For Sale Or Swap Page 5

  'That's not uncommon, I'm afraid,' said Ruth. 'Better luck next time, eh?'

  'You don't understand,' Shelby said. 'The number used to work. It was a swap ad, and we swapped.' Shelby thought about Blue, how exhilarating it felt when he splashed through the causeway, how he waited for her at the gate in the morning. She had a vision of him collapsed on some muddy shed floor, bony and dehydrated, taking his last gasping breaths. Her lip wobbled and tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

  'Now I've changed my mind and I can't find the man who has my horse.'

  'Ah,' said Ruth. 'I'm sad to tell you that's not particularly uncommon either.'

  'Is there anything you can do to help me?' Shelby asked, biting her lip, trying to keep her voice steady.

  'I'm not supposed to. Advertisers give their details in good faith. We can't just give them out to anybody who calls.'

  'Please?' implored Shelby. 'I just want to know that my little guy's OK.'

  There was silence on the other end. 'I'll see what I can do.' Shelby could hear the lady tapping at a keyboard. 'Which one is it?' Ruth asked.

  'For sale or swap . . .' started Shelby.

  'Eye-catching brown pony?' finished Ruth.

  'That's the one,' said Shelby. It sounded as if she was finally getting somewhere.

  'Hmm. Text came in by email. Payment by direct debit from a company account – you can't trace that. He did give a name though – you're going to love this. Ben Hall.'

  Shelby scribbled it down on a piece of paper. 'That's great. Thank you so much.'

  'Don't you get it?' Ruth asked.

  'Get what?'

  'Sheesh!' said Ruth. 'Do they teach you anything about Australian history these days? Ben Hall. He was a bushranger – a horse thief, amongst other things.'

  'I don't suppose that's his real name then.' Shelby wanted to cry.

  'It would be a co-inkydink. Tell you what I will do, and this is completely against the rules, but I'm a horsewoman myself, and can't even imagine the agonies you must be going through – if Mr Hall should place another ad, I'll give you a ring and you can look out for it when it comes out in the magazine. How does that sound?'

  'Thank you so much,' Shelby said, her voice breathless with relief.

  'I wouldn't put money on it, though.'

  Not long after Shelby had finished talking to the magazine lady, Erin rang.

  'So how's your princess today? Hooves all done?'

  'Yep,' Shelby replied, trying to sound confident. For the last hour she'd been having horrific visions of Blue suffering some slow and painful death. Each time it prickled her skin and made her face slick with sweat.

  'Are you going to bring her up to the stables tomorrow? I was telling the Crooks how beautiful she is and they want to have a look.'

  'I . . . I don't know,' Shelby said.

  'Everybody will love her. Don't you want to show her off?'

  Not so long ago Shelby had thought that it was what she wanted most in the world, but what was she going to do now that Brat's grey was showing through? Besides, she didn't feel like seeing anyone. She just wanted to crawl into bed and stay there all day.

  'I might just stay here tomorrow and do a little work in the paddock. That way Brat will be all fresh for Pony Club.'

  'Hayley and I will come to you then.'

  'No!' said Shelby. 'I mean, I don't think that's a good idea. It's out of your way. Besides, everybody will be able to see her on Saturday.'

  'Don't be silly. We can drop by. Mum won't mind. You don't have to be there if you don't want to. I'll get Mum to drive past tomorrow morning on our way to the stables.'

  Shelby was mortified that Hayley would see her ramshackle arrangement, and more horrified still that Erin would see Brat in her current condition.

  She had a thought. 'She won't be able to see much, though, with Brat's rug on.'

  'That's OK. I'll take it off,' Erin said.

  There wasn't any way of getting around it. Erin was determined to see Brat tomorrow.

  Shelby sighed. 'All right. I'll see you in the morning.'

  After she'd hung up the phone, Shelby covered her face with her hands. What was she going to do? How would she explain it? She needed more time to think. In the meantime, there was only one thing she could do.

  She tipped the contents of her piggy bank on to the floor. Thirty dollars. She had been saving up for Christmas presents for her family, but that would have to wait.

  Shelby ran down the road to the chemist. Once inside, she let her eyes wander over all the packets of hair dyes available. Down the bottom a brand name almost leapt off the shelves. She snatched up the packet and read the label again – Maxshine Celtic Copper. 'I'm so stupid!' she groaned.

  9 Hayley's Verdict

  Hayley inspected Brat from every angle. She ran her hands down the pony's shins just like Miss Anita had. Shelby held her breath waiting for the verdict.

  It had taken three packets of Maxshine Celtic Copper and half a bottle of shoe polish to return Brat to a brown. Shelby felt mean rubbing the polish across the delicate skin around her eyes and nose, but it couldn't be helped. Besides, it was only for a few hours. As soon as Hayley and Erin left she would wash her off again and have a good long think about what to do.

  'It's a shame she's so small,' Hayley said.

  Shelby let out her breath in a whoosh. She had half expected an experienced horse person like Hayley to find her out as quickly as Clint had – but then he had the advantage of seeing Brat all washed out.

  'She's the perfect size for Shelby,' Erin said.

  'Yes, but for how long? You'll be too big for her next year. If I were you I would have gone for something bigger.'

  'Beggars can't be choosers,' commented Erin. 'No offence, Shel. She looks more chestnut than she did the other day.'

  Shelby blushed, wondering if she should have used four packets of hair dye.

  'I washed her . . . but then she rolled in the dirt. And the light's not the same today. Maybe you just remember her different?'

  'I guess so,' said Erin. 'Are you going to give her a workout today?'

  'Later,' said Shelby. She had decided not to ride Brat any more. If something were to happen to Brat then she would have to give her back to the owners damaged, and that would be terrible. More importantly, though, she didn't want to call a vet out unless she absolutely had to.

  'Why not now? If I had a horse like yours, I'd ride it all the time,' Erin said. 'You should see her, Hayley, she goes like a dream.'

  'You can see her tomorrow at Pony Club,' Shelby said. She had already decided not to go to Pony Club. If anyone asked she'd say she hadn't been feeling well – not that she thought anyone would. Nobody would miss her.

  Hayley folded her arms and ran her eyes over Brat again. 'Are you going to put bandages on her legs?' she asked.

  'I wasn't going to,' Shelby replied. How could she? She didn't own any.

  'There are a few marks on them already. You should protect them. I wouldn't ride her without bandages. It's not worth it.'

  'Yes, I'll do that,' Shelby lied.

  'It should be an excellent day tomorrow,' said Erin.

  'Why?' asked Shelby.

  'Haven't you heard? Calvin Protheroe is the guest instructor. Can you believe it? He's only the best dressage instructor in the whole country.'

  Erin's mum, who had been waiting in the car, wound down the window and called out. 'Come on, girls, I haven't got all day.'

  'We've got to go,' said Erin. 'See you tomorrow.'

  Shelby nodded.

  Erin and Hayley walked towards the car. Hayley turned around at the gate and smiled at Shelby. 'She's a great little horse. Don't forget McLeod's Daughters at my place next week.'

  Shelby grinned. 'I wouldn't miss it.'

  After they had gone Shelby started to unravel the hose. Halfway through she stopped. Brat was turning out to be a lucky charm. So far she'd caught Miss Anita's attention, and now Hayley had asked her over. None of that
would have happened when she had Blue. More than that, she was never likely to get a lesson from Calvin Protheroe for free – certainly not when she got Blue back.

  Brat seemed to have survived being brown the first time around. What was one more day? She would go to Pony Club the next day, have her lesson, and the minute she got back she would wash Brat off and call the police.

  There. It was decided. Shelby coiled the hose up and tucked it in its spot next to the shed.

  Since she was going to ride Brat tomorrow anyway, she might as well ride her today. In fact, she reasoned, she should ride her today. It would stop her being frisky in the morning on the ride across the gully to the Pony Club grounds.

  Shelby saddled Brat and rode her around the paddock to warm her up. They still hadn't got used to each other, and at one stage Brat backed up so fast that Shelby was sure she was going to rear up. She gripped the saddle with her knees. For the first time ever, Shelby felt a shot of fear run through her stomach.

  'Maybe that will do for today,' she said, sliding out of the saddle.

  She scratched the horse on the forehead. Brat leaned against Shelby for a rub.

  'No!' said Shelby, pushing Brat's face away. She couldn't let her do that. She would rub her Celtic Copper off.

  10 Irresponsible

  The weather report had forecast rain, but it was a beautiful mild morning. Shelby hummed as she got dressed into her Pony Club uniform. Out in the lounge room her brothers were watching cartoons. She could hear the TV blaring.

  Her father helped her with her tie. 'You're chirpy this morning,' he said, flipping and rolling the tie in a complicated knot around his own neck. He slipped it over his head and passed it to her.

  'I'm moving up to advanced this morning,' Shelby explained.

  'So, this swap has turned out for the best after all,' he said.

  Shelby concentrated on straightening her tie. She had slept through the night before, not waking in a slick sweat of panic about Blue as she had on the previous nights. She wondered if Hayley would still want her to come over to watch McLeod's Daughters when she no longer had a beautiful pony – or any pony at all. Still, it was a beautiful day and Shelby was going to enjoy it. She would start worrying again tomorrow.

  Brat wasn't waiting for her at the gate like Blue used to. She was at the very back of the paddock next to the fence and hardly raised her head when Shelby slid through the sliprail.

  'Come on,' called Shelby. 'Breakfast.' She opened up the shed door, scooped chaff into Brat's feed bin and placed it on the ground outside, then she disappeared back into the shed to get her tack ready. She rubbed down her saddle and boots with an old towel, and shook out her Pony Club saddlecloth. Some of Blue's long white hairs floated to the ground. She reached out to grab one of them in midair, but it slipped away from her, dancing in the sunlight.

  Peering out the door, she noticed the feed bin was exactly where she had put it. No Brat. Shelby put her hands on her hips. 'Come on,' she called out. Brat hadn't moved from the very back of the paddock.

  Brat skipped once on her back legs. She jumped sideways and then Shelby heard an alarming metallic twang. Shelby gasped. Brat was caught in the fence.

  She ran towards the pony. Brat panicked. Shelby could see the whites of her eyes and her nose flaring in distress. As Brat jumped up and down in fear, Shelby could see the entangled foot twist, and the wire in which it was caught biting into the flesh.

  'Whoa,' Shelby said. 'Settle down.'

  Far from settling, Brat writhed all the more. Shelby's heart beat faster and faster as the wire got tighter and tighter around the pony's limb. She leaned forward, trying to catch hold of the flailing leg. A thought, eerily calm, crossed Shelby's mind – she's going to rip her hoof off. And then, snap! The wire broke, ricocheting fast towards Shelby's face. Shelby shut her eyes and the loose wire whipped her cheek. Shelby put her hand to it. It stung so much that she was sure it had slashed her face open, but when she looked down, there was nothing on her palm but perspiration.

  Brat lifted her tail and fled at a gallop down to the other end of the paddock. Shelby watched as she approached the sliprail.

  She's not stopping. She's going to sail right over the top of it and onto the street.

  Shelby started to run. Maybe she could stop her. But how?

  Brat galloped closer and closer and then tucked her back legs underneath her.

  She's going to jump.

  Less than a metre before the sliprail, Brat skidded to a stop, her hooves churning up the soil into four long channels. She stood still, snorted, and then limped over to the feed bin, where she buried her face in the chaff.

  Shelby bent over, leaning her hands on her knees, and exhaled. She stayed that way until her heartbeat, hammering against her ribs, slowed down to normal. Shelby put her hand to her stinging face and felt a long line of raised flesh, like Braille, on her cheek.

  That was close, she thought. The paddock had been fine for Blue, who had never shown any desire to escape, but the wobbly pickets and loose strands would not hold Brat if she was bent on breaking out. The fences had always been ugly, but now they were dangerous too.

  Shelby watched as Brat picked up her injured leg and put it down again. As she walked over to where the pony was standing, Brat skipped away, snorting, and Shelby's heart started beating again.

  'It's OK,' Shelby said, holding out her hand. 'I won't hurt you.'

  Brat sidled away from her and then nosed at the feed bin from the opposite side, eyeing Shelby.

  'It's not my fault you hurt yourself,' she said. 'I was only trying to help.'

  She edged closer and squatted down to have a closer look at Brat's leg. It wasn't marked at all. The hair was scruffy around the top of her hoof, but there was no blood.

  If it had been Blue she would have left him at home and gone to the Pony Club to learn what she could from the sidelines, but since it really was her last chance to ride a horse with a three-barrelled name, even if it was only a pretend one, and especially to be instructed by the Calvin Protheroe, Shelby decided to go anyway. Brat would have ample chance to rest when she got home. After today Shelby was never going to ride her again. After today Shelby would report her to the police.

  Shelby saddled the pony and they set off across the gully. Brat was the most subdued she had ever been and Shelby enjoyed it, relaxing into the saddle and letting the reins loosen.

  On the way Shelby amused herself with a little daydream. Everyone at Pony Club would ride around in circles and Calvin Protheroe would call her into the centre. He would reveal to her that his real purpose for coming was to scout out very special riders who had the talent to make it to the top.

  'Have you considered going professional?' he would ask her. Shelby would smile self-consciously. 'Not really.' All the parents would be watching at the fence, hearing what he was saying. The committee would be embarrassed that they'd made her stay in the beginner's group for so long – especially Mrs Hockings, the Club President, who was the most snobby of them all. 'I think you've got what it takes,' Calvin Protheroe would say.

  She would have to give up school and travel around in a big convoy of trucks from city to city doing demonstrations. The other special young riders would become her best friends, and they would all train together, laughing, joking and cheering each other on. One of the young riders would be a boy who would secretly fall in love with her from the moment they met.

  Companies would sponsor her, and she would have so many riding outfits that she could give most of them away to young girls who couldn't afford their own. She could start 'The Shelby Shaw Foundation' and one day win a humanitarian award for it.

  Then when she was seventeen, a rich old man would be watching her training one day and he would tell her that he had a beautiful warmblood stallion worth a million dollars, and he wanted Shelby to ride him in the Olympics. 'He deserves the best,' the old man would say. Shelby would talk it over with her friends, and three of them would have received similar of
fers, including the boy, except their horses wouldn't be quite as good.

  They would make a pact to only go in the team events so that they wouldn't have to compete against each other, because their friendship was more important than anything in the world.

  The team would win gold, of course, and afterwards they would be asked to do ads for apple sauce and laundry detergents.

  By the time she reached the Pony Club grounds Brat was quite warm, and not limping in the slightest. Her arrival attracted a bit of attention. Hayley and Erin were sitting on the picnic seats with some of the other girls, and they all turned as she and Brat walked up the road.

  A few of the adults congregated at the door of the clubhouse to watch her ride past. One of them was Calvin Protheroe himself, nursing a cup of coffee. He was wearing real leather top-boots like a professional. Shelby touched her hat as she rode past the clubhouse and Mr Protheroe smiled.

  Shelby felt a little murmur of disquiet as they lined up for parade. With all the excitement this morning, she had forgotten to check that Brat was still properly brown. What if she had rubbed during the night and some of her boot polish had come off? From Brat's back, Shelby couldn't tell what state the pony's face was in.

  Shelby watched Mrs Crook escort Mr Protheroe down to the arena. Shelby groaned. Mrs Crook was such a stickler for cleanliness.

  When it was Shelby's turn for inspection, she felt her pulse rise. Mrs Crook frowned as she looked over Shelby and her gear.

  'What happened to your face?' she asked.

  Shelby put her hand to her cheek and remembered. 'Oh. Just a bit of wire.'

  Mrs Crook chastised her. 'Your boots are a mess. Don't you ever polish them?'

  Shelby peered down. 'Yes, it's just that they're old.'

  'Old, my eye,' said Mrs Crook. 'You should invest in a bit of boot polish, young lady. It would make a world of difference.'

  Shelby nodded. Calvin Protheroe didn't say anything at all. He just scanned Brat for a moment and then smiled again.

  After the parade, the members were divided into two groups. Group B, mostly younger children on led ponies, moved around to the flat grassy area behind the clubhouse. They were to go over poles under the supervision of Mrs Hockings, who was wearing, as she always did, a pair of lemon-coloured jodhpurs almost up to her underarms, with her jumper tucked in. Shelby didn't know why she wore them, since she never actually rode.