Keeping Barney Page 3

  Barney raised his head slightly, still chewing. Sarah stopped, her heart in her mouth. But he only finished his mouthful and went back for more. Sarah edged nearer, close enough to touch his neck.

  “Gosh, you’re woolly! Got a coat like a bear.” Barney’s ears perked up. Bear was one of his nicknames, Sarah remembered. “Hello, Barney-Bear. We gonna be friends?” Barney snorted and shook his head—probably to dislodge a deerfly, but Sarah felt hurt.

  “Yes, we are. I like you already, pretty boy. Won’t you try to like me?” Maybe he’s lonely for Missy, she thought. The horse of her dreams had never been pining for someone else. “You’ll get to like me just as much, Barney,” she whispered.

  “Hi, Sarah, how’s the charger?” Dad was standing at the gate, looking tousled and owlish after a long session of writing. Sarah smiled to herself. Charger indeed! “Fine, Dad. Come in and meet him.”

  Dad shook his head. “Can’t. I’m still in my slippers. He settling in?”

  “I guess so.” She glanced doubtfully at Barney. Right now he seemed settled enough—the tricornered hazel eyes clear, the ears at a peaceful angle as he grazed. But she couldn’t forget that fierce charge. She smoothed his mane nervously, and he gave her what seemed to be a scornful look.

  “Guess I’ll put the tack away,” she said aloud as Dad turned to go. She ran across the barnyard, feeling a prickle between her shoulder blades. But when she looked back, Barney was still quietly grazing, ignoring her.

  She arranged the tack in the spare stall until it looked pleasingly professional; brushes, fly-wipe, linament and saddle soap lined up in the feed box, saddle and bridle on pegs Dad had made, the leather darkly gleaming, the buckles shiny. Barney’s bit was a thick, mild snaffle; chewed-up pieces of grass were glued onto it with dried saliva. Missy shouldn’t let him eat in his bridle, thought Sarah, with guilty pleasure at finding a mistake. He must have a good mouth if he could be jumped in this mild a bit.… Suddenly, she wanted to ride him, and find out. She peeked out the door—he was cropping grass with calm intensity. He looks perfectly safe; why not?

  Mom would probably rather she waited, but Mom was in the house, hopefully too busy to notice. Besides, she had to find out if Barney was going to be as awesome from the saddle as he was from the ground. Yes, she’d do it.

  First, to catch him. He eyed her warily as she approached with the rope, but his evasive sidestep came a little too late. Once she’d caught him, he seemed to become resigned, and followed her quietly to a fence post to be tied.

  He liked being groomed. Finding Sarah’s first timid swipes with the brush not forceful enough, he leaned into them, grunting. Sarah felt a small inner glow. This was the first positive response he’d made to her. She made the brush strokes longer and stronger, enjoying them as much as Barney did.

  She’d forgotten all about his ticklish place, and when he suddenly made an ill-tempered face and jerked his hind foot up, she jumped back. “What’s wrong, feller? I thought … oh!” Missy’d said he wouldn’t really kick. Mr. O’Brien had said, “Don’t let him bluff you.” Gritting her teeth, Sarah came close again. “Whoa!” Gingerly, she set the brush to the spot. Barney threw up his head, ears flattened, and menaced her with his hoof. Flinching in spite of herself, Sarah gave the spot a quick swipe and moved on.

  He had a simple method to prevent her from picking out his hooves; he stood staring vacantly and pleasantly into space, and refused to pick them up. For long, frustrating minutes, Sarah pushed and hauled on his leg, to no avail. It was planted solidly as a telephone pole.

  Finally, after she’d been tugging on his fetlock for a long time, he sighed and gave her the foot. It was round, cupped, and perfectly clean. Sarah stared in disgust at the remaining three. She was tempted to skip them; but no, that might lead to thrush. Grimly, she renewed the struggle.

  When all his feet had finally been inspected, she brought out the saddle. Barney pricked his ears and sniffed it; thinking of Missy, thought Sarah. She settled it on his back, and reached under his belly for the girth. But the buckles reached only to the very tips of the billets.

  “Now what?” She went to check the other side. No, it wasn’t twisted, and it was already in the last hole. Back on the left, she noticed the black marks above the third set of holes. Apparently Missy had been able to girth him up that far once. “Boy, have you gotten fat! Be lucky if I can get it up to the first hole.”

  She did, but only after a long struggle and much heaving. Next, the bridle. Barney accepted it surprisingly well, opening his mouth when she held the bit to his lips, and not minding that she had to stuff his ears under the browband, instead of sliding them smoothly the way the horse-book diagrams showed. Encouraged, Sarah gathered up the reins and mounted. Barney stood still, ears pointed mildly forward. “C’mon, boy.” She squeezed lightly with her calves, and Barney walked.

  The first ride! This horse was almost hers, and this was their first ride. Sarah stood in the stirrups a moment, sinking her weight into her heels. In sneakers, she could feel his warmth and his long winter hair against her ankles. That was something new; she’d always ridden in boots. She noticed how little Barney’s neck extended at the walk, compared to the riding school Thoroughbreds. His head stayed high, unrelaxed, but proud-looking.

  “Trot!” He did, a little faster than she wanted. She’d have to slow him down, but first she wanted to catch the rhythm of posting to a short, quick Morgan stride rather than to a long Thoroughbred one. She kept getting behind and giving an extra little bump that shouldn’t be there. Sitting to it was even worse. He bounced her high out of the saddle with each stride. As she tried to deepen her seat, to absorb the jolts in her body as she’d been taught, Barney leaned into the corner and the saddle slipped.

  For a moment Sarah didn’t understand. Suddenly, she was looking at the side of Barney’s neck instead of the top, and the ground rushed by frighteningly close. She gasped and clutched at his neck. Barney abruptly halted, facing the fence, and Sarah managed to right herself on his back—except now she was sitting on the side of the saddle. Kicking her feet free of the stirrups, she slid down, and with a guilty start saw Mom crossing the barnyard. To Sarah’s relief, she looked amused rather than disapproving.

  “Saddle slip? Here, let me have a look.” She loosened the girth, straightened the saddle on Barney’s back, and refastened it. The buckle slid up easily to the third hole.

  “How’d you do that? I couldn’t get it that far.”

  Mom laughed. “Sarah, you’ve been had. It’s called bloating; the horse fills his belly with air so you can’t tighten the girth. Always walk slowly at first, both to warm him up and to give him a chance to let out the air so you can finish girthing. Now, hop up and let’s see you two go.”

  With Mom watching, Barney was very good; a little fast, perhaps, and he did show a tendency to want to duck through the barn door, but Mom corrected that by standing there. Sarah still had trouble adjusting to his trot, but that wasn’t his fault. His canter held a sense of power only tenuously controlled, but for the moment it was controlled, and the rocking rhythm was easy to sit to.

  Mom said finally, “Well, supper’s about ready. I think you’d better leave him in here for now, and we’ll turn him out in the pasture tonight when he’s calmer.”

  “What do you think of him?” Sarah asked, patting Barney’s neck proudly.

  “Well, Sarah, he seems very well behaved, and he’s certainly pretty, but we hardly know him yet. It’s a little early to be making up our minds, I think.” But she gave Barney’s neck a friendly pat anyway.

  (5)Escape!

  Pale but determined fall sunlight filtered through the filmy white curtains and slanted across Sarah’s quilt. She lay sleepily enjoying it for a few minutes before she remembered—Barney! With a chill of delight she threw back the quilt and looked out, eager for that long-awaited sight; her own horse, grazing in her own field. The pasture seemed empty at first, and her gaze swept the row of trees along the edge. S
till no Barney; but one corner of the pasture dipped below her sight—he might be there. Or he could be in the barnyard or in his stall.

  Well, so much for thrilling first looks. Going out to find him would be almost as good. She slipped into jeans and a shirt and set out, carrying her sneakers to make less noise. In the kitchen, Star bounced around her, on the verge of barking. “Shhh!” Star yipped in reply. Sarah grabbed her by the ruff and pulled her outdoors.

  “All right, you can come, bad girl, but you have to behave. If you wake Dad up again …”

  The ground was colder than she’d expected. She sat hurriedly on the frosty grass and put her sneakers on. Then she went to check the barn, though it didn’t seem that a tough little character like Barney would spend the night inside. He hadn’t, though by the looks of the bedding he’d explored a little.

  “Come on, Star, he must be down in that corner.” This was so much more complicated than just looking out her window. Still, it was fun walking in the chilly morning, with the frost soaking her sneakers and her dog at her side. With a quick shiver of eagerness, she came to the top of the little rise that hid the corner from view.

  Barney was not there.

  Desperately, she scanned the trees again. A dark horse might blend with the tree trunks, mightn’t he? But she could see no movement. Good Lord, suppose he’d gone down to the road and gotten hit, or was caught in the wire somewhere? She whirled and bolted for the house. Star barked joyously beside her, thinking it all a- glorious game.

  “Mom, Dad, Barney’s gone, I can’t find him anywhere!”

  Dad’s tousled head poked blearily out of the blankets. Mom was awake more quickly, asking questions that were somehow steadying, even though Sarah didn’t have the answers. “The gate was shut this morning? Have you checked your fence? Any breaks? If he got onto the dirt road, we have a chance of tracking him.”

  “I didn’t really look. I’ll go …”

  “Wait a sec and I’ll come with you.” Dad was sitting up groggily, fishing for his pants.

  “Pull yourself together and follow us when you can,” Mom ordered. She pulled a pair of jeans over her nightgown and stuffed her feet into sneakers. “Let’s go.”

  On the doorstep Mom paused, breathing the sharp air. Just knowing that she was relaxed enough to enjoy the morning somehow made Sarah feel less panicky.

  “Did Barney have his halter on?” Sarah nodded. “Get his rope, then.” She ran to the barn for it, and they set out.

  The fence had seemed imposing and horse-proof when she and Dad had been repairing it. But Mom began to make annoyed little clicking noises as they walked along it. For the first time Sarah noticed the low wire, the weak splices, the huge gaps between one strand and the next. “I guess I should have checked this myself,” Mom said, in a voice that despaired of ever seeing practical intelligence in her city-raised husband and daughter. But she didn’t dwell on it.

  They moved quickly along the fence, checking for broken wire and tracks. But they found no clues, except once a long strand of black hair caught on the top wire. That proved to be a false lead, however. In the bottom corner of the field they found where Barney had escaped. The badly spliced wire had given way—he’d probably leaned on it. Tracks on the other side marched purposefully down the hill.

  “Do you think he might be going home?”

  “Maybe,” said Mom. “We’ll follow to the end of our road and see which way he took. If it looks like that’s where he’s heading, we can get the car and drive over.”

  At the end of their road, though, Barney’s tracks turned the wrong way, uphill. “Oh boy,” Mom said, tucking her nightgown more securely into her pants. “Looks like we’re in for a hike.”

  “But where could he have gone?” Sarah wailed. How was she going to call Missy O’Brien and say she’d lost Barney, on the very first night she had him?

  “He’s bound to be at the end of his tracks,” said Mom dryly. They started up the road; Mom had an actual bounce to her step, and she looked excited. “You know, I haven’t been horse-hunting like this in years. My old horse Mary used to escape every once in a while—I had to chase her five miles once before I caught her. But I always did catch her—a horse is a pretty big thing to hide. So stiff upper lip, hmm?” Sarah managed to smile in response. They trudged onward, getting colder and sniffly.

  After a while, they heard a car coming up behind them. Mom looked down at the nightgown billowing over her jeans, and turned pink. Sarah turned to catch the driver’s reaction, and saw their own car, with Dad at the wheel. Star pressed close to the windshield, barking enthusiastically as he pulled up beside them.

  “Get in if you please, ladies.” His voice held only a trace of its usual early morning burriness. “I’ve found your horse for you.”

  “What? Where is he?” Sarah struggled past Star into the car, while Dad watched smugly. “Dad!”

  “He’s at a farm about a mile up the road. A boy named—Alfred Jones, I think, called.”

  “Albert. Thank God!” Sarah collapsed against the seat.

  “Oh, George,” said Mom from the back. “You even thought to bring the saddle so she can ride back! This early in the morning—how alert of you, dear!”

  They found Jones Dairy easily; a tall red barn, flanked at each end by metal silos and forming, with the house and outbuildings, a square opening toward the driveway, like a European courtyard. The pastures sloped down from the barn, and cows were already moving ponderously along the paths.

  At the sound of their car, Albert appeared in the doorway, behind a wheelbarrow load of sawdust. “Be right with you,” he called, wheeling it away. In a moment he returned. “C’mon, he’s out back with Herk and Ginger.”

  Barney was grazing with Hercules, Albert’s huge red gelding, and the Shetland Ginger in the middle of the field. The pony saw them first, and trotted to the fence, nickering greedily. Herky ambled after, poking his head over the fence for his treat.

  But Barney, for once, wasn’t tempted by food. He stayed in the middle of the pasture, cropping grass and watching them suspiciously. When Sarah called, he only twitched his ears in annoyance. Sarah glanced sidelong at Albert. He met her eyes, and smiled challengingly. Biting her lip, Sarah climbed through the fence, and with the rope hidden carefully behind her back, walked out toward Barney.

  He wasn’t fooled. He grazed on, watching until she was only a few feet away. Then he circled at a trot, pluming his tail and arching his neck. “Darn you!” Sarah followed, gritting her teeth. He circled again. Then, as she still pursued, he suddenly squealed, shook his head, and charged.

  Sarah looked wildly for a fence, but none was close enough. She had followed him out to the very center of the field. In terror, she slashed with the lead rope. The heavy snap whistled through the air in front of Barney’s nose. Then it whipped back around her, tangling her arm and slapping her side painfully. She struggled to free herself, sobbing in frustration.

  But Barney, she suddenly realized, had stopped. He stood before her, snorting in surprise and dismay. For a moment she could only stare at him, shaken. Then she came out of her trance, grabbed his halter, and snapped on the rope. His ears drooped resignedly. He shook his head, this time a normal, domestic gesture, and followed her to the gate.

  “You handled that well,” said Mom, when she reached them. Sarah flushed. She hadn’t handled it at all; she hadn’t lashed out with any real purpose. It had been only a panicked reflex. Albert’s face still held the cool challenge.

  Dad’s frowning eyes were on Barney. “Helen, I don’t care what agreement we made—if I see another display like that, he goes back tomorrow. She is not going to risk her life caring for a vicious animal.”

  “He was bluffing,” said Mom quickly, “and Sarah showed him that she doesn’t scare. Mary used to do that to me when I was small. Once I grew up enough to boss her around, she forgot about it.”

  Mom opened the gate for her, while Albert kept Herk and Ginger back. They tugged on their
halters, wanting to follow their new friend. Serve him right if they pulled his arms off, Sarah thought darkly. She led Barney to the car and saddled him. This time, she remembered to walk him to let the air out of his belly. Then she mounted, sneaking a look at Albert to see if he noticed her professional ease and grace. He didn’t seem impressed.

  She settled into the saddle, and Barney turned to sniff her foot. Suddenly, she wished she had boots on. Sneakers didn’t give enough support to her ankles, and they were thin if he decided to bite. Mom, Dad, and Albert were watching expectantly. With a nervous smile, she nudged Barney into a walk.

  Barney didn’t mind walking. The happy tilt of his ears told her that. But he wanted to walk back to Herk and Ginger, who were calling him. Sarah hauled on the left rein until his chin was nearly resting on her foot. Barney continued to forge right, all the way around the barn.

  Ginger and Herky greeted him eagerly, shoving their noses in his face. Three sets of ears jerked forward and back, nervously. Barney nipped at Ginger’s nose; she squealed, and Herky drove her away, returning to exchange deep, wide-nostrilled sniffs with Barney.

  All the while, Sarah had been kicking Barney’s fat sides and heaving on the reins with all her strength. Except for an occasional flattened ear, her efforts went unnoticed. Ten minutes of useless struggle left her close to tears. She knew they were all watching, so she stared across the field until she thought she had her expression under control. Then she turned in the saddle to face them.

  As she looked, Mom started toward her. Dad shook his head, looking a little worried but determined. Anger flooded her. Why wouldn’t he let Mom help? All it would take was a hand on the bridle to lead Barney to the road. He probably thought that Mom was being too indulgent again, but … Then she looked at Albert and forgot her parents in hating him. He was enjoying this. He was smiling slightly, with his head turned so her parents couldn’t see. Sarah’s face flushed, and her forehead prickled with a sudden, angry sweat.