Pony Club Challenge (Woodbury Pony Club Book 2)

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  “Can you bring me a stirrup leather?” he was shouting. “There’s one here who was actually eating yew. I’ve pulled most of it out of her mouth, but I know she swallowed some. I need something to lead her with.”

  A wild gallop across the huge field brought Alice and Hanif to a double fence, with a spinney planted between the two sets of post and rail to act as a windbreak. Alice opened the first gate. While she was shutting it Hanif opened the second. They galloped on, skirting the groups of mares and foals, who stood, ears pricked, heads flung high, amazed at these sudden visitors.

  “Make for the stables!” Hanif shouted. “See if we can find the stud groom; we don’t want Mr C. bawling at us again.”

  The next gate led them into an all-weather training track. Fenced by walls of wood, it circled away in both directions. They found another gate and let themselves into a yard, where one huge barn housed horseboxes, and another, hay and straw. White-painted double gates stood open, and passing through they found themselves in a large, square stableyard, surrounded by looseboxes. Over the white-painted doors appeared well-bred heads, neighing excitedly to the intruders.

  A small, bow-legged, angry-faced man shot out of a loosebox.

  “We’ve come to tell you that some of your horses are out,” shouted Hanif quickly, forestalling a verbal attack.

  “It’s the field on the corner where the track from the downs meets the road,” added Alice. “There seemed to be a lot of mares in the yew wood.”

  “It looks as though the gate was taken off its hinges, a car was driven through and the people in it had a picnic,” Hanif went on explaining, but the bow-legged man had ceased to listen. He was calling names, shouting instructions.

  The yard was suddenly alive with grooms, mostly girls who ran about collecting headcollars and half-filled buckets with feed. The stud groom had rushed into a small office, the walls of which were lined with glass-fronted cabinets displaying very superior-looking rosettes. He grabbed a telephone, said a few words and rushed out, as a man drove a Land Rover into the yard. The grooms grabbed the buckets and piled into the back, the stud groom climbed in beside the driver, and in a matter of moments they were out of the yard, racing down the drive towards the road.

  “Shall we go back the way we came?” asked Hanif.

  They cantered sedately across the field with the mares and foals and, as they rode through the spinney, they could see the Land Rover swinging round the corner and through the open gateway at the far end of their field. The grooms jumped out, rattling buckets enticingly as the mares went to meet them.

  “That was quick work,” James called to Hanif and Alice as they rode past the Land Rover and into the lane.

  “Did you explain about the yew?” asked Lizzie in an anxious voice.

  “We explained, but I’m not absolutely certain we were listened to; everything happened so fast,” answered Alice.

  “We’d better tell them again when they’ve caught all the mares,” decided James, as a continuous horn-blast drew their attention to the road and a large grey Mercedes speeding down it. The car stopped at the foot of the track with a squeal of brakes, and a tall, silver-haired man jumped out and came running up the track.

  Hanif groaned. “It’s Mr C. Now we’re in for it.”

  But Netti and Sarah were emerging from the wood, where they had gone for a final look. “We’ve brought out nine mares,” announced Netti briskly. “Does anyone know if that’s the lot?”

  “Nine is the full complement,” answered Mr Collingwood, watching the scene in the field.

  “The bay with the blaze and three white socks has definitely eaten yew,” Seb told him. “The others were in the wood but we don’t know whether they ate any or not.”

  “As you can see, the gate’s been taken off its hinges,” James pointed. “And it looks as though a car has been driven into the field—there’s been a picnic.”

  As the last mare was caught, Oliver galloped over to the gate.

  “We didn’t let any of them drink,” he told Mr Collingwood triumphantly. “My sister, Lizzie, says it makes the poison go round faster or something.”

  Mr Collingwood was hurrying into the field. “ls that the lot, Mason?” he shouted. “Right, run them up the road. Quick as you can, everyone. We haven’t a moment to lose; I’ve three vets on their way with stomach pumps.” He watched the mares trotting through the gateway beside their running grooms, then, muttering some very uncomplimentary remarks about townie picnickers, he followed them down the lane. Soon the Mercedes and the Land Rover were racing back along the road.

  “Has anyone seen my stirrup iron?” asked Rupert, looking round vaguely. “Seb’s given me back the leather, but I can’t find the iron anywhere.”

  “It’s hooked on the latch of the hunting gate,” Lizzie told him.

  “Was that Mr Collingwood then?” asked Lesley. “He didn’t shout at us.”

  “That was him,” agreed Hanif. “He didn’t say thank you either.”

  “I expect he was much too worried to think about politeness,” said Lizzie. “I do hope that all those lovely mares don’t die.”

  “Don’t mention dying,” Sarah shrieked at her.

  “Three vets ought to be able to save them,” said Alice.

  “Yes, you’ve got to give it to him—the whole set-up worked very efficiently,” observed James.

  “Could someone hold Jigsaw a sec?” asked Seb. “I want to make a quick search of the last bit of the wood for the pistols.”

  8

  Back In Business

  On Thursday the pony club members decided to give their ponies a rest and devote the day to running, swimming and tack cleaning.

  “Still no Robertses,” remarked Rupert, looking round the runners who had gathered in Hanif’s yard. They were being offered orange juice and samosas by Mrs Franklin, elegant in a green morning sari.

  “Do you think that David’s cast them into some dark dungeon at Garland Farm, or given them some terrible punishment, like picking stones off fields, at which they labour night and day?”

  “Of course he hasn’t, don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Lesley. “My mother met Mrs Roberts in the supermarket yesterday and she said it was Mr Roberts who had forbidden them to ride for a week. She said it was very difficult for them, living right on top of David and having free run of the farm, to know what was theirs and what was his. But, after all this rumpus, she didn’t think they’d ever take anything without asking again.”

  “They could have let them come to the running practices then,” suggested Rupert. “I mean, running’s a punishment in itself, especially if like me you’ve lost your track shoes and have to run in jodh boots.”

  “You look really weird wearing those boots with shorts.” Lesley glared at him disapprovingly. “I hope you’re not proposing to go to the pool dressed like that.”

  “Looks do not matter, but you will have blisters if you run in those boots,” Mrs Franklin told Rupert. “And then, if David should relent and take you to this Tetrathlon after all, you will be in very poor shape. I will find you a pair of my husband’s tennis shoes.”

  “Do you think David will relent?” asked Alice. “I’ve lost hope, there are so few days left and he’s probably cancelled our entry.”

  “No, my mother sees to the entries,” explained Lesley, “and she keeps on and on about the waste of pony club money so I know they haven’t got the fee back.”

  “Well, my stepfather’s found a pistol—twenty-eight pounds. He says it’s a very good buy, and with our dog kennel painting tonight we’ll have more than enough money.”

  “We’ve got to buy some ammunition,” Alice reminded him.

  “Yes, and with any extra we can start a fund for a second pistol. Seb and I are fruit picking again this evening,” added James.

  “If we do have another shooting practice with Blazeaway it’ll take all day with one pistol,” grumbled Seb. “It was bad enough with two. James is right, we’ll have to go on earni
ng.”

  “I don’t think we can pick fruit tonight,” said Lizzie, looking worried. “Our tack’s so filthy and we can’t risk upsetting David by looking grotty at the rally.”

  “I’m still trying to persuade Mummy that it’s pointless for me to go as I haven’t got a new pony,” Sarah told them.

  “We can’t all chicken out,” Rupert told her as he laced on Mr Franklin’s tennis shoes. “Some of us have got to put our heads into the lion’s den or normal relations will never be restored. Thanks, Mrs Franklin, they’re terrific, and now Lesley will be proud to run through the streets of Woodbury with me.”

  “No I won’t,” snapped Lesley. “You’re far too mad.”

  On Friday morning Hanif rode over to Garland Farm with a heavy rucksack. As well as his lunch and Jupiter’s feed he carried the new pistol, a tin of pellets and Rupert’s jodh boots which he had left at Barn Cottage.

  “Who’s going to give it to David?” enquired the pony club members in anxious whispers as they crowded round to inspect the pistol.

  “James,” answered Hanif. “He’s the eldest and he’s collected the most money.”

  James looked horrified. “I won’t know what to say. Besides, your father bought it and everything, Harry.”

  “Oh go on, James,” pleaded Netti. “We’ll tell you what to say, and you look so clean and shiny you’re a credit to any pony club.”

  “Yes, go on, James,” the others repeated.

  “All you have to say is, ‘Here is this pistol, David. We bought it to replace the others, with our own money,’” suggested Lesley.

  “He ought to say something about being sorry that we lost the others,” protested Lizzie.

  “Yes, something,” agreed Seb, “but we don’t want to crawl.”

  “I’d like to present you with this pistol,” began Rupert.

  “It’s not for him, you twit, it’s for us,” objected Sarah.

  “If I’ve got to do it, I’ll just say that I’m sorry we lost the pistols and here’s a new one,” said James. “We don’t want to go on and on about it.”

  “Here are Lynne and Paul,” shouted Netti as the Robertses, dressed for riding and leading their ponies, emerged from the cattleyard. The pony club members cheered as they rode to meet them.

  “You’ve been released from your dungeon then?” said Rupert.

  “We heard you weren’t allowed to ride for a week,” said Lesley.

  The Robertses smiled sheepishly. “Dad said we weren’t to ride for a week, but last night David came round and begged us off,” explained Lynne.

  “According to Dad, he said it had all gone on long enough,” added Paul.

  “Did he really? Oh, huge sigh of relief all round,” said Alice delightedly.

  “Do you mean he’s stopped being angry?” asked Oliver.

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” answered Paul.

  All talking at once, they told the Robertses about the new pistol, and then, as the yard was becoming full of D ride people and their anxious mothers, James suggested to Julia that they should wait for David in Long Meadow.

  “Good idea,” agreed Julia. “Ollie, you go with them for the presentation, but you’re to come back to my ride the moment it’s over. I’ll need you more than ever as I haven’t got Tina.”

  “Yes, what are you doing on that Rooke horse?” Rupert asked Tina.

  “Mrs Rooke didn’t want him left at home on his own,” explained Tina. “She thought he might jump out or something. Lovely for me.”

  As they waited in Long Meadow they all began to feel very nervous.

  “Shall we get into a straight line?” suggested Alice, whose stomach was churning violently.

  “Are you going to hand over the pistol mounted, James?” asked Seb, “or do you want me to hold Ferdie?”

  “Dismounted,” decided James after a few moments thought. “It’s politer if the other person’s dismounted, and I don’t want Ferdie swinging his quarters into David and knocking him for six.”

  “The Land Rover’s in the yard,” announced Paul in a warning voice. They hastily organized themselves into an official-looking line across the school.

  “I do hope he’s in a good mood and doesn’t notice Hob’s green bit,” said Oliver apprehensively.

  “It’s all right for you, trotting off to Julia’s ride,” Sarah told him. “We’ve got to put up with him for the whole morning.”

  “Sarah, he’s a super instructor. We’re terribly lucky to have him,” protested Lizzie in a shocked voice.

  “It’s all right for you and Lesley too,” Sarah went on, “and for Tina, Alice and Netti. He likes all of you. It’s Lynne and me he picks on.”

  “Oh, do shut up, Sarah. He’ll hear, and we don’t want any more trouble,” objected Netti.

  Everyone looked anxiously at David’s face as he stopped the Land Rover near the centre of the line.

  “Good morning, all. This looks very formal,” he said, opening the door and swivelling round to look at them.

  James marched forward and cleared his throat. Everyone else stayed silent.

  “We’re very sorry about the pistols, David, and about the foals and all the other trouble we caused. We’ve managed to earn enough money to replace one pistol and here it is.” He held out the box.

  David lifted the lid. “It looks a good one, better than we had before; must have cost a packet. How did you manage that?”

  “Honest toil,” said Rupert, assuming a virtuous expression.

  “Fruit picking mostly and dog-kennel painting,” answered James.

  “Could you hide it under the passenger seat for me?” asked David, looking at the box and evidently deciding that it was too big for one hand. “We don’t want to lose this one.”

  “Now,” he went on when the pistol was safely stowed away, “I’ve got something to say to you. I think you all know that when those stupid yobs took the pistols, they used them to take pot shots at the mares and foals at Coombe Manor Stud and, not unnaturally, Mr Collingwood, the owner of the stud, had some very hard things to say about the Woodbury Pony Club and its district commissioner. Well, now, I’m pleased to tell you, he telephoned me yesterday and told me that he took back every word he’d said. That my pony club had spotted his visiting mares, let out into the yew wood by some diabolical picnickers. He was particularly impressed by your organization: two of you alerting the stud while the others caught the horses, keeping them away from the water trough, being able to tell him at once which mare had actually been seen eating yew. He said your prompt action had saved the lives of all those beautiful valuable mares and the lives of their unborn foals.”

  Lynne and Paul were looking very surprised. “What were you all doing up on the downs?” asked Lynne.

  “We were looking for the pistols. We thought the motorbike blokes might have chucked them away,” explained Rupert. “We found the mares instead.”

  “Mr Collingwood asked me to tell you that he would be eternally grateful,” said David, climbing down from the Land Rover. “And, though I won’t take back every word I said about you, I will take back some of them. Although so far, the police have been unable to trace the thieves or recover the pistols, I suppose, now you’ve bought this new one, we’re back in business.”

  “Great! Cheerio, David!” Oliver waved and set off. “Julia said I had to go back to her ride as soon as we had things sorted out.”

  David waved his good hand at Oliver as he went on talking to the others. “I’m presuming that you do want to go ahead with the Tetrathlon? I’ve heard that running and swimming training has been going on.”

  “Yes, everyone’s keen and we’ve all improved a bit,” answered James.

  “Just as well, since we haven’t much time left,” David remarked dryly. “Right, lead on James.” As they followed on round the school, David looked at Tina and Sarah. “Is that a permanent arrangement?” he asked.

  “You mean Tina riding Bowie?” asked Sarah. “Well, only until his legs r
ecover, then we’re going to sell him and buy a sensible pony.”

  David settled himself on his shooting stick and looked at Lynne. “Would you like to try Vulcan today?” he asked her. “He’s not brilliant but I think you might find him a bit more accomplished than Berry.”

  “Oh yes, I’d love to.” Lynne’s face suddenly recovered its usual smiling state. “Oh, thank you, David. Shall I go and fetch him now?”

  “Yes, you can leave Berry in his box, and I have brushed him over.”

  They trotted, serpentining and circling as usual. Then they tried shoulder-in and Lynne, who was working very hard, persuaded Vulcan to take a few steps at the trot. Tina was also doing well, the smaller, slimmer Bowie suiting her better than Vulcan. Only Banjo and Chess were failing to carry out the movement properly. David, looking at the rest of the ride, seemed pleased.

  “Good,” he shouted, “those ponies are beginning to look like something. They’re beginning to use themselves, to move with impulsion. Can you feel it?”

  “Yes,” the pony club members answered.

  “Yes, it feels gorgeous, very powerful.”

  “It’s quite different.”

  “And the extraordinary thing is that the ponies’ necks seem to be growing,” observed Rupert, who had been taking quick glances at the rest of the ride.

  “They don’t seem to be, they are,” answered David and then called the ride to a walk. “Do you remember that last holidays I told you it was important to feel that two-thirds of your pony was in front of you and only one-third behind? Well, now that our schooling is beginning to take effect, most of you should have that feeling. If the horse’s ears come nearer when you put him on the bit, you’re pulling his nose in and that’s wrong. If they go away from you, you’re driving his hindlegs under, and that’s right. Now,” he got up from his shooting stick, “we’ll do some cantering and then we’ll try the Roberts’s new jumps.”

  “New jumps, where?” asked the pony club members, looking round.