“Whoa, Tristram!” Nancy Drew said as the horse she was riding leaped into the air. A small gray shape with a furry tail scurried across the path in front of them. “Chill out, boy,” she added, “it’s only a squirrel.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into Tristram—he’s usually pretty calm,” Elsa Gable said. She stopped her horse, Barchester, next to Nancy and scanned the woods. Shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy of leaves above them. “He’s been in these woods a million times. Why’s he suddenly so scared?”
“Sneak attacks by mutant squirrels,” George Fayne said from behind them. “Pretty terrifying, huh, Derby?” She reached down to pat her horse’s sleek, golden neck.
Nancy and Elsa laughed. “Let’s get going,” Elsa said, “before any mutants get us.”
Elsa was an old friend of Nancy, George, and George’s cousin, Bess Marvin. She kept Barchester at Green Spring Farm, a riding stable in the country outside River Heights. She was also a counselor at Green Spring’s summer camp, but she had a break while the campers were swimming. George and Nancy had eagerly agreed to ride with her when she’d called to invite them earlier that day.
Nancy led the way down the trail. It quickly brought them to the edge of a meadow. Purple clover and white Queen Anne’s lace threaded the long green grass.
“The trail picks up again in the woods across the field,” Elsa said. “Want to race?”
Before Nancy had a chance to respond, Barchester sprang into the meadow with Elsa hunched forward in her saddle. His jet-black coat gleamed in the sudden burst of sun. Tristram and Derby bolted after him, tossing their heads and whinnying. Nancy loosened Tristram’s reins and nudged him into a gallop.
The breeze slapped against Nancy’s face as she and Tristram zoomed through the field, his hooves pounding underneath her. She could hear Barchester and Derby galloping behind. Are they catching up with me? she wondered.
Seconds later, she came to the edge of the woods. “Finish line!” she called, reining Tristram in.
“That was great!” George said, her brown eyes sparkling. She stopped Derby next to Nancy.
“I claim a tie for second!” Elsa said, pulling up by George. She flicked back her long chestnut hair, which had tumbled out from under her helmet.
“No way, Elsa. You’re third by a nose,” George countered.
Elsa grinned. “Whatever. Anyway, too bad Bess wasn’t up for riding with us this afternoon. That would have made for an even better race!”
“Bess was in a race of her own. Her favorite shoe store is having a sale, and she wanted to get to the mall ASAP,” George said.
“Maybe she can ride another time,” Nancy suggested. “Bess likes horses. It’s just that for her, shopping comes first.”
Elsa’s green eyes looked thoughtful. “Well, since Bess likes both fashion and horses, I might know the perfect job for her: an internship at The Horse’s Mouth.”
Nancy frowned. “The Horse’s Mouth. That sounds familiar. Is it a magazine?”
“It’s a newsletter in River Heights that covers equestrian stuff,” Elsa explained. “Anything to do with horses. The editor is a friend of Mrs. Rogers, the owner of Green Spring Farm. She told the counselors to spread the word that the newsletter needs an intern to cover equestrian fashion.”
“Bess would love it,” Nancy agreed.
“Remind me to call her when we get back to the barn,” Elsa said. “In the meantime, we’ve got a jump at the end of that trail to get over. Nancy, you lead.”
Nancy urged Tristram into the woods at a brisk trot. She could hear the other horses following them. When a fork appeared ahead, she tugged on the reins to slow her horse. “Which way, Elsa?”
“We have a choice,” Elsa said. “The wimpy log fence to the left, or the giant post-and-rail to the right.”
“You call that a choice?” George said, and grinned. “Who wants to be a wimp?”
“Would you be up for jumping it first, George?” Elsa said. “That fence is so big that Barchester always refuses it. But he’ll do whatever Derby does. Don’t ask me why, but Derby is his role model.”
“People have role models, so why shouldn’t horses?” Nancy quipped as she guided Tristram to the right. As they walked along single file, she asked Elsa how things were going at the camp. “Are you having fun?” Twisting in her saddle, she studied Elsa’s face. Nancy thought she saw Elsa’s eyes flicker down before they met her gaze.
“Basically, yeah,” Elsa said.
Is Elsa worried about something? Nancy wondered.
“Working at a riding camp sounds great,” George broke in. “How old are the kids?”
“Fourteen to seventeen,” Elsa said. “It’s a two-week program, and all the campers are members of the Green Spring Pony Club, which is part of the United States Pony Club. But even though the age limit for Mrs. Rogers’s camp is seventeen, you can be in pony club until you’re twenty-one. And don’t be fooled by the name ‘pony club.’ Most of the kids actually ride horses.”
Nancy thought about the official difference between a pony and a horse. A horse was larger than fourteen and a half hands, while a pony was under that size. Nancy also knew that a hand was the official horse measurement of four inches. But she was curious to know more about the riding club. “How do you get to be a member?” she asked. “Do you have to pass some test?”
Elsa shrugged. “You just apply and pay dues. The camp helps the kids polish their riding skills and get ready for pony club competitions.”
“Competitions? Like horse shows and stuff?” George asked.
“Not regular horse shows,’ Elsa replied. “These are events for pony clubs to compete against one another. For instance, we’re getting ready for the pony club rally that starts this Friday. Tomorrow, Mrs. Rogers and all of the counselors will choose five of the most qualified kids to be on Green Spring’s rally team.”
“What’s a pony club rally?” Nancy asked.
“It’s a three-day competition between different teams,” Elsa explained. “There are regional rallies and national ones. If your team wins the rally in your region, it goes on to compete at the national level. The rally on Friday is a regional one; it’s at the Chatham Fairgrounds, about half an hour from River Heights. Six clubs from around the area will be competing.”
“What happens during the three days?” George asked.
“Well, this one is a Combined Training Rally, which means it has several events. The first evening we’re there, the teams take a written test to quiz their knowledge of horses and riding,” Elsa explained. “The next day is dressage. That takes place in a ring bounded by a picket fence about a foot high. Each rider takes his or her horse through a series of circles and figure eights and stuff. The horses have to go at different paces—walking, trotting, and cantering. And the rider has to wear special clothes.”
“What kind of clothes?” Nancy asked.
“Basic black. Coat, boots, and derby hat. Oh, and white breeches,” Elsa added. “The clothes sound kind of dorky, but the riders actually look pretty cool, especially when their horses have been cleaned and brushed. They’re like something out of an old-fashioned movie.”
“So the first full day of the rally is just dressage?” Nancy asked.
“Yes, and the second day is cross-country. That’s a two-mile course across woods and fields, with about fourteen jumps scattered around. It’s awesome. Most of the kids like cross-country best because they’re not performing in front of an audience—just the judges who are posted at the jumps.”
“What happens on the third day?” George asked.
“Stadium jumping,” Elsa told her. “That takes place in a ring in front of the grandstand. The jumps are big, and the officials try to make them look scary and weird, with brightly painted poles and barrels. Sometimes the horses get skittish at the sight of them. If a horse refuses a jump, major penalties are added because the judges think a good rider should be able to make the horse do anything.”
“That’s unfair,” George said. “I mean, horses aren’t sheep. A horse has a mind of its own.”
“Sure does,” Elsa said. “But the rally is judged on the performance of each horse. Whichever team has the best horses and riders will go to the national rally. This year it’s in Virginia.”
Tristram’s reddish brown coat and black mane glistened in the sunlight. Nancy gave him an encouraging pat on his soft neck. “Why only five kids for the team?” Nancy asked, twisting around again to see Elsa. “I bet all the campers are pretty tense about who will make it.”
Elsa rolled her eyes. “The competition between them is ridiculous. I wish they’d relax.” She sighed. “There are going to be hurt feelings tomorrow, but what can we do? We can’t take more than five kids. The teams are the same all over the country: four riders and one stable manager to care for the horses and help the riders.”
“Are the rallies fun?” George asked.
Elsa’s face lit up. “The rallies are awesome. I guess I can’t blame the kids for wanting to go. I just wish they’d appreciate what they’re learning at Mrs. Rogers’s camp for its own sake and stop worrying about making the team. Her program is really special. I don’t know of any other pony club camp like it.”
“How’s it so special?” Nancy asked as she ducked under a low-hanging branch.
“Mrs. Rogers is a wealthy widow, and she’s totally committed to helping kids who can’t afford riding camp or keeping horses,” Elsa said. “She offers a full scholarship and the use of her own horses to eight girls and boys. They have to be good riders and interested in the sport. The scholarship kids are some of her most serious riders. They make up about a third of the camp, I think.”
“So the other kids bring their own horses?” George asked.
“Uh-huh. Mrs. Rogers owns about ten horses, including Tristram and Derby here—not nearly enough horses for all of the campers.”
“What a great thing for her to do—use her money to help kids who can’t afford her camp,” Nancy said.
“Her scholarship is just the beginning of her good deeds,” Elsa declared. “She also insists that at least two of the rally team members must be scholarship campers. She’s devoted to them, and that’s mainly why Green Spring is special. The other reason is Mrs. Rogers’s personality.”
“What’s she like?” George asked.
“Maybe you guys can meet her when we get back to the barn,” Elsa said. “She was busy giving lessons earlier. Anyway, she’s really friendly and always in a good mood. She has a knack for making kids excited about riding. She also has tons of cool animals in her house—dogs, cats, ferrets, and even a monkey! She lives in this huge Victorian mansion with lots of rooms. Campers stay there instead of in cabins or tents.”
“Sounds like camp heaven,” George said. “I wish I could go—don’t you, Nancy?”
“Too bad we’re past the cutoff age!” Nancy said.
The trail widened, and the trees thinned. The girls were silent for a moment as they took in the sounds of nature. Nancy could hear birds singing and creatures rustling in the underbrush. She hoped a squirrel wouldn’t hop out and surprise Tristram again.
A bend in the trail brought them face-to-face with a post-and-rail fence about four feet high. Beyond it was a cornfield filled with green stalks waving in the wind.
“That is a big jump,” George admitted. “But I promised I’d go first, and I will.”
Elsa’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “You asked for it. Just don’t jump on the corn, or the farmer will get mad.”
Nancy held her breath as George positioned Derby about thirty feet back from the jump. Then she guided him toward the center of the fence.
Seconds later, Derby sailed over it, his golden coat and yellow mane bright against the green corn. George steered Derby to the border of the field, then turned to face her friends. “Just like flying,” she declared, grinning triumphantly. “Who’s next?”
“I’ll go,” Elsa said. “Barchester won’t rest till he follows Derby.” Moments later, Barchester’s jet-black form leaped over the fence with inches to spare. “Your turn, Nancy,” she added, joining George.
Nancy gritted her teeth. She was an experienced rider, but the fence was huge. Still, she was confident that Tristram wouldn’t let her down.
Squeezing her legs against the saddle, she urged Tristram into the jump. He shot toward it, his body like an arrow. Nancy hunched forward as the huge animal launched himself into flight. This is so cool, she thought as the cornfield streaked up at her.
Tristram’s hooves met the ground, and Nancy’s eyes widened. A huge hole appeared under his left foot. Tristram lurched to his knees, with Nancy clinging to his neck. She couldn’t let herself fall—or else she’d be trampled!