For Sale Or Swap (5 page)

Shelby didn't tell her parents about Brat's peculiar
change of colour. They hadn't seen the pony yet, so they
wouldn't know the difference. They were both scared
of horses, anyway. Whenever Shelby had asked either of
her parents to hold Blue, they always clutched the very
end of the rope nervously and told her to hurry.

When she walked into the house that afternoon,
plonking the dirty saddle rug on the kitchen bench,
she asked her mother whether she could call the
farrier to have Brat's hooves attended to.

Her mother was sitting at the dining room table
with a pair of Connor's school shorts on her lap and
was threading a needle with grey cotton. 'Can it wait?'
she asked.

Shelby's father was on the lounge room floor
wrestling with her brothers. 'So does this new one pull
a sulky?' he asked. 'Maybe you could get a milk run
like they used to in the old days?'

Shelby ignored him. 'She's almost tripping over
them. I have to get it done by Saturday or I won't be
able to go to Pony Club.'

Her mother sighed. 'I suppose so.'

Shelby was very anxious to see the farrier. She
had some questions for him. Fortunately, he was in
the area the next day, and could drop by in the
afternoon.

Erin rang in the morning to find out if Shelby
wanted to ride, but the farrier's visit gave her a
good excuse not to go. She didn't tell Erin about
Brat's surprising new appearance. She wanted to know
more first.

The farrier's name was Clint. He drove a big red
ute with all his tools in the back. Shelby knew him
quite well because he had come to see to Blue every
six weeks for the past two years. Clint was a small
wiry man with a broad leathery face that crinkled
when he smiled. He could have been twenty-five or
forty-five. Shelby couldn't tell.

'Hello, Shelly Shoes. Where's my best buddy Blue?'
he asked, leaning his elbow out the window as he
pulled up outside the paddock.

'He's . . . with a friend,' Shelby said.

'Who's this?' Clint asked, running his eyes over
the pony.

'Her name is Brat. I'm looking after her for the
time being,' Shelby said.

'Brat, eh? Sounds like fun for me,' Clint commented.
He climbed out of his ute and strapped his leather
apron around his waist.

'Can you tell me how old she is?' Shelby asked.

'Not a problem.'

This would confirm Shelby's suspicions. Brat was
perfect, but she must be much, much older than the
man had said. She might have been closer to twenty,
or even older. That's why she was greying around
the face.

Clint took Brat's chin in his hand, squatting down
so that he could get a good look inside her mouth.

'I'd say she's somewhere around eight or nine.'
Clint ran his hand down Brat's face from forehead to
lip, pausing to pass his fingers gently over her eyes.
Then he stroked her down the neck. He stopped and
ran his hand up, against the grain. He looked at
Shelby with a raised eyebrow, and then turned on his
heel to haul his tools out of the ute's tray.

'She couldn't be older?' Shelby asked.

'Well, it's not an exact science, but I don't think so.'

One by one, Clint lifted Brat's hooves, tucking
them between his knees, and filed them down with his
long rasp.

'She's got nice little feet. Not too flat, not too
hollow. They're a bit long now but they've been well
looked after not so long ago,' he commented. He
tapped at the side of them with his rasp.

'So, who's your friend?' he asked, giving her
a wink.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You're looking after this horse for a friend. Who's
the friend?'

'Just this guy,' she answered.

'A boyfriend?'

'No!' Shelby blushed.

'You keep away from those bad boys, Shel, they're
nothing but trouble.'

'What are you talking about?' she asked.

'Do you take me for a goose, Shelly Shoes?' he
asked. 'I see five, maybe ten horses every day of the year.
This is a grey horse. Grey, like clouds and Grandpa's
hair. And there's only one reason that you dye a grey
horse brown.'

Shelby's heart started to race. 'What do you
mean?'

Clint cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered.
'Stolen!'

Shelby's mouth dropped open. 'Really? You think
she's been dyed? How?'

Clint shrugged. 'Henna would do it – maybe
Condy's crystals. These days you could pretty much
use those hair dyes you get at the supermarket. You'd
need a lot though. The face is the trickiest part. You
can see he hasn't been able to do the eyelashes. The
rest was probably done with a bit of boot polish. How
did it come off?' He rubbed his fingers together. 'Was
it grimy and slimy in your hands?'

Shelby nodded.

'That'd be my bet then,' Clint said. He picked up
his rasp and dropped it into his toolbox. 'I never had
you picked for a rustler, Shelly Shoes.'

'I didn't! I wasn't!' she protested.

'You're secret's safe with me,' he said, depositing
the toolbox into the back of the ute.

'Stolen,' said Shelby, bewildered. 'Does it happen
often?'

'Often enough,' replied Clint. 'Why do you think
people still brand their horses?'

After Clint had gone Shelby had to sit down and
think. She ran back over what the man had said. One
phrase stuck with her.
I've been calling her Brat.
It was a funny way to say it – as though he'd only
had her for a short time and had to make up a name
to call her. Why hadn't she wondered about it at
the time?

Then there was the fact that Miss Anita had never
heard of Maxshine. She'd been judging, training and
brokering in ponies for years. It must be another
made-up name.

It made sense. Nobody would give up a horse like
Brat for Blue. She loved him, but he was next to
worthless in comparison. But what did that mean?
Shelby ran through the scenarios.

Horse theft was definitely a criminal matter. She
could call the police. Brat must have been reported
missing. They would be able to find Brat's real owner
and give her back.

What about Blue? The man had no incentive to
bring him back now. Would this make him stolen
too? How would the police track down the man who
took him away? They didn't seem very confident
when she had talked to them before. If he was a thief,
he might be actually
trying
to hide. What if they
couldn't find him? Would Shelby be left with no horse
at all?

And where was Blue? He might be a brown horse
too, by now.

She could see, running like a movie through her
mind, Blue's face looking out at her anxiously as the
truck door slammed shut. It sent a shiver of butterflies
through her stomach.

She had visions of him tied up tight in some dingy
shed, or squashed in a round yard with twenty or
thirty other ponies – dirty, thirsty and distressed. It
made her sick with worry.

When she got home, Shelby tried the man's telephone
number one more time. It was still disconnected.
She looked at the classifieds in the magazine.
There was a number for placing ads. Shelby rang it
and talked to a lady named Ruth.

'You have an ad in your latest magazine, but when
I rang, the number had been disconnected,' she told
the lady at the other end of the line.

'That's not uncommon, I'm afraid,' said Ruth.
'Better luck next time, eh?'

'You don't understand,' Shelby said. 'The number
used to work. It was a swap ad, and we swapped.'
Shelby thought about Blue, how exhilarating it felt
when he splashed through the causeway, how he waited
for her at the gate in the morning. She had a vision of
him collapsed on some muddy shed floor, bony and
dehydrated, taking his last gasping breaths. Her lip
wobbled and tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

'Now I've changed my mind and I can't find the
man who has my horse.'

'Ah,' said Ruth. 'I'm sad to tell you that's not
particularly uncommon either.'

'Is there anything you can do to help me?' Shelby
asked, biting her lip, trying to keep her voice steady.

'I'm not supposed to. Advertisers give their details
in good faith. We can't just give them out to anybody
who calls.'

'Please?' implored Shelby. 'I just want to know
that my little guy's OK.'

There was silence on the other end. 'I'll see what I
can do.' Shelby could hear the lady tapping at a
keyboard. 'Which one is it?' Ruth asked.

'For sale or swap . . .' started Shelby.

'Eye-catching brown pony?' finished Ruth.

'That's the one,' said Shelby. It sounded as if she
was finally getting somewhere.

'Hmm. Text came in by email. Payment by direct
debit from a company account – you can't trace that.
He did give a name though – you're going to love this.
Ben Hall.'

Shelby scribbled it down on a piece of paper.
'That's great. Thank you so much.'

'Don't you get it?' Ruth asked.

'Get what?'

'Sheesh!' said Ruth. 'Do they teach you anything
about Australian history these days? Ben Hall. He was
a bushranger – a horse thief, amongst other things.'

'I don't suppose that's his real name then.' Shelby
wanted to cry.

'It would be a co-inkydink. Tell you what I will do,
and this is completely against the rules, but I'm a
horsewoman myself, and can't even imagine the
agonies you must be going through – if Mr Hall should
place another ad, I'll give you a ring and you can look
out for it when it comes out in the magazine. How
does that sound?'

'Thank you so much,' Shelby said, her voice
breathless with relief.

'I wouldn't put money on it, though.'

Not long after Shelby had finished talking to the
magazine lady, Erin rang.

'So how's your princess today? Hooves all done?'

'Yep,' Shelby replied, trying to sound confident. For
the last hour she'd been having horrific visions of Blue
suffering some slow and painful death. Each time it
prickled her skin and made her face slick with sweat.

'Are you going to bring her up to the stables
tomorrow? I was telling the Crooks how beautiful she
is and they want to have a look.'

'I . . . I don't know,' Shelby said.

'Everybody will love her. Don't you want to show
her off?'

Not so long ago Shelby had thought that it was
what she wanted most in the world, but what was she
going to do now that Brat's grey was showing through?
Besides, she didn't feel like seeing anyone. She just
wanted to crawl into bed and stay there all day.

'I might just stay here tomorrow and do a little
work in the paddock. That way Brat will be all fresh
for Pony Club.'

'Hayley and I will come to you then.'

'No!' said Shelby. 'I mean, I don't think that's a
good idea. It's out of your way. Besides, everybody
will be able to see her on Saturday.'

'Don't be silly. We can drop by. Mum won't mind.
You don't have to be there if you don't want to. I'll
get Mum to drive past tomorrow morning on our way
to the stables.'

Shelby was mortified that Hayley would see her
ramshackle arrangement, and more horrified still that
Erin would see Brat in her current condition.

She had a thought. 'She won't be able to see much,
though, with Brat's rug on.'

'That's OK. I'll take it off,' Erin said.

There wasn't any way of getting around it. Erin
was determined to see Brat tomorrow.

Shelby sighed. 'All right. I'll see you in the
morning.'

After she'd hung up the phone, Shelby covered her
face with her hands. What was she going to do?
How would she explain it? She needed more time to
think. In the meantime, there was only one thing she
could do.

She tipped the contents of her piggy bank on to
the floor. Thirty dollars. She had been saving up for
Christmas presents for her family, but that would have
to wait.

Shelby ran down the road to the chemist. Once
inside, she let her eyes wander over all the packets of
hair dyes available. Down the bottom a brand name
almost leapt off the shelves. She snatched up the
packet and read the label again –
Maxshine Celtic
Copper
. 'I'm so stupid!' she groaned.

Hayley inspected Brat from every angle. She ran her
hands down the pony's shins just like Miss Anita had.
Shelby held her breath waiting for the verdict.

It had taken three packets of Maxshine Celtic
Copper and half a bottle of shoe polish to return Brat
to a brown. Shelby felt mean rubbing the polish across
the delicate skin around her eyes and nose, but it
couldn't be helped. Besides, it was only for a few
hours. As soon as Hayley and Erin left she would
wash her off again and have a good long think about
what to do.

'It's a shame she's so small,' Hayley said.

Shelby let out her breath in a whoosh. She had half
expected an experienced horse person like Hayley to
find her out as quickly as Clint had – but then he had
the advantage of seeing Brat all washed out.

'She's the perfect size for Shelby,' Erin said.

'Yes, but for how long? You'll be too big for her
next year. If I were you I would have gone for something
bigger.'

'Beggars can't be choosers,' commented Erin. 'No
offence, Shel. She looks more chestnut than she did
the other day.'

Shelby blushed, wondering if she should have used
four packets of hair dye.

'I washed her . . . but then she rolled in the dirt.
And the light's not the same today. Maybe you just
remember her different?'

'I guess so,' said Erin. 'Are you going to give her a
workout today?'

'Later,' said Shelby. She had decided not to ride
Brat any more. If something were to happen to Brat
then she would have to give her back to the owners
damaged, and that would be terrible. More importantly,
though, she didn't want to call a vet out unless
she absolutely had to.

'Why not now? If I had a horse like yours, I'd ride
it all the time,' Erin said. 'You should see her, Hayley,
she goes like a dream.'

'You can see her tomorrow at Pony Club,' Shelby
said. She had already decided not to go to Pony Club.
If anyone asked she'd say she hadn't been feeling
well – not that she thought anyone would. Nobody
would miss her.

Hayley folded her arms and ran her eyes over Brat
again. 'Are you going to put bandages on her legs?'
she asked.

'I wasn't going to,' Shelby replied. How could she?
She didn't own any.

'There are a few marks on them already. You
should protect them. I wouldn't ride her without
bandages. It's not worth it.'

'Yes, I'll do that,' Shelby lied.

'It should be an excellent day tomorrow,' said Erin.

'Why?' asked Shelby.

'Haven't you heard? Calvin Protheroe is the guest
instructor. Can you believe it? He's only the best
dressage instructor in the whole country.'

Erin's mum, who had been waiting in the car,
wound down the window and called out. 'Come on,
girls, I haven't got all day.'

'We've got to go,' said Erin. 'See you tomorrow.'

Shelby nodded.

Erin and Hayley walked towards the car. Hayley
turned around at the gate and smiled at Shelby. 'She's
a great little horse. Don't forget
McLeod's Daughters
at my place next week.'

Shelby grinned. 'I wouldn't miss it.'

After they had gone Shelby started to unravel the
hose. Halfway through she stopped. Brat was turning
out to be a lucky charm. So far she'd caught Miss
Anita's attention, and now Hayley had asked her over.
None of that would have happened when she had
Blue. More than that, she was never likely to get a
lesson from Calvin Protheroe for free – certainly not
when she got Blue back.

Brat seemed to have survived being brown the first
time around. What was one more day? She would go
to Pony Club the next day, have her lesson, and the
minute she got back she would wash Brat off and call
the police.

There. It was decided. Shelby coiled the hose up
and tucked it in its spot next to the shed.

Since she was going to ride Brat tomorrow
anyway, she might as well ride her today. In fact, she
reasoned, she
should
ride her today. It would stop her
being frisky in the morning on the ride across the gully
to the Pony Club grounds.

Shelby saddled Brat and rode her around the
paddock to warm her up. They still hadn't got used
to each other, and at one stage Brat backed up so
fast that Shelby was sure she was going to rear up.
She gripped the saddle with her knees. For the first
time ever, Shelby felt a shot of fear run through
her stomach.

'Maybe that will do for today,' she said, sliding out
of the saddle.

She scratched the horse on the forehead. Brat
leaned against Shelby for a rub.

'No!' said Shelby, pushing Brat's face away. She
couldn't let her do that. She would rub her Celtic
Copper off.