Six Ponies

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  By nine o’clock it had stopped raining, and by half-past a faint but persevering gleam had appeared in the sky. Roger and Hilary, stuffing haversacks with sawdust, made encouraging noises to it, but Richard cursed it heartily. Besides losing everything in his effort to hurry, he had a furious row with his mother, who suddenly said he was to take Jill with him. In vain he argued that she hadn’t been invited, couldn’t jump high enough, and as he wasn’t going to hang about while Wendy grazed and refused, would certainly get lost. Mrs. Morrisson insisted, and as Richard was already late in starting, he had no choice but to let Jill follow him. Neither of them spoke the whole way to the Priory, where there was also an atmosphere of thinly veiled unpleasantness; for Susan, seeing Evelyn mount Romany, had asked, in slightly shocked tones, if she was going to ride her in the chase.

  “Yes, why not?” replied Evelyn, giving her twin a belligerent look.

  “I don’t know,” said Susan. “I only thought it wasn’t supposed to be a good thing for young horses to be galloped and raced, but I suppose otherwise you wouldn’t have enough ponies for all of you.”

  “Romany isn’t as young as all that,” said Evelyn, “and I haven’t the least intention of letting her become one of those pampered, nurse-maided show ponies; she’s going to be a hunter and gymkhana pony, and she may as well begin learning now. I could have ridden one of Mrs. Maxton’s ponies if I had wanted to,” she went on, “but she would only let me have Woodcock, and he’s so jolly dull and lazy—like most riding-school ponies—I decided that it would do Romany good to have a gallop.”

  “I like Woodcock,” said Susan, “and he’s quite a good jumper, you know.”

  “Personally, I like a hot pony,” said Evelyn, “not a worn-out riding-school hireling.”

  “Woodcock isn’t worn out,” said Susan furiously. “He’s jolly nice, and anyway Mrs. Maxton doesn’t let her horses out for hire.”

  “Here’s Richard,” said Roger, glad to see him for once, and wishing Evelyn would keep her mouth shut. “Come on, Hilary, hadn’t we better get going?” Richard rode up, looking very disagreeable, and said to Roger in an angry undertone:

  “I’m sorry I’ve brought Jill, but mummy made me, and now she’ll ruin everything, I suppose.”

  “That’s all right,” said Roger, though at heart he didn’t think so. “She’s no worse than Marga and Jim, so she can keep with them.” Margaret gave him a furious look and said loudly: “I can jump three feet one and a half inches.” Hilary, who was standing beside her, said:

  “Shut up, you little swank,” as quietly as she could. But evidently John heard her, for he grinned and winked, which made Marga angrier than ever.

  “You’ll start in a quarter of an hour, then,” said Roger, deciding to ignore Margaret and mounting Sky Pilot, the black gelding, which Mrs. Radcliffe had given her three eldest children as a Christmas present.

  “O.K.,” said John, looking at his watch, “it’s ten past ten now.”

  “Cheerio!” said Hilary, mounting Northwind, and the hares rode off down the drive.

  The hounds watched them in silence. Noel, who had the “needle,” though she repeatedly told herself that it was ridiculous to have it for a game, racked her brain for something to say. Then she and John both started to speak at once.

  “Sorry,” said Noel. “Go on, you started first.”

  “I was only going to say that they’d been five minutes,” said John. “What were you going to say?”

  “I was only going to ask whether we are hunting in a pack, in pairs, or separately,” said Noel.

  “Separately, of course,” said Evelyn firmly. “It’s a race, so if you can get ahead, you do.” There was another silence, then Richard said:

  “I presume that if any one gets lost they make their way back here?”

  “Either that or ring up,” said Evelyn, “otherwise we shan’t know whether to send out search parties or not.”

  “Ten minutes,” said John.

  “I’m simply frozen,” said Richard. “My feet are like blocks of ice. Can’t we start?”

  “Of course not,” said Evelyn. “We’re supposed to wait a quarter of an hour.”

  “Surely a few paltry minutes wouldn’t make much difference,” said Richard.

  “ ‘Many a mickle makes a muckle,’ ” quoted Noel absent-mindedly, and then, realising, she blushed with embarrassment. Margaret giggled, and, after another pause, John said:

  “Awfully bad luck for Dick getting ’flu, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, his mother said he was fearfully fed up,” said Evelyn.

  “Fourteen minutes,” said John, “Are you ready? Go!”

  Everyone swept down the drive at a brisk trot, with Margaret in the lead. They passed under the grey stone arch into the road, and there, on their right, was a thin trickle of sawdust. Evelyn let Romany, who was pulling, trot faster, and took the lead from Margaret. John rammed his bowler hat down and shortened his reins. Susan, mindful of Mrs. Maxton’s warnings, took Beauty on the grass verge; Noel and James followed her. Jill rode up beside Margaret and said:

  “Shall we two keep together? Wendy’s much better if she’s with another pony.” Margaret looked at her disdainfully and said:

  “I don’t mind as long as you keep up, but I’m not going to wait if you start refusing.” Evelyn flung open the five-barred gate leading into a large stubble field.

  “Last through, shut the gate,” she shouted and, giving Romany her head, she galloped flat out beside the now wide line of sawdust. James was last through, but Susan and Noel, who had waited, shut the gate. As they galloped on after the others, Noel found, to her delight, that Rusty was fairly fast for a pony of his size. He held his own with Beauty, who was a couple of inches taller, and together they passed Wendy, Darkie and Pixie, and drew near to Dick Turpin and Peter, who were racing neck and neck. Suddenly John and Richard turned sharply to the left. The trail had turned, but Evelyn, in the lead, had been going too fast to notice. When she saw that the others were no longer following her and realised what had happened, she tugged Romany round and tore after them. Everyone was exhilarated by the gallop. John and Richard urged their ponies even faster in an effort to pass each other. Noel and Susan, galloping side by side, gave themselves entirely to the enjoyment of speed, and the feeling of the wind and the sting of the rain in their faces. James’ pleasure was slightly marred by the unnecessary strain of looking out for rabbit-holes. Margaret, already ahead of Jill, was enjoying herself thoroughly. Occasionally she gave vent to a hunting cry, partly as an outlet for her excitement, but mainly as an encouragement to Pixie to go faster still and catch up with Susan and Noel. In spite of Jill’s frenzied beating and kicking, Wendy, was dropping farther and farther behind the other ponies, and in a panic Jill saw herself deserted, lost, wandering aimlessly about the fields and, finally, a pathetic skeleton, after the style of the Babes in the Wood. Evelyn’s annoyance at losing her lead by forgetting to watch the trail soon evaporated as she felt Romany’s lengthening strides beneath her and saw the way in which she put every ounce into covering the distance between her and the rest of the ponies. She passed Wendy, flashed by James and Margaret, and inch by inch drew close to Rusty and Beauty. Just as she was level with them, the trail turned. It led along the hedgerow for a little way, and then over a bank and down into the road. They clattered across, and then pulled up to a walk as, with John, Richard and Evelyn in the lead, they followed the wet, yellow trail down the Nut-walk, a steep and narrow lane with a close hedge of nut trees on either side, which overhung so low that you had to lie on your pony’s neck to pass beneath.

  “I bet Roger had a job to get down here on Sky Pilot,” said James.

  “Can’t see why he had to go down such a beastly place,” grumbled Richard. “I’ve scratched my face all over.” Behind, Noel was hoping that Rusty wouldn’t slip, and telling herself not to be such a coward; and Susan was giving small shrieks as the branches whipped her face and clutched at her clothes. Sudden
ly there was a wail from Jill. “My saddle’s slipping. Whoa! Whoa!” she cried. “It’s right up her neck.”

  “Get off and put it back,” said Evelyn, without bothering to stop or look round.

  “I told you to tighten your girths,” said Richard, following Evelyn. Susan, who was just in front of Jill, stopped. “Jump off,” she said, seeing the saddle perched precariously on Wendy’s neck.

  “I can’t, I can’t,” whined Jill. “It’s wobbling. I’m going to fall.” Susan dismounted and Noel, who was just ahead of her, took Beauty’s reins. With Susan at Wendy’s head, Jill managed to scramble off.

  “You’d better lead her the rest of the way down,” said Susan, “and we’ll put it right at the bottom.”

  “Come on,” said Noel, “we must hurry. The others have gone.” She gave Beauty to Susan, who led her until the Nut-walk came out into a huge downland field. There they put Wendy’s saddle back and Jill mounted. They could see Richard, Margaret and Evelyn, dim specks, fast disappearing in the distance, while John stood half-way across the field, an indecisive figure, torn between the thrill of the chase and a highly developed competitive spirit on the one hand and the obvious unfairness of deserting Susan and Noel on the other.

  “Is your saddle O.K., James?” asked Noel as she mounted.

  “Yes, thank you,” replied James.

  “Come on, then,” said Susan, “we must catch them up.” They galloped towards John, who stood waiting.

  “The others have gone towards Stark Dyke,” he shouted as they drew near, and, turning Turpin, he took the lead. Soon the ponies began to blow, and the children let them canter more slowly until they reached the brow of the hill, where they pulled up, and looked down on the dyke and the faint line of the Roman road in the valley below.

  “That’s odd,” said John, scanning the view. “There’s no one in sight. Where can they have got to?”

  “They must be in that wood, I should think,” said Noel.

  “Perhaps they’re all hiding,” suggested Susan.

  “There’s lots of sawdust down here,” said James excitedly. He was the only one who had remembered they were supposed to be following a trail and not the other people.

  “Gosh, yes,” said John, riding over to him, “lashings of it. Come on.” And he started off down the side of the hill, where a precipitous track led round the edge of a chalk quarry. At the bottom the trail led over a small post and rails into the next field. Turpin jumped it beautifully, and, though John leaned back slightly, he didn’t catch his mouth; Beauty and Rusty followed, and then Wendy refused.

  “Oh, gosh!” said John despairingly. Jill turned and rode at it again. Still Wendy refused.

  “What about James giving you a lead?” suggested Susan.

  “Look out, then,” said James. He rode at the jump, and Darkie cleared it easily, but Wendy refused again.

  “Try a short run,” said Susan, but still she refused.

  “Do you think one of us could get her over?” asked Noel.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said John. “You’d better try first; you look much the lightest.”

  “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get her over,” said Noel, instantly regretting her suggestion. “Still, I can try.” Jill dismounted and asked, “Shall I alter the stirrups?”

  “Don’t bother,” replied Noel, “I’ll try without, first. Can I borrow your stick, please?” Jill handed it to her. Giving Wendy two hits, Noel turned her at the jump, and she was so surprised at being ridden in a determined manner that she jumped it straight away.

  “Jolly good,” said John.

  “Hurrah!” said James.

  “Well done!” said Susan. Jill felt rather annoyed that Wendy should jump for Noel and not for herself, but still anything was better than being left refusing while everyone else disappeared into the distance. They both remounted and cantered on, following the trail across a couple of fields and into a wood. They were trotting down a broad ride, the thick, centuries-old carpet of leaves muffling their hoof-beats, when Susan pointed and said, “Look, there’s another trail leading off here.”

  “A false scent, I expect,” said John. “By the hoof-marks, the others have gone this way.”

  “Let’s go the other way, then,” said Noel, “because if they took the right one they’ll probably have caught the hares by now; but if by any chance they’ve taken the wrong trail, we might get there first.”

  “Oh, yes,” said James, “that’s a very good idea. Besides, this trail is an awfully thin one; the others may not have noticed it.”

  “Come on, then,” said John, “let’s get cracking.” And, leaving the path, they began to follow the smaller trail, which led through the undergrowth and twisted in and out of the sombre rhododendron bushes. They walked the ponies, which were all sweating, for some time, and then they trotted until they came to a pair of hurdles, which led into a ploughed field. James fell off over them, but he didn’t hurt himself, and while John caught Darkie, Noel mounted Wendy, who had had six refusals with Jill, and jumped her over second try. The trail led round the headland of the ploughed field and through a gap into the next one—a barren, untilled field, growing little else but stunted, gnarled thorn bushes and treacherous with rabbit-holes and mole-hills, through which the children gingerly picked their way, to find themselves on the deserted grass-grown track that had once been a busy Roman road.

  Suddenly Jill said, “Look! There’s a fog coming up. Oh, what shall we do?”

  “Gosh, yes,” said John as he looked round and realised with dismay that, while they had been so intent on the trail, the fog had been creeping up, minute by minute, until now the surrounding hills were completely blotted out.

  “We shall be lost,” said Jill. “I know we shall.”

  “Rot!” said John.

  “I’ve got my compass,” said James, “though it doesn’t work very well.”

  “Gosh, you’re efficient,” said Noel. “One generally forgets that sort of thing the only time one needs it.”

  “I think the best thing we can do,” said John, “is to keep going, because if we manage to catch up with Roger and Hilary they’ll know the way home.” Realising the need for speed, he put Turpin into a canter. They cantered on and on. All five felt anxious as they watched the fog become thicker and thicker with each moment, but no one, except Jill, said anything. She sniffed continuously, and whined that she didn’t want to be lost, and have to sleep out in the dark and the fog at intervals. Soon they couldn’t see the trail, but no one remarked on it. They followed John along the Roman road at a trot in grim silence. Then Susan said, “Beauty seems awfully tired. Shall we get off and lead them for a bit?” They all dismounted, and Noel suggested, “Oughtn’t we to shout? Some of the others may be lost too.” So they shouted and made hunting cries as they walked along, which cheered them for a little, but when they had to stop, through hoarseness, the silence which fell seemed deeper, heavier, and more eerie than before. Noel felt as though she were captive in some ancient castle, manacled in a damp, dark dungeon, breathing fetid air and taming toads for companions. John spoke, more to break the stillness than for any other reason. “Has any one the faintest idea where this road comes out?” he asked. No one had.

  “We’re heading due north-west,” said James.

  “I’m hopeless about the way,” said Noel, “and I haven’t the slightest idea where due north-west will lead us. Have you, John?”

  “None at all,” admitted John. “I’m completely off my bearings, but still a compass is jolly useful, you know; it prevents you from going round in circles, and if we keep going north-west long enough we’re dead certain to arrive somewhere some day.”

  “I hope the others aren’t going round in circles,” said James. “They haven’t got a compass.”

  When John had seen Noel and Susan stop to put Jill’s saddle back at the bottom of the Nut-walk, he had shouted to Evelyn and Richard, who were a few yards ahead of him, “Oughtn’t we to wait for the
m?”

  “No, they’ll be all right,” Evelyn had answered. But at the top of the hill John’s conscience forced him to wait. Margaret soon pointed this out to Richard, who said, “Well, that’s his look-out. I’m blowed if I’m going to nursemaid Jill,” and had kicked Peter on faster than ever in an attempt to catch up with Evelyn, who was several lengths ahead. When they reached the wood, all three of them had been galloping too fast to notice the smaller trail leading off through the undergrowth; they had gone straight on, through a field and down a lane, until they had seen hats, which looked like Hilary’s and Roger’s, bobbing in the distance.

  “There they are,” said Evelyn, who saw them first. “Now we can take a short cut.” She turned and rode Romany at a solid, three-feet-six post and rails into the next field. Romany refused. Evelyn hit her and rode at it again. This time Romany jumped, but she hit the top bar, which was firmly nailed, and nearly fell. Evelyn let her stand for a moment while she watched Richard and Margaret ride their ponies at the fence. They both refused.