Secret of the Stallion

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Haven’t you people ever heard of ‘home field advantage’?” Ashley asked brightly. Everybody laughed.

  While the others continued their talk about horses in general, Enrico was concerned with Pip.

  “Do you think perhaps he might be ill?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see any signs of that,” Lisa said. “But I don’t know him well.”

  “Maybe you should check on him tonight,” Enrico said.

  Lisa thought that was a good idea and told him so. “I’m going to ask Max if I can go over there now.”

  “And I will come along. Would that be all right? Or would you think I’m trying to sabotage Pip so that my team can win?” he asked, teasing her.

  “I think it would, perhaps, be all right,” she said.

  In a few minutes, she’d gotten permission from Max. He told her to be back at the hotel by nine-thirty. Enrico looked at his watch and nodded solemnly.

  “I promise,” he said.

  Lisa told Stevie and Carole where she was going.

  “Check Pip’s feed,” Carole said.

  “And his hooves. Maybe he’s picked up a stone.”

  “Take his pulse,” Henrik said. “And his temperature—there’s a medical kit next to my horse’s stall if you need it. It has a stethoscope in it.”

  “Thanks,” Lisa said. She hoped she wouldn’t need those things, but she was grateful for the offer.

  “And if there’s a problem, our team has an extra horse you could ride,” said Ashley.

  “He’s a good mount, too,” Thim added.

  “Thank you,” Lisa repeated. “I appreciate it. I’ll let you all know what we find. Good night!”

  With that, they went downstairs. Veronica was just hanging up the phone when they reached the hallway.

  “Can you believe it? I can’t get through,” she said to Enrico, practically gushing to him. Then she turned to Lisa. “Say, did you notice if there’s a fax machine at our hotel?” she asked.

  Veronica was desperate, but Lisa couldn’t help her. “No, I didn’t,” Lisa said. “But I’m sure if there is you’ll find it,” she added.

  “You bet I will,” Veronica assured her.

  A BRIGHT SUMMER moon seemed to sparkle through the tree branches, casting long shadows on the streets of Cummington. It was a cool night. Enrico took Lisa’s hand and they walked together to the tented stables at the castle.

  “I don’t think I understand your friend, Veronica,” Enrico said.

  Lisa wasn’t inclined to be generous toward Veronica, but the image of her practically throwing herself at Enrico on the way out of the restaurant was more pathetic than annoying. Veronica was obviously jealous of Lisa, and that was so outrageous that it brought out some sympathy in Lisa. “I’m not sure anyone understands her,” Lisa said kindly. “She can be very difficult to be around, but sometimes there are moments when she’s almost normal. And then, just when you get to like her, she does something laughable, like having her maid send her an evening dress and jewelry.”

  “I think she will look quite lovely,” Enrico said.

  “Count on it,” Lisa assured him. “She wears nothing but the best. But it’s not her clothes that are really important to anyone but her.”

  “What, then?” Enrico asked.

  “She’s a good rider. She’s been doing it for a long time. She’s had a lot of lessons and, in spite of herself, she’s learned. She’ll do well for the team.”

  “Then that is what counts,” Enrico said. “Horses, always horses.” He squeezed her hand affectionately.

  “You’ve got that right,” Lisa said, squeezing back. It was nice to be walking through a picturesque village with a handsome boy. One of the nicest parts was knowing that they shared an interest in horses. Something glinted in the moonlight from the sidewalk and caught Lisa’s eye. She stopped and looked. Then she reached down for the shiny object.

  “What’s that?” Enrico asked.

  “I think it’s a button,” said Lisa. She picked it up. It was, in fact, a button with a rhinestone stud in it.

  “Imagine how annoyed your friend Veronica would be if it were her button.”

  “Oh, she’d never wear something as plain as a rhinestone!” Lisa teased. “For her, it would have to be a real diamond button!”

  Enrico laughed. Lisa dropped the button in her pocket, thinking, as she did, about the difference between fakes and the real thing. Veronica would consider herself the real thing, but her teammates knew she was a fake.

  “I think we turn here to go to the castle,” Enrico said. It was a welcome interruption to her thoughts. They left the streets and began the pleasant walk along the long road that led to the castle grounds. It was an open area. There were few trees and no people. They walked in contented silence. The road circled the castle’s wall and then split, one way leading into the castle, the other toward the stabling area.

  There was a large old oak tree not far from the stables on the banks of the small creek that fed into the castle’s moat. Lisa remembered the tree from this afternoon. In the daytime, it had offered a haven of shade from the bright sunlight. Its huge trunk suggested that it had been there a very long time, perhaps several hundred years.

  “Do you think that oak was there when the duke lived here?” Lisa asked as she and Enrico crossed the wooden bridge over the creek.

  “Perhaps as a tiny seed, what do you call it?”

  “Acorn.”

  “Yes, acorn,” Enrico said. “I don’t think that any tree, really, lives that long.”

  Lisa made a note to tell him about the giant redwoods of California, but later, because right then, the tree’s shadow moved, startling both Lisa and Enrico.

  “What was that?” Lisa asked.

  The shadow moved again before Enrico could answer, and then they both knew it wasn’t a shadow; it was a man. He was standing under the oak tree, looking around as if to get his bearings.

  “Can we help you?” Enrico offered as they approached the man.

  “No thanks,” he said, tugging at his cap. “Just having a walk of a summer’s eve.”

  Lisa and Enrico nodded to the man, who hurried off, limping, back down the road that had brought them to the stable. His uneven stride could be heard along the road behind them as they entered the stable. It made Lisa remember their original reason for coming tonight. She hoped Pip’s problem wasn’t any kind of lameness.

  The two of them stepped into the cover of the dark stables and stopped, waiting for their eyes to become accustomed to the dimness. The place was filled with the wonderful sounds and smells of horses. To the right, a horse stomped impatiently on the ground. Ahead, another munched lazily on some hay. One snorted softly. Another answered with a gentle whinny.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Lisa whispered to Enrico. “All these great horses in one place?”

  “It ain’t nuffin’ compared to what used to be ’ere, you know,” said a gruff voice from the darkness.

  “What?” Lisa said.

  “Where are you?” Enrico asked.

  “Roight over ’ere,” said the voice.

  A small desk lamp snapped on, and just to their left, at the desk, was an old man, perhaps seventy.

  “Name’s ’Ank,” he said. “Oi’m the lad what looks after the ’orses at night.”

  Lisa translated quickly in her mind. This was a man named Hank who was the night watchman among the stablehands—the “lads.”

  The old man stood up and offered his hand. Lisa and Enrico shook it and introduced themselves.

  “Oi know ’oo you are,” he said. It turned out that he’d seen both of them riding that afternoon. “Even when Oi’m not on duty, there isn’t much Oi don’t know around ’ere,” he said. “You two are part of them Pony Clubbers, roight?”

  “Right,” Lisa said. “And I’m riding one of the horses from Dickens,” said Lisa.

  “Fine ’orses,” ’Ank said.

  “Oh, yes,” said Lisa. “We came over to check on
Pip, though. I was riding him this afternoon and he was fussy as can be. When I rode him the other day at Dickens, he didn’t show a bit of that fussiness. I hope he’s okay.”

  “Well, then let’s take a look at ’im,” ’Ank said. He picked up a flashlight and led the two young riders along the aisle to Pip’s stall. Lisa was very aware of the fact that even though there were more than fifty horses stabled at Cummington, ’Ank didn’t even have to consult a chart. He knew just where to find Pip.

  When they got to the stall, ’Ank flipped a switch to light up the area.

  Pip was there. He looked just fine. His ears perked curiously toward his visitors. His eyes were bright and welcoming. Lisa held out a hand. Pip came over for a pat. She obliged him happily.

  ’Ank slipped into the stall. He ran his hands over the horse expertly. He lifted each hoof and checked the feet for tenderness. There was no swelling on the legs. His feed bucket was empty, as it should be, and his hay and water showed that he’d been eating and drinking just the way any healthy horse would.

  “Nothin’ wrong ’ere that I can see,” ’Ank said.

  “What about his mouth?” Lisa asked. “He seemed to flinch every time I moved the reins.”

  ’Ank checked Pip’s mouth, but there were no sores that might explain his behavior. “But if he gave you trouble when you moved the reins, maybe we’d better look at his tack,” said ’Ank.

  Enrico and Lisa followed him over to the tack area for the Dickens horses, and there they found the answer. There was a chart identifying the tack for each of the horses, and at Pip’s name it called for the bridle identified as “P”—presumably for Pip. The bridle hung on the hook marked with Pip’s name was “J.” It was a double bridle with a curb bit. The “P” bridle, hung on another hook away from the rest of the tack, was a single bridle with a plain broken snaffle bit. A curb bit was tough on a horse’s mouth. A broken snaffle was a gentle bit, the right choice for a horse with a soft mouth that responded quickly to a gentle signal.

  “That’s the answer, then,” Lisa said. “The lad made a mistake when he tacked up Pip.”

  “ ’E shouldn’t ’ave made a mistake like that!” ’Ank grumbled. “These lads today …”

  Lisa didn’t think there was much point in grumbling about the lads of today. The fact was that she was used to tacking up her own horse and if she had done it—as Max would have wanted her to—this wouldn’t have happened.

  Lisa knew there was nothing wrong with a curb bit. They were absolutely appropriate for many horses. But they were much harsher than a snaffle, and if a horse was used to a snaffle, the sudden change to a curb bit would make him flinch.

  “It’s okay, ’Ank,” she said, reassuring the old man. “Now we know what was wrong. There’s no damage to Pip’s mouth and I’ll be sure he’s got the right tack on tomorrow.” She took the “J” bridle and set it off to the side. The “P” bridle was hung where it belonged.

  “Aye, Miss Lisa,” he said. “That you will, I’m sure of it.” He and Lisa each gave Pip a final good-night pat and they turned out the light at the stall. Then ’Ank led the way back to his desk.

  “Every horse is different from every other,” ’Ank said, almost talking to himself. “It’s a mistake for a lad, or a lass, not to know that. The ones that do know their horses, now they are the ones that become fine riders.”

  Lisa knew that was a compliment. It made her blush and she was glad that neither ’Ank nor Enrico could see that in the dark stable.

  “Fine riders, I mean, like the old duke ’imself.”

  “How would you know that?” Enrico asked.

  “Father to son,” ’Ank said. “Father to son.”

  “You mean your father—” Lisa began, but then she stopped herself. “No, the duke died more than three hundred years ago!”

  “And it was my great, great, oh, Oi don’t know ’ow many ‘greats’ there should be there, but in my family, we call them all Gran. Still, it’s my Gran’s been lookin’ after the ’orses at Cummington since the time o’ William the Conqueror. And every father tells every son everything he knows.”

  “You know about the duke?” Lisa asked. “The last one, I mean?”

  “Aye, Miss Lisa, that I do,” he said. He settled back into his chair and nodded toward a nearby bench where Lisa and Enrico could sit.

  A warm, familiar feeling swept over Lisa. It took her a second to identify it; then she knew. ’Ank was about to tell her and Enrico a story. It felt just like the times Mrs. Reg told stories to the riders at Pine Hollow. The only difference was that Mrs. Reg couldn’t stand to see idle hands, so they were usually cleaning tack when she talked. Lisa settled onto the bench with Enrico, and the two of them listened.

  “ ’E was a mean, stingy old man, that last Duke of Cummington. It weren’t always so. When he was young, he’d had two great loves. The first was the fair Lady Elizabeth. He adored her when they were wee children. He wed her when they were of age. He told my Gran once that she was the sun in his day. He couldn’t do enough for her. He bought her jewels, diamonds, pearls from the Orient, rubies, opals, you name it, Lady Elizabeth got it from ’is Lordship. His other great love was ’orses—one in particular. He had a stallion—pure silvery white he was—looked a lot like that fellow Sterling that your friend is riding, Miss Lisa. The duke adored ’is stallion almost as much as he adored ’is missus. He built a whole stable just for the horse. Wasn’t anybody but the duke could ride him, either. That man was the only one the horse would let on his back. If anybody else tried to do so much as take him out of the stall, he’d rear and stomp and he wouldn’t stop until the interloper had run off or was dead. But he’d hold still for the duke. The man could talk to the horse.

  “Then one day, Lady Elizabeth disappeared. Nobody ever knew exactly what happened except that Gran said she run off with one of them Roundhead fellows, but I don’t know. A lady like that, all them jewels …”

  “Didn’t she take them with her?”

  “Not a bit. Left every one behind,” said ’Ank. “It was like she done it to spite the duke, like she was saying his jewels weren’t good enough for her.”

  ’Ank shook his head as if he couldn’t understand Lady Elizabeth’s reasoning. Then he continued his story.

  “ ’E was a changed man after that. Never a smile, never a kind word to anyone. It was like he couldn’t trust anybody ever again. The only being in the whole world that he trusted were his horse. And the horse come to be everything to him.”

  “Oh, dear,” Enrico said. “No wonder he became bitter.”

  “Bitter is the right word. He become cruel, too. And ’eartless.”

  “Artless?” Enrico asked.

  “Heartless,” Lisa explained.

  ’Ank went on. “It was the Civil War then, you know. The Roundheads controlled a lot of the towns around here, but not Cummington. The duke hated them Roundheads, not because they opposed his king, but because one had stolen his bride. He would rather have died than give them the satisfaction of having so much as one pearl of Elizabeth’s jewels. He took every single piece of jewelry he’d ever given her—the whole was worth a fortune—and he buried it all in the one place he knew it would be safe—the place no man but him dared venture.”

  “The stallion?” Lisa asked. ’Ank nodded solemnly.

  “Right under the stallion’s stall, mind you. No treasure was worth a man’s life, and it would take a life to move the stallion. The duke ’ardly went out after that. He provided some of his own men to fight for the king, but he didn’t really care what happened in the war, as long as his lands and treasure was safe from the ’ands of the Roundheads.

  “And then, one night, there was a fire. Nobody knows how it started, not even Gran. The blaze swept through the stable, destroying the building and all that was in it—”

  “The stallion?” Lisa asked.

  “Aye, the stallion. He was gone. In the end, there weren’t nothing but ashes left. They couldn’t even find the rem
ains of the horse to bury. There was no sign of the stable, the horse, or the treasure. The duke didn’t talk of the treasure, though. He spoke only of his horse and he swore revenge on those who murdered the steed. He was convinced it was the rebel Roundheads, but nobody was ever punished for the fire. The duke spent the next twelve months stalking about his castle. He wouldn’t leave the grounds, nor talk to a livin’ soul.

  “And then, exactly twelve months to the day after the mysterious fire, the duke was found dead. There’s no explanation for his death. He wasn’t sick; he didn’t do anything to himself and there were no wounds. He was just dead. He was found, lyin’ amid the foundations of the old stable. In his right hand, he clutched a single fire opal.”

  There was a long silence as Lisa and Enrico absorbed the amazing story.

  “He’d been digging the treasure up?” Enrico finally asked.

  “There weren’t no signs of any digging,” ’Ank said. “And there never ’ave been. To this day, nobody knows how the fire that killed the stallion started. Nobody knows how the duke died. And nobody knows what become of the treasure. Nothing but the fire opal ’as ever been seen of it.”

  “What ’appened to the castle?” Lisa asked. “I mean happened.”

  “Once the duke was dead them Round’eads took it for their own.”

  “And the treasure?” asked Lisa.

  “Gran said it would be found someday.”

  “Really?” Lisa whispered.

  “Yes,” ’Ank said solemnly. “The duke told ’im, and ’e told ’is son and ’is son told ’is son and so on down to me that the treasure will be found one day by a rider with foyre in his ’eart.”

  The old man’s eyes sparkled in the dim light. It sent a chill of excitement through Lisa. It was a thrill and a promise—both at once.

  “What a wonderful story!” Lisa said when she could speak.

  Enrico nodded. Then he took her hand again. “I think it’s time to get back to the hotel,” he said.

  It definitely was that. Lisa had to hurry. She couldn’t wait to tell the story to Stevie and Carole!