bridle on instantly. Then she said, ‘Nice pony. New, is he?’

  ‘It’s his first Pony Club meeting.’

  ‘They all have to learn.’ Ruth’s only consolation lay in the fact that nobody seemed to think that her troubles were anything out of the ordinary.

  When she got home, Ted, Ron, and Peter were eating beans on toast in the kitchen. Ruth came in feeling exhausted. With an excess of chivalry Ron offered to hot up the beans for her, and Ruth was able to flop down at the table and pour herself a cup of tea.

  ‘How was it?’ Ted asked.

  ‘Oh, bits were all right,’ Ruth said cautiously. She felt she had learned a lot, if only a more exact knowledge of what she could do. ‘It’s those gymkhana games,’ she added. ‘We did games in the afternoon. Fly just doesn’t know about games.’

  ‘Fly’s always playing games.’

  ‘Not these sort of games. Bending and things. You have to go in and out down a row of bamboo canes. All the good ponies canter and turn on a sixpence and come back again. Fly just trod on them, or missed them altogether, and went half-way across the field before I could turn him round.’

  Ruth ate her baked beans, and told the humiliating story of how Fly had bolted across the field and she had had to be rescued by Major Banks. Ted and Ron made sympathetic faces, and passed a few facetious remarks about horseplay, then went back to discussing a magazine which they had laid out on the table showing the specifications of the latest Metisse frame. Ruth reached for the sugar, and realized that Peter was watching her, saying nothing as usual. In her preoccupied state she had forgotten all about him and now, seeing his politely inexpressive look, she wanted to throw the sugar-basin at him. She hated him for knowing so much, and herself for knowing so little.

  Ron pushed his chair back and closed the magazine. ‘You won’t go again, I take it?’ he said to Ruth.

  ‘I jolly well will,’ Ruth said fiercely.

  Ron grinned. ‘A martyr to the cause.’

  The next day was hot again, with a sweet breeze blowing up from the river. It was the sort of day to be utterly content, yet Ruth could not feel it. She was all ruffled up inside, and rode down over the stubble fields to the creek without hearing a single note of the skylarks’ music cascading from the sky, or the summer purr of the distant combines. The tide was high and Peter was drifting about in an old inner tube with another boy from the estate. They kept tipping each other out, ducking and spluttering. Ruth rode along the sea-wall and watched them, aloof from their enjoyment. She knew she was in a bad mood, and felt no better when she saw Pearl trotting down the hill towards her on Milky Way. Milky Way was trotting lame, as she often did. The ground was very hard, and Ruth frowned. She rode off down the wall and went to meet her.

  ‘Hullo,’ Pearl said. ‘What was it like? Do you know how to make your pony behave now?’

  Ruth’s eyes sparked. She felt anger fizzing up inside her, but was very careful when she spoke.

  ‘I know enough not to ride my pony when it’s lame,’ she said shortly.

  ‘Riding her doesn’t make it any worse,’ Pearl said. She was holding Milky Way in so tightly that the mare took a step backwards. Ruth looked at the perfect animal, her gleaming white coat, the flexed neck with the fine mane blowing out in the breeze, the black Arab eyes and wide nostrils, like a horse in an old painting, and felt her bad mood pricking her like a pair of spurs. What could you say to anyone like Pearl? she wondered in despair. Pearl’s long hair blew out; she wore a white polo-necked jersey and spotless jodhpurs. Ruth hated her.

  They rode on together. ‘What did you do?’ Pearl asked, and Ruth told her, leaving out all the humiliating bits.

  ‘It sounds terribly dull. And do you mean to say that Fly really did all those things, bending and all that? I didn’t think he could.’ Pearl’s pale green eyes slid round to look at Ruth, slyly provoking.

  ‘Oh, didn’t you?’ Ruth said sharply. ‘Well, he did.’ Under her breath, and to herself, she added, ‘After a fashion.’

  ‘Let’s canter,’ said Pearl.

  Not wanting to continue the conversation, Ruth cantered, seething, after Pearl. Pearl did a large circle of the field and Fly-by-Night followed, snatching at his bit, bouncing horribly. Ruth remembered the girls at the Pony Club cantering small circles, very collected, very slow. She lifted her face up to the hot sun and knew that, today, nothing would please her. Her bad mood had been encouraged by Pearl. Pearl rode with her toes down and gaps under her knees. Major Banks would shout at her, Ruth thought.

  Milky Way pulled up, dropping one shoulder, on the path that ran up to the sea-wall. Peter and his friend were lying on the sea-wall, sucking grass. The friend had a radio playing. The inappropriate row, all mixed up with the skylarks, exacerbated Ruth’s ill temper.

  ‘Let’s go back across here,’ Pearl said. She hauled Milky Way round so that she faced a broken gap in the fence that ran up from the sea-wall, separating the grassy ride from a field that had been recently combined. The straw bales were still lying on the red-gold stubble. Pearl stopped beside the gap and turned round to Ruth. ‘After you,’ she said maliciously.

  Pearl knew perfectly well that Fly-by-Night would not jump the gap without a lead from Milky Way. She sat there, grinning, looking at Ruth, and Ruth knew that she was being paid out for lying about Fly-by-Night’s prowess at the Pony Club. Ruth realized the justice of the situation, and the neatness of Pearl’s trap, and knew she was helpless. If she was to turn up the path and say, ‘I’m going home this way,’ it would be as obvious an admission of failure as if she went through with the fiasco of trying to make Fly-by-Night jump.

  Pearl said in a loud, clear voice, ‘I bet you my new pair of jodhpurs your pony won’t jump that fence without Milly leading.’

  Ruth almost snorted with rage. She would gladly have seen Pearl drop dead in that moment. All her bottled anger and frustration came to boiling-point, and she snatched Fly-by-Night’s head up from the grass with a wrench that was worthy of Pearl herself. She looked at the gap, which consisted of a bar about two feet off the ground, and a tiny ditch, and knew that Fly-by-Night would no more jump it for her than take off and fly, but such was her blind anger that she was no longer capable of retiring from the argument. She turned Fly-by-Night round so that he was facing the gap and pressed him forward.

  ‘Hey, Ruth!’

  As Fly-by-Night, sensing what was in store for him, was already going sideways instead of forward, Ruth had no difficulty in stopping him at the interruption. She looked up and saw Peter coming down the sea-wall, still sucking his grass. He came over to her and said in a low voice, ‘That was a jolly good offer. Get off.’

  Ruth just stared at him.

  ‘They’re Moss Bros.,’ Peter said. ‘Come on, let me have him.’

  Ruth slid out of the saddle, too amazed to say anything. Peter took the reins out of her hand, and Fly-by-Night stood like a rock while he mounted, ears pricked up. The stirrup-leathers were too short, but Peter just crossed the irons over the front of the saddle.

  ‘I say,’ Pearl said. �
�That’s not fair.’

  Peter turned Fly round so that he was facing the gap squarely and grinned at Pearl. ‘You said the pony. We’ve got witnesses.’ With no indications to Fly at all that Ruth could see, he then put him straight into a canter and jumped the gap. On the other side he pulled up, turned on a sixpence and came back, jumping it again and pulling up beside Pearl.

  ‘One pair of jodhpurs,’ he said.

  Pearl was white with anger. ‘You cheated!’ she said furiously. ‘You’ve got nothing to do with it! I was talking to Ruth!’

  ‘You said “I bet your pony won’t jump”,’ Peter said. ‘You didn’t say anything about the rider. Isn’t that right, Biffy?’ he called up to his friend with the radio.

  ‘That’s what she said,’ Biffy agreed.

  ‘You owe Ruth those jods, then. And if you don’t give them to her, we’ll come up and debag you in person.’

  ‘Oh, you beast! My father would throw you out!’

  ‘I bet your father doesn’t make bets he doesn’t keep. You jolly well owe Ruth those pants, and I’ll tell him so. And you shouldn’t ride a pony as lame as that. I’ll tell him that, too.’

  ‘You mind your own business, you interfering – oh!’ Words failed Pearl. She wrenched Milky Way round and disappeared up the hill at a flat gallop, all pale flying hair and tail. Ruth stood watching, acutely happy. Even Biffy’s radio now seemed to be playing celestial music.

  ‘There,’ said Peter, looking rather pleased. ‘That showed her.’ He slid off Fly-by-Night. ‘You make sure she sticks to what she said.’