Gold Medal Horse

by Bonnie Bryant

  Drew looked grateful. “Thanks.”

  WEDNESDAY MORNING THE Saddle Club woke up early enough to head to the horse park with Dorothy and Nigel. Nigel had to go to a competitors’ meeting, but he invited them all to go on the official course walk with him afterward. Walking the cross-country course was the only way the riders could plan their strategy: The horses weren’t allowed to see any of the fences until they were asked to jump them. The Saddle Club had walked a course with Nigel in North Carolina, and they enjoyed seeing all the enormous fences up close.

  Dorothy parked her station wagon near the stables, and Nigel hurried off to his meeting. The girls walked with Dorothy to the stables and were admiring a handsome blood bay horse near the entrance when Drew rushed out to meet them. “Hey!” he said. “You still haven’t met Eddy! I know where he is—don’t move, I’ll go get him!”

  Stevie clapped her hand over her mouth and shrieked. “Ohmigosh!” she said. “I left my purse in the station wagon! We’ve got to run—someone could steal it!” She grabbed Lisa’s hand and the three of them fled.

  “Stevie,” Carole said, gasping, “you don’t have a purse.”

  Stevie grinned. “Quick thinking, wasn’t it?”

  “Definitely,” Lisa replied. They ran past the parking lot and leaned against a tree until they’d caught their breaths. “Now,” Lisa said, “what should we do until the course walk?”

  On the day before, they’d located the dressage and show-jumping rings, visited the Pony Club’s office, and watched a film about horses in the main horse-park building. Lisa pulled a battered park map out of her pocket. “Let’s visit the Breeds Barn,” she suggested.

  As its name indicated, the Breeds Barn was filled with horses of all sorts of breeds, both familiar and rare, from all over the world. The girls walked past stalls containing a Thoroughbred, an Arabian, a Morgan, a quarter horse, a Welsh pony, an Appaloosa, and a Saddlebred. All of those were types of horses they had at Pine Hollow. They paused to admire the different kinds of giant draft horses, the Austrian Lipizzaner, and the Peruvian Paso Fino. Finally they stopped in amazement in front of a stall containing the hairiest pony they’d ever seen. Its mane and forelock cascaded down its neck, and its thick black coat rippled in heavy waves.

  “What is it?” Stevie asked. She gave the pony a pat, and it snuffled her hand.

  Carole read the card. “ ‘Bashkir Curly.’

  “ ‘Bashkiria was a remote area in the former Soviet Union,’ ” Carole continued to read. “And I guess the curly part is self-explanatory,” she said with a giggle.

  “I’d say so,” Lisa agreed.

  Before they knew it, it was time for the course walk. Consulting Lisa’s map, they joined Dorothy and Nigel at the second fence to avoid going back near the stables. Fortunately, Lisa thought with relief, Drew was too busy to go on the walk, and Eddy didn’t seem to be interested because he hadn’t come along.

  The Saddle Club had seen difficult cross-country fences before, but these were the hardest yet. While Nigel walked carefully around each obstacle, planning exactly where and how he and Southwood should jump it, the girls climbed on top of each one and marveled that any horse would jump it. The fifth fence, called the Footbridge, was built over a ditch and was nearly six feet wide. Stevie stood in the ditch. The rails of the fence were higher than her head. “Awesome,” she declared.

  Dorothy leaned over a rail and looked down at Stevie. “The horses jump both sides together,” she reminded her. “On the outside, the fence is only about four feet tall.”

  “Oh, only four feet,” Lisa muttered with a touch of sarcasm. “That’s not much.” Four feet! When would she ever jump four feet high—let alone six feet wide!

  “What’s the purpose of the ditch, then?” Carole asked. Her eyes were gleaming; she loved learning everything about riding. She’d always thought of becoming a show jumper, but eventing thrilled her, too. Maybe she’d do both.

  Dorothy laughed. “To scare the rider. The horses won’t look at it, probably, unless the rider seems nervous.”

  “Are you nervous, Nigel?” Lisa asked.

  “Right now, no.” Nigel grinned. “At three in the morning on the day I have to jump these things, I’ll be very nervous. And when it comes time to actually ride, I won’t be nervous at all.” Dorothy rolled her eyes disbelievingly. “Well,” Nigel amended, “maybe a little nervous.”

  Farther into the course they came to a fence shaped like a giant V laid parallel to the ground. A big tree grew in the middle of the V.

  “Dorothy,” Carole asked while Nigel walked away from the fence to study the approach, “you taught us about the flags on the jump—you said the riders had to keep the red flag on their right and the white one on their left. That way they’d always know from which direction to jump the fence.”

  Dorothy nodded. “That’s right.”

  Lisa saw the problem right away. “On this fence there are two white flags—on the outsides of the V—and only one red flag—on the point in the middle. How do you jump it?”

  Dorothy explained. “This is an option fence. You have to jump between all the flags, but in this case you have a choice of two ways. You can go over both arms near the very corner of the V, right against the red flag, in a single jump, or you can jump both arms of the V as separate jumps.”

  “But there’s a tree growing in the middle,” Stevie protested. “You’d have to go around it.”

  “That’s right,” Dorothy said. “Lots of horses don’t like jumping corners, and if you aim too close to the corner of the V you risk having your horse duck around the fence. That costs a lot of penalty points. On the other hand, if you jump the arms separately and go around the tree, it will take much longer. This course has to be ridden at a gallop, and if you go over the time limit you get penalized for that, too.”

  Nigel came up and was looking at the backside of the V. “Option fences make difficult courses like this suitable for a variety of horses,” he said. “The short, direct routes are harder, but the easier routes take longer. If your horse isn’t ready for the harder routes, you can still get through the course safely, but you won’t be fast enough to win.”

  “They do that at the Olympics, too,” Dorothy said. “They build all the really hard courses with some easier options. They always want the horses to be safe.”

  “Oh.” Carole looked at the fence thoughtfully. “How will you jump this one, Nigel?” Nigel flushed and exchanged glances with Dorothy. Carole realized, to her dismay, that her question made him uncomfortable.

  “Southwood could do the fast route, couldn’t he?” Stevie asked. Like Carole, she was aware of the faint tension between Dorothy and Nigel. On the other hand, it was a Saddle Club project to get Southwood to the Olympics. “I bet he could, a great horse like him.”

  “Probably.” Nigel gave a small laugh. “Corners are one of the worst types of obstacles,” he said. “You have to ride them accurately and absolutely know that your horse will listen to you. I’ll—mmm—well, I’ll probably go the long route here.”

  “But it’s so long,” Carole said before she could stop herself. Nigel looked unhappy, and Carole wished she’d kept quiet.

  “All the riders memorize all the options on the fences,” Dorothy said quietly. “That way they can change their plan in the middle of the course if they have to, if their horse is going worse than they expected—or better.” She smiled at Nigel and slipped her arm through his. Nigel looked at her affectionately, and The Saddle Club felt relieved. Dorothy and Nigel felt differently about what Southwood could do, but they weren’t quarreling.

  At the end of the course walk, Nigel invited them to lunch. “We’ll go back to the stables and pick up Drew and Eddy,” he said.

  “Thanks, but—” Lisa looked at her friends.

  “—but we’re dying to go on another trail ride,” Carole said firmly. “We had such a wonderful time yesterday. And we ate such big breakfasts that we really aren’t hungry. Do you mind?”r />
  “Can’t keep you off horses, can we?” Nigel said. “Okay, have fun—but don’t ask those rental horses to jump any of the fences!”

  “I can’t believe you said we weren’t hungry,” Stevie told Carole as they walked across the park. “My stomach’s about to eat my liver for lunch.”

  “What I can’t believe is that you said we wanted another trail ride,” Lisa said. “Yesterday’s was so lame! But thanks, Carole. I don’t think I could have thought of an excuse fast enough.”

  “So far we’re definitely winning the game of Dready Eddy,” Stevie said. “And look! A hot dog cart!”

  After two chili cheese dogs apiece they felt fortified and ready for the trail ride. “Oh, fiery steeds,” murmured Stevie as they approached.

  This time there weren’t any other tourists waiting to ride, and the guide recognized them from the day before. She seemed glad to see them. “Hurry!” she said. “Get on and let’s leave, before some more tourists show up and we have to take them.”

  The girls laughed. “Do you get lots of women in sandals?” Lisa asked.

  The guide rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe,” she said. “But I can tell you all know how to ride.”

  They started out. Lisa rode her sad horse from the day before, and Carole rode the same bay. Stevie picked a pinto that reminded her a little of Stewball, the horse she rode at her friend Kate’s ranch. “Only Stewball has an engine,” she said, complaining about the pinto’s poky stride. “This horse feels like a motor scooter.”

  “ ‘A horse is a horse, of course, of course,’ ” sang Lisa.

  “Not when it’s a moped,” Stevie replied darkly.

  Carole used her legs to urge her horse on. “I feel like mine’s a bicycle,” she said. “I’m doing all the work.”

  They followed the level path around the side of the park. Once they’d given the horses a chance to warm up, the guide said they could trot—and when the three girls all rose smoothly to a trot, the three horses perked up their ears and moved more willingly. “Poor ponies,” Lisa said soothingly, patting her gray horse. “They’re so used to people bouncing on their backs. No wonder they don’t want to move.”

  They turned the corner so that they were now following the fence line along the front of the park. Trucks whooshed down the highway just across the fence, but the trail horses seemed oblivious to them.

  Stevie turned in her saddle to speak to Lisa. “This really is bor—Arrhh!” She shrieked as her horse gave a sideways leap and whirled, then stood with muscles trembling, ears pointing toward the fence. “What was that for?”

  The other horses jumped, too. For a moment Carole felt her balance slipping. She grabbed her horse’s mane and stayed on. That’s what I get for not paying attention, she scolded herself. She knew a rider could fall off any horse, anytime.

  “Oh, no!” Lisa’s voice rose high in panic. Suddenly the riders could see what had spooked their horses—a lone horse, a skinny, haggard-looking, almost-white horse, plunging toward them across four lanes of traffic!

  A huge semitruck blared its horn. The horse leaped onto the grass median, ran in place for a stride, then dashed onto the other half of the highway. A passenger car slammed on its brakes, swerving around the horse. The horse raised its head and squealed desperately.

  “He’ll be killed!” Carole screamed.

  THE GRAY-WHITE HORSE managed to dart onto the shoulder of the highway. He paused, muscles trembling, then lifted his head and whinnied a high, loud squeal. He took a few determined cantering strides down the tall grassy bank, measured the white fence of the horse park with his eyes, and gathered himself to jump it.

  The board fence was not very big—maybe four feet high but skinny and straightforward, not like the wide cross-country fences. The horse was tall, and from the expression on his face and the way he gathered himself together, the girls knew he was putting everything he had into jumping the fence. Carole swallowed hard.

  The horse thrust himself into the air. Despite his efforts, he didn’t jump high enough to clear the top board. His knees crashed against it. The board broke, and the horse stumbled into the field, right in front of their startled trail horses. He picked himself up and began to run away from them, straight for the stables!

  “Stop him!” the trail guide yelled. They all knew how dangerous it would be for a loose horse to gallop into the crowd around the barn. Ahead of the galloping horse were people, cars, champion horses—and the panicked horse could trample them all. He could be hurt, too.

  Wheeling their pluggy trail horses, they took off after the renegade. Lisa saw the way the fleeing horse stretched himself into a full gallop, and her heart sank. He reminded her of Prancer—of a Thoroughbred, a horse bred for racing. If that was true, they’d never catch him, not on these old, plain trail horses.

  She leaned forward and urged her horse on with her heels. Beside her, Carole crouched low over the black mane of her bay. Stevie’s pinto was snorting. Lisa’s horse picked up speed and galloped with real enthusiasm. She felt his hooves thud against the ground. The ground became a blur.

  And the renegade was slow. Despite his elegant gait and his long, ground-swallowing stride, the girls began to close the gap between their horses and him.

  “Hi-yi-yi!” Stevie shouted encouragement to her mount. She wished she had a rope so that she could lasso the white horse the way she’d learned to on Kate’s ranch. Within a few more strides they’d reached the horse and were galloping alongside him, but Stevie didn’t see how they were ever going to stop him.

  Carole wasn’t sure, either. She tried the only thing she could think of: She rode close to the gray-white horse, grabbed his long mane with one hand, and said, “Whoa,” in a loud, firm voice. To her surprise, it worked. The horse stopped as suddenly as he’d started.

  All four of them, including the guide, brought the trail horses to a halt. “I’ll be,” the guide said to Carole. “I didn’t think that would work. For a runaway, he’s sure obedient!”

  Carole nodded. They surrounded the horse. He stood politely, but he continued to look in the direction of the stables, and he raised his head and trumpeted again. He sounded so sad and so full of longing that she felt a great lump of sorrow rise in her throat. The poor horse!

  Carole slipped off her mount and handed her reins to the guide. Talking quietly to the gray-white horse, she checked him over from head to toe. The more she looked, the more depressed she felt. One of the horse’s knees had been scratched by the fence board, but other than that he didn’t seem to have been hurt during his wild trip across the highway.

  However, it was obvious that he’d been hurt many times in the past. “Look at his legs,” Carole whispered. They bore the marks of several old injuries: His back tendons, which should have been tight and smooth, were marred by several ugly bumps. “He’s got scars all over him. No wonder he couldn’t jump high or run fast.”

  “Look at his shoulders,” Lisa said. “He looks just like Prancer. I’m sure he’s a Thoroughbred.”

  “Look at his face,” Stevie said. “He’s quality. I bet he used to be a really good horse. He looks old, though—and he’s so skinny!”

  “He must be old,” the guide interjected. “See how his face bones stand out and his back sways?”

  “He’s sweet,” Carole added, rubbing the horse’s nose. “He stopped when we asked him to, even though he wanted to run.” She ran her hand down the horse’s neck. There were scars there, too, and more on his flanks that looked as if they’d been caused by a sharp whip or spurs. “Poor baby. What should we do with him?”

  “He came from across the highway,” Stevie said. “I think we should take him back there and try to find his owner.”

  “His owner!” Carole sounded indignant. “Look at him! He’s too skinny, too, and he sure doesn’t look like anyone’s been taking good care of him. In fact”—Carole looked the horse up and down—“I’d say that he’s been abused. I don’t think we should take him back to
his owner! I think we should take care of him ourselves!”

  Stevie looked at Carole thoughtfully. “Lisa?” she asked. “What do you think we should do?”

  Lisa looked at the horse sadly. His sorry condition reminded her a little of Sal, an abused horse she had once met. Sal had been rescued, but he had died because of the horrible treatment he’d received and because he hadn’t gotten help until it was too late. “I would never want to put him back in a bad situation,” she said slowly, “and I’m sure not keen about going across that highway. But, Carole, he doesn’t look that bad. None of his scars are fresh. I don’t think we can judge this horse’s owner without meeting him or her.”

  Lisa made up her mind. “Here’s what I think we should do: take the horse back, and talk to its owner. If we think the horse isn’t getting good care, we can tell Dorothy and Nigel, and they’ll help us get help for it.”

  Even the guide agreed with Lisa’s plan. Carole took off her belt and looped it around the white horse’s neck. The others took off their belts, too, and Carole buckled them together to make a sort of lead rope. Carole remounted, and they led the horse back to the break in the rail fence. The white horse looked anxiously over his shoulder a few times, but he followed without giving them trouble. “Such a good boy,” Carole murmured to him.

  They stood before the gap in the fence. With the top rail broken, the fence was about two and a half feet high.

  “Do the horses know how to jump?” Carole asked the guide.

  Stevie looked determined. “We’ll find out.”

  The guide laughed. “I don’t think so,” she said. “These horses can’t leave the park. Let me hold them, and you guys can walk our buddy across the road. I’ll wait for you here.”

  Carole climbed over the broken portion of the fence, still holding the gray-white horse’s lead, and clucked to him encouragingly. The horse looked over his shoulder and whinnied sadly once again, then tucked himself together and jumped the fence from a halt. This time he cleared it. The girls waited for a break in the traffic, then quickly led him across the road.