For Sale Or Swap (7 page)

Once they were out of the Pony Club grounds
Brat's limping seemed to lessen. They came to an
intersection on the dirt road. Shelby headed left,
taking the shorter route that led to the trail home.
Looking right, she could see the traffic rushing along
Gully Way.

Shelby had thought that this day would make
everything better – that she would be the star and that
the committee would see what a good rider she really
was. She had imagined that the other girls would
accept her as an equal – even admire her. Now their
opinion of her was worse than ever.

'Stupid horse,' she said, tugging at the reins.

None of it mattered now anyway. Who cared what
they all thought? She would report Brat stolen as soon
as she got home, Brat would be returned to her real
owners, and then she would have no horse at all.

It was around noon and the cicadas shrieked from the
trees above her. Heavy clouds were creeping across
the blue sky, making the day duller. Her boots slid
across the stones, and a couple of times she nearly lost
her footing. Brat trudged along behind her with her
head down.

Blue would never have stuck his foot in the stupid
fence. The whole time she had owned him he had
never so much as put his head through the railings. He
would have made quick work of this trip home too –
picking his way along the path, jogging along the flat
and breaking into a canter up the hills.

Maybe if she'd had the lesson on Blue, Mr
Protheroe could have taught her how to stop him
tossing his head? He might have shown her some way
to make his movement more supple. He would never
be a fancy show horse, but he was useful for what
she wanted.

Who did she think she was kidding with this dream
of showing? She wasn't like Hayley. Her parents would
never be able to buy her all the things she would need.
If she wanted to show, she would need a float at the
very least, and for that they would need a car that
could pull it. Her dad would never give up his Spyder
just for her hobby.

The whole thing was crazy. She hadn't thought it
through, and now she was never going to see Blue
again – trusty Blue, who was, after all, everything that
she needed in a horse: faithful, affectionate, sensible
and practical.

A tear welled in her eye, and she blinked it away.
She'd thrown him away like garbage, and for what?
Ludicrous daydreams.

She heard a crashing noise through the undergrowth
ahead and she stopped, automatically drawing
Brat's loose reins tighter. Brat skipped sideways,
startled, jerking Shelby's arm. Her ears were pricked
towards the noise. There was a scratching sound, and
Shelby saw a goanna crawling up a tree through the
bushes ahead. She waited until it stopped, gripping
the tree with its claws, its closest eye watching them
warily, and then she tugged at the reins. 'Come on.'

Brat snorted, stepped forward, and then stopped.

She clicked with her tongue, but Brat resisted,
lifting her head up and taking two steps backwards.
Shelby felt that surge of fear through her stomach
again.

I'm scared of this horse – scared like Hayley. I don't
want a fancy horse if it's not going to be my best friend.

The goanna lifted one leg from the trunk. A piece
of bark dislodged from the tree and fell to the ground,
hitting a branch on the way down and scattering some
leaves. It didn't sound frightening to Shelby, but to
Brat it was terrifying. She lifted up on her back legs
and surged forward, stumbling a little as her hooves
hit a rock.

Shelby felt the reins slide through her fingers. She
tried to grip them, but they whipped through her hand,
burning the skin on her palm. As the buckle whisked
through her curled fingers the reins flicked sideways.
She reached out to grab them, but Brat leapt away and
trotted ahead down the trail. She stopped and turned,
watching Shelby over her shoulder.

Shelby stood still, trying to think what to do.
Should she rush at her and try to grab the reins, or
creep up on her slowly, cajoling, to gain her trust first?
If only she knew this horse better.

'Steady, girl,' she said, taking one step forward.
Brat stepped out of her reach. The loose reins snagged
on a rock. Now was her chance. Shelby took two
quick steps forward.

Brat flung her head in the air, lifted her tail, and
took off down the trail. The reins swung wildly from
side to side, smacking the pony on the shoulders.

Shelby slapped her hands to the sides of her face.
'No, you stupid horse!' she called after Brat, running
behind her along the trail. Brat had picked up the
pace, her legs moving powerfully underneath her. She
took the corner sharply, flicking gravel into the bush,
and disappeared from view.

'Whoa, girl,' Shelby called out. Her voice sounded
feeble and pathetic. She ran faster, her arms swinging
at her sides, but skidded as she hit the corner. Her
ankle twisted underneath her and gave way, sending a
sharp pain up the side of her leg. She put out her hand
to stop herself from falling and her palm hit the
gravel. She felt the sharp stones biting into her skin.
Shelby pushed hard against the ground and started
running again. Each step sent a jabbing pain through
her leg, but she didn't stop.

She ran on and on, up the hill and down the gentle
slope on the other side. She splashed through a puddle
and the muddy ground beyond it sucked at her boots.
There was a flat slab of rock exposed out of the hillside,
whittled away in layers like terraces. Shelby leaned
forward, clambering up it. Her smooth boots slid, scattering
small pebbles, and she grabbed at a nearby bush
to steady herself. The sharp serrated leaves stuck into
her raw palm.

At the top was a level sandy patch. Shelby looked
down and could see the sharp arcs of hoof marks
going every which way. Most were dry and worn but
one set was fresh, uncovering the moist soil beneath.
They were widely spaced and deep. Brat must have
still been galloping when she reached this point.

Shelby stopped running and listened for the rumbling,
clattering sound of Brat's hooves somewhere up
ahead. All she could hear was the cicadas, and her own
panting. She put her hand to her chest and her heart
beat fast underneath it.

She started to run again, this time more slowly,
every now and then skipping a step to rest her injured
ankle. Here and there along the trail bare rock jutted
out of the hillside. Water seeped from it, fed by natural
springs, and formed puddles underneath. There the air
smelt moist and coppery. Shelby splashed through the
puddles. Her boots were soaked, rubbing uncomfortably
against her skin.

She kept her eyes to the ground and followed
Brat's hoof prints along the trail. From time to time
Shelby would cross a flat section of rock, or a part of
the trail that was deep with small gravelly stones, and
here Brat's engraved hoof marks would be indistinct
from all the others. Shelby would search on ahead
until she found them again.

After a while it seemed to her that Brat might have
slowed down. The prints were not as deep, nor so
wide apart. Shelby reasoned that if she ran a little
faster, she might just catch up. She made herself run,
even though her ankle was screaming, her lungs were
burning and she could feel a blister forming where
her heel rubbed against the back of her boot. She
comforted herself with the idea that when she finally
caught up with Brat she could rest her aching feet.

When I catch you, I'm going to ride you home –
lame or not. I don't care.

In the distance she heard the buzzing sound of a
trail bike. She frowned. The trail bike and equestrian
communities in her neighbourhood often disagreed
about the space out here that they shared.

Further along, the trail branched off in a Y shape.
Shelby stopped to catch her breath. The ground beneath
her was gravel and she couldn't tell which tracks
were Brat's.

Which way would she have gone?
Shelby
wondered. The left side wound down around the
hillside, while the right curled away uphill. She knew if
she followed the right-hand trail it would loop around
in a loose figure eight, heading back towards the Pony
Club grounds, and ending up at a T-intersection on
Gully Way. The left-hand trail sloped downward for a
way, and then snaked up the hillside, finishing on a dirt
road near the cul-de-sac and Shelby's paddock.

She would have gone uphill just to make it that
little bit more difficult
, Shelby decided. She took
another deep breath and jogged up the hill. About
halfway up the incline she saw a round smudge in the
dirt and smiled. She had been right, but she also had a
sinking feeling. What if Brat hadn't slowed down and
was now heading straight for the busy roadway?

About a hundred metres ahead the trail curved
away to the right. There was a branch hanging down
across the trail and it swung gently, although there
wasn't any breeze that she could feel. Shelby slowed
and looked up through the trees to the sky. It was now
quite grey overhead and the air was still. From the
bottom of the valley she could hear the chattering of
water flowing over rocks in the creek, and the intermittent
buzz of the bike.

The branch could have been swinging because
something had recently brushed past it. She had either
gained on Brat much more than she realised, or the
trail bike that she could hear – more loudly now – had
recently come this way.

Shelby leaned to the side to peer around the corner.
She caught sight of something moving ahead. She
started humming so as not to startle the horse,
although she suspected that Brat would have already
heard her running along the trail.

As she came around the bend she saw Brat standing
in the middle of the trail facing her. She must have
stepped over the reins, because they were now hooked
around one of her legs. She held up the injured hoof.
Shelby could see how swollen it had become. She discarded
any idea of riding her home. Brat was lame.

It had started to sprinkle light feathery raindrops,
like a mist. Shelby blinked as the droplets settled on
her eyelashes.

'Settle down, little one,' Shelby said. She cupped
her hand and held it out, rubbing her fingers together.
'You know what's in my hand, pretty girl? Molasses
and oats and carrots – just about every yummy thing
you can imagine. You just stay still and I'll let you
have some.'

Brat stretched her neck forward, her nostrils
dilating as she sniffed.

'That's right. Yummy scrummy. You must be tired
and hungry from all that running.'

Brat hobbled towards her on three legs.

'Yes. Good girl.'

Suddenly Brat swivelled her head in the opposite
direction. The trail bike was louder even than before.
It was moving this way.

Please don't come any closer
, she thought.
Just
give me one more minute.

'Brat,' she called out in a singsong voice. 'Come to
me, little one.'

Brat swung her head towards Shelby again, her
eyes wide with confusion, and then back to the source
of the noise. She snorted. While she was distracted,
Shelby took another step closer.

The trail bike was almost upon them. Shelby could
hear its strident whine approaching just over the crest
of the hill. She would have to grab Brat quickly before
the horse panicked.

Brat hopped on three legs away from Shelby,
backing into a prickly shrub, which shook and crackled
under her weight. She wheeled around on her hind legs.
Shelby made a lunge, landing awkwardly on her twisted
ankle. The pain flared up her leg. She felt the very tips
of her fingers brush against the reins.

Brat leapt forward, knocking Shelby over. Shelby
stuck her hand out for support, but her wrist buckled
beneath her, sending a new pain streaking up her arm.
Her shoulder hit the ground. Looking up, she could see
Brat's hind foot coming down towards her and she
rolled to the side. Brat's hoof grazed her shoulder as it
hit the ground. Shelby let the momentum roll her over,
and she pushed herself off the ground, onto her feet.

Shelby pivoted on her uninjured ankle and
watched as Brat vanished from view around the bend.

The trail bike was metres away now. She stepped
into the middle of the trail and put her hands up.

'Stop!'

The rider squeezed the brakes and the back wheel
spun around on the loose gravel. Shelby closed her
eyes and braced herself, feeling the stones showering
her legs. She opened her eyes and the trail bike rider
flicked up the visor of his helmet with his gloved
hand. He was not much older than Shelby, with
honey-coloured skin and dark eyes.

'What?' he shouted over the engine noise.

'You can't go that way,' she said, cupping her
hands to her mouth. 'My horse is loose.'

'Stupid bloody things,' he replied, shaking his
head. 'Why would you have them?'

Shelby wasn't sure if he expected an answer so
she stood in the middle of the trail with her hands on
her hips.

'I have to go that way,' he said. 'It's my way home.'

'Can't you go by the road?' she asked.

'My bike's not registered for the road,' he replied.
He twisted his wrist and the bike's engine revved
higher. He shook his head again. 'I don't have to
explain myself to you.' He flicked the visor down and
pushed past her.

'No, stop!' Shelby called out. But it was no use.
The trail rider was off again, herding Brat towards
Gully Way with his noisy engine.

Shelby followed the trail bike rider for a hundred
metres and then stopped. There was no point following
him. He was travelling much faster than she could,
and Brat would run away from that sound.

Her only option was to head home and ask her
parents to help. Hopefully, Brat would still be in the
gully somewhere, and not have found her way out
onto the road.

It was now raining in earnest and Shelby's Pony
Club uniform clung to her skin, weighing her down.
She took off her helmet, which was making her head
hot, and her hair stuck to her forehead and neck. With
one twisted ankle and a blister the size of a twenty-cent
piece on the opposite foot, each step was painful.
Shelby was exhausted and hungry. All she wanted was
to lie down in her nice soft bed and sleep for a week.

Her soaked boots squished with each step.
Another blister was forming on the side of her little
toe. She sat down in the middle of the trail and pulled
off her boots. The stones were sharp and unforgiving,
but she reasoned that her feet couldn't possibly feel
any worse.

Shelby inspected her new blister. It was only a
small white bubble of flesh. The one on her heel had
worn through and a flap of skin hung down revealing
raw, angry tissue underneath. A drop of rain splashed
it, making it sting.