Rather reluctantly, but feeling that perhaps Martin was just one degree better than Joy, Christopher went to Poppy and suggested that they changed partners.
“I just don’t know what to do for the best,” wailed Poppy. “I don’t know my way round the farm and neither does Joy, but Mousie doesn’t like Jackdaw. Couldn’t we all go together, Christopher? The people who went round in fours yesterday got on much better than the pairs. It’s four pairs of ears and we’d get on much quicker with two of us big ones to open and shut the gates.”
“All right,” agreed Christopher ungraciously, “I suppose we can try it, but if you and Joy don’t keep up I shall go on without you. I don’t see why we should have to go in pairs at all; there ought to be another competition for the hopeless people.”
Most of the sound makers moved off to take up their positions when Henry blew the whistle for saddling up, but he and Noel stayed to check girths and curbchains; to remind the members to stay in their pairs and to return to camp in half an hour. Then Henry asked Susan to hold the members up until precisely two-thirty and everyone to shut their eyes and count one hundred while he and Noel made their getaway. Then they fled to their respective hiding-places, both quite near and both on Little Heath. Noel had chosen a tree in the middle of the copse from which to make her cuckoo noises and Henry proposed to lie in the ditch that had been dug just outside the copse for last year’s cross-country course. Noel’s tree was very easy to climb and Henry was glad to find that his ditch was dry; he lay secluded by a battered brush fence and played tunelessly on his mouth organ. He could hear Noel cuckooing in the copse; he could hear Merry blow the car horn every thirty seconds down on the junction of the Folly Court drive and the Hogshill road. He could hear the clear notes of his uncle’s hunting horn away on the left over towards the Lower Basset road, and the staccato crack of Jim, the kennelman’s, whip from the valley below. He heard nothing from the people concealed close to the camp for the small breeze was blowing the wrong way.
When Susan’s watch said half-past two and Christopher’s five and twenty to three and David had explained that time did not actually exist, the pony club members surged through the gate of the camp field and down the cart track towards Folly Court, except for Marion and Penelope who had detected the sound of faint music issuing from the barn, and Guy and David who had decided that someone was bound to hide in Little Heath Copse.
Mrs. Ritson, Mrs. Quayle’s assistant, was playing the gramophone in the barn. “Well, I’ve soon got a customer,” she said. “Marion, isn’t it? I’ve got to write down the name of the big one.”
“That’s right,” Marion answered and Penelope said, “Listen, it sounded like a whistle, quite close.” They waited in silence and heard the whistle again and also the clang of metal striking metal from just behind the barn.
“Quick,” said Marion, and trotting round the sheep pens they came upon Mrs. Holbrooke sitting in a deck chair and beating a sheet of corrugated iron with a hammer.
“Hallo,” she said, “It’s Marion and Penelope, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” they answered, “that’s right.”
“There’s the whistle again,” shrieked Penelope.
“Round the other side,” said Marion hurrying Crusoe into a canter and then looking back hastily to see if Penelope was under control. They had to wait for the whistle to sound again before they finally located Mrs. Quayle who was cunningly hidden in Henry’s tent.
“Now we’d better stand still and listen,” said Marion.
“I can’t hear a thing,” fussed Penelope. But then across the fields came the raucous squawk of the car horn followed almost immediately by the hunting horn’s silvery note; closer at hand from the copse came the cry of the cuckoo.
“Cuckoos in August?” said Marion, “Come on.” And Penelope said, “Yes, it does sound a little suspicious; steady, Pickles.”
The pairs which had ridden down the cart track in company and at speed had heard nothing, for the thud of their ponies’ hoofs and their own voices had drowned all other sounds. Gradually, realising the stupidity of tearing about in a body, the pairs fell out but Christopher, in the lead, had heard the sound of the car horn and was making for Folly Court drive. Martin and Joy, both out of control, rode on his tail and Poppy on the madly excited Jackdaw cantered sideways some distance behind them. Down the hill both Tommy and Mousie were galloping flat out, but neither of them was very fit and the uphill stretch steadied them; they reached the Folly Court drive without mishap though Martin was tugging on the reins and crying, “Whoa, Mousie,” in plaintive tones and Tommy had received some severe jags in the mouth from Joy. Christopher opened the gate into the drive and yelled at Poppy, who was still some way behind, to shut it, then he tore down the drive with the two ponies behind him. At the end of the drive sat Merry HemlockJones in the Land Rover. “Christopher,” she said, entering his name in her note-book, “are you meant to be a three?”
“No, that drip Poppy’s here somewhere. You’d better put her name down too. That’s her coming now; she’s a pair with Joy.” He wheeled round and set off again at a brisk trot. Poppy said, “Miss Sinclair’s in the hedge,” as he rode by her.
“What?” asked Christopher, pulling up.
“Miss Sinclair’s ringing a bell in the hedge,” explained Poppy breathlessly; she was having a rough ride for Jackdaw was maddened by being held back.
“Well, where? Show me for goodness’ sake. We haven’t got all night.”
“I’ve got to give my name to Merry first.”
“No, you haven’t. I’ve done it.”‘
“Oh, all right. She’s in the hedge just here. You galloped by her.”
“She can’t be making much of a noise,” said Christopher. They left their names with Miss Sinclair and then ignoring Joy, who said that she could hear cow mooing noises, they clattered up the drive until they drew level with the house and stables. “Now, shut up, and stand still,” said Christopher. And, “Keep those ponies still, can’t you?” he said, turning on Martin and Joy angrily when their ponies’ hoofs scuffled the gravel. Soon the sound of the hunting horn came to them across the fields; the major was blowing “the Rattle”. “Horn,” they all said at once, and Joy added, “There’s a crackling noise down there.”
“It’s someone cracking a hunting whip,” said Christopher, and he led them down into the valley at another wild gallop. Jim, lurking behind a hayrick, took their names and then they turned left-handed and galloped along the valley. Christopher jumped a hedge and Joy followed him, holding on by the reins and Tommy’s mouth, now mercifully numb. Jackdaw and Mousie refused and Martin fell off. Christopher was furious. He shouted at Poppy to catch Mousie; he told Martin that he was completely useless and feeble and that they had better both come through the gate. Then he galloped on again, disregarding the fact that Martin had dropped his stick, failed to get his stirrups and had muddled up his reins and that Poppy, unable to make Jackdaw stand, had left the gate open.
“Christopher, wait,” wailed Martin, but he was ignored. While they gave their names to Major Holbrooke, Martin was able to reorganise himself and he was ready by the time Christopher set off again round the headland of a field of roots which lay beside the Lower Basset road. As they left him the major blew “the gone away” and Tommy, already over-excited and quite out of control, set off in earnest. He swerved off the headland and galloped straight across the roots. Joy was tugging and jerking at the reins with no effect. “Stop, you fool,” yelled Christopher, “pull him round in a circle.” But Tommy, without slackening speed, dived down the steep bank to the road and was lost to view. “She’s your partner, Poppy,” yelled Christopher. “You’d better go after her. Come on, Martin,” he called as he swung right-handed along the headland of a wheatfield uphill and towards the camp. Poppy dithered on the edge of the roots trying to decide what to do. Jackdaw, lathered white with sweat, threw his head about and cantered on the spot.
Donald and Jean had begun by
finding the cracking whip and then they had returned to camp and discovered the gramophone and the whistle and Mrs. Holbrooke’s clanks. They were riding down the footpath beside the boundary fence, which divided Colonel Manners’ and the major’s land, when they saw a pony galloping over the roots. “Gosh! who’s that silly ass?” said Donald. “Slap across the field; the major will be pleased; we shall probably all be blown off the face of the earth at tea-time.”
“It’s that wretched Joy Boon,” said Jean. “Trust her. She’s permanently out of control.”
But when Joy disappeared down the bank into the road at full speed they realised that this was more than her usual fecklessness. “She’s running away,” said Donald. “Come on, we’d better go after her.”
They galloped their willing horses down the footpath until Donald saw the stile which separated them from the road. “Trot,” he said over his shoulder, for it looked tricky. It was about three feet high with an uphill take off, and the landing was downhill and on the grass verge of the road. “Not too fast,” Donald told Seafire. Seafire was wise and she had sensed a new urgency in her rider’s aids. She trotted at the stile, cat-jumped off her hocks and landed neatly on the verge. Biddy was also wise. She decided that it was much too high for Jean. She gave the stile a disapproving look and refused to consider jumping.
“You go on,” shrieked Jean.
“O.K. There’s a way into the mangle field at the top,” shouted Donald as he galloped off along the grass verge.
God knows what good I can do, he thought as he galloped away. Tommy’s got a tremendous start even though the footpath cut off a corner, and it isn’t as though Seafire’s particularly fast. However, he kept going and when the grass verge petered out, he cantered on the road, cursing people who ran away and hoping that Seafire’s legs would stand up to it.
Tommy had ignored the entrance to Lower Basset Farm and had taken the double bend into Lower Basset village, still at a flat-out gallop. He had galloped straight over the T-shaped cross-road, narrowly missing a bus and two bicycles, and then found himself on the village green. Confronted by a half moon of houses he had slowed to a trot; when he walked Joy dismounted. Her legs felt shaky beneath her so she sat down on the grass. Tommy was very blown, he stood with his neck stretched out and his sides going up and down like bellows.
From the houses and the bus stop people hurried towards Joy.
“Poor little mite,” they said. And, “them ’orses is downright dangerous. It shouldn’t be allowed.” “Bolted with you, did he, dear?” they asked. “Fancy,” they said, “allowing a child of that age out alone.”
“Did you hurt yourself, dear?”
“Take her to Doctor Morgan’s.”
“Send for the ambulance.”
“Notify the police,” they said, becoming alarmed by Joy’s silence. Fortunately at that moment Donald came clattering into the village and he rode Seafire through the crowd that had gathered round Joy.
“Here’s her brother,” people said.
“Hallo, you’ve stopped him,” said Donald, dismounting. “Are you all right? Did you fall off?”
“No,” said Joy, coming to life at the sight of someone she knew. “I didn’t fall off. I stuck on. I nearly threw myself off, but the road looked too hard.”
“Jolly good,” said Donald in encouraging tones. “You went off at a terrific pace. Is Tommy all right?” he asked, inspecting his knees.
“Yes, he’s just a beast,” said Joy angrily, and she jerked the reins by way of retaliation. “You stupid pony.”
“Well, something must have upset him,” said Donald.
“The major went and blew that hunting horn of his right behind us.”
“Downright dangerous it is, shouldn’t be allowed.”
“Came straight across that road, she did.”
“Missed the bus by inches,” the bystanders began to complain to Donald. “’Orses ought to be kept under control, that’s an offence, that is.”
“If there’d been an accident there’d have been trouble.”
“Yes, most dangerous,” agreed Donald. “But I’m not in charge of her. I just came after her because I saw her running away. Come on, Joy, we must get back; everyone’ll be in a panic. You’d better ride Seafire, she’s very quiet. I’ll ride Tommy, I shouldn’t think he’d try anything with my weight on top.”
He legged Joy up, mounted Tommy, on whom he looked absurdly large, and led the way out of the crowd. Seafire walked along soberly, but Tommy had got his second wind and was still excited; he jogged and proceeded sideways when he was prevented from tearing off at a trot. Gradually Donald managed to calm him down. Soon they heard hoofs coming to meet them at a brisk trot and the major appeared riding Jackdaw. When he saw them he slowed up to a walk.
“Any damage?” he asked as he drew near.
“We haven’t discovered any, sir,” answered Donald. “Tommy stopped of his own accord on a village green.”
“Hm. We’re very lucky,” said the major, looking critically at Tommy’s legs. “Are you all right, Joy?”
“Me? Oh, yes, I didn’t hurt myself. It gave me a fright, though; I thought he might go all the way home and then Dad would have had something to say to me,” said Joy cheerfully; she was recovering her spirits with her breath.
“You were up there on the footpath, Donald?” asked the major a few minutes later, and “It’s not a very nice fence,” he added looking at the stile as they rode by, “I’m not surprised Biddy stopped.”
“Tommy would jump that,” Joy told them, “he can jump five feet.”
“Good, we’ll have an exhibition some time,” said the major with a wink at Donald.
Jean and Poppy were waiting on the road by the mangle field and they looked very relieved when they saw the rescuers had Joy with them.
“Is Joy all right?” asked Jean, and, “Did you fall off?”
“No, not me,” answered Joy. “I stuck on. He went flat out the whole way. One thing about Tommy,” she said a moment later, “is that he can go.”
The major dismounted to give Jackdaw back to Poppy, “Another minute or two and she’ll have enjoyed it,” he said dryly.
“Who enjoyed what?” asked Joy.
“What are you going to do, sir? Would you like Seafire?” offered Donald. “I can lead Joy on Tommy.”
“Oh, yes, let me have Tommy back. I wouldn’t want a horse like this, too quiet,” said Joy ungratefully.
“There’s Henry with the Land Rover,” said the major. “He’ll give me a lift. You take these people back to camp, Donald, and tell Henry to wait up there on the stubble; I don’t want that Land Rover over my roots.”
Henry and Noel had already left the Land Rover and they came running down the field.
“Hallo, are you all present and correct?” asked Henry. “We began to panic when none of you turned up and Christopher told us there had been a runaway.”
“Yes, everything is under control,” answered the major. “Joy did a John Gilpin act, but Donald went to her rescue.”
“He jumped the stile, the one by the road,” said Jean, “First go, too.”
“Oh, well done,” said Noel, “I wish I’d seen.”
“Terrific,” agreed Henry. And Donald patted Seafire self-consciously.
“Is everyone else home?” asked the major.
“Yes,” answered Henry, “they all arrived with extreme punctuality.”
“Is Tommy behaving now, Joy?” asked Noel. “Would you like me to ride him back to camp or anything?”
“No, he’s O.K. It was only Major Holbrooke’s old hunting horn that set him off.”
Everyone began to giggle at this, and even the major grinned. “I’ll give you a more authentic account in the Land Rover,” he told Henry and Noel. “Go on, Donald, take those people home.”
“I think,” the major told Henry and Noel when they were out of earshot of the pony club members, “that we’ll have to cut out these hunts for the small ones. The ponies g
et so hotted up and the riders so excitable. That Boon child was going round with Christopher, and you know what he’s like; they were all out of control. I saw them coming along the valley.”
“Poppy was actually in charge of Joy,” said Henry. “But apparently she didn’t go to the rescue?”
“No, she stood dithering up here, while her wretched horse occupied itself by churning my roots up. She didn’t do a thing till I shouted at her to bring me the horse and then Jean Millwood had to go and tell her what I was shouting. Donald was the hero of the occasion; I didn’t really think he had it in him.”
“Oh, he’s worth six of Christopher,” said Henry.
“His seat,” observed Major Holbrooke getting into the Land Rover, “is a disgrace to the pony club.”
The rest of the camp was far more interested in knowing how many sounds Christopher and Martin, and Poppy and Joy had found than they were in hearing about the runaway. But when they learned that each pair had only four sounds to its credit, they lost interest in them altogether for all the other pairs had found at least six and most of them had found eight or nine sounds.
The major, Miss Sinclair, Noel and Henry made the final calculations and then announced that the first four pairs all had nine sounds and so the competition was decided on time. First were Marion and Penelope, second Christopher and Martin, third Margaret and Nicholas, fourth David and Guy. “Prizes will be presented at tea,” said the major, “and now the ponies will be put away in the lines. Do you want to have evening stables now, Henry?”
“Yes, we might as well, we’ve got half an hour and we hay again after supper.”
“Of course, we should have won,” Christopher told Donald. “It was just that you needed a deaf aid to hear Henry or Noel in that wood. If people are making sounds they jolly well ought to make them properly.”
“It wasn’t fair,” added Martin, “How was anyone to know that bird noises counted?”
“I think they did it very well,” said Susan, “and after all, Christopher, nearly everyone did find them. It was just that you weren’t as quick as Marion and Penelope.”
Pony Club Camp (Noel and Henry Book 5) Page 8