Crown Prince (4 page)

Rita trotted back to the group, a look of supreme satisfaction on her face. Sarah watched, her resentment feeding a slow burn. She couldn't help being irritated by Rita's cocky attitude.
Just because she has a to-die-for horse, does she have to look so totally smug?

Sarah was the last to go. She walked Gray Fox onto the hunt course and was relieved when he smoothly picked up canter when asked, willingly moving forward. “A bit more impulsion, Sarah,” Jack called out. “Gray Fox will have trouble jumping the fences unless he's moving with more energy.” Sarah closed her calves, being careful not to press hard with her spurs, and Gray Fox responded by increasing the pace. Coming out of the circle, she turned her head to look at the first jump. The gray gelding's ears pricked forward as he also focused on the jump ahead, but as it loomed closer, Sarah felt him hesitate slightly. Again she squeezed her legs to urge him on, and Gray Fox responded with renewed energy. As the horse rose into the air to clear the jump, Sarah's body went forward in unison with him.

On landing, they made a right-hand turn to the in-and-out. Gray Fox wasn't blessed with a long stride, but he managed to jump the combination in good form. Sarah again felt him lose energy as they approached the roll top, and she closed her legs firmly, moving him forward. He finished with a straight line and a good jumping effort over the oxer. “Very good, Sarah,” Jack said. “You kept your lower leg steady over the fences, something that's surely important when you're wearing spurs. Your lines were accurate, and you moved Gray Fox forward when you needed to.”

As Gray Fox trotted along the driveway back to the other horses, Sarah noticed Chandler and Dorothy DeWitt standing by the stable entrance. Mr. DeWitt, a tall man with a thick head of white hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, was intently observing the lesson through steel-framed glasses over his steel-gray eyes. Mrs. DeWitt was leading their five-year-old granddaughter, Grace, on the chestnut pony Pretty Penny. Grace's face looked tiny in her riding helmet, with her straw colored braids hanging to her shoulders. Even on the small pony saddle, her short legs barely extended below the saddle flaps. Sarah wasn't sure how long the DeWitts had been watching, but she was glad Gray Fox had performed well. That would account for the Jack Russells being at the barn. Mrs. DeWitt waved and cheered her with “Good job, Sarah!” as she rode by.

It was time for the hay crew to return to the north field for another load of hay, and at that moment Gus Kelso, the barn manager, tried to start up the tractor. “Dang,” he muttered when it sputtered and died. On the second try the engine caught, and the aging tractor began moving along the roadway. Gray Fox stopped and planted his feet as the tractor neared, raising his head to get a better look at the scary green machine chugging toward him. Sarah stroked his neck to reassure him while she asked him to move forward.

Suddenly, just as the tractor was passing by, its engine backfired with a thunderous crack, belching a giant plume of black smoke. Throwing his head skyward, Gray Fox reared high, the force of his movement snapping his leather martingale. Rising far above the ground on his hind legs, he seemed to linger in the air as if waiting for Sarah to slip from his back. Her crop fell from her hand as she frantically grabbed his mane to stay in the saddle, praying he wouldn't go over backward.

After what seemed like an eternity, the horse began his descent. When he hit the ground, he spun on his hind legs and bolted in the opposite direction. He accelerated to a full gallop, with Sarah clinging to his mane, trying desperately to stay on. Heading for the entry road, Gray Fox ran like a racehorse out of the starting gate, his long tail streaming straight out behind. Sarah heard shouts, but they were muffled by the roar of the wind in her ears.

Down the road they plunged, with Gray Fox seeming to gallop faster with every stride. Sarah let go of his mane to pull back on the reins as hard as she could, but there was no change in his breakneck pace. If only she'd worn her riding gloves, she'd have a better grip! She remembered the ruts in the road and a terrible thought came to her. What if the horse stepped in one of the holes? Going this fast, he would certainly injure himself. Perhaps he would fall, and even break a leg. She had to stop him! Sarah felt her heart pounding as she started to panic. Again she pulled back hard on the reins, but with only the mild snaffle bit in his mouth and his martingale broken, Gray Fox lifted his head to defy the rein action.

They flashed past the O'Briens' bungalow with no slackening in the horse's speed. Sarah was bent low in the saddle, Gray Fox's mane whipping in her face. The broodmares were startled by the thundering hooves and took flight to the far end of the field, with their tails up and their foals running fast by their sides. As the bridge came into view, Gray Fox continued to run at full tilt. He might lose his footing on the wooden planks! Sarah pulled hard on the reins again, but to no avail. She grasped his mane tightly as the horse flew across the bridge with no slackening of his pace. At this speed, they would soon reach Ridge Road. If she couldn't stop Gray Fox by then, he would run blindly out onto the road and maybe be hit by a car. Perhaps one was approaching, coming up over the hill right now!

Sarah tried desperately to remember anything she might have read or heard over the years about how to stop a runaway horse. And then it came to her. When Paige was having a problem with Quarry going too fast on a cross-country school, Jack had taught them a way to slow down an out-of-control horse: the pulley rein. She'd never had an occasion to use it, but she remembered what Jack had told them.

While tightening her grip on the left rein, she draw her right rein back and slightly over the horse's neck toward the other rein. Once in place, she mustered all her strength to pull the reins as hard as she could. Gray Fox tried to resist, but even with his head in the air, there was no way he could avoid the effective technique. Sarah pulled hard again, and this time she felt his speed lessen slightly. She pulled even harder with her right rein, and at last the gray gelding resignedly slowed his pace. He seemed to surrender. In a few more strides, just as the farm sign and Ridge Road came into view, Gray Fox was under her control.

As Gray Fox came grudgingly back to trot and then to walk, Sarah suddenly felt utterly exhausted. She steered the horse to the side of the road where he came to a stop. He stood with his head lowered, his coat drenched with sweat. His flanks heaved in rhythm with his rapid breathing as he gasped for air. Sarah fell forward with her arms around Gray Fox's lathered neck. She closed her eyes, her breaths coming as fast as his. Time stood still for horse and rider.

SARAH REMAINED MOTIONLESS
on Gray Fox as she waited for her strength to return. The horse was equally exhausted. He stood quietly, his sides rising and falling in quick succession. At some point Sarah heard the low drone of a car approaching from the rear. She sat up slowly and twisted in the saddle. It was Mr. DeWitt driving his red Blazer with Jack on the passenger side. When the vehicle came to a stop, Jack jumped out and hurried to her, his face grave.

“Sarah, are you all right?” Chandler DeWitt was right behind, looking equally worried. They saw she was pale and shaken, slumping limply in the saddle.

“I guess so,” Sarah said. She had finally caught her breath, but felt drained. She looked down at the horse. “But I don't know about Gray Fox. Is he okay?”

Jack's eyes quickly scanned Gray Fox's legs for any obvious sign of injury. He bent to run a hand down the horse's forelegs, pausing to feel the tendons and ankles.

“His legs seem fine,” he said, straightening, “but time will tell. Any swelling will come later.”

“I couldn't slow him down by circling—there wasn't room. I was afraid he would step in one of the potholes, and a few times I felt a jerky stride.”

“It's not an easy task to pull up a horse running at a flat out gallop,” Jack said. “‘Twas a fine bit of riding.”

Gray Fox continued to stand quietly, still gasping for breath.

“I was pulling as hard as I could, but it didn't seem to make any difference,” Sarah said. “Then I remembered the pulley rein you taught us when Quarry was taking off with Paige on the cross-country course. It really worked.”

“Ah, the old pulley rein,” Mr. DeWitt said, reaching up to stroke Gray Fox's neck. “It's stopped many a fast running horse.”

“‘Tis lucky you remembered it,” Jack said.

Their gazes shifted to a blue sedan turning into the farm road. As the car approached them, Sarah recognized the passenger, a girl who came regularly for riding lessons. The driver slowed as they got closer, and eying the lathered horse, she ran down her window.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mr. DeWitt said. “Gray Fox will be fine. But thanks for asking.” He smiled broadly. “Perhaps we'll see you back at the barn.”

After the car had driven away, Mr. DeWitt turned back to Sarah. “You are a fortunate young lady. It's a stroke of luck that car didn't start up the farm road ten minutes ago.” He was scowling as he turned to Jack. “Has Gray Fox ever pulled this stunt before?”

“Not that I know of,” Jack replied. “Oh, he has a few evasions if he's not ridden well, like running out of fences or even quitting right in front of a jump. But if he's ridden properly, like he was today by Sarah, Gray Fox is a good jumper. He goes in a fat snaffle bit, which works well as long as he wears a martingale. 'Tis too bad it snapped when he reared, so he could do as he pleased.”

Jack reached for the dangling martingale and felt where it had broken. “No wonder. The leather in this martingale is bone dry.” He looked at the horse, who was still breathing fast, and then back at Mr. DeWitt.

“This is a spooky side of Gray Fox I've not seen before. He's usually quiet and a bit on the plodding side. Though not a pushbutton ride, Fox is a grand mount for beginners who aren't ready to jump. But he's a challenge to handy riders who are accustomed to riding horses that are more forward.”

“Gray Fox has been with us from the beginning,” Mr. DeWitt said. “This may be the first time he's ever run away with anyone, but I can tell you this—it will be his last. From now on, Jack, please see that this horse is used for lessons only in the indoor riding arena or the outside ring. Today he's shown us he can't be trusted outside an enclosed area. He'll continue to do what he has done so well up to now, but with a few constraints.”

Jack nodded as he took hold of the reins. “Sarah, I picked up the crop you were using. Now 'tis best if you hop down and go back to the stable with Mr. DeWitt. You've had a pretty stressful ride. We should get Gray Fox moving, so I'll ride him back to the barn. 'Twill give me a chance to feel if he's off. This has been quite a workout for the old soldier, and for you, to be sure.”

Soon, with Jack in the saddle, a weary Gray Fox retraced his steps along the farm road, but slowly this time. For once, Sarah was glad not to be riding. She was still shaken, and it felt good to be sitting on the comfortable seat of Mr. DeWitt's Blazer, even though she didn't know the farm's owner very well. She rested her head back and sank deeper into the seat.

“I had a horse run away with me once,” DeWitt said, “so I know how terrifying it can be. I was living in Virginia at the time. A horse right off the racetrack came to foxhunting too soon. A mild bit was in his mouth, and I guess he thought he was back at the track. When the hounds started baying, that horse took off just like Gray Fox did today, except he was leaping stone walls and ditches along the way. We must have gone over a mile before I could pull him up.”

“Did you ever ride him again?”

“Many times. The horse's name was Happenstance, and once he had more training, he became a first-rate field hunter. But after that I always rode him in a Kimberwicke bit.”

They drove in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts, as the Blazer moved steadily along the rutted road. Mr. DeWitt glanced over at Sarah.

“I understand you're quite a dedicated rider,” he said. “Dorothy gives me good reports on how hard you work in your lessons. She tells me you also take good care of the horse you ride.”

“I really like riding here, especially since Jack took over,” Sarah said, pleased with the compliment. “It's great to be in Kayla's class. She and I have been friends forever.”

“I see your mother comes to watch your lessons sometimes. I hope she's made a good recovery after her accident.”

“Mom's doing great. Her doctor was surprised how quickly she walked again. But she still goes to therapy and uses a cane. I think she made up her mind that the accident wouldn't get the best of her.” Sarah's usual shyness had vanished, and she found herself enjoying the conversation with Mr. DeWitt. She often talked with Mrs. DeWitt, but had never had a conversation with her husband.

“Your father teaches at the community college, doesn't he?” Mr. DeWitt asked as they passed the O'Briens' bungalow and the carriage shed.

“Yes, Dad's taught at Bromont for as long as I can remember. He's in the history department. He has tons of books on the presidents, more than he could get in his office at the college. He built some bookcases for them at home.”

Mr. DeWitt mulled this response before asking another question. “Do you have any plans for this summer, Sarah?”

“I'll be working for Dad at Seaside Creamery, like I did last summer. It helps pay for my lessons. Dad manages the one at the beach when he's not teaching. I've been working there on weekends since it opened on Memorial Day.”

“It sounds like you have a little pull down there,” Mr. DeWitt teased. “Are there any other family members who work for your father?”