“That’s it exactly,” Carole said. “We’re used to horses that may be worth a couple of thousand dollars, which isn’t exactly pocket change, but these horses are worth zillions, and the whole purpose is for them to earn even more zillions. That’s a big difference.”
“You can say that again,” I agreed. I had finally caught on to what she was trying to say—that racing was a business, not just a sport, so the horses themselves were valued for things other than the things we valued horses for, like a nice personality or a smooth trot. They were valued for their speed, and that was worth a lot.
Before we could talk about that anymore, we heard someone calling Carole’s name. It turned out to be Mr. McLeod.
“I’m glad I found you,” he told her. “I need your help. Can you get to the stables quickly?”
“Sure,” Carole said. And with a quick wave, she was gone.
“I wonder what that was about?” Lisa said.
I shrugged. “Who knows? I’m sure she’ll tell us later. What do you want to do now? Prancer’s in the sixth race, so we have plenty of time before it starts.”
“I know,” Lisa said. “I heard some people talking about going to watch the horses being saddled in the paddock. Wouldn’t it be cool to watch Prancer getting tacked up? Maybe Carole will be there, too, if she’s helping Judy and Mr. McLeod.”
“Brilliant idea!” I exclaimed. “Let’s go!”
We asked someone for directions, and soon (after stopping at the snack bar just long enough to gobble down a couple of hot dogs—all that cheering is hungry work!) we found ourselves at the fence just outside the saddling area, which as Lisa had said was called the paddock. And it really was mostly like a big paddock with a few open-sided stalls marked with numbers, where the horses stood while their trainers got them ready to race. A couple of horses were there when we arrived, but we didn’t see any that matched Carole’s description of Prancer.
We leaned on the fence and watched for a while. Then, suddenly, Lisa started elbowing me in the ribs. Hard.
“Ouch!” I protested. “What’s your problem?”
Lisa didn’t even hear me. She was staring at a path leading to the far side of the paddock. I had already guessed that it led to the stable area, since all the horses seemed to be coming from that way. Now I looked and saw a small buckskin horse walking through the paddock gate, followed by a tall, elegant bay filly. And the buckskin was being ridden by a very familiar-looking, curly-haired girl!
“Carole!” I cried. “What’s she doing?”
“Call me crazy,” Lisa replied, “but I think she’s riding Prancer’s lead pony!”
I was about to start calling out her name again, but Lisa stopped me, explaining that Carole probably had a job to do and we shouldn’t disturb her. So I kept quiet, though it wasn’t easy—especially as we watched Carole dismount from the buckskin pony and start assisting Mr. McLeod and some other people in tacking up Prancer.
Then the adults stood back, and Carole led the beautiful filly out of the saddling stall and started walking her around the ring. When she passed in front of us, I couldn’t resist. “Carole!” I cried. “Over here!”
Carole glanced over, saw me, and grinned. She waved to us.
“Is this for real?” Lisa called out. “Are you riding the lead pony?”
Carole nodded and started leading Prancer in a tight circle so she could talk to us. “Mr. McLeod wanted me to do it because he thinks I have this magical ability to calm this filly down. Isn’t it weird? She isn’t nervous or upset at all!”
Just then, almost as if she had understood every word Carole was saying, Prancer turned to snuffle at Lisa and me. It reminded me of when Topside is feeling feisty and looking for treats. I grinned and gave the friendly horse a pat, and so did Lisa.
“She’s beautiful!” Lisa exclaimed.
“And loving!” I added, rubbing the filly’s soft muzzle. “I’m sure she’s going to win. I’ll tell my dad to bet a bundle on her.” I didn’t bother to tell her that to my dad a “bundle” would be about two dollars and fifty cents.
“Let your dad do his own betting,” Carole advised. “But for now, go back to your seats. I’m going to be in the post parade, and I want to see somebody cheering for Prancer.”
“I’ll cheer for Prancer,” I promised. “But mostly I’m going to cheer for you.”
Lisa and I gave Prancer a few final pats. Then Carole turned her to continue circling the paddock.
“You heard what she said,” Lisa said as we watched her go. “Let’s get back to our seats so we don’t miss a millisecond of that post parade.”
A few minutes later, Lisa and I were safely in our seats as the first horse stepped onto the track. We had filled my parents in on the news, and they watched almost as eagerly as we did for Carole to appear.
Prancer was the second horse in line. “There she is!” Lisa shrieked, pointing and jumping up and down in her seat. “There’s Carole!”
“I see her!” I replied, not taking my eyes off our friend for a second. Carole was sitting up straight in the saddle, a thrilled smile on her face. She was watching Prancer carefully as the filly stepped along beside the lead pony on her long, elegant legs. It looked to me as if Prancer was determined to stay as close to Carole as possible. She kept swinging her head over the pony’s neck, almost as if looking to Carole for reassurance. The jockey, a tiny man in bright blue-and-white silks (that’s what the jockey’s uniform is called, in case you were wondering, Miss Fenton) sat quietly on Prancer’s back, letting Carole do the leading.
“She looks good out there,” my dad commented. I guessed he was talking about Carole rather than the horse. “Very professional.”
The four of us hardly said another word throughout the whole post parade. But we did cheer—loudly—as Prancer passed in front of our part of the stands. I wanted to make sure Carole heard us. She must have, because she looked up, spotted us, and waved.
Before long the post parade broke up and the horses started warming up for the race. Carole steered her pony to one side as the jockey galloped Prancer partway around the track. I had a hard time deciding between watching Carole and watching Prancer. So I did my best to do both.
Then Carole rode off to one side with the other lead riders, and I concentrated all my attention on Prancer. After her warm-up run, she turned and headed for the starting gate with the rest of the horses. Soon they were all loaded into the gate.
“And they’re off!” the public-address system blared. The announcer continued, giving the positions of the runners as they pounded down the track toward the first turn. But I wasn’t paying attention. I was only interested in one horse, and I could see her jockey’s blue-and-white silks near the front of the pack. Seconds later, Prancer burst out in front of everyone else.
Lisa was gripping my arm so tightly that her fingernails were digging into my skin. But I hardly noticed. “She’s winning!” I gasped.
“I know! I know!” Lisa cried. We both knew that they still had to travel a long way before crossing the finish line. But Prancer was racing ahead, opening up space in front of the other horses, looking wild and free and happy, her nostrils flared wide and her legs flashing almost too fast to see. And then it happened.
It was so sudden that if Lisa or I had blinked just then, we might have missed it. Prancer stumbled. Her right foreleg bent under her body, the angle all wrong, terribly wrong. The jockey’s arms flew up at the sudden change in direction. But I wasn’t watching him. I was watching the horse, my heart in my throat.
Prancer lurched forward, then back. Somehow, she was also still moving forward as her three healthy legs tried to continue, to keep running the race.
Then a loud gasp went up from the entire audience as, after one final flailing attempt to keep going, Prancer pitched forward and fell onto the track, flinging her jockey off to one side.
My heart was pounding and blood was racing through my temples. I gripped the rail at the front of our box so tight
ly that my knuckles turned white. I couldn’t believe this was happening. But it got worse.
“The other horses!” Lisa choked out.
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight, feeling helpless as we watched the rest of the field catch up to the fallen Prancer. Her jockey was rolling across the track, trying desperately to get out of the path of those deadly, flashing hooves. But Prancer couldn’t roll away. She lay there helplessly as the other horses surrounded her.
I closed my eyes, afraid to look. When I opened them again a second later, the field of horses was well past. “Did they hit her?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“I don’t think so,” my mother said grimly. “The other jockeys managed to steer around her. And her jockey got out of the way in time.”
I nodded. But it was only a small comfort.
For the first time, I noticed that an ambulance was already on the track, rolling toward the jockey. Several people had emerged onto the track and were running toward him and Prancer. I recognized Judy among them.
Just then, I also spotted Carole. She was still on her lead pony, riding toward Prancer at a full gallop, urging her little horse to go still faster. Even from this distance, I could see that her face was covered with tears.
That made me realize that I was crying, too. So was Lisa.
The next few minutes passed very slowly. Some horse or other must have won that race, but we didn’t see it. We watched as Carole arrived at Prancer’s side before anyone else. She slid off her pony, leaving it ground-tied, and went to check on the jockey. I guess he was okay—he was already sitting up—because she almost immediately went to Prancer’s side. She flung herself down on the track beside the horse and reached for the filly’s leg.
It looked to Lisa and me as if Prancer calmed down as soon as she saw Carole. Before that, Prancer had been thrashing around and shaking her head, as if she wanted to get back up and keep running. But when she spotted Carole, she almost completely stopped struggling.
Carole felt Prancer’s leg, just as we had seen her feel many another horse’s leg, including Starlight’s just a week or two before. But what she might find had perhaps never been so important.
“Do you think it’s broken?” I whispered, my voice breaking a little on the words.
My mother put a comforting hand on my knee. “There’s no way of telling,” she murmured. “We just have to wait and see.
I gulped. My mother may not know a whole lot about horses aside from what I tell her, but she had seen enough races to know what might happen next. If Prancer’s leg was broken, there was a good chance the vet would want to put her out of her misery right there and then.
We watched as Judy arrived at Carole’s side, along with another man we assumed was the track vet and a couple of other people, including Mr. McLeod and the jockey, who seemed to be fine. They all gathered around Prancer and Carole, hiding them from view for a few minutes.
Finally the little crowd of people moved aside and we could see Carole once again.
“What’s happening now?” Lisa wondered.
I just shook my head. And crossed my fingers. Soon we would know.…
I saw Carole at the filly’s head. She stood up, then leaned down again over Prancer. I could see her lips moving and guessed that she was talking gently to the horse. Then she took the filly’s reins in one hand.
“They’re going to see if she can stand,” my dad said.
I nodded, dropping Lisa’s hand so I could cross my fingers on that hand, too. Lisa saw what I was doing and did the same. “Come on, Prancer,” she whispered.
Prancer knew what Carole was asking her to do. She rolled partway over, her legs flailing around for a hold on the ground.
Carole managed to direct the horse’s movements, encouraging her to put her weight on her left foreleg instead of the injured right. I held my breath. I think everyone else in the stands was doing the same thing, because there was hardly a sound for the next several seconds as Prancer struggled to stand—to save her own life.
She shifted her weight and brought her hind legs under her. Her hindquarters lifted a little bit. She braced her left foreleg against the track surface. Slowly, awkwardly, the horse lurched upward—and a moment later she was standing on her three good legs!
“She did it!” I gasped. Then I let out a loud whoop. “She did it!” I cried at the top of my lungs. I was vaguely aware that Lisa was shouting beside me. Even my parents were cheering, along with everybody else who’d been watching.
My gaze shifted from Prancer to Carole. At almost the same moment, Carole looked up, her eyes searching the stands. Lisa and I waved our arms to help her see us. Carole waved back, tears still streaming down her cheeks but a big smile lighting up her face.
Then she turned back to Prancer. Giving the filly several comforting pats and a big hug, she began to lead her, slowly, painfully, but steadily, back toward the stable.
“What do we do now?” Lisa asked worriedly after they had disappeared. The track workers had already set about preparing for the next race, but we were no longer interested in any of that. All our thoughts were with Prancer and Carole.
“Simple,” I said. “We go help.”
My father frowned. “Now, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, girls,” he said. “The public isn’t allowed back in the stable area, and—”
“Dad!” I protested, wiping away most of my tears and frowning at him. “We’re not the public. We’re Carole’s best friends, and we have to go. Carole needs us.”
“Prancer needs us,” Lisa added.
My father hesitated and glanced at my mother. “Well,” he said reluctantly. He let out a sigh. “Maybe you’re right. But I don’t want you concocting some crazy scheme and sneaking back there without permission.”
I widened my eyes, trying to look as innocent as possible. “Moi?” I asked in my best French accent.
Sensible Lisa came to the rescue. “I don’t think we’ll need any crazy schemes,” she pointed out. “We can just explain exactly why we need to go back there and exactly how much Carole probably needs our support right now.”
“Hmmm. The truth?” I pretended to think about it for a second. “It’s so crazy, it just might work.” (Of course, I was just kidding. The truth almost always works, as I well know, since I almost always tell it.) “Let’s go.”
Without giving my parents any time to change their minds, we hurried off to the stable area.
I let Lisa do most of the talking when we ran into the guards. She has the kind of face and voice that just demands trust from everyone, including adults. Before long the guards were practically in tears, and they were waving us through and pointing us in the direction of the bam where Mr. McLeod’s horses were staying.
We were so worried about Prancer that we hardly had time to look around, so I really don’t have a very strong impression of what the stable area was like. The important thing was that we found the right barn almost immediately. We hurried inside, looking for Carole.
We found Judy instead. She was standing in the aisle, talking to Mr. McLeod while various other people scurried around busily. Prancer was standing in the stall just behind Judy, her head hanging lower than usual. “There she is,” I whispered to Lisa. I wanted to rush over to see what was going on, but at the same time I was afraid we would only be in the way. I wasn’t sure what to do now that we were in the stable.
Judy saved me from that decision. “Girls!” she said, spotting us and waving us over. “I’m so glad you’re here. I think Carole’s taking this pretty hard.” As she talked, Lisa and I patted Prancer, who seemed glad to see us even though she was clearly still in pain.
Lisa nodded. “Where is she?”
“I’m not sure,” Judy replied. “She disappeared a few minutes after we brought Prancer in.” She glanced at her watch. “The X ray should be ready now. I’ve got to go take a look at it.”
Part of me really, really wanted to know what that X ray said, since I knew it cou
ld mean the difference between life and death for Prancer. But I knew we would find that out sooner or later. Right then, Carole needed us.
“Lets check all the empty stalls,” I told Lisa briskly.
She nodded, and we hurried down the aisle, peering over each half door. We didn’t have to speak to know that we were both thinking the same thing: Carole must have hidden herself away somewhere to try to deal with her worry and grief. That was the only reason she would have left Prancer’s side right then.
We checked every stall in the barn, but Carole was nowhere to be found. “What’s that?” Lisa asked when we reached the end of the row.
I looked where she was pointing and saw a large, square shed just beyond the stable area. The big double doors were shut tight.
“Looks like some kind of storage building,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We hurried forward and pulled one of the doors open. It was easy to tell that the building was some kind of feed storage area. The warm, familiar smells of hay and grain drifted toward us, and after a few seconds I could make out the shapes of bales and barrels.
I also spotted another familiar shape. “Carole?” I said.
Carole looked up at us, her face streaked with tears. Without a word, Lisa and I rushed inside and wrapped her in the biggest, warmest three-way hug we knew how to give.
After a moment Carole pulled back and looked at us. I could see the worry and fear in her eyes. “Prancer?” she said.
“Judy’s reading the X ray now,” Lisa said.
“I can’t stand it,” Carole said.
“We know.” I reached forward to hug her again, wishing there was something more I could do to help her. But I was totally helpless. Suddenly, though, I realized that there was someone who could help Carole at that moment. “I think Prancer needs you now,” I told her.
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