Do You Dare? The Last Horse Race Page 3

  ‘Feels great,’ he said, when he’d settled into the saddle. It also felt dangerous to be so high up, on an animal with a mind of its own.

  Sprout held Lottie steady while Robert watched from a few paces back.

  ‘You’ve got to remember this,’ Sprout said, starting his instructions. ‘Lottie expects you to tell her what to do. If you don’t, she will do what she wants.’

  Toby nodded to show he understood, then Sprout explained how to guide the horse left and right, a little or a lot, how to hold the reins and where to keep his hands – low, almost in his lap.

  ‘Be firm on the reins, but don’t jerk them because that hurts the horse’s mouth. And press your weight into the stirrups with your heels down. It’s good for balance and helps you stay in the saddle. You’ll fall a few times, but everyone does when they’re learning and you just get straight back on.’

  Toby had been thinking about that. ‘It’s higher up here than it looks from the ground. Have you ever hurt yourself?’

  ‘Broke my collarbone once and another time I hurt my knee so badly I couldn’t walk for a week.’

  Toby did his best to keep a calm face. He was too late to stop his eyes from widening, though.

  ‘Actually, Lottie’s nickname is Broken,’ said Sprout in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘Broken!’ said Toby, alarmed.

  ‘Yeah, short for Broken Bones.’

  Toby tried to stifle a strangling noise in his throat.

  Then he noticed Sprout looking up at him to see how he was taking the news. Without so much as a grin Sprout said, ‘That was a joke, by the way.’

  Toby stared down at Sprout and, behind him, Robert, who was clearly as relieved as he was. He had liked the look of Sprout from the first time he’d seen him. Now he knew they would be great mates.

  ‘All right, Toby, time to get Lottie moving,’ said Sprout.

  He repeated the instructions about heels and hands. Toby wasn’t one for taking lessons, but today he concentrated like he had never done before. When he reached the far side of the paddock he used the reins to turn Lottie and headed back towards his friends.

  ‘You’re a beaut,’ Toby said, patting her neck. It felt right, somehow, as though all the months of dreaming about horse riding had prepared him. He urged Lottie to walk faster and got more than he’d bargained for when she broke into a trot, changing Toby’s placid ride into a jerking, bouncing fright.

  ‘Steady girl, steady!’ he called. But there was a rhythm to the way the horse moved, he discovered, and rather than work against it, he let his body bounce in time with it.

  ‘You’re a natural,’ called Sprout.

  ‘Maybe I am,’ cried Toby. ‘Maybe I am.’

  For now, though, it was Robert’s turn. While Sprout held the reins steady once more, Toby helped his friend fit his shoe into the stirrup. Then up he went.

  ‘Heels down,’ Sprout reminded Robert. ‘If you push them too far in, your foot can get caught in the stirrup. That’s a bad thing if you fall off.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Robert.’

  ‘Because the horse will drag you along by your leg. People have been killed that way.’

  Robert’s face went white. He checked his shoes. If his heels had dipped any lower, his feet would have slipped right out of the stirrups before he had even set off.

  ‘You look like a pirate about to walk the plank,’ said Toby, but when Robert didn’t smile or tell him to shut up, he regretted it. ‘You’ll soon get the hang of it,’ he called.

  Robert received the same lessons from Sprout, but his first attempt to force Lottie into a walk went nowhere. In fact, the horse turned her eyes towards Sprout, as though she was asking, Who’s this bloke on my back? He hasn’t got a clue.

  ‘Harder with your heels,’ Sprout advised.

  Robert kicked the horse’s flanks, making Lottie walk at last.

  ‘Ah!’ cried Robert, stiffening in the saddle.

  Sprout hurried to catch them and took the reins from Robert’s hand. Toby joined him and together they led Robert on a circuit of the paddock. Toby glanced at Sprout and saw the same thoughts in his eyes. They were boys. Stirring up other kids was part of the fun, especially if that kid was scared. If they ran ahead, making Lottie trot behind them, Robert would be terrified.

  Toby shook his head and, with a wink and a smile, Sprout kept walking at a steady pace. Some tricks were too cruel to play on a friend.

  ‘I like the sound of living on the other side of the mountains,’ Toby said as they headed back to where they’d started.

  ‘It’s all right. We work the sheep, mostly, watching out for them. I can go off by myself when I want to do a bit of exploring.’

  ‘Do you go to school?’

  ‘No. That’s the best part.’

  Toby grinned.

  Above them, Robert had mastered his fear enough to listen in. ‘You’re lucky.’

  ‘I do lessons with my mother, though,’ Sprout confessed. ‘She made me read a whole book once. I just wish there were more people. Sometimes we go a whole month without seeing anyone but our own shepherds and maybe a squatter friend of my father’s.’

  Toby had seen Sprout’s little sisters. Yes, it would be a lonely life.

  On Sunday, Sprout’s family crossed again on the punt in time for church. Robert was already inside, wedged between his parents, like a convict in chains. Toby had stayed out of sight in case Mrs Poole saw him. Now that the congregation was inside, he wandered along the deserted main street of the town until he saw the Petrie boys fishing from the riverbank.

  They weren’t alone. Below some fig trees that overhung the water, Old Ted lay among the dry leaves. Unlike Robert, Old Ted really was a convict or, at least, he had been. Once he had served out his sentence, he’d stayed in Moreton Bay, mainly because he wasn’t fit to travel.

  Toby had heard the story from his mother, who pitied the man because she’d been a convict herself – and might be again. Old Ted had suffered under Captain Logan and he’d shown Toby the scars on his back to prove it. Almost as bad as the floggings had been the punishment in the windmill that watched over the settlement from a hill to the north. When it wouldn’t turn, the convicts were forced onto a treadmill to grind the wheat.

  ‘Terrible, it was, terrible. Like climbing the steepest mountain for hours without end, and if you didn’t keep up your legs got crushed in the machinery,’ Old Ted had told him, looking around while he whispered the tale as though the ghost of Captain Logan might hear him and start the torment over again. Dr Ballow said the poor man’s body was broken and so was his mind.

  As Toby approached Old Ted that morning, he soon found he wasn’t the only visitor. A cockatoo stood boldly in front of the former convict.

  ‘Cider and gin,’ said Old Ted.

  ‘Cider and gin,’ repeated the cockatoo, well enough to be understood.

  ‘Have you taught him anything new, Ted?’ Toby asked.

  ‘I’ve tried with an oath to shock the ladies, but he’s holding out on me, Toby.’

  ‘That’s because it’s Sunday and the bird is a Presbyterian.’

  Toby expected Old Ted to laugh, but he took the idea seriously, as though cockatoos did go to church.

  Toby fished a crust out of his pocket and fed a morsel to the cockatoo. As he moved, the pennies he’d earned from the horse race jangled against one another, only four, since he had given two to Robert, as promised.

  ‘When was the last time you had something to eat, Ted?’

  ‘Can’t rightly remember,’ he said. ‘Since it’s Sunday, I was hoping the good Lord would provide.’

  There wasn’t a single store open on a Sunday; even the hotel kept its doors shut. Poor Ted would go hungry until tomorrow and Toby knew what that was like. He looked across the river, but there was even less to see on the southern bank. Only Mr Williams’ hotel stood out. There wouldn’t even be that if the squatters didn’t come down from the Darling Downs every year and form a little camp of their
own. Some men seemed certain the entire settlement of Moreton Bay would grow no bigger than it was now. Toby wouldn’t mind; he didn’t like what he’d seen of big towns. There were no horse races through the streets of Sydney and too many schools and constables to let a boy like Toby live the life he fancied.

  He said goodbye to Old Ted and climbed the slope from the water’s edge just in time to see the congregation file out into the sunshine. There weren’t many worshippers for a town of eight hundred people and that didn’t count the squatters and other visitors. Sprout’s family stayed near the door talking to the Reverend, but the Pooles seemed to be heading straight home. Robert looked around and saw Toby waiting for him, but a glance towards his mother brought a frown and a shake of the head. If Mrs Poole hadn’t stopped to talk with another woman, Robert would already be halfway home.

  ‘Oh, to heck with it. I don’t want to spend Sunday alone,’ said Toby, and he headed straight for them.

  ‘It’s a nice day for a walk, Robert,’ he called when he was close enough. He had more than a walk in mind, some horse riding, in fact, but he had to make it sound right in front of Mrs Poole.

  She broke from talking with her companion and looked Toby up and down. ‘You look clean for once, Master Thompson. That’s a change.’

  ‘Yes, Lady Poole. Last night was bath night at Dr Ballows’ and they let me have the water when they were all done.’

  ‘I’m sure it turned black.’

  ‘Yes, Lady Poole, it did.’

  Robert’s mother had flushed with pride when Toby called her Lady Poole. She wasn’t a titled lady, though, and she must have suspected he was making fun of her. She also didn’t seem to like the way Toby refused to be embarrassed by her rudeness.

  ‘You should address me as Mrs Poole. I notice your cleanliness doesn’t extend to your shoes. And they are far too big for you.’

  The shoes! Toby had forgotten. Oh glory, if she recognised them Robert would be in big trouble.

  But rescue from this calamity came quickly and from an unexpected source.

  ‘I am surprised to hear you speak that way, my dear,’ said Robert’s father who had lingered nearby, unnoticed, until this moment. ‘Only last week you complained that this young ruffian goes barefoot.’

  Mrs Poole wasn’t pleased to be caught out like this, but what worried the boys more was the way Mr Poole inspected Toby’s feet so closely. When he looked up, he was staring at Toby – and was that a wink?

  He knew!

  When Mr Poole spoke again, it wasn’t to Toby and it wasn’t about the shoes. ‘Robert, you should stand up for your friend.’

  Poor Robert. Toby could see in his defeated face how he was caught between fearing his mother and being a disappointment to his father. Both parents seemed to be waiting for their son to speak.

  ‘Mother, can I go with Toby?’ Robert asked.

  ‘That wouldn’t be appropriate,’ she answered immediately.

  Robert appealed silently to his father who seemed to think he had intervened enough.

  Then came intervention from another source. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Poole,’ said a new voice. It was Sprout, joining them ahead of his own family who were heading towards the Pooles. ‘I’m going for a walk with Toby Thompson. Can Robert come, too? I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into any strife.’

  Well, would you listen to that, thought Toby. Now Sprout was talking as if Toby was one step from a bushranger! He was about to storm away in fury when he saw the hope in Robert’s face. If Toby stayed patient, the trick might just work.

  Sprout’s mother and father arrived to introduce themselves and Toby stood back to see what would happen. Squatters were a strange breed when it came to the social ladder in Moreton Bay. They were often ordinary folk and some were former convicts, which meant Mrs Poole wouldn’t even say good morning to them, but they had money and that meant lawyers like Mr Poole did business with them.

  Mrs Poole offered a stiff smile and spoke politely until, at just the right moment, Sprout piped up again. ‘So it’s all right then? You don’t mind if Robert and I go exploring?’ He didn’t mention Toby, but what could Mrs Poole do? If she refused, she would insult Sprout’s entire family.

  The boys didn’t wait around and were soon picking their way down to the riverbank.

  ‘Thanks, you two,’ said Robert when they reached the water’s edge. ‘Mother wasn’t going to let me come with you.’

  ‘Your mother could have taught Captain Logan a few things,’ said Toby, making them all laugh.

  Old Ted had fallen asleep in the shade. Toby told them about the old man and saw Sprout wince when he described the scars on the poor man’s back. By the time he’d finished, a new figure had come into view. Beyond Queen’s Wharf, a man was fishing.

  ‘It’s Mr Smollet, from the bakery,’ said Robert.

  Toby saw that he was right and quickly guessed what would be in the bag Mr Smollet had left on the bank behind him.

  ‘We could steal Old Ted a fine feast of bread. What do you say? I bet there’s enough in there to feed the old lag for a week,’ said Toby.

  The other two didn’t look convinced and Robert’s brow had wrinkled in dismay. The sight of their hesitation irritated Toby.

  ‘Stealing day-old bread from a baker isn’t really a crime. The man is hardly going to starve, is he? He owns a whole bakery.’

  ‘I suppose when you put it like that . . .’ said Sprout, who still didn’t look keen.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like that, Toby,’ said Robert, who simply walked off, leaving the other two to stare at his back. He wasn’t retreating towards the township and his home, but heading straight for Mr Smollet. Sprout went after him and what could Toby do but follow.

  When they arrived Robert was already deep in discussions with the man.

  ‘Tuppence is too little. I charge sixpence a loaf across the counter.’

  Robert turned to Toby. ‘Have you still got your four pence from the horse race?’

  Without thinking, Toby took the coins from his pocket and spread them across his palm to be counted. Robert did the same with his two pennies.

  ‘Still not enough,’ said Mr Smollet. ‘If I sell you that loaf, I’ll have nothing for my lunch. It’s a long walk back to my house and that means a lot of fishing time I’ll miss out on.’

  Sprout dug his hand into his pocket. ‘I’ve got sixpence to add in. Is that enough?’

  The baker made a show of considering his offer but Toby could see in his eyes that he was going to accept. Finally, Mr Smollet held out his hand as, one by one, the boys dropped their contributions into his palm.

  ‘The loaf is all yours, then. I wish I could sell day-old bread for a shilling every day. You three are out for a bit of mischief, I suppose. Used to be in a gang like you myself, a long time ago.’

  The boys looked at one another. A gang! They hadn’t thought of themselves that way.

  Robert went off to fetch the loaf out of the bag that rested where they’d first seen it on the bank.

  When he’d gone, Mr Smollet turned to Toby. ‘Your friend told me what you want the bread for. Tell Old Ted to come to my back door when he’s hungry. I’ll always have something. Now off with you and let me have a quiet fish before my Sunday is gone for another week.’

  Toby and Sprout joined Robert and together they walked back along the river’s edge towards Old Ted.

  ‘He cheated us, you know,’ said Toby. ‘A shilling for a loaf of bread! And did you hear what he said afterwards. He’s happy to give Old Ted his leftovers for nothing. We should have stolen it, like I said.’

  ‘No, that would have been a dumb thing to do,’ said Robert. ‘Smollet had seen us. He’d know I was in on it and he would have told my mother. You know what would happen after that, don’t you, Toby?’

  ‘Yes, she would have sent the constable round to your mother, Toby, and then you and Robert would never get to do anything together again,’ said Sprout.

  Toby hadn’t expected this
. Sprout had sided with Robert and that was a shock to begin with. He thought of Sprout as his friend before Robert’s. But most surprising was the way Robert had defied him so confidently. What’s more, they were right. Toby’s little trick might have seen the boys kept away from one another forever. It wasn’t cowardice that had made Robert walk off to speak with Mr Smollet, it was cleverness. Despite the worry that seemed to live permanently on Robert’s forehead, Toby started to wonder if there was more to his friend than he’d seen before.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said and clapped a friendly hand on Robert’s shoulder to show everything was square between them.

  Sprout’s last name was Mackenzie. Toby found this out when the family began their long journey back to the Darling Downs. Before then, he had ridden Sprout’s horse every day and since Mrs Poole made sure Robert stayed at school for every lesson, Toby had Lottie all to himself.

  By the end of the week, he pushed her all the way to a gallop. He was terrified, but Sprout was a good teacher and told him what to expect. He didn’t tell him how the wind would blow wildly in his hair, though, and no one could prepare him for the thrill of travelling so fast. He knew now, even better than before, why Stan loved to race and he knew, too, what courage it took to win.

  He also discovered horses can’t be left in a paddock to take care of themselves. They suffered badly in the heat if they weren’t given enough water and their coats had to be checked for sores and ticks. Sprout showed him how to do it and Lottie seemed to notice and take him to her heart.

  On Wednesday, he watched as the Mackenzies’ horses were made to swim across the river to the farriers.

  Toby couldn’t be sure whether it was while he watched the blacksmith fit new horseshoes, or later, when he galloped around the paddock, that he made up his mind, but on Friday he told his mother, ‘I want to work with horses. I’d start tomorrow if someone would give me a job.’

  Mrs Thompson turned a mother’s smile on him, the one Toby knew meant she didn’t believe him but didn’t want to say so out loud in case he felt insulted. It was that word ‘job’ that gave him an idea – a mad, wonderful idea.