Phantom Horse 1: Phantom Horse

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

  Wendy had told me once about these birds. She called them an omen of death. Now they were just above, cawing greedily – a hungry flock of birds waiting for the palomino to die.

  When I saw the birds I knew I couldn't leave the palomino and seek help. I was frightened that they would swoop while I was away and when I returned I would find only a heap of newly picked bones. I had heard that these birds didn't wait for animals to die, only until they were too weak to fight any more, then they descended and the mountains echoed with the screams of the dying animal.

  The birds made up my mind for me. I pulled gently on the halter and said, “Come on, phantom horse, we're going home.” The covering of snow made him look like a phantom – a phantom on his last pilgrimage.

  The bay mare encouraged him with another whinny. I think she knew how ill he was. At last my words and the pull on his headcollar seemed to reach his brain, he moved with awkward, stiff steps, as though his limbs were frozen. He was so pitiful that I cried and my tears made little holes in the snow. I had to go back the way I had come because it was the only way I knew.

  I followed the bay mare's hoofprints back through the undergrowth, under the trees and over the rocks. Every few minutes I had to stop to let the palomino rest. It was ages before I reached the trail again.

  Then I saw that the weather had changed. The sun had gone. The sky was no longer blue, but the sort of grey which means snow. The air was much warmer and I knew that I had to hurry because soon there would be fresh snow which would obliterate the hoofprints and then I would be really lost. Already the snow was soft on the trail. I sank in deeply each time I took a step and my jodhpurs and boots were soon soaking wet. I walked between the two horses, the bay mare hurried and the palomino lagged and it wasn't a pleasant journey.

  And then the snow came in large, white flakes. It fell on my hair, on the horses, on the trail and the trees and undergrowth, it fell as though it would never stop falling.

  I thought of the time, of my parents waiting anxiously at home. I began to wonder whether I should ever reach the warmth and safety of Mountain Farm. Nobody was shooting any more. The mountains were wrapped in silence except for the eerie sound of falling snow, all prints had vanished, nothing seemed to live except myself and the two horses.

  I started to wish that I had brought provisions. My tummy told me that it was lunch time; my legs felt weak and I longed for a bar of chocolate or a large ham sandwich. I tried to raise my morale by imagining the palomino in the stable at home, but when I looked at him and saw his utter weariness I started to wonder whether he would live if we ever did reach home.

  I shall never forget the next few hours. We plodded on and on and the trail looked just the same. The bay mare started to tire and to look back as though we had taken the wrong turning and were now walking directly away from home. I began to worry. I saw night falling, and snow deepening. I wondered whether my parents would send out a search party. I felt terribly guilty, and for a moment I wished I hadn't listened to Angus's advice in the morning; then I looked at the palomino again and suddenly I didn't regret anything any more. It was so wonderful to think that if he lived he would really be ours.

  I thought of hunting him across a russet and gold Virginian countryside, of seeing him from my window early in the morning and knowing that he was ours, of feeding him late at night and riding him in the spring. I saw us jumping in shows, competing in hunter trials, bringing home the tri-coloured rosette. I saw myself rounding up cattle on him with Phil and Pete, schooling him in the paddock at home, I saw him wearing elegant rugs with our initials in one corner. I plodded on through the snow lost in my own happy imagination, ceasing to notice my aching legs, the feeling of afternoon, or the endlessly falling snow.

  Dusk came quite suddenly. It came with a darkening sky and a whispering evening breeze. I had followed the same trail for hours, yet nothing seemed changed. Both horses were dragging by this time, and I'm sure they knew I was lost. When I halted, the palomino stood drearily with hanging head, and a sickly eye which showed no interest at all in anything. I looked down the trail and, reasoning that we must reach somewhere some time, I plodded on. The wind blew the snow in our faces and my eyes started to run, and my gloves were wet from where the snow had melted when it met the warmth of my hands. I started to sing to raise my spirits. I sang pop-songs and songs from musicals. Then I began singing hymns.

  Because of the snow, night came without darkness. And then, quite suddenly, I saw twinkling lights shining through the trees. I started to hurry and shouted to the horses, “Come on. We're getting somewhere at last.” But they wouldn't hurry; they had lost all confidence in me. They dragged and the snow balled more and more in their hoofs, and they stumbled and jerked my arms, while I pulled frantically on the rope and the reins, losing all sense and reason in a wild desire to reach the twinkling lights.

  Then I thought of shouting. “I'm coming. Is there anyone about? I've caught the wild horse,” I called, and my voice echoed and came back muffled by the falling snow.

  I hurried on and gradually the lights seemed nearer. The snow was very deep now, soft and wet, so that it was hard work moving at all.

  Then I thought I heard an answering call, and I started to shout twice as loudly. “It's Jean, I'm all right, I've got the wild horse,” I yelled over and over again.

  Soon I could feel a stronger breeze blowing through the trees and, quite suddenly, there was more light and space. We had reached a valley and, with a cry of joy, I saw that it was our valley.

  I tried to run and fell sprawling in the snow. The horses waited patiently until I was on my feet again; the bay mare raised her head and looked across the valley to where the lights shone bravely in Mountain Farm.

  I remember hoping that there would be someone at home when I arrived. I was terrified lest the whole district should be out searching for me. And now I saw that there were lots of little lights moving about the valley. There were tiresome little gusts of snow, and drifts. I started to shout, “I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming,” until the words were all jumbled together and didn't make sense any more.

  The bay mare was hurrying now. She jogged and bumped the palomino and he stumbled and almost fell. I slackened my pace, I didn't want to take a dead horse home.

  I talked to the palomino. “Soon you'll be in a lovely warm stable, a really super one,” I told him. “There'll be lots to eat and gradually you'll get well again.”

  I stopped and patted him and rubbed his ears and he stood with his legs sprawled apart as though he couldn't move another step. If it had been possible to get a horse box to him I think I would have left him there, but as it was I had to keep him moving.

  Then I thought I heard a shout and I started to call again. Someone called, “It's Jean. She's reached the valley.” After that there was a great deal of shouting and suddenly a bell rang out loud and clear, drowning the voices. Lights seemed to be moving towards me from all directions and the bay mare was dragging me faster and faster towards Mountain Farm, and, somewhere behind me, the palomino was dragging on my other arm until I thought it must fall from its socket. I kept yelling, “It's Jean. I'm home,” till someone said quite close, “It's all right now, we know,” and I saw my brother and beyond him the back door standing open.

  “I've got the wild horse,” I said. “But he's terribly ill. I think we should have the vet at once. He's almost dead. That's why I've been so long.” I started to cry, because the palomino really did look ill, and I was suddenly sure that he wouldn't last more than a few hours because his eyes looked sunken in their sockets and he was hardly breathing any more.

  “Let's get him inside,” Angus said.

  “Where are Mum and Dad?” I asked.

  “Looking for you,” Angus replied, taking the bay mare. “It's all right. They will have heard the bell, that was to be the signal.”

  “You mean that I was home?” I asked, and Angus nodded.

  The palomino tottered into the empty loose
box. He seemed to be in a coma. I don't think he had any idea where he was.

  I shut the box door. “I'll ring up a vet,” I said. I felt I must do it immediately, before my parents arrived and I had to explain.

  I asked the operator to put me through to the nearest vet, and the girl who answered said, “Will Dr Beecher do?”

  I almost replied, No, I want a vet, not a doctor, before I remembered that vets are called doctors in America. “Sure. Fine,” I answered.

  I saw that the snow on my clothes was melting in pools on the hall floor. Then Dr Beecher answered and I told him what had happened, speaking as slowly and coherently as I could. When I had finished speaking, he said, “Okay, I'll be right over,” and hung up. I thought of him hurrying for his coat, starting his car. Then I began to wonder whether he would ever reach us on such a night.

  Angus had settled the bay mare when I returned to the stable. She had piles of straw under her rugs and was munching a hot feed.

  “I had it all ready,” he said. “But I don't know what to do about the palomino. He won't eat a thing.”

  “He's awfully ill. Have you noticed how yellow he is?” I asked.

  “Let's hope the vet can do something,” my brother replied.

  “Hello, are you there, Jean?” someone called, and I saw my parents wading through the snow.

  “Yes, I'm back. I've got the wild horse. He's terribly ill. I think he's dying. That's why I've been so long.”

  I was afraid they would be angry. But Dad said, “We thought it was something like that.”

  And Mum said, “If only you would choose better weather for your expeditions. But perhaps now you've got the wretched horse, you'll stop giving us frights.”

  “I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to stay out so long,” I replied.

  “It doesn't matter,” Mum answered.

  There were more voices now and Pete, Phil and Wendy came into the yard.

  “Congratulations, Jean,” Pete said, taking my hand.

  “He's terribly ill,” I replied quickly. “He may die. I've rung up the vet. He's coming right over.” I didn't want congratulations. I didn't think bringing a sick horse home was a deed which deserved congratulations – it's something you do expecting no reward, I thought. Besides, no one with a heart could have left the palomino to die in the mountains.

  “You'd better come in and change. You look soaked,” Mum said.

  “What about the palomino? He shouldn't be left alone,” I cried.

  “We'll look after him,” Dad answered. “Hurry up and have a hot bath and get some food inside you. Then we can talk.”

  I went indoors with Mum and she pulled off my wet jodhpurs and I suddenly discovered that I was terribly tired and ravenously hungry.

  I ate some bread and butter and had a hot bath and changed. There was hot soup waiting for me in the kitchen and braised ham and potatoes.

  Angus was leaning against the stove. “The vet hasn't come yet. I've sent the Millers home,” he told me. “Wendy would talk and the palomino needs quiet.”

  “I thought they were going to New York,” I replied.

  “The weather's stopped them. The road's blocked near Baltimore,” Angus said.

  “Did you have a good shoot?” I asked, remembering the morning, which seemed so long ago.

  “No, the snow was too deep. By the way, I told Mum and Dad that you probably wouldn't be back for lunch. That's why they didn't start worrying till teatime.”

  I looked at the clock and saw that it was six o'clock. I had imagined that it was nearly supper time. “Were they furious?” I asked.

  “They were rather,” Angus answered. “They said that you were going potty over the wild horse.”

  Mum and Dad came in from the stables.

  “He does look in a bad way. I think I'll ring up Smythe. He'd better know we've got his horse,” Dad told us.

  “Jean's horse now,” Angus replied.

  “Yours, too. Because if it hadn't been for you I wouldn't have gone,” I told Angus.

  It was ages before Dr Beecher came. We had all eaten supper by that time, taking it in turns to watch the palomino. Dad had talked to Mr Smythe for hours on the telephone, and we knew now that if the palomino lived he would be ours for ever and ever.

  At last there was a knock on the back door and a small man clutching a black bag stood in the yard.

  “I'm real sorry I've been so long. I've walked the last three miles, the road's completely blocked by the snow,” he said.

  I liked Dr Beecher at once. We all hurried to the stable where Angus was watching the palomino. The vet didn't talk much.

  He murmured, “Gee, he's bad. He's eaten something really bad.” Then he mentioned poison and jaundice, and found the palomino had a temperature of a hundred and five. He gave him three injections and stood and looked at him for some time.

  “There's nothing more we can do tonight but hope,” he said at last. “I’ll stop by first thing tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay the night?” Mum asked.

  “Thank you, ma'am. I guess I'd better not. Maybe I'll get some more calls tonight,” Dr Beecher replied. We were very quiet when he had left.

  “Well, that's that. We can do no more,” Dad said.

  “What were the injections?” Angus asked.

  “Penicillin, iron and liver – or some sort of food or vitamins – I don't know what the other one was,” Dad replied.

  “He's bringing some sort of drench in the morning,” Mum said.

  We looked at the palomino before we went to bed. He was lying down and he looked happier, though still terribly ill.

  “Do you think he will live?” I asked Dad.

  “Who can tell? We can only hope, as Dr Beecher said,” Dad replied.

  I hated going to bed. Outside the snow was still falling. It seemed sad to have caught the wild horse at last and not to know whether he would live or die. Not that I cared very much whose horse he was – I only wanted him to live. I prayed for him before I fell asleep.

  I remember Angus coming into my room and saying, “If he lives, let's call him Phantom, because he looked like a phantom coming across the valley with you tonight all covered with snow and thin and out of another world.”

  “All right,” I answered. “If he lives.”

  And now everything is nearly told. For the palomino lived; after three days of hovering between life and death, he stood on his legs again and looked over his loose box door.

  As Angus suggested, we named him Phantom, and, perhaps because of our English accents or perhaps because we rescued him, he seems to love Mountain Farm and whinnies when he sees us, and is much loved by us all.

  Since Phantom came to live with us, Angus and I have become much nicer and far more sensible. We don't get lost any more because Phantom always knows the way home, and we don't lose our heads, because now he's ours there doesn't seem to be anything worth pursuing through the ever-changing Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

  MORE PHANTOM HORSE ADVENTURES

  We hope you enjoyed this Phantom Horse ebook. You can discover more of Jean and Angus’s exciting adventures with Phantom, their beloved palomino horse, by following the link below.

  View the catalogue and buy Phantom Horse ebooks online.

  1. Phantom Horse

  I gazed in wonder at the view. Suddenly I saw something moving below us. It was a horse, riderless and alone. He moved beautifully and with tremendous grace. It was a wild palomino.

  After Jean’s family moves to America, her life is soon changed forever when she encounters the wild horse, Phantom.

  2. Phantom Horse Comes Home

  “I’m not going to leave without Phantom! I refuse to leave!”

  When Jean learns that her family is soon to move back to England, all she can think about is Phantom, the wild palomino horse she has tamed. Will she have to leave him behind?

  3. Phantom Horse Disappears

  “You’re fools! Why couldn’
t you leave things as they were? Why did you come here?”

  When Jean and Angus discover the terrible secret of Aunt Mary’s house, they are caught up in a dangerous plot to kidnap their beloved horse, Phantom.

  4. Phantom Horse in Danger

  I imagined Phantom twisting, kicking, rearing, ropes round his quarters, a blindfold over his eyes. The thought sent tears running down my cheeks like rain.

  When their horses are in mortal danger, Jean and Angus hatch a desperate plan to save them. Will they be in time?

  5. Phantom Horse – Island Mystery

  The idyllic island where Jean takes Phantom with her on holiday hides a dangerous mystery. Why have most of the inhabitants left, and why are horses being secretly flown to the island?

  When Jean is plunged into another perilous adventure, can Phantom save her?

  6. Phantom Horse Wait for Me

  “Jean, darling, there’s no point locking yourself in your room. It won’t bring Phantom back …”

  When Phantom goes missing, little does Jean suspect that her horse is the bait in a plot to capture her. In a race for their lives, will they escape in time?