Do You Dare? The Last Horse Race Read online

  An unexpected treat greeted him on this final stretch – Harry Kelso was busy on yet another house. Only the frame had been set in place so far. Toby left his friends in the street and went to speak with Harry.

  ‘Looks like a skeleton,’ Toby joked when he stopped a moment to speak with him.

  ‘Not for much longer, Toby – the rest of the lumber is coming today.’

  With Sprout and Robert waiting for him, Toby couldn’t stay to talk and as he waved a cheerio to Harry, he felt the dread sinking deeper into his stomach. If Beckman fell at one of the jumps, if any of a dozen things went wrong, those few words might be the last he ever had with Harry.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Toby asked in frustration once he’d re-joined his friends. ‘We’ve been right round the course and we still don’t have a plan.’

  ‘Maybe we don’t need one,’ said Sprout. ‘I wasn’t trying to make you feel better when I said Beckman’s horse is fast. He might win without any help.’

  It was looking more like he’d have to, thought Toby. ‘Where is this wonderful creature? If my whole life is going to ride on its back, I’d like to see for myself.’

  Beckman was gone from the hotel by this time. They found him warming up his chestnut gelding around at the butcher’s paddock. Even from a distance, the animal seemed impressive. Its muscles were easy to make out beneath its shiny coat.

  ‘Better not let him see us,’ said Robert.

  They crossed the bridge and kept low until they reached a patch of long grass to hide in. It wasn’t so thick they couldn’t see through it, though. Beckman dismounted and began to adjust the saddle.

  As Toby watched more closely, he saw Beckman’s impatience. The horse threw its head up and down as though it were trying to tug the reins from the rider’s hands. Beckman jerked back harder, making the bit cut into the poor animal’s mouth.

  ‘He doesn’t deserve a horse like that,’ said Toby.

  Without making any effort to calm the nervous gelding, Beckman started to adjust the length of a stirrup. Once again, he pulled too hard on the leather and this time the horse backed up to get away from him. Beckman pulled savagely on the reins and the horse reared up on its hind legs. As the horse’s legs came down, one of its hooves caught Beckman on the forearm.

  He cried out in pain and dropped the reins. The frightened horse saw its chance to escape and galloped into the paddock.

  Sprout broke from their grassy cover, heading for the horse.

  ‘Come on, Bob, we’d better see how Beckman is,’ Toby called back as he followed.

  When they reached the man, his face wore an ugly grimace of pain.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Toby asked.

  Beckman was drunk and his reply turned the air blue. When Sprout brought the horse back to him, he started up again. ‘Stupid animal, the devil take you! Can’t stand still for a moment, and look what you’ve done to me.’ He raised his injured arm an inch or two, but the pain was too great to go any higher.

  Only then did he look properly at the boys who’d come to his aid. His eyes lingered suspiciously on Toby.

  ‘Is your arm broken?’ Robert asked.

  ‘No, just bruised.’

  No one was happier to hear this news than Toby, who began to inspect the horse.

  Neither Sprout nor Robert was quite so sure about Beckman’s arm, though. ‘It’s starting to swell already,’ Robert pointed out. ‘That’s a sign it could be broken.’

  Beckman swore at him, making Robert take a step backward. ‘It’s not broken, boy. Look, I can move my fingers.’

  He showed them, or at least he tried to. The effort brought out heavy beads of sweat on his forehead. Toby saw Sprout and Robert exchange doubtful glances.

  ‘The race is about to start,’ said Sprout.

  ‘So it is,’ said Beckman, trying to sound as though nothing had happened. ‘If you want to help, then boost me into the saddle.’

  He gripped the front of the saddle with his good hand, fitted his left boot into the stirrup and pulled himself up. The boys pushed from below and with a deep groan, Beckman made it onto the horse. He sat there, snatching shallow breaths as he forced his useless hand to take hold of the reins.

  Then he fainted.

  All three of the boys moved to catch him and between them they stopped him falling headfirst into the ground. Slowly, they lowered him onto the grass.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it – his arm’s broken,’ said Robert.

  Beckman’s eyes opened. He needed a few moments to remember where he was and seemed startled to find three young faces staring down at him. He sat up and, with Toby lifting on one side and Sprout on the other, climbed back to his feet.

  ‘If you can’t sit in the saddle, you can’t enter the race,’ said Sprout.

  ‘I have to. I’ve bet every penny.’

  ‘Then you’ve lost the lot,’ Robert said bluntly. He wasn’t cruel by nature, but there was a hint of satisfaction in the way he’d spoken.

  Toby’s comment was more practical. ‘Even if you get to the starting line, how are you going to ride a horse at full gallop?’

  Beckman looked down at his arm. In all the struggling and confusion he hadn’t dared inspect it properly until now. He gave a disgusted sigh at what he saw.

  He lifted his head until he was staring into the eyes of Toby Thompson. ‘Lost the lot, have I? Just as well I have a way to get it back again.’ Despite the pain, a teasing sneer returned to his face.

  Toby didn’t have to ask what he meant. He’d hoped the race would make Beckman forget his hold over them. Instead, his mother’s plight had become worse.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Sprout, gripped by a sudden thought. ‘The bets are on the horse, not the rider,’ he said in a rush of words.

  When the others, even Beckman, nodded uncertainly, he went on. ‘That means you don’t have to ride at all. I will.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool. A mere boy’s not going to win a race like this.’

  ‘Why not?’ Sprout protested. ‘I’m lighter than you, so the horse won’t tire as fast. And I’m a fine rider, even if I am a bit young.’

  ‘He is a good rider,’ said Robert, whose face shone with the enthusiasm of someone who wished he were half as good.

  Toby, on the other hand, couldn’t hide his doubts. He thought back to his shameful wish that Beckman would break his neck. ‘Do you really think you could do it, Sprout?’

  Beckman no longer sneered at them, but he didn’t look convinced either.

  ‘There’s twenty pounds at stake,’ Sprout cried. ‘Are you just going to give up a purse like that? What have you got to lose?’

  Beckman stayed silent.

  Meanwhile, Toby was warming to the idea, or maybe he was just desperate. One moment he didn’t want his friend to face such danger and the next he was imagining Sprout bursting across the finish line to claim the prize.

  ‘All right,’ Beckman said finally.

  Toby was so deep in thought, he didn’t hear at first. It was the delighted look on Sprout’s face that alerted him.

  ‘You mean you’ll let me take your place?’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ snapped Beckman, frowning again at the ache in his arm. ‘Mount up now. Get a feel for the animal. He’s not a circus pony for kids to ride. You need to handle him right.’

  ‘I know how to handle a horse,’ said Sprout, defiantly, ‘and it’s not by yanking at the reins or cursing in its ear.’ He patted the gelding’s flank and ran his hand down the soft fur of its neck. ‘There, there, you’re going to have a new rider. We’ll be just fine together,’ he said in a soothing voice. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Never given him one,’ said Beckman.

  ‘What do you think, Toby? Bob?’

  ‘Eagle,’ said Toby. ‘To help him fly over those fences.’

  Beckman snorted. ‘Get moving, boy. The race is only minutes away.’

  A small crowd came into view as they neared the gaol. If the constables
had got wind of the fun, it seemed they weren’t in any hurry to stop it. But there was a face in the crowd the boys hadn’t counted on, Sprout especially. Mr Mackenzie stepped out from among the rest and came towards them.

  ‘What’s this? You’re not thinking of riding in this race, are you, Sprout?’

  ‘I have to, Father. You see . . .’ He stopped and looked down at Toby who was shaking his head without even thinking about it.

  Not that it would have made any difference. ‘Down from there, my boy,’ Mr Mackenzie insisted. ‘How could I explain to your mother if I brought a corpse back for her to bury?’

  Beckman and Toby stared at each other, seeing the same despair in the other’s face. Desperation can prompt unusual acts; and before he quite knew what his legs and arms were doing, Toby had taken Sprout’s place in the saddle.

  ‘No, Toby,’ said Sprout. ‘You’re not ready for this. It will be more dangerous for you. You haven’t even taken a horse over a fence before. You’ll hurt yourself.’

  ‘The stakes are too high not to have a go,’ said Toby. ‘What do you think, Beckman?’

  ‘Can you even ride?’

  ‘He’s good,’ said Robert, who had remained close. ‘A natural.’

  ‘It’s too late to find a better jockey, anyway,’ Beckman responded.

  ‘No, Toby, get down,’ Sprout begged him.

  To make sure Sprout couldn’t talk him out of it, Toby turned the newly named Eagle away, forcing him into a trot. Now he was riding the gelding he understood what he’d let himself in for. Eagle was nervous and hard to control after Beckman’s mistreatment. But guiding the horse in a wide circle and cantering back towards the starting line, Toby liked what he felt beneath him. ‘Good boy,’ he said tenderly. Along with the skittishness he sensed an urge to gallop. If Toby could stay in the saddle, it might win them the race.

  ‘Heels down, Toby,’ Sprout reminded him.

  Toby wanted to settle something, before the horses were called to the starting line. Standing the horse off a way, he called Beckman to him.

  ‘What’s on your mind, boy?’

  Toby leaned low over the saddle so that no one else would hear. ‘If it wasn’t for my friends and me, your money would already be gone. You’d have to sell this horse, just to feed yourself.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So let’s be straight about what happens if I win. You take your winnings and leave me and my mother alone. Is that a deal?’

  Beckman surprised him with a quick nod.

  The broken arm had taken the fight out of him, it seemed. Toby didn’t care. Relief was flooding into his stomach and rising into his chest like bubbles from a spring. He could win this race. He would win!

  Toby was about to spur the gelding forward when Beckman used his good arm to grab hold of the bridle.

  ‘I’ve agreed to your bargain. Now you listen to mine. There’s more at stake here than money. If you lose, I’ll make your mother marry me and the pair of you will come to live with me on the Downs.’

  The stone-hard look in his face made it clear there was no more to say as he let go of the bridle.

  As Toby approached the starting line, faces turned towards him in astonishment. Thirty people had gathered. He knew most of them; he even heard his name whispered. Beyond this crowd the other competitors waited for him. Mounted on a handsome black mare was the man who’d listened to Beckman’s boasting at the bar. Toby guessed the second rider was a squatter, judging by his clothes. His buckskin horse danced nervously. Lastly, there was Stan.

  ‘What going on?’ called the squatter, not to Toby but to Beckman who trailed behind.

  ‘Damn broke my arm just now, didn’t I,’ said Beckman, holding it from his body until the pain became too great. ‘If you return my stake money, I’ll withdraw my horse.’

  The man from the bar glanced towards the squatter. Neither wanted to miss the chance at such a purse. ‘The wager stands,’ said the squatter.

  Toby saw the disappointment in Beckman’s face. As for Toby, himself – he wasn’t sure whether this was good news or bad.

  ‘Well, if I’m to risk everything, then I should have my horse in the race.’ As he spoke he looked up at Toby to remind him that they had made their own wager. Then, to the other competitors, he said, ‘The boy will ride in my place. It’s that, or return my money.’

  ‘Let him ride, if that’s what you want,’ said the man on the black mare. He was almost laughing as he spoke. The squatter joined in to show what they both thought of Toby’s chances.

  ‘Racing is for men, not boys,’ said Stan more seriously.

  ‘Then he shouldn’t be very hard to beat,’ said Beckman.

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Stan. He called to Toby. ‘This race is more than jumping logs in a paddock. Years back, a cove died on this course. Get down from that horse, Toby.’

  Toby’s mouth went dry, but he shook his head.

  ‘Then we’re competitors now, and there’ll be no going easy just because you’re a lad,’ said Stan, and he turned his horse away.

  A man was killed! Toby looked for Sprout and Robert, hoping for the support of their familiar faces, but they weren’t among the crowd. ‘It’s just you and me now, Eagle. Let’s stay alive, eh? Both of us.’

  ‘To the mark, gentleman,’ called the starter.

  Toby took his place on the end with the man from the bar beside him.

  The crowd fell silent, the horses shifted nervously. Toby was fighting to keep his horse still when the shout came. ‘Off!’

  Instantly, Toby kicked his heels into the gelding’s flanks, but the black mare lunged sideways, knocking Toby and Eagle off their stride. Then the black mare’s rider seemed to regain control, or perhaps it had all been done deliberately. The result was the same. While the man on the black mare took off along the track with the other horses, Eagle had shied away awkwardly to avoid the collision until horse and rider stood stock-still and turned towards the main street.

  ‘Get after them, you fool!’ cried Beckman.

  Toby tugged at the left-hand rein and dug in his heels. The gelding responded quickly. In fact, he was soon into his stride and gaining on the others. This is good, thought Toby. But there was a long way to go yet.

  Ahead he could see the others. As he watched, first one then another horse and rider rose suddenly into the air. The fence! It would be his turn soon.

  He had never jumped anything so high before and at that moment the madness of what he’d got himself into finally became real. I could break my neck! thought Toby.

  He was doing his best to push the fear aside when he noticed something move near the fence. Ten more strides and he saw it was Robert, waving at him. He was swinging on the gate, just as they’d done an hour earlier. No, not swinging, Toby understood at last. He was opening it.

  By now Toby was only thirty yards from the fence. He tugged a little on the reins to guide the horse and moments later they were through. Now Eagle was enjoying himself and seemed just as eager to get ahead of the others as Toby.

  But Toby had forgotten the drainage channel and there was no rail to catch his eye in warning. The horse had seen the stretch of water, though. Instead of slowing to splash through, Eagle sped up and flew into the air. Toby wasn’t ready. The saddle rammed into his backside and he shot straight up, his feet suddenly free of the stirrups and nothing below him but water. He landed with a splash and sat there, too stunned to stand up.

  Shock clouded his mind, except for one clear thought: his race was over. The others hadn’t crossed the finish line yet, but he wasn’t even in the saddle anymore.

  ‘Get up, Toby!’

  At first he thought the shout had come from inside his own head, as though his dogged determination wasn’t ready to die so quickly.

  ‘Get out of the water, hurry.’

  No, those words had definitely come from someone else. Better than that, Toby recognised them. ‘Sprout!’ he called, and looking around he spotted his friend walk
ing steadily towards him, with Beckman’s horse trailing close behind.

  ‘I thought he would run off for sure, but he stopped. I think he likes you on his back, Toby. Get back on.’

  Toby was on his feet in an instant. Sprout handed him the reins and held the horse’s head to steady him. Just as Toby lifted his foot into the stirrup, Robert arrived to boost him upward.

  ‘You can still win,’ they assured him.

  There wasn’t time to say anything more, for as soon as Toby’s bottom hit the saddle, the gelding leapt forward. I’m right, thought Toby. Eagle wants to beat the others more than I do. He looked back briefly and saw his friends break into a run along the fence towards the gardens. He didn’t know why and after a few strides, he had to turn his eyes to the way ahead.

  He and Eagle were alone as they climbed the gentle slope. In a way, this helped Toby concentrate. He crouched low and searched for the best balance between the saddle and stirrups to help the horse gallop. Eagle was really fast. Toby hadn’t realised how fast until now. The only horse he had come to know well was Lottie – a fine mare, but a working horse at best. Eagle was something different, a creature with a mind of his own and a determined heart. Toby had long ago learned to admire a horse for its shiny coat and its power and size, but he hadn’t understood that a beast might have a character like a human being, expressing things like desire and grit.

  He sensed this in Eagle and he was sure of something else now, too – he’d been born to be in the saddle. This was what he was meant to do.

  Horse and rider turned sharply left and thundered on towards the garden. Still no sign of the others, but when they turned again – yes – there was the buckskin rump of the squatter’s mount not far ahead. At this pace, they would have no trouble overtaking them.

  But Toby saw something else ahead, too. The fence! In the back of his mind, he’d known he would have to cross it again and this time there was no gate. The two leading horses were already over it. The squatter was next. Toby looked down to check his position in the saddle; when he glanced up again, he gasped. Robert and Sprout had climbed onto the fence in the very place Toby was planning to jump.