Gulping, Jacky explained.
“Tough luck,” Roderick said after he had listened carefully.
“And she is such a terrific jumper,” said Jacky miserably.
“You can say that again. I’ve never seen a pony jump like her. I’ll never forget the way she cleared the brush at that Pony Club thing.”
“But it’s no good if she runs away all the time!”
Roderick stood leaning on the half-door of the box staring at Flicka. Suddenly he spoke.
“Do you really care about Flicka’s jumping?”
“What do you mean? Of course I care.”
“Would you really work to try and improve her?”
“I’d do anything, honestly!”
“How would it be if you come up in the morning and I’d see if I could help you?”
“Before school?”
“Be ready to start at seven and I’m warning you to be on time. I’m not always in the best of tempers so early in the morning.”
Before Jacky could thank him or ask any more questions Roderick had swung himself up on to Midas and ridden out of the yard.
When Erica heard about her brother’s offer to coach Flicka and Jacky she was amazed.
“You’re honoured!” she exclaimed. “It’s a lot more than he would do for me and he’s jolly good, even if he is my brother. He must think Flicka has tremendous promise if he’s going to get up before seven to take you!”
As seven o’clock chimed from the church clock the next morning Jacky was riding Flicka round the field while Roderick sat on a tin can giving instructions.
“Now take her over the jumps,” he said after Jacky had walked, trotted and cantered round the field in both directions.
Jacky turned Flicka towards the first jump and felt her pony light up beneath her; felt the wild plunge and then the thundering speed as Flicka stormed round the jumps. Furiously Jacky heaved at the reins, but for all the attention Flicka paid there might as well have been no bit in her mouth. After she had cleared all the jumps, Flicka charged round the field several times before Jacky regained control. “That’s what she’s like every time we jump,” Jacky said riding over to Roderick.
“Quite a whirlwind,” agreed Roderick thoughtfully. “Yet it doesn’t make any difference to her jumping. She never hits anything. Do you need to tug at her mouth all the time? You’ve only started hanging on to her reins like that since she ran away with you out hunting. That’s why you got on so well with her before. You didn’t interfere. I think she likes to go fast, knows she can jump best at that speed and gets mad with you for asking her to jump and then trying to stop her when she knows she’s doing her best.”
“But I’ve got to stop her somehow.”
“Are you scared?”
“No! Course not. I love jumping but I hate being carted round as if I couldn’t ride.”
“This time,” instructed Roderick, “put a knot in your reins and go round the jumps with the lightest possible touch. Only use them to guide her round at the turn. When you want her to stop, give and take on the bit. Don’t hang on all the time with a dead stranglehold as if it was a tug of war.”
Jacky did as she was told and jumped again, using her legs and seat to guide her pony rather than the reins. Even when she felt that Flicka was going too fast she didn’t pull on the reins to try to stop her. It wasn’t until Flicka had cleared the last jump that she began to steady her. But she didn’t pull with a dead hold. Instead she did as Roderick had suggested, pulling and releasing the reins several times.
“Did you see her?” Jacky shouted triumphantly, clapping Flicka’s sleek neck as she rode back to Roderick. “She hardly pulled at all! I was in control again almost at once!”
“That’s because you were saying one definite thing. Before, you were nagging all the time but really saying nothing.”
“I suppose that’s right,” agreed Jacky, laughing.
“You asked her to jump and then when she did what you’d told her to do you immediately started tugging madly at her mouth to try and stop her. Try her round again.”
Jacky jumped round once more and rode back to Roderick beaming all over her face.
“There you are,” he said. “It worked again. It isn’t magic. Just horse sense. Now for the next week I want you to go on schooling her, thinking about keeping your hands as light as possible, particularly when she’s jumping.”
“Right,” said Jacky. “The same time tomorrow morning?”
“For you and Flicka, yes. For me, no. I shall appear unexpectedly once or twice a week. Unfortunately the university controls some of my time!”
“But I can ask you if things start going wrong again?”
“Any urgent message left for me with my mother or sister will receive immediate attention.”
But things didn’t go wrong. Now that Jacky had stopped pulling at Flicka’s reins the pony stopped fighting her and, allowed to go at her own speed, she cleared the jumps calmly and effortlessly.
“Try her over something a bit bigger,” Roderick said one morning about a month later, and they built up two of the jumps to over four feet with a big spread on them.
“Just watch her. Probably this will be the highest she’s ever jumped.”
But Flicka cantered serenely over them with a bright alert expression on her face that seemed to say, “This is what I call jumping.”
That evening Jacky and Erica built a really big course and Jacky rode Flicka over it.
“Absolutely fabulous!” Erica exclaimed. “She didn’t touch a thing. Gosh, I bet you even Midas would have a job getting round those.”
“She jumps better when the jumps are higher,” Jacky said, making much of Flicka. “She was really thinking about her jumping there.”
Later on when they were cleaning tack, Roderick came into the tack room with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
“I’ve got the entry forms for the Royal Peterbourne Show,” he said. “Would either of you like to go?”
“It would be fun,” Erica said. “Though Firebird wouldn’t stand much of a chance. They’d be bound to spot her leg.”
“What about you, Jacky?”
Jacky stood open-mouthed, clutching a soapy tack sponge in her hand.
“You don’t mean it?” she said at last. “Jump Flicka at the Peterbourne Show? But it’s a huge posh show. I couldn’t possibly. We’re not good enough!”
“In other words you’d like to come?” laughed Rod.
“Oh, but I couldn’t, not after we made such a mess at Mrs Marshall’s.”
“That is behind you. The Peterbourne Show is ahead. Mind you, don’t think you’re certain to win. The competition is pretty stiff. But it’s always a good show.”
“How are we getting there?” asked Erica.
“Jack Tosh wants to take his hunter to show and I thought I’d have a bash at the Working Hunter on Midas. If you two come his father says we can take their big float, which holds four horses, and share the price of the petrol.”
“You do choose your friends well,” teased Erica.
“Jacky, you’ll need to register Flicka and join the B.S.J.A.,” Roderick said, ignoring his sister. “I’ll see about it for you and make out the entries.”
“Do you really think I should?” repeated Jacky. “I mean, honestly, I don’t think it is my sort of show. Don’t you think I’d be better to wait for the Pony Club gymkhana?”
“Listen to me,” growled Roderick. “Flicka could go right to the top if you’ll let her, or she can stay right here in Tarent, winning rosettes in Pony Club things. She’s your pony. Now make up your mind once and for all.”
Jacky grinned. “The top,” she said.
“Good. You’ve got a month to practise in before Peterbourne.”