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Bonnie Prince Fetlar: The Story of a Pony and His Friends

<h2>CHAPTER XXI A FLIGHT BY NIGHT</h2> "Attaboy," I said as I stood behind him in his stall, "may I come in? I wish to whisper something in your ear." Now I knew quite well that he was jealous of me. He had got all the farm news from the other creatures since he came home, so I was not surprised when he turned his stylish head and showed me a cold eye. The stable was as light as day. The sun had gone down but the electric lights were all on for Mr. Devering liked his animals to be cheerful. My skin quivered as I felt that cold eye travelling up and down and across me. At another time I might have yielded to this nervousness (for I hate any creature to dislike me) and run away. Now however there was too much at stake, and I tried to make myself feel as calm as an old pony for was I not working for my dear young master. "I am not deaf," said Attaboy at last. "I can hear you from where you stand. You did well to speak. I should have kicked if you had come near me without warning." "I am not as stupid as that," I said. "A horse's[Pg 254] stall is his castle. No one should enter without speaking. Many a man gets kicked for that—from fright," I added hastily, as Attaboy glared at me. "Not through viciousness." "Well!" he said curtly, "go on—what do you want?" "Your young master is going to run away from home to-night." "Really," he said sarcastically, "and you suppose I know nothing of it?" I saw there was no use in fencing with this fellow. He was in an ugly mood, so I would play up to him. "Of course you know nothing of it," I said. "I stumbled on it by accident. I came here to plead with you to keep him at home." "And what business is it of yours?" he asked, "if my master chooses to take a night ride?" He whinnied so shrilly that all the ponies stopped eating and listened to what he was saying. They were in a row beyond him. First came my stall, then Apache Girl's, then Attaboy's, the Exmoor's, David Wales', the Welsh pony's, the donkey's, and the dear little Master of Bressay's. I stood in the alley way, and behind me and opposite the ponies were the stalls of Largs and Dalry, the two well set-up Clydesdales, and the saddle horses Patsie McSquirrel and Backwoods Beauty. It was quite a congress of horseflesh, and I was just as well pleased to have everybody hear, for[Pg 255] I might want some help before I got through with this stubborn Attaboy. "Your young master is in a desperate frame of mind," I said. "Boys often run away from home," he replied indifferently, "it is a common thing for them to do when peeved." "But this boy, I tell you, is in a terrible state. He thinks Mr. and Mrs. Devering are not his real parents." Patsie McSquirrel put in a word there. "Sure there is one adopted child in the family. Prince Fetlar is right there, but I don't know which one it is." "He haw! he haw!" brayed young Jack suddenly; "it isn't my little Dovey." "Nor my cute little young master," shrilled out the small Bressay. "Nor my Sojer," called out the Welsh pony, and he neighed irritably. "And it's certainly not Master Champ," said the Exmoor haughtily. "He's the dead image of his father." "And it's not my master either," said Attaboy fiercely, "I'll kick any horse who says so." Apache Girl was the only one who did not lift her voice. She kept a proud silence, but we all knew what she thought. Her adored young mistress looked as much like her mother as a younger sister, although she certainly did not act like her. "Attaboy," I said suddenly, "I believe you're[Pg 256] right. I think young Big Chief is making a dreadful mistake, but it doesn't matter what we think, it's what he thinks. Upon my word, I'm afraid he might drown himself." "Well you may just save yourself that suspicion," said Attaboy disagreeably. "He has too much sense to do anything so idiotic. He may run away, but he'll never hurt that precious body of his." "He went without his supper to-night," I said solemnly. At that, there were sounds of general consternation in the stable, and for the first time they all believed that the matter was serious. All the horse family knows the importance of food. This was sad news that a healthy growing boy should refuse to eat. "What do you want me to do?" asked Attaboy shortly. "You've got some plan in your head. I feel that." "When that lad comes up here to-night and saddles you," I said, "I want you to pretend to go lame." "What for?" he asked in astonishment. "So that he may take me. I'll be hanging round—he knows I'm a racer. He'll slip on my back and away we'll go." "And then?" asked Attaboy angrily. "I have a plan for bringing him home." "And pray," asked Attaboy relapsing into his former cold manner, "why are you taking all this trouble for a boy that isn't your master?" [Pg 257] "Oh! Can't you see," I said earnestly, "at root it is for my dear master. Your boy is jealous of mine. If your boy disappears, my boy may be blamed. To tell the truth, one finger of my master's is dearer to me than the whole body of your queer-acting young master. I'm working for him—the boy that owns me. He's all the world to me. I don't want you all to die, but if I had to choose between him and you, I'd have to sorrowfully see all Devering Farm slip into Fawn Lake!" I heard a rustling among the bedding as the horses and ponies moved their limbs to help their minds digest my speech. "Same here," said Attaboy. "You and your master can ride to Hudson Bay for aught I care. Seems to me you're a pair of snobs and bosses anyway." "Shut up, you fool Hackney," said a sudden voice, and Largs the Clydesdale's heavy neigh filled the stable. "You're insulting this little fellow, who is one of the best bits of ponyflesh I ever saw. Here he is offering to take your master over a dark stretch of road not known to him as it is to you. He may break his leg and he knows it, and we all know what happens when a pony breaks his leg." "I don't want the new pony shot," wailed a sad voice from the tiny Bressay's stall. "I don't care much about him, but my little Big Wig loves him. He told me so and made me jealous." "Attaboy," called Apache Girl in her queer sudden voice, "my Cassowary won't want anything[Pg 258] to happen to her brother. If you dare to oppose this new little beast, who is as conceited as he is smart, you'll have a mysterious trouble to-morrow that will land you in the hospital stall." This was a dreadful threat, and everybody kept still for a minute. Then Attaboy said in a would-be boastful voice, "You think you can hurt me. Just you try it." "I shan't speak again," said Apache Girl. "You all know I speak seldom, but when I do I keep my word. I know some tricks handed down from my Spanish ancestors." Attaboy was awed. Ponies, like human beings, are afraid of the mysterious. Apache Girl had a bad-tempered streak in her, and her threat really decided him to give in to me. While he thought matters over, every horse and pony that had not spoken lifted up a voice for me, and when he still did not open his mouth, the enormous Largs addressed him again. "Good for you, old fellow," I thought as I listened to Largs. "For sound, solid, common sense commend me to a faithful old work-horse." This is what he said: "Attaboy, you're jealous of this pony, who is much smaller than you in body and much bigger in mind. Get over it, lad. He has more brains than you, he has more self-control. Have you watched him eat?—No?—then do so. He is dainty and particular. He never gobbles, and if his master calls, he leaves his food untouched. Now look at the paving stones in your food box showing that you hog your grain. A pony[Pg 259] that has no rein on his appetite will never lead other ponies. You've got to take second place till this little man goes. I know it's hard, for you've tried to be boss of the ponies, but Apache Girl has really been the leader. Give in, give in, my pony. We're all against you. Do as Bonnie Prince Fetlar advises. If you don't, you'll have trouble with Dalry and me, eh! old man?" and he gave his mate an affectionate glance through the open partition between their stalls. Dalry gave a kind of horse roar. He always stood by his mate. "Attaboy lies down, cow fashion," he said, "and he bites his blanket. I've had my eye on him." At the mention of these two horse sins, every animal in the stable laughed, and even the high-bred Patsie and Beauty, who usually kept pretty much to themselves, advised Attaboy not to go against the general opinion. Thoroughly frightened now, he said to me, "Tell me what to do." "Nothing but to go dead lame. I'll see to the rest." "How soon am I to be lame?" he asked humbly. "The minute your young master throws the saddle over you," I replied, and I stepped away from the stable and left the animals to talk things over, though I knew the affair was settled. Attaboy would not dare to go back on me. I was most anxious to see what was going on down at the house, and I found that Mr. Devering and Mr. Macdonald had gone to their rooms, but[Pg 260] Mrs. Devering, with a white wrap over her shoulders, was sitting by her boy's bed on the veranda. I knew the lad was pretending to sleep in order to get rid of his dear adopted mother as he supposed her to be. For two hours she sat there. Mothers are very patient. Then, with a sigh, she got up and went to her own room. She had said "Boysie!" several times in a low voice and he had not answered, so knowing he did not wish her to stay she had left him. Big Chief began to stir about his bed as soon as she went away. He raised his head and glanced at the adorable Lady Moon who was showing him a round disapproving face. Then he sat up in bed. Hearing a noise, he snuggled down again under the bedclothes. I stood for another half hour. Then he slipped quietly to his room, threw on his clothes and tiptoeing to the veranda cast a wistful eye toward his parents' room. He did not dare to look in, lest his watchful mother should see him. I heard him choke back a sob as he stretched out a hand to pat the wondering Barklo, who raised his head from the foot of Big Wig's bed where he lay so comfortably, occasionally glancing at the lamb who slept on the lawn to be near him. I forgot to say that Mrs. Devering had kindly invited the Widow Detover to visit her until her son came back from some mines in the north. Now my place was in the stables, and I crept up cautiously by a roundabout way. [Pg 261] There was no Drunkard now careering about in his painstaking manner. His leg bones were slow in uniting and he was still confined to his quarters on the veranda. Girlie however was on the lookout and as soon as she heard my wary footfalls outside the barn cellar she was beside me. "All right, old girl," I said, "Barklo's watching. I'm just going to have a little race with old Father Time." "He'll beat you, Prince," she said sleepily, "he always does," and she crept back to her place beside Guardie. "Not to-night," I said as I stepped into the stable to see what Attaboy was doing. To give the Hackney his due I must say that when he had made up his mind to be a pony gentleman, he was one. As poor Big Chief flung the saddle over his back, Attaboy gave a groan and when the boy told him to follow him from the stable his limp was enough to make one's heart ache. Big Chief was surprised and sorry, but in an absent-minded way. He stared at him, and then at me as I carelessly strolled near as if to say, "What is going on?" Even in the midst of his trouble the lad took time to examine his pet hurriedly. Of course he found no cause for lameness and shaking his head he came back to me. I stood right by the harness-room door. I knew how the boy's mind was working. I was swifter[Pg 262] than any of the other ponies but I belonged to his cousin. He hesitated an instant. Then an ugly look came in his eyes and he seized me by my foretop. "All right, my boy," I thought. "You'll be paid back for this treachery to my young master. I want you to take me, but you've no business to want to take me. You're going to get the surprise of your young life pretty soon." He saddled me and bridled me and led me swiftly over the soft grass till we got well outside the farm gates. Then he sprang on my back and away we went. The road was as familiar to him as the veranda floor, and it was over this same bit of smooth highway that my beloved young master had had his riding lessons from his uncle. I got into my best stride and the boy knowing I was surefooted paid no attention to me. His poor mind was busy with himself I guessed, as I heard unhappy, un-youthful groans coming from him. The boy was very young. It would have been better if he had been spared such a sad experience, and yet being such a bull-headed youth maybe he had to have a hard run before he could settle down to a good working gait. In trotting to and fro on this road with Dallas, I had got to know it quite well, that is within a few miles of the house. My rider was planning to take me further than my acquaintance went, but I was not planning to be taken. After a short open stretch with a magnificent[Pg 263] view of the moonlit lake we entered on a long strip of woodland. Fine old hardwood trees bordered the roadside. The moon lighted this strip with difficulty and one tree looked pretty much like another. It would be hard for my rider to distinguish landmarks and here I intended to deceive him. So just as we were one mile deep in the hardwoods I had a dizzy spell. I flatter myself I did it quite nicely. I went round and round as if my head were reeling. Then I staggered. Now love for animals was such second nature to these young Deverings that the lad forgot himself for a time. He sprang off my back, jerked up my head, pulled down an eyelid and looked at my wildly rolling eyes. Then he passed his hands all over me. By this time I had quite recovered. I nuzzled him gratefully, and with quite an affectionate tap he mounted me again, his attention on me not on the road. Didn't I gallop now! My sickness was all gone and the reassured lad did just as I wished him to—he fell right back again into his dismal reverie, never dreaming that his young face was set toward his nice warm bed on the veranda, and his back was toward the big cold world that is so unkind to homeless boys. <hr /> [Pg 264] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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