Mystic and the Midnight Ride

“Don’t worry,” muttered Stella, “the judge saw it too and she can’t believe it either. Paced and Mannered? More like bad manners! There’s no way she’s going to get a ribbon for that behaviour. And neither will we for that matter if we don’t get in the ring pretty quickly. Come on! The event is about to start.”

“Trot on!” ordered the judge, a sturdy woman in blue stockings and a matching straw hat, standing in the middle of the arena. The riders obediently trotted around in a circle.

Issie urged Mystic into a trot and tried to look her best. Heels down, hands still, head up, she chanted to herself as she rose up and down to the rhythm of Mystic’s trot.

“Canter!” called the judge. Mystic cantered eagerly around the ring, ears pricked forward, tail held high. Unfortunately his canter was a little too keen. As he got closer to the chubby chestnut mare in front of him she flattened her ears and lashed out with her hind legs. Mystic squealed and shied to one side. Issie let the reins slip and had to grab a handful of mane to stay on his back.

“Halt!” commanded the judge. But there was no hope of that right now. Issie snatched the reins back up but it was too late. Everyone else had stopped their horses and Mystic was still doing an ungainly trot around the ring. She sat down heavy in the saddle and finally he came to a halt. Too late, though—the judge had been watching her mistakes.

When the winners were called into the centre of the ring Issie knew she didn’t stand a chance. Kate rode out with a grin on her face and a red ribbon tied around Toby’s neck. Behind her was the skewbald in second place and a boy on a brown pony came third.

The haughty girl with the palomino hadn’t got anywhere either. As the riders left the ring she barged past Issie and Mystic in a huff. “Get your stupid horse out of the way,” she snapped. Then she halted the palomino and turned in the saddle to glare at Issie. Her face was so bitter it looked like she’d been sucking lemons. “It’s all your fault anyway” she continued. “If your horse hadn’t run wild in there and scared Goldrush I would have won this dumb event. You obviously have no idea how to ride. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Issie opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but it was too late. The sour-faced girl turned the palomino again and set off at a canter, leaving Issie reeling in shock and anger.

“What was that all about?” Stella rode up to join Issie.

“Well, Stella,” Issie said sarcastically, “it looks like I just made friends with the new girl.”

As Issie reached Avery’s truck she was still deep in thought, mulling over all the things she should have said to nasty old Natasha instead of just sitting there with her mouth hanging open. Then she heard Natasha’s shrill voice again. This time, thankfully, she wasn’t yelling at Issie. She was talking to someone on the other side of the truck where a silver horse float was parked behind a matching silver sports car.

“Mum, I hate this horse,” the girl wailed as she slid off the palomino’s back and threw the reins to a tall blonde woman wearing black sunglasses.

“Natasha Tucker!” scolded her mother. “Do you know how much money we’ve spent on that horse?”

“I don’t care!” Natasha barked. “She’s useless!”

“Sweetie, please just try to ride her for the rest of the day,” her mother sighed. “It seems like every horse we buy for you simply isn’t good enough. Give Goldrush a chance.”

“All right,” Natasha muttered. She was staring at the ground, kicking the dirt with her riding boot as she sulked. “All right then. But I really can’t be bothered. I mean, she’s a useless horse. And why do I have to ride anyway? Why won’t you buy me a snowboard?”

“Natasha,” her mother said firmly, “we’ve already bought you a jet ski and a pair of rollerblades and a mountain bike, and you don’t use any of them. Now, you told us you wanted a pony, and we’ve paid a small fortune for Goldrush, so you can jolly well get out there and ride her.”

With a dramatic sigh of resignation Natasha turned away from her mother and mounted the palomino again, giving her a sharp boot in the ribs as they headed back towards the arena.

Issie couldn’t believe it. Was Goldrush just another toy that this girl was getting tired of playing with? How could Natasha Tucker not love the beautiful palomino? And was this awful spoilt brat really the newest member of the Chevalier Point Pony Club?

CHAPTER 3 (#u80a3d9fb-737f-532d-92ff-c66773bade9c)

“Forget about Miss Stuck-up Tucker,” Stella giggled. The two girls were sitting on a tartan rug that had been thrown down on the grass next to Avery’s truck, noshing into the pile of sandwiches that Issie’s mum had prepared for their lunch. “Finish up your sandwich and we’ll go grab Kate and walk the showjumping course with Tom.”

The showjumping course was laid out at the far end of the club grounds. Avery was already there waiting for them.

“The key to a clear round,” he advised them as they set out on foot towards the first jump, “is never take any fence for granted. Especially the first one. Many a rider has a refusal at the first jump because they’re too busy thinking about what comes next.”

The girls followed along as Avery walked between the fences, describing the various obstacles and advising where the ponies should take off and land. Standing beside the third fence, a parallel rail painted in blue and white stripes, Avery measured the jump against his body. The rail was almost as high as his waist. “These fences are a decent size,” he said. “You’ll need to be thinking at all times. Keep your horse well-rounded with lots of power in the hindquarters. If you allow them to flatten out you’ll never make it over these jumps.”

Avery charted out the rest of the course, taking slow careful steps and measuring the strides needed between each fence. “When you’re riding I expect you to follow exactly in my footsteps,” he told Issie as he walked the line between the fences. “Don’t be tempted to cut corners,” he said. “Better to risk time faults than to have a refusal.”

As they headed back to the truck to saddle up, the girls stopped at the judges’ tent and collected their competition numbers, which had been written in black felt tip on to fabric squares that they tied on over their jerseys. Issie was number twenty-two, the last to go. An advantage, she decided, since she could watch the other riders and learn from their mistakes.

“Your first showjumping competition, eh? You must be nervous.” Dan gave Issie a grin as he rode up to join her at the side of the show ring.

“Nervous?” Issie tried to act cool even though her tummy was churning with butterflies. “No way! Mystic has done this sort of thing a million times before. I’m pretty relaxed,” she said airily.

“Still, hadn’t you better go over a few practice jumps?” Dan said, teasing her. “Maybe your problem is that you’re a little too relaxed.”

Dan was so confident, so self-assured. Issie couldn’t stand it any longer. She stared up at him with her hands on her hips. “You think you’re so cool, don’t you, Daniel Halliday? Well how about a little bet? The losing rider has to groom the winner’s horse for a week.”

As soon as Issie had opened her mouth she regretted it. What was she saying? Dan hadn’t meant to be mean or anything. He only teased her because he liked talking to her, she knew that. She also knew that he was a better rider than she was.

Still, she figured, even losing wouldn’t be so bad. She was more than happy to groom Kismit—and hang out with Dan.

Dan removed his helmet, pushing back his blond hair with one hand and then reaching that same hand out to her. “I could use a good groom,” Dan smirked. “Let’s shake on it.”

“Number twenty, Natasha Tucker on Goldrush, please enter the arena,” the announcer called over the loudspeaker.

With only three competitors to come, the showjumping course had claimed its fair share of victims. In fact, so far there hadn’t been a single clear round. Now it was the turn of Chevalier Point’s newest rider to try her luck.

Natasha cantered Goldrush into the ring, pointed the pony towards the first fence and gave her a swift slap with her whip. Goldrush gave a surprised snort and leapt forward, rushing the fence and catapulting Natasha back in the saddle. It wasn’t the best start, but somehow Natasha managed to hang on and re-settle herself for the second fence, which Goldrush took with a perfect stride.

One by one, the golden pony took each fence after that without a hitch. As they cleared the final fence, a serious oxer, the crowd let out a cheer. The first clear round of the day. With a fast time too—three minutes and five seconds exactly.

Issie couldn’t watch Dan as he entered the ring to begin his round. It wasn’t that she was too nervous to watch him; she would have loved to. But she had to warm Mystic up over the practice jump and get him worked in so that he would be ready when her turn came. She rode to the far end of the field and cantered him back and forth over the low crossed rails, all the time half-listening to the loud speaker to hear how Dan was doing. It would be dreadful to lose to Dan, she decided, but much, much worse if they both lost to Natasha.

Issie arrived back at the ringside just in time to see Dan clear the final fence. Kismit took the rails cleanly, then gave a high-spirited buck to signal the end of a clear round, nearly unseating Dan as the pair rode between the flags to finish.

“A clear round in two minutes and forty-four seconds for competitor twenty-one, Dan Halliday,” the voice over the loudspeaker announced. “That time puts Dan Halliday in the lead. Would the final competitor, number twenty-two Isadora Brown, please enter the ring.”

As the last rider to go, Issie thought to herself, at least she knew where she stood. With only two clear rounds before her, all she needed to do was go clear too and she would win a ribbon. But if she wanted to beat Dan’s time? Then she would have to ride faster than she had ever done before in her life.

“Let’s go, Mystic,” she breathed into the little grey’s ear as she leant down low over his neck. Then she squeezed her legs around his plump belly and trotted into the ring. As the judges’ bell went to signal the start of the round, Mystic tossed his head and Issie pressed him on into a canter. Her nerves disappeared as she kept her mind focused on clearing the first fence. She sat down heavy and urged Mystic on. He leapt it boldly and fought against her hands to get his head. “Steady boy,” Issie cautioned, holding him firmly and looking to the next fence. Again they took it cleanly and Issie’s confidence grew with each jump.

They were gaining speed now, until it seemed to Issie as if she were flying. The grey gelding fought against the bit to go faster still and Issie was forced to hang on tight to the reins to keep Mystic under control.

By the time they rounded the corner to face fences six and seven—a double combination—Mystic was in full stride and too strong for her to hold back. Issie found herself on a sharp angle as the headstrong pony rushed the fence and had to put in a last-minute stride to adjust himself. His hind legs went thwack against the top rail of the first jump and Issie could hear the crowd gasp and hold their breath as the pole rocked in its metal socket. Would the rail fall? She couldn’t look, she must concentrate on the next fence ahead of her. She tensed, expecting to hear the crash of the rail falling behind her, but instead she heard a cheer rise up from the crowd. The rail hadn’t fallen. She was still clear.

Over the next fence and there she was with just one jump between her and a clear round. As they neared the big oxer she felt butterflies rise in her tummy and tried to calm herself. “Trust your horse, Issie,” she commanded herself out loud. She gave Mystic his head and sat deep in the saddle. The dapple-grey took off perfectly and soared over the rails, landing cleanly on the other side. Clear round!

Mystic was flecked with sweat and snorting from his efforts as the pair left the ring. Issie slid to the ground and threw her arms around his neck giving him a hug and inhaling the sweet smell of warm, damp horse sweat. It must be the best smell in the world! Issie thought, breathing in deeply.

“Good lad, Mystic. Well done! A clear round!” she murmured to her pony, her face still buried deep in his grey mane.

“Hey, hey,” Dan called as he rode over to her, “what are you doing? Get back on your horse—you’ll have to ride into the ring in a minute to get your ribbon!”

But which ribbon? With three clear rounds, Issie’s time was crucial now. Had she gone fast enough to beat Dan?

“Competitor number twenty-two, Isadora Brown, a clear round in two minutes fifty-six seconds,” the announcer called. “The winner is Dan Halliday on Kismit. Second place goes to Isadora Brown on Mystic, third Natasha Tucker on Goldrush. Would all riders please come back into the ring to collect your prizes.”