Quickly Jacky made sure that Flicka hadn’t hurt herself, but apart from the fright she seemed unharmed.
“Now perhaps you’ll be a bit more sensible and get into the side when I tell you,” Jacky lectured Flicka as she examined the huge bruise on her own arm. “Mrs Grunter could have taken you in her box if she wasn’t so mean. I bet if the police knew, she would go to prison for dangerous driving, but no one would believe me.”
They started off again on the last lap of their journey. After her fall, Flicka was more subdued and they reached home without any more
“You’ve been an age,” Mrs Munro said as she came running out of the house to meet them. “But you’ve got the pony. Lovely! But what’s happened to you? You’re both thick with mud.”
“We’ve been in a ditch,” said Jacky. “She was dancing around and Mrs Grunter more or less ran us over.”
“Thank goodness I wasn’t there to see. Are you both all right? No bones broken?”
“No, we’re okay, but only just. Someone should report that woman.”
“She is a lovely pony. Was Miss Henderson all right about your paying later?”
Jacky told her mother all that had happened.
“It certainly has been your day.”
“You wouldn’t have said that if you’d seen us both in the ditch.”
“Probably not. Turn her out on the garage patch and come and get something to eat. You must be starving. What about Flicka? Shouldn’t she have oats or something?”
“She’ll be fine just now. There’s more grass in our field than there was in the whole of the riding school.”
Jacky led Flicka into the field and took off her halter. The minute she felt herself free, Flicka kicked up her heels and galloped to the top of the field. She paused to snatch a mouthful of grass, then galloped wildly back to the gate. In the nick of time Mrs Munro slammed it shut.
Standing watching her pony, Jacky was overwhelmed with the sudden responsibility. Flicka belonged to her now. There was no Miss Henderson comfortingly in the background to tell her what to do. “If Flicka doesn’t turn out well it will be all my own fault,” she thought.
“Wouldn’t she settle better if we leave her alone?” asked Mrs Munro.
Jacky nodded, still gazing at Flicka careering madly round the field. “Oh, I do wish you were horsey parents,” she sighed.
“Well, we’re certainly not that,” laughed her mother. “Come on in and have some food. She can’t possibly get out. It’s too well fenced and she could never jump the gate.”
And, with a last long look at Flicka, Jacky followed her mother into the house:
When her father came home from the office Flicka was still racing round the patch. Sometimes she took two mouthfuls of grass instead of one but no one could have pretended that she was settling down.
Even at ten o’clock when Jacky slipped out to say goodnight to her, Flicka was still standing at the highest part of the field with her head high and her ears pricked. She whinnied and came tearing down the field to Jacky. Then, realizing that it was only another human and not a pony as she had hoped, she swung away, back to her corner and stood listening.
“She’s lonely,” Jacky thought. “All alone in the night. I’ll need to find her company.” Her father hadn’t been terribly pleased at finding a pony installed in his garage plot. He had said it was too small and too disturbing for the neighbours for Flicka to stay there all the time. “Perhaps he’s right. I’ll to find her a field with other ponies but I’ve no idea where I’ll find one.”
Jacky lay in bed for ages, straining her ears to hear the drumming hoofbeats of her pony, and when she did fall asleep at last, it was only to dream of riding Flicka over an unending show jumping course.
Suddenly Jacky sat bolt upright. This time the beat of hoofs hadn’t been in her dreams. Flinging herself out of bed she darted across to the window. And there in the moonlight she caught a glimpse of the galloping shape of her pony, a pony magicked by the light of the full moon. With flowing mane, streaming tail and sparks bursting from her metal-shod hoofs, Flicka was going back to the riding school.
Jacky looked at her watch. It was half-past two. She listened but no one else seemed to have woken up. She dragged some clothes on over her pyjamas and, wriggling into her anorak, crept downstairs. She picked up the halter from where it was hanging behind the back door, collected a slice of bread from the bread bin, pulled on her wellingtons and very quietly let herself out of the front door.
The light of the full moon turned all the world to silver. Jacky had never been out alone as late as this in her life before, but running along the lane thinking of Flicka she wasn’t in the least afraid.
When she reached the riding school Jacky stood in the yard and shouted softly, “Flicka, Flicka.” At first she heard nothing and then, from the direction of the field gate, came a shivering whinny followed by the sharp clip of pony hoofs and Flicka came slowly towards her.
“Flicka. Come on, lass.”
Jacky spoke gently and stood very still, holding out the slice of bread. She was afraid that when Flicka saw her, the pony would gallop again. But this time she only nickered and stretched out her neck to take the bread with velvety soft lips. She stood eating it while Jacky put on her halter.
“They’ve all gone,” Jacky told Flicka. “It’s no good coming back. You won’t find them here any more.”
Almost as if she understood, Flicka rested her head on Jacky’s shoulder and blew warm sweet breath over her cheek.
When they reached the garage patch again Jacky opened the gate and turned Flicka loose. The pony walked slowly away from her and started to graze. Suddenly Jacky realized what Flicka had done.
“You jumped the gate!” she screamed. Her voice shattered the moonlight silence and made Flicka fling up her head in alarm. “You’re only a 13.2 pony and you jumped the gate!”
Jacky stared at Flicka, hardly able to believe that her pony could have cleared the five-bar gate, then she swung round to face the full moon and bowed three times.
“I swear by the full moon that Flicka is going to be the best show jumper in the world!” she whispered.