Читать книгу Mystic and the Midnight Ride - Stacy Gregg, Stacy Gregg - Страница 9

“Forget about Miss Stuck-up Tucker,” Stella giggled. The two girls were sitting on a tartan rug that had been thrown down on the grass next to Avery’s truck, noshing into the pile of sandwiches that Issie’s mum had prepared for their lunch. “Finish up your sandwich and we’ll go grab Kate and walk the showjumping course with Tom.”

The showjumping course was laid out at the far end of the club grounds. Avery was already there waiting for them.

“The key to a clear round,” he advised them as they set out on foot towards the first jump, “is never take any fence for granted. Especially the first one. Many a rider has a refusal at the first jump because they’re too busy thinking about what comes next.”

The girls followed along as Avery walked between the fences, describing the various obstacles and advising where the ponies should take off and land. Standing beside the third fence, a parallel rail painted in blue and white stripes, Avery measured the jump against his body. The rail was almost as high as his waist. “These fences are a decent size,” he said. “You’ll need to be thinking at all times. Keep your horse well-rounded with lots of power in the hindquarters. If you allow them to flatten out you’ll never make it over these jumps.”

Avery charted out the rest of the course, taking slow careful steps and measuring the strides needed between each fence. “When you’re riding I expect you to follow exactly in my footsteps,” he told Issie as he walked the line between the fences. “Don’t be tempted to cut corners,” he said. “Better to risk time faults than to have a refusal.”

As they headed back to the truck to saddle up, the girls stopped at the judges’ tent and collected their competition numbers, which had been written in black felt tip on to fabric squares that they tied on over their jerseys. Issie was number twenty-two, the last to go. An advantage, she decided, since she could watch the other riders and learn from their mistakes.

“Your first showjumping competition, eh? You must be nervous.” Dan gave Issie a grin as he rode up to join her at the side of the show ring.

“Nervous?” Issie tried to act cool even though her tummy was churning with butterflies. “No way! Mystic has done this sort of thing a million times before. I’m pretty relaxed,” she said airily.

“Still, hadn’t you better go over a few practice jumps?” Dan said, teasing her. “Maybe your problem is that you’re a little too relaxed.”

Dan was so confident, so self-assured. Issie couldn’t stand it any longer. She stared up at him with her hands on her hips. “You think you’re so cool, don’t you, Daniel Halliday? Well how about a little bet? The losing rider has to groom the winner’s horse for a week.”

As soon as Issie had opened her mouth she regretted it. What was she saying? Dan hadn’t meant to be mean or anything. He only teased her because he liked talking to her, she knew that. She also knew that he was a better rider than she was.

Still, she figured, even losing wouldn’t be so bad. She was more than happy to groom Kismit—and hang out with Dan.

Dan removed his helmet, pushing back his blond hair with one hand and then reaching that same hand out to her. “I could use a good groom,” Dan smirked. “Let’s shake on it.”

“Number twenty, Natasha Tucker on Goldrush, please enter the arena,” the announcer called over the loudspeaker.

With only three competitors to come, the showjumping course had claimed its fair share of victims. In fact, so far there hadn’t been a single clear round. Now it was the turn of Chevalier Point’s newest rider to try her luck.

Natasha cantered Goldrush into the ring, pointed the pony towards the first fence and gave her a swift slap with her whip. Goldrush gave a surprised snort and leapt forward, rushing the fence and catapulting Natasha back in the saddle. It wasn’t the best start, but somehow Natasha managed to hang on and re-settle herself for the second fence, which Goldrush took with a perfect stride.

One by one, the golden pony took each fence after that without a hitch. As they cleared the final fence, a serious oxer, the crowd let out a cheer. The first clear round of the day. With a fast time too—three minutes and five seconds exactly.

Issie couldn’t watch Dan as he entered the ring to begin his round. It wasn’t that she was too nervous to watch him; she would have loved to. But she had to warm Mystic up over the practice jump and get him worked in so that he would be ready when her turn came. She rode to the far end of the field and cantered him back and forth over the low crossed rails, all the time half-listening to the loud speaker to hear how Dan was doing. It would be dreadful to lose to Dan, she decided, but much, much worse if they both lost to Natasha.

Issie arrived back at the ringside just in time to see Dan clear the final fence. Kismit took the rails cleanly, then gave a high-spirited buck to signal the end of a clear round, nearly unseating Dan as the pair rode between the flags to finish.

“A clear round in two minutes and forty-four seconds for competitor twenty-one, Dan Halliday,” the voice over the loudspeaker announced. “That time puts Dan Halliday in the lead. Would the final competitor, number twenty-two Isadora Brown, please enter the ring.”

As the last rider to go, Issie thought to herself, at least she knew where she stood. With only two clear rounds before her, all she needed to do was go clear too and she would win a ribbon. But if she wanted to beat Dan’s time? Then she would have to ride faster than she had ever done before in her life.

“Let’s go, Mystic,” she breathed into the little grey’s ear as she leant down low over his neck. Then she squeezed her legs around his plump belly and trotted into the ring. As the judges’ bell went to signal the start of the round, Mystic tossed his head and Issie pressed him on into a canter. Her nerves disappeared as she kept her mind focused on clearing the first fence. She sat down heavy and urged Mystic on. He leapt it boldly and fought against her hands to get his head. “Steady boy,” Issie cautioned, holding him firmly and looking to the next fence. Again they took it cleanly and Issie’s confidence grew with each jump.

They were gaining speed now, until it seemed to Issie as if she were flying. The grey gelding fought against the bit to go faster still and Issie was forced to hang on tight to the reins to keep Mystic under control.

By the time they rounded the corner to face fences six and seven—a double combination—Mystic was in full stride and too strong for her to hold back. Issie found herself on a sharp angle as the headstrong pony rushed the fence and had to put in a last-minute stride to adjust himself. His hind legs went thwack against the top rail of the first jump and Issie could hear the crowd gasp and hold their breath as the pole rocked in its metal socket. Would the rail fall? She couldn’t look, she must concentrate on the next fence ahead of her. She tensed, expecting to hear the crash of the rail falling behind her, but instead she heard a cheer rise up from the crowd. The rail hadn’t fallen. She was still clear.

Over the next fence and there she was with just one jump between her and a clear round. As they neared the big oxer she felt butterflies rise in her tummy and tried to calm herself. “Trust your horse, Issie,” she commanded herself out loud. She gave Mystic his head and sat deep in the saddle. The dapple-grey took off perfectly and soared over the rails, landing cleanly on the other side. Clear round!

Mystic was flecked with sweat and snorting from his efforts as the pair left the ring. Issie slid to the ground and threw her arms around his neck giving him a hug and inhaling the sweet smell of warm, damp horse sweat. It must be the best smell in the world! Issie thought, breathing in deeply.

“Good lad, Mystic. Well done! A clear round!” she murmured to her pony, her face still buried deep in his grey mane.

“Hey, hey,” Dan called as he rode over to her, “what are you doing? Get back on your horse—you’ll have to ride into the ring in a minute to get your ribbon!”

But which ribbon? With three clear rounds, Issie’s time was crucial now. Had she gone fast enough to beat Dan?

“Competitor number twenty-two, Isadora Brown, a clear round in two minutes fifty-six seconds,” the announcer called. “The winner is Dan Halliday on Kismit. Second place goes to Isadora Brown on Mystic, third Natasha Tucker on Goldrush. Would all riders please come back into the ring to collect your prizes.”

As Mystic trotted into the arena, Issie felt like she was in a dream. It didn’t matter that Dan had beaten her. She had won her first ribbon. Mystic seemed to know it too; as the three riders cantered around the ring in a lap of honour he bristled with pride, flicking his tail and arching his neck.

“You are totally the best pony ever, do you know that?” Issie told Mystic as they rode back to Avery’s truck. “Just the best,” she repeated again proudly as she pulled the little grey up to a halt. OK, so she’d lost her bet with Dan and she’d have to groom Kismit for a week—she didn’t care. Second place. And a clear round! How fantastic was that?

Issie was just about to dismount and give Mystic yet another hug when she heard someone crashing about on the other side of the silver horse float.

“Stop that! Stand still, damn you!” Natasha Tucker’s voice was raised in a high-pitched squeal. She had been trying to take off Goldrush’s tack but the pretty palomino kept dancing nervously as the girl tried to undo her bridle. “Stop it!” Natasha shouted again, this time giving Goldrush a slap across the neck with her riding crop.

As the whip cut hard into her flesh the palomino reared up, jerking the reins out of Natasha’s hands. Natasha stood there helplessly as Goldrush planted her front legs back on the ground, standing on top of the loose reins and tangling them around her legs.

Caught in the reins, Goldrush went wild with terror. The mare tried to back up to get free, but found herself pressed up hard against Toby and Coco who were tied to the truck beside her.

What happened next came so suddenly that Issie didn’t have a chance to stop it. She watched as Goldrush kept backing up into the other horses, kicking out in terror with her hind legs. Then Toby gave a snort and pulled back hard against his halter rope. The knot gave way and his lead rope came loose. Coco, too, had worked her way free from her tether. Now, all three horses were loose and heading for the paddock gate.

It was then that Issie noticed that the main pony club gate was still open—someone must have forgotten to shut it as they had driven in to park their horse float.

“Hey! The gates. Shut the gates!” Issie yelled.

As the horses bolted through the first paddock gate and headed for the main gate, Issie saw people running after them, trying to divert them from the exit. It’s no use, she realised. They’ll never catch up with them on foot. But maybe she could reach them on Mystic.

She wheeled the little grey around and clucked him into a canter, leaning low over his neck. The horses were through the gate now and already clattering along the gravel driveway that would lead them to the deadly road.

In full gallop now, Issie and Mystic rounded through the gate behind them. “Come on, boy, we’ve got to beat them to the road.” Issie dug her heels into Mystic’s sides, urging him on even faster. Mystic was gaining on the horses but as they got closer to the intersection where the roads met, Issie realised they weren’t going to make it in time. She would have to ride out on to the road after the horses and try to herd them back again.

The clatter of gravel became the clean chime of metal horseshoes hitting tarmac as the horses struck the main highway. There was the honk of a car horn as two vehicles sped past, one of them narrowly missing Toby.

Issie quickly checked for more traffic then followed the runaway horses out on to the road. She pulled Mystic around hard in front of Toby and waved an arm at him, spooking the big bay and directing him back down the gravel drive, back towards the pony club.

If she could get Toby to lead the way, maybe the others would follow. It was their only chance. Two cars had already nearly hit them. How long could their luck last?

Suddenly the deep low boom of a truck horn sounded off behind her. Issie heard the sickening squeal of tyres and smelt burning rubber. As the truck rounded the corner towards her, everything suddenly seemed to go into slow motion.

To Issie it seemed as if Mystic was turning to face the truck, like two stallions set to fight. The grey horse reared up suddenly, throwing her backwards with such force that she flew clear of the oncoming traffic, landing hard on the shoulder of the road. There was a sickening crack as her riding helmet met with tarmac, the peak splintering as it took the full force of the blow.

Groggy from the fall, Issie tried to stand up, to move, but her vision blurred and she could taste blood in her mouth. In the distance came the screech of tyres again and then the most hideous sound she had ever heard, the sound of a horse screaming. Through the sirens and the traffic noise she could make out a voice calling out her name, and then everything faded to black.