“You’ve got to come at once! It’s Dimsie. She’s caught up in barbed wire,” and Jacky gasped for breath. She stood in the doorway of Miss Henderson’s front room, dazzled by the sudden glare of light. “You must come at once.”
Miss Henderson and the smartly dressed young man that she had been talking to looked up in amazement.
“Dimsie? But I saw her only an hour ago,” Miss Henderson said, “Are you sure, Jacky?”
“Positive. It’s her hind legs. She’s caught in a coil of wire the workmen must have left behind this morning.”
“Oh no,” groaned Miss Henderson. “I’ll need to go,” she said, turning to the young man. “Could you come back next week?”
The young man scowled, picked up his hat and stuck it on the back of his head.
“Got to get this fixed up,” he said crossly. “Either yes or no. I’ve got to get things straight, either one way or the other.”
“Please,” Jacky. “Do hurry. Her legs are terribly torn. I couldn’t do anything for her by myself.”
Miss Henderson stood up and pushed her hand through her short, greying hair.
“I’ll let you have a definite decision at the beginning of the week,” she said wearily.
“Monday?” demanded the young man.
“Monday.”
As Miss Henderson collected wire cutters from her tool drawer Jacky heard the young man’s car swing away from the bungalow. She longed to ask Miss Henderson all the questions that were running through her mind. Who was the strange young man? What was it that he had to know by Monday? But Miss Henderson said nothing.
Together they hurried out into the yard.
“Just my bloomin’ luck,” Miss Henderson muttered as they ran across the field towards the dark shape of Dimsie.
When they reached the pony she nickered softly, recognizing Miss Henderson.
“Whoa, little girl,” Miss Henderson murmured, slipping a halter over Dimsie’s head. “Oh what a mess!” she gasped as she swung the torch beam on to Dimsie’s hind legs. “Oh pony, pony! What did you have to go and do this for?”
Dimsie had stopped struggling and was standing still with her head low. Jacky could hardly breathe for the lump choking in her throat. She hated the workmen for leaving the roll of wire in the field.
“Hold her for me, Jacky,” Miss Henderson said, handing Jacky the halter rope. “And I’ll see if I can get her free.”
Skilfully, talking all the time to the pony, Miss Henderson clipped at the tangled wire. The pony didn’t move. Even when she was completely freed she just stood there, her head drooping forlornly, the blood running down her legs.
“Need to get the vet,” said Miss Henderson. “You run on and phone. Tarent 223. Tell him it’s urgent. He must come at once.”
Jacky ran back to the house while Miss Henderson led Dimsie slowly across the field.
“He’s coming straight away,” Jacky said as she came back from phoning to find Miss Henderson bandaging large pads of cotton wool round Dimsie’s legs while the pony stood shivering in a corner of a loosebox.
“Thank goodness he was in. I suppose I’ll need to let Major Campbell know. I promised Dimsie’s owner that if anything happened to her pony while she was away I’d phone the major.”
Jacky remembered the booming, scarlet-faced major who always stood at the ringside at shows criticizing other people’s riding.
“Stay with her till I phone. We can’t do any more for her until the vet comes.”
Jacky stayed, stroking Dimsie’s neck and talking softly to her.
“He’s coming,” Miss Henderson announced when she came back a few minutes later. “Pretty bad show, what? Wire left in a pony’s field. Be over right away,” she said, being the major.
But it was the vet who arrived first. He was a little man, quick and bouncy as a sparrow.
“Poor old lady,” he said when he’d looked at Dimsie’s legs. “However did you get yourself into this mess? Stupid woman! Need to stitch her up,” he added to Miss Henderson. “She’s torn a ligament. Be a month or two before she’s back to normal, maybe longer.”
Jacky held Dimsie’s halter rope while Miss Henderson helped the vet. He worked with sure, swift fingers, skilfully and gently, while the bare electric light bulb cast giant shadows on the walls.
“It’s like a dream,” Jacky thought. “Like a nightmare.”
At last the vet stood up. “There,” he said, “that’s the best I can do for her. Just see that … ”
But his voice was drowned by the sudden scrunch of a horsebox coming into the yard. There was a screech of brakes and a man jumped down from the cab slamming the door behind himself.
“What’s this? What’s this?” demanded the giant voice of the major. He came striding into the dimly lit box, broad-shouldered and tall. “Can’t think why there should have been wire left in the field in the first place. Got her stitched up, have you?” he demanded of the vet. “By Jove, she has made a mess of herself.”
The major strode forward and laid a hand on Dimsie’s flank.
“Good life, woman, the mare’s like a skeleton. Not a pick of flesh on her!” and he lifted Dimsie’s long mane to show her thin neck and ran his hand down her ridged backbone.
“They always lose a bit at this time of year,” said Miss Henderson.
“Lose a bit,” echoed the major. “If it wasn’t for the coat on her you could see every bone in her body! Looks as if she hasn’t had a decent feed since she came here.”
“Rubbish,” said Miss Henderson sharply. “They’re fed every day.”
“She’s starved,” raged the major. “Starved!”
The vet, packing up his instruments, said nothing. Jacky, picking nervously at the end of the halter rope, knew what the major said was quite true.
“She’s not staying here another minute. Told Margaret she should have left her with me in the first place,” and the major took the halter rope from Jacky. “Good job I came in the horsebox. Get her out of this dump before she falls to pieces.”
“You can’t take her just now. Her legs … ”
“Better get her away before her legs fester,” grunted the major. “Be safe to move her?” he demanded of the vet.
The vet said it would, as long as it was only a short journey, but although he agreed with the major, Jacky thought that really he looked sorry for Miss Henderson.
With the vet’s help the major loaded the unwilling Dimsie into the horsebox and drove away without another word to Miss Henderson.
“Don’t worry,” said the vet leaning out of the open window of his car before he drove away. “He’s a peppery old boy, the major. He’s never tried to make a living out of horses.”
Miss Henderson stood for a minute watching the lights of the vet’s car vanish into the dark then she walked back into the tack room.
“That finishes it,” she said. “I’m not going on. The man I was talking to tonight wants to buy my land for a market garden. He can have it. I’m getting out.”
Jacky had always thought of Miss Henderson as a young person but suddenly she realized that really she must be almost as old as her mother.
“But the ponies? What will happen to the ponies?” Jacky cried.
“Sell them. There’s a sale in a month’s time at Buckley. They can all go there.”
“But not Flicka? You couldn’t sell her? You promised I was to ride her, to jump her.”
“Flicka too,” said Miss Henderson wearily. “The whole lot of them. I’m through.” And although she turned away quickly, Jacky caught a glimpse of tears sparkling in her eyes.