The Fire Pony Page 9

  “Race a Thoroughbred around an oval track, you have to risk your life fighting for position. You have to get inside along the rail,” says Mr. Jessup. “In a straight-ahead race like this, all you have to do is hang on and let the horse run.”

  “And steer clear of the other horses,” says Rick. “Pretend they’re cactus and you’ll be fine.”

  You never seen such a mess of horseflesh milling around, raring to go. There’s so many horses entered they got to have a bunch of races because they won’t all fit in the starting gate at the same time. Then the next day they have another race, with all the winners, to see who’s got the fastest horse of all.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Mr. Jessup says. “Take it one race at a time.”

  “We got you in for the third heat,” Rick says. “That way you’ll have a chance to see how they do it, but the track won’t be too messed up.”

  I figure Lady is the one who should watch, since she’s going to do the racing part, so I take her under the grandstands, where we can see out through to the track. It’s kind of cool and dim and private feeling under there, like we found a secret place all to ourselves. You can hear all the people squirming around on the seats above us and tapping their feet.

  It turns out this was a pretty dumb idea, going under the stands, because we can’t really see that good. All I know is, this bell rings and then a couple seconds later a bunch of horses gallop by, so close together it looks like they’ll get tangled up for certain. Only somehow they don’t. A moment later and everybody is cheering.

  Lady, she sees all them horses running and she starts to snort and paw her front feet, like she’s trying to tell me something. ’Course you can’t really know what she’s thinking, but I figure she wants to get out there and go fast, just like the other horses.

  When we come back out from under the grandstand, Rick is hopping up and down and cursing. “They can’t do it!” he’s saying. “It ain’t fair! What’s his age got to do with it? Have you seen him ride? Have they?”

  Mr. Jessup catches sight of me and he says, “Wait here.” Then he stalks off with his fists balled up and shoved in his back pockets.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “They went and changed the rules,” Rick says. “Now they say all riders have to be at least fifteen.”

  I guess I didn’t know how much I wanted to race until they took it away, because it feels like someone punched me hard in the stomach. I don’t know whether to swear or start crying. Rick, he feels so miserable rotten he can’t even look me in the eye. “Somebody is always making up new rules,” he says. “Ain’t we got enough rules in the world already?”

  Even Lady looks sort of mournful, and she puts her head down and nuzzles at me, like she wants me to feel better. I’m about ready to take the saddle off her and lead her back to the trailer when Mr. Jessup comes loping back. He’s got his hands out of his pockets but you can’t tell what he’s thinking from the look on his face.

  “Well?” Rick says.

  “Better get up on your pony, Roy. Your race starts in five minutes.”

  Mr. Jessup won’t say what he done to make it okay, but I figure he just squinted extra hard and they changed their minds.

  He opens his mouth like he’s got something even more important to tell me, but then he changes his mind and pats Lady on the rump and says, “Don’t you worry about anything. Just stay on the horse.”

  When I get over to the starting gate, it hits me that Lady is the only pony-sized horse in the race. The rest of them are all quarter horses, either purebred or mixed with Thoroughbred blood for speed.

  “Wait here,” Mr. Jessup says. “We’ll check out your gate.”

  He and Rick go off. All the other riders are bigger than me and I can’t really see what’s going on. This scrawny, long-necked guy pulls his horse alongside and stares down his nose at me and Lady. His eyes are small and mean and look kind of like little wet marbles stuck in his face. After a while he says, “You must be in the wrong place, sonny. This is the quarter mile.”

  “I know what it is,” I say.

  “This ain’t a pony race for kids,” he says.

  “I know that, too,” I say.

  He stares at me some more with those mean little eyes and then he makes a pruny face and goes, “Just keep out of my way, sonny. You got that? Let the real horses race.”

  Without me asking her to, Lady turns around and lifts her tail and leaves a pile of fresh horse buns right next to him. Like she’s saying, That’s what I think of you, mister. A couple of other riders see her do it and they start laughing and one of them goes, “Hey, Mullins, you’re hip-deep in horse-pucky again!” And Mullins, he looks over at us and sniffs like he smelled a bigger stink than Lady made and you just know how he hates us for sure now.

  I back up and try to keep clear of him, but Lady, she has ideas of her own, like she’s sassing him, until he finally reaches out and flicks her nose with the tip of his boot. Before I can say anything, he leans over and keeps his voice real low, so nobody else can hear. “Keep that nag away from me, kid, if you know what’s good for you.”

  It ain’t the first time I been threatened, but the way he says it scares me some. Like he knows stuff I don’t and can make things happen to me.

  Suddenly Rick is there and he goes, “You seen a ghost, kid? You’re looking awful pale.”

  I shake my head. Next thing I know Rick is leading Lady up to the gate with all the other horses and Mr. Jessup is there, helping to shoo her in. The trouble is she don’t want to go. You can’t blame her, she’s never seen a starting gate before, or been around so many nervous horses all at once.

  Well, what happens is I’m still thinking about what that creepy Mullins said when the bell goes off and the gate pops open.

  All of a sudden there’s a cloud of dust in my eyes. The other horses are out of the gate and running hard, and me and Lady are left behind, standing still.

  From the grandstands I can hear people laughing and hooting and yelling stuff like, Hey, lookit the kid on the pony!

  Finally it comes to me what I’m supposed to do, so I slap the reins and yell “Geronimo!” at the top of my lungs.

  You already know about Lady and how she loves to run, and how fast she is from a dead start. Well, she takes off like a high-power rifle bullet, so quick and sudden I almost get jerked backward out of the saddle.

  I never even touch her with spurs. Lady’s running so smooth and perfect it’s like I’m hanging on to the top of a rocket that keeps going faster, the faster it goes. I crouch down and bury my head in her neck because the wind is strong in my face, so I can’t really see what happens next.

  All I know is, Lady is running through traffic. There’s horses right up along both sides of us and she’s weaving around ’em like she did those cactus. She’s going so fast she’s stretched out flat and low to the ground, and the other riders are blocking out the light.

  We’re in the dark between pounding horses with wild eyes.

  It’s almost as dark as it was under the grandstands. I can’t hear nothing but the thump of my own heart. I can feel Lady’s heart, too, the same as mine.

  It’s like everything slows down the faster we go.

  I forget to breathe. I forget about everything. I even forget about winning the race. All I’m thinking about is sticking on that saddle!

  Next thing I know, we’re breaking into daylight, and all of a sudden this huge roar comes up.

  At first it sounds like a crazy wind, the way it’ll come through an old barn and put the chills up your back. I pull back on the reins and Lady starts to slow down but the crazy wind keeps roaring.

  Then Rick and Mr. Jessup come running. They’re both huffing and puffing and out of breath. They got these funny looks on their faces and it makes me think that something bad happened.

  “What’s wrong?” I say. I have to shout because that crazy wind keeps on roaring.

  Mr. Jessup catches up to us and takes La
dy’s halter by the hand, holding her still. He’s still panting some. “Wrong?” he says. “There’s nothing wrong.”

  “He don’t know,” says Rick.

  Then Mr. Jessup says, “I never saw anything like it in my life. You came from behind and you won.”

  That’s when I figure out that the crazy wind is the crowd cheering us.

  “It wasn’t me,” I say. “Lady did all the running.”

  It ain’t much fun being famous. We can’t even eat our supper without people coming up to the fire and asking can they see the lightning-fast filly that got mauled by a cougar, and the boy who rides her. The first couple of times, Mr. Jessup explains everything real polite, and introduces me around, but after a while I just go and stay inside the tent because the whole thing makes me a lot more nervous than being in a race.

  Rick sticks his head in the tent flap one time and goes, “Can I have your autograph?” and I have to throw a chicken wing at him to make him stop.

  That guy Mullins comes by after the sun is all the way down. He just gives me a look like he’s got something stuck in his throat, then he takes Mr. Jessup aside. They’re standing over where Lady is staked out, munching on a bit of green hay we put down, and Mullins keeps pointing at Lady. Jabbing his finger at her.

  Mr. Jessup, he’s standing there listening but his face is real quiet and he’s not saying much. Finally Mullins pokes his finger at Mr. Jessup’s chest and the next thing you know Mr. Jessup has grabbed hold of that finger and Mullins’s face is all scrunched up like he wants to scream but he don’t dare.

  Soon as Mr. Jessup lets go of that finger, Mullins takes off like a scalded cat.

  “I see you and Moldy Mullins are making friends,” Rick says when Mr. Jessup comes back to the fire.

  Mr. Jessup turns to me and goes, “Did that man try to interfere with you today?”

  I shrug. “Not exactly,” I say.

  It turns out Mr. Molton T. Mullins owns a big ranch that borders the Bar None, and Mr. Jessup says he’s a troublemaker. One of his best quarter horses won a heat, and he’ll be riding it in the final race tomorrow.

  “He figures his horse’ll be worth a whole lot more if he wins. My impression is, he’s worried about getting beat by Lady,” says Mr. Jessup. “Wants her out of the race on a technicality.”

  “And what kind of technicality would that be?” Rick asks.

  “That she’s a pony, not a legal-sized horse at all.”

  Rick makes a snorting noise and stirs a stick in the fire like he’s looking for something hidden in the ash. “He’s talking through his hat. This particular race is open to all comers. Always has been. That’s the beauty of it.”

  “Mullins doesn’t see it that way.”

  “Uh-huh,” says Rick. “I noticed you give him a little advice on what to do with that finger of his.”

  “My mother always said it was rude to point at folks,” says Mr. Jessup.

  A while later, this group of ranchers comes by and they talk real soft with Mr. Jessup. One of ’em writes stuff down in a little notebook. Before they go, everybody shakes hands and when Mr. Jessup comes back to the fire he’s grinning like a kid.

  “The race just get more interesting?” Rick asks him.

  “You might say that.”

  “Let me guess. You’re betting against Mullins’s horse.”

  But Mr. Jessup don’t want to talk about it. He says I better turn in and try to get some shut-eye.

  Soon as I fall asleep, I have this dream that Joe comes into the tent. He’s standing there in the dark with his hat in his hands, watching me sleep. He never says a word, but I can feel him making sure I’m okay.

  If you ask me, they must give out crazy pills before a big race. Because all the folks jammed into the grandstands are just going nuts. They’re screaming and hollering and waving flags and carrying on like this was Christmas and the Fourth of July and everybody’s birthday all rolled into one.

  Rick has to talk loud so I can hear him over the crowd. “There’s only one thing for you to worry about,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “Getting a clean start.”

  “I know.”

  “I know you know. What I’m worried about is your pony. Does she know?”

  Just then Mr. Jessup comes by and lays his hand on Rick’s shoulder. “Leave the boy alone,” he says. “He’ll do what he has to do. Won’t you, Roy?”

  My throat has dried up, which makes it hard to get the words out, so I nod my head.

  “You’ll be fine,” Mr. Jessup says. He stops tugging on the rim of his hat and cocks his ear. “You hear that?”

  You can’t hear much other than the crowd raising a ruckus, but then I figure out that’s what he means — what the crowd is making so much noise about.

  The whole bunch of ’em are yelling out this chant:

  Geronimo! Geronimo!

  Go, Lady, go!

  Geronimo! Geronimo!

  Go, Lady, go!

  “I guess they want you to win,” says Mr. Jessup.

  Rick, he’s shaking his head and staring at the grandstands. “I never heard nothing like it,” he says. “Feels like an ice cube run right up my spine.”

  They’re chanting so loud we almost don’t hear the announcement about getting to the starting gate. A lot of the horses are so nerved up by the noise there’s almost a stampede. This one real pretty quarter horse, his eyes are rolling white, and the rider can’t get him turned no matter how hard he tries. They finally have to lead him away.

  What with all the horses backing around and bumping each other behind the starting gate, Lady and me get separated from Rick and Mr. Jessup. The next thing you know, that guy Molton T. Mullins is nudging us from behind. He’s pulling so hard on the reins his horse is bleeding around the bit.

  “How do,” he says. “No hard feelings, I hope.”

  His long bony face is smiling but I don’t trust him. Before I can turn away, he’s reaching down and messing with Lady, rubbing her flank and stroking the saddle blanket and fiddling around where I can’t see him. “Nice rig,” he says, but you can tell he don’t mean it. “Nick Jessup give you that, too?”

  I don’t want to tell him nothing so I don’t.

  There’s Rick and Mr. Jessup waving at me at the other end of the starting gate. I’m heading over there when all of a sudden this hand comes out of the crowd and grabs Lady by the hackamore.

  “Just a minute, sports fans.”

  Why, it’s Joe Dilly! He’s standing there big as life and he’s got on a brand-new ivory-button shirt and clean dungarees and his best hat, and his go-to-church boots are all shined up.

  “Joe! I thought you wouldn’t come!”

  He puts his finger on the side of his nose and grins up at me. “Changed my mind. Now tell me quick, who was that man just now, messing with your saddle?”

  I tell him about old Moldy Mullins, and how he’s afraid we might beat his horse, and that he’s acting friendly but he don’t mean it.

  “Is that a fact,” says Joe.

  He ducks under Lady and the next thing I know he’s tightening up the saddle cinch.

  “There,” he says, giving Lady a pat on the rump. “You’ll be okay now.”

  So Mullins tried to loosen my saddle!

  I swear there must be smoke coming out of my ears by the time I get Lady over to where Rick and Mr. Jessup are waiting by the starting gate. I’m so mad I forget to tell them what happened, or how Joe fixed it.

  The next thing I know, that bell is ringing and the gate pops open and the big surprise is how Geronimo! comes out of my mouth without me even thinking about it.

  We get a clean start, just like Rick wanted. Lady bolts out of there so quick I swear you can hear her burning rubber. You don’t even have to touch her with the spurs because there’s nothing she likes better than going fast.

  For about six heartbeats I can’t see nobody up with us.

  We’re out ahead!

  And then
the shadows come up from behind and there’s pounding horses all around us and I can hear the riders panting like they were horses, and the horses are wheezing like people.

  I shake the reins and yell for Lady to go faster and she does. She’s stretched out like a bird skimming up from the water and for a little while we pull clear ahead again, and I can see the blur of faces in the grandstands. I can’t hear nothing, though — it’s like I got mufflers on my ears and all I can hear is the blood pounding in my head.

  Then — wham! — something hits me from behind and I start to fall. I catch a glimpse of this mean grinning face — Mullins! — he’s banged his horse into Lady and yanked me loose from the saddle!

  I’m slipping down sideways and I’m backward dizzy, but my sleeve catches on the horn of the saddle and my left foot is stuck in the stirrup and I’m hanging on for dear life. Lady can see me and feel where I am and I can tell she wants to stop so I don’t get hurt, but I’m so mad at Mullins I’d rather get run over than quit.

  “Go!” I’m saying to her with my arms around her neck. She’s watching me talk to her and she hears me. “Go! Go! Go!”

  And then we’re flying, oh yes. It’s like Lady sprouts these invisible wings or something, and the wind she makes is lifting us up.

  I’m swung all the way round so I’m under her neck and I can feel her muscles kind of rippling and moving under her skin. It feels exactly right. Everything matches. Her muscle and bone and her hooves and the way her eyes watch me. I can feel her saying, We’re flying now, boy! Watch us go!

  Suddenly there’s daylight all around us again and I’m hanging upside down under the fastest pony in the whole wide world and I catch a sight of Joe Dilly standing on the rail as we go by. He’s whooping it up and waving his hat and he looks so happy for once in his life that I forget what I’m doing and almost let go.

  But I don’t let go. I keep hanging on.