For Sale Or Swap (4 page)

'Let me get this straight,' said Shelby's father. 'You
swapped your horse.'

Shelby nodded, putting her hands over her face.
'I'm not sure that it was the right thing to do.'

'Let's call the police,' said Shelby's mother.

Her father put his hand up. 'Not just yet, Marie.
We still might be able to resolve this. Tell me again
from the beginning.'

After the man had driven Blue away in his big
truck, Shelby had spent a little while getting Brat
settled in. She made sure she had fresh water and that
everything was neat and tidy in the shed. Then she sat
on the ground for half an hour, watching Brat graze.

As she was sitting there, a couple of questions
occurred to her. When was the last time Brat had been
wormed? Had the man been rugging her? What was
Brat used to eating, and how much? When had he last
had her teeth looked at? She should have asked all
these questions, and answered them about Blue too.

Brat seemed fine, so Shelby left her to graze. Back
in her room she looked up the man's number in the
magazine. The man answered after one or two rings,
just as he had before. Yes, Blue was fine. He had
arrived safely and was relaxed and happy. Indeed, they
were good questions, but he couldn't answer them
right now because he was expecting another call.
Could she ring back in an hour or so? Shelby said she
could and hung up.

Exactly an hour later she had rung, but there was
no answer – just a computerised voice mailbox.
Your
call cannot be answered at present. Please leave your
name and number after the tone.

Shelby had left her name and number – not once,
but three times at fifteen-minute intervals. The man
hadn't rung back. That's when she had decided to talk
to her mum and dad.

Shelby's dad was sitting next to her on the lounge.
'I'll try again,' he said. Shelby handed him the phone
and he dialled the number, pausing to refer to the ad
in the magazine.

He listened for a moment and then his face
blanched. He handed the phone to Shelby, and she
pressed it to her ear.

The number you have dialled is not connected.
Please check the number and try again.

Shelby dropped the phone and wailed. 'I've changed
my mind! I just want to know where he is.'

Shelby's mum picked the handset up from the
floor and punched in some numbers. 'Hello? My
name is Marie Shaw and I'd like to report a stolen
horse.'

Two police officers arrived at Shelby's house an
hour later. Constable Bidgood was a stocky middle-aged
man with a moustache, and the other was
Sergeant Everard – an athletic-looking young woman
with her hair in a tight bun. Shelby sat on the couch,
squeezing her hands together in her lap while she told
them the story from the beginning.

Constable Bidgood was taking notes in a little
book rested on his knee.

'And the man's name was?' he asked.

Shelby chewed on her lip. 'I don't know,' she
whispered.

'What about the number plate on the truck?'

Shelby shrugged.

'Any other things you can recall about the truck?
Did it have something written on the side?'

Shelby shook her head. She tried to think of something
useful to tell them. 'It was white. It had a cab at
the front. There were windows on the sides . . .' She
trailed off. That was all she'd noticed.

'What was he wearing?'

That she could remember. 'Blue jeans and a grey
tee-shirt with a collar.'

The two police officers exchanged a glance.

'So, we're looking for a man in jeans and a tee-shirt
driving a white truck with windows,' said Constable
Bidgood.

Shelby blushed.

Sergeant Everard shifted on her feet and took a
deep breath. 'Even if we could find him, I'm afraid
there's not much we can do about this,' she began.

'Why not?' asked Shelby's mother.

'Well, Mrs Shaw, from what your daughter has
said, she's entered into a verbal contract. It's not like
the man came along in the middle of the night and
took the horse. Your daughter agreed to an exchange,
and actually led her horse onto his truck. It's not
criminal. It's a civil matter.'

Shelby felt a lump wedge into her throat.

'But what about the phone calls?' protested
Shelby's father. 'Hasn't he broken the contract by not
answering?'

Sergeant Everard smiled. 'We'd need a much bigger
police force if we had to arrest everyone who didn't
answer their phone, Mr Shaw. My suggestion is that
you wait the two weeks. From what your daughter has
said, she's ended up with the better part of the deal.'

'In the meantime you might want to see a lawyer,'
suggested Constable Bidgood, as he stood up. 'And I'd
start scouting around to see what you can find out
about this fellow. Ring that magazine of yours. They
might have taken down more information.'

Shelby's father saw them to the door.

'I'm sorry we couldn't be more help,' Sergeant
Everard said, looking Shelby in the eye.

Shelby felt her lip wobble and her eyes fill with
tears. 'Thank you anyway,' she whispered.

After they left Shelby sat with her parents on
the lounge.

'What were you thinking?' asked her father.

'I did try to tell you about it. It happened so
quickly. He was nice. It all seemed like a dream come
true. I thought I could see Blue tomorrow. The man
said I could visit.'

Her mother rubbed her knee. 'It might still be OK.
Perhaps he's just late paying his phone bill? Why don't
we wait and see?'

Shelby shook her head. 'No, I want to see a lawyer
today.'

Shelby's mother and father looked at each other.
Her father rubbed his eyes. 'Shel, lawyers are very
expensive and we're stretched as it is. I don't think
you should panic. Didn't you say he had taken very
good care of this Brat pony?'

'But that's not the point,' blurted Shelby. 'I don't
know where Blue is! I want him back right now!'

'Honey, why don't you give it the two weeks? If
this horse is as good as you say, then he'd be mad to let
it go. If you're still unhappy in two weeks then we'll go
to a lawyer to see if we can straighten it out.'

Shelby wanted to argue, but there was no point.
Her parents had made up their minds. Besides, maybe
they were right. Maybe it
would
turn out all right.

The next morning Shelby rode Brat up to the stables
to visit Erin. Miss Anita was standing at the fence as
she walked past the arena.

'That's a nice-looking pony,' Miss Anita said.

'Thank you. Her name is Maxshine Celtic Copper,'
said Shelby, smiling. Saying a three-barrelled name was
every bit as satisfying as she had dreamed it would be.
She pulled up next to the fence and patted Brat on
the shoulder.

'How does she go?'

'She's OK,' Shelby replied.

They'd had a sedate trip across the gully. Brat
shied away from the slightest thing, so Shelby hadn't
risked going any faster. Brat wasn't as sure-footed as
Blue either. She'd never had to steer him along the
trails. Brat seemed to always pick the most difficult
way, stumbling over rocks and pressing up close to the
bushes on the side of the trail so that Shelby constantly
had her arms up moving branches out of the way.

'Can I have a ride?' Miss Anita asked, cocking her
head towards the sandy arena. Miss Anita never would
have asked to ride Blue. Shelby didn't think Miss Anita
had ever even looked at him.

'I can't pay you,' Shelby said.

Miss Anita shaded her eyes with her hand. 'It's a
freebie. I've got ten minutes spare.'

Shelby slid off Brat and walked her through the
arena gate. Miss Anita took the reins and vaulted on.

Miss Anita's legs were much longer than Shelby's,
but instead of adjusting the stirrups, she flipped them
over the front of the saddle so they settled against
Brat's shoulders.

'All right, little lady, let's see what you can do,'
Miss Anita said, gathering up the reins.

Shelby watched as Miss Anita took Brat through
her paces around the arena. Brat looked even better
once she got going. Her strides were bold and flowing,
and she responded to everything Miss Anita asked of
her. Shelby admired Miss Anita's riding too. She sat
perfectly still, and her instructions to Brat were almost
invisible.

'Very tidy,' said Miss Anita, wheeling Brat back to
where Shelby was standing. 'Somebody's done a nice
job with her.'

'Thank you,' said Shelby, and then she blushed. It
sounded as though she was claiming to have trained
the pony herself.

Miss Anita ran her hands down Brat's legs.
'I haven't heard of Maxshine before. Where does she
come from?'

Shelby didn't want to get into the whole story, so
she shrugged. 'Not sure.'

'Very tidy indeed,' Miss Anita murmured. She ran
her hand across the pony's face. 'Interesting colouring,'
she said. 'Almost dun, isn't she?'

'She's just dirty,' Shelby explained.

Miss Anita held out her hand. It was lightly coated
in a layer of dark brown powder. 'Yes, I see what you
mean. Better get her in a bath before Mrs Crook sees,'
she said with a wink.

Shelby grinned.

'I'm sure you'll do well on her.'

'Thanks,' said Shelby. She led the pony down the
laneway between the two stables and stopped outside
Erin's yard. Bandit was tied to the rail with his saddle
on. Erin popped her head out of the doorway. Her eyes
widened as she caught sight of Brat.

'Who's that?' she asked.

'Eye-catching brown pony for sale or swap,'
Shelby replied, grinning.

'You're joking,' squealed Erin. She ran across the
yard and threw her arms around Shelby's shoulders.
'How exciting! You've really hit the jackpot. She's
gorgeous
. Do you think they had a clue what they
were swapping? I mean – no offence – but Blue was
the ugliest creature.'

Shelby frowned. She loved Blue, despite his faults.
'We're having a trial. Actually, I'm thinking about
swapping back.'

'No way! Are you serious? I mean, when the ad said
royal quality
, I thought it was an exaggeration, but this
is a great horse –
sooo
good-looking.' Erin looked
around and lowered her voice. 'I reckon she's better-looking
than Ditto, don't you?' Erin walked all the way
around Brat. 'Her feet are a bit long, though. You'll
need to get them done before Pony Club on Saturday.'

Shelby inspected them and nodded. She'd only just
had Blue's feet trimmed. She wondered what her
mother would say when she asked for the farrier to
come back again so soon.

'So, where do you want to go today?' Erin asked,
tightening Bandit's girth.

Shelby tilted her head to the side as she thought
about it. She wasn't sure that she wanted to go on
a trail. If she had been riding Blue it would have
been her first choice. That was what he was best at –
scampering up and down the hills all day. What if Brat
shied and Shelby came off? It would be best if they
rode somewhere fenced – somewhere safe.

'Do you want to do some jumps?' she suggested.

'Cool,' said Erin.

They took the ponies over to the practice arena,
where several jumps of multicoloured barrels and bars
had been set up.

Brat was much more sensitive than Blue. At the
slightest touch she'd veer off in another direction. She
also jumped a little higher than Shelby expected and a
couple of times Shelby lost her stirrup and landed in
the saddle with a thump.

As Brat made another soaring leap that Shelby
hadn't anticipated, she jerked the reins in an effort to
keep her balance. Brat put her ears back and tossed
her head in protest.

'I'm sorry, little one. We just have to get used to
each other,' she said. She pulled up near the fence
while she waited for Erin and Bandit to finish a round.

Shelby missed Blue terribly. Every time Brat
skipped a beat she thought,
Blue wouldn't have done
that
, but she had decided not to think about it. She
was going to put it out of her mind for the next twelve
days and twenty-two hours. She only hoped that he
was safe, wherever he was.

After a few hours of fierce concentration Shelby
was tired. 'I might take her home and give her a bath,'
she said.

'Cool,' said Erin. 'I'm very proud of you, Shel, and
jealous too! Brat is a beautiful horse. I think you've
really progressed.'

Shelby thought that was a bit patronising coming
from someone who'd only been riding for a year.
Besides, she was exactly the same rider that she'd been
the day before.

Shelby arrived back at the paddock midafternoon.
The sun was hot on her shoulders and the air was dry.
As she unsaddled the pony she could see that the
saddle blanket was absolutely filthy – coated with
brown grime. She laid it across the sliprail to take
home for her mother to wash.

'You certainly do need a bath,' she said.

Brat was not happy to see the hose. She skipped
around, rising up on her back legs and straining
against the lead. Once she was wet through, Shelby
started to scrub with shampoo. As she worked her
way across Brat's shoulder she could see the suds on
her fingers were a dirty, muddy colour.

'You mustn't have been washed in a year!' Shelby
said.

Brat's face was worst of all. Shelby wet down a
towel, squeezed shampoo on it and gave Brat's face a
good long scrub. Brat seemed to enjoy it, rubbing her
head up and down inside the towel. It was the first
time that Brat had showed anything like affection and
for brief moment Shelby forgot about Blue.

When Shelby pulled the towel away she saw that it
was caked in coffee-coloured grime. Then she looked at
Brat. What she saw confused her. Brat had grey patches
around her eyes and straight down her nose.

'Hang on a second,' Shelby muttered. 'You've got
a stripe.'

She rubbed again with the towel. It was murky and
indistinct but it was there. Shelby sat on the grass,
watching the pony dry. At first Shelby thought that
she had been in the sun too long and wasn't seeing
properly, but there was no doubt. Brat's face was a
different colour; in fact, all over she was duller, much
lighter and with a definite wide white stripe right
down the middle of her face.

Shelby didn't know why the man had given her a
brown horse that was actually a chestnut horse with
a stripe, but she had an idea.