“Did you get a programme from the Pony Club?” Erica asked Jacky on the first morning of their summer holidays.
“Yes,” said Jacky. “Arrow trail at Craigie House next Wednesday, four working rallies, a visit to racing stables at Fenton and the Pony Club gymkhana on the 12th of August.”
“Where’s Craigie House?” asked Erica.
“Only about half an hour’s hack,” Jacky told her. “I should think I could take Flicka as long as I don’t jump her.”
“You certainly could not jump her. She hasn’t started jumping yet and it would give her the absolutely wrong idea about the whole thing if you went galloping over walls in the middle of a herd of Pony Clubbers all being more or less run away with anyway!” said Erica sternly.
On the day of the arrow trail the driveway in front of Craigie House was jammed with ponies of all shapes and sizes. The smallest was a piebald Shetland grazing happily along the flowerbeds while the little boy perched on top pulled frantically at his reins trying to stop him.
Mrs Marshall came out of the house and began to shout instructions through a loud hailer. She explained that the arrow trail had been laid that morning by her husband and herself, and that there were arrows chalked on trees and gate posts, paper arrows pinned on to stakes in the ground, and arrows chalked on stone walls. She also said that there were plenty of false trails and it wouldn’t be those who galloped fastest that would reach the treasure first. Anyone who hadn’t struck gold by half-past three should ride back to Craigie House where cakes and fizz would be waiting for them. The greedier members cheered.
“Now if you’ll all wait just another minute till I get Hobbit I’ll lead you to the start of the treasure trail. After that it is up to yourselves.”
Mrs Marshall, mounted on her big bay hunter, led them all down the drive, along the road and into a large field that sloped gently upwards to a little copse of oak trees. She waited until all the riders were through the gate, then, standing up in her stirrups, she shouted, “The trail starts over there amongst the trees. Good luck and be back in time for the grub.”
Flicka was in the very front of the charge. She raced along loving every minute of it. When they reached the trees there were shouts of surprise, for instead of one arrow, three arrows pointed in different directions.
Jacky waited for Erica who was coming across the field at a collected canter.
By the time Erica reached the trees nearly all the other children had chosen a trail and trotted out of sight.
“You shouldn’t have waited,” Erica shouted. “I don’t like letting her gallop over rough ground in case it makes her leg worse.”
“Flicka was out of breath. Which way shall we go?”
“Not the arrow to the right,” said Duncan Thornthwaite who had ridden up with Erica. “I remember that way from another year and it just leads to the quarry.”
“Not the middle trail. Celia went that way.”
“Then the one to the left,” Erica said, starting to trot Firebird in that direction.
Behind Erica, Duncan and Jacky came the little boy on the piebald Shetland. He had been rather left behind when everyone left Craigie House because Midget, his Shetland, had still been unwilling to leave the flowerbeds.
They followed the arrows through the little wood, across two more fields and along the banks of a stream until suddenly the trail gave out.
“Why didn’t we meet any of the others coming back?” asked Erica.
“I bet they crossed the ford,” said Duncan. “Come on, we’ll catch them up yet,” and he pushed past Jacky and Erica, kicking his pony, Spider, into a gallop.
The ponies bucketed along, stumbling in the soft going at the stream’s edge. Duncan swung Spider round and plunged across the shallow water of the ford. They all followed, splashing up cascades of white foam.
“Look,” yelled Duncan, pointing to a group of riders that could just be seen in the distance. “They’re making for the Crag on Haddon Moor. Come on. I know a short cut,” and he was away like the wind.
“Stop! stop!” shrilled the little boy on the Shetland but nobody heard him.
Jacky knew that last year’s treasure had only been a bar of chocolate and she rather thought that they were galloping their ponies too hard for any bar of chocolate. Erica seemed to have forgotten all about Firebird’s leg and was urging her pony on.
Duncan pulled Spider to a halt.
“This gate’s padlocked,” he yelled. “We’ll need to jump the wall.” And he rode at the crumbling stone wall. As Spider cleared it and galloped off on the other side, Erica sailed over on Firebird, leaving Jacky and Flicka.
Flicka was standing with her head down, heaving for breath. Jacky dismounted, turned her to face the wind and loosened her girth. “It’s your own fault,” she told her pony guiltily. “You shouldn’t have gone so fast.”
Jacky waited until Flicka had recovered then began to ride slowly back to Craigie House. As she rode she wondered what had happened to the little boy on the Shetland. Really someone should have watched him but, seeing no sign of him, Jacky decided that the boy must have gone back by himself.
She had almost reached the stream when she saw the Shetland pony standing grazing, still wearing his saddle and bridle. Jacky rode quickly towards him, then something else caught her eye and she swung Flicka round to gallop to where the little boy was lying on the grass. His hard hat had come off and he lay with one leg strangely twisted beneath him.
Jacky leapt off and stood for a second staring down at him. She had no idea what to do. She knelt down and loosened his collar and tie and felt the steady beat of his heart but he was completely unconscious.
“Help! Help!” Jacky shouted, but no one answered.
Gathering up Flicka’s reins, Jacky flung herself into the saddle and galloped across the field and through the ford. She knew she must get help at once, find someone who would know what to do.
Jacky had meant to ride back as quickly as she could to Craigie House, but after she had crossed the stream she saw a stone house standing by itself in the shelter of a clump of elms. Jacky turned and rode towards it.
“We’ve got to get help,” she whispered to Flicka, urging her on. “Faster. Go faster.”
She saw a boundary wall stretching between her and the house, hesitated only for a second, then rode Flicka at it. Without changing her stride Flicka soared over the wall like a bird, stretched to clear the ditch on the landing side and pounded on towards the house.
A wicker gate led into the back garden of the house. Again Jacky steadied Flicka then rode at it. Flicka jumped it freely and easily cantered on up the garden path.
In the drawing-room of his house Mr Spencer looked up in amazement, threw down the newspaper he was reading and flung open the French windows. “What’s the meaning of … ” he began.
“A little boy’s fallen off his pony. He’s unconscious and I think his leg’s broken,” Jacky shouted.
Without any fuss Mr Spencer phoned for an ambulance, found out from Jacky exactly where the accident had happened, phoned Craigie House and sent Jacky and his wife back to wait with the little boy.
“Best not to touch him when there’s any danger of broken bones,” Mrs Spencer said after she had looked at the child.
Jacky stood by, holding Flicka and feeling guilty. Really it was their fault he was lying there. They should have kept an eye on him, not gone so fast. But chases were like that, you always forgot about other people and were sorry afterwards.
Miss Hewitt, a Pony Club woman, and the little boy’s mother came hurrying over the fields. The mother looked pale and kept saying that she had known all along that David was too young for this sort of thing.
At last the ambulance men arrived with Mr Spencer, lifted the little boy gently on to a stretcher and carried him back to the ambulance.
Jacky mounted Flicka again, said goodbye and rode slowly back to Erica’s.
Erica was there before her and waiting eagerly to hear what had happened.
“They were all in a frightful flap when we got back to Craigie House. Wouldn’t even let us eat our food properly. Chased us away.”
Jacky gave Flicka a feed of pony nuts then told Erica about the accident.
“Did you really jump the boundary wall?” Erica asked in amazement. “The one with that huge ditch on the far side of it?”
“Well, Flicka did. I wasn’t thinking about anything except getting help.”
For a minute there was silence while Erica rubbed at her bridle.
“If Flicka jumped that today we could easily have her ready to jump at the gymkhana,” Erica said at last.
“I was thinking the same thing,” said Jacky, grinning.