Tea Biscuit

VI

The stables at Steinham College impressed Beth. Gifts from wealthy alumnae had kept the coffers full and anyone could see that the money had been well spent.

Beth's resume impressed Ms. Emily Norton, the riding mistress greatly. Emily seemed to know everything about Ponies

Her profuse praise made Beth blush. “I've always had an outstanding mount, Ms. Norton. They say that it's ninety-five percent Pony and five percent jockey.”

“Give yourself a bit of credit. Your Pony was lucky to have you.”

Beth thought about Ethan. She wondered how he had done at the Bar None Ranch. He had been growing still and adding muscle. He had yet to reach his prime.

“We do more trail riding than racing here but I really could use someone with your experience here,” she added on a more serious note. “However, all our riders have their own mounts. Half of them haven't the foggiest idea how to care for them. I've hired a couple of girls with some experience to help out as grooms. Sometime it seems the only way a woman from a middle class family can get a quality mount is give birth to him herself! Hey, I can hook you up through the Steinham work-study program. We'll call you an assistant trainer.” She looked again at Beth's long list of trophies and ribbons. “Say,” she smiled; “we'll call you an associate trainer. Pay's the same, unfortunately.”

Beth met Caitlin O'Connor, the chief trainer and took an immediate liking to the young woman. Laurie Norwich and Alyssa Westfold were the hired grooms. The stable housed about 30 mounts in individual stalls. The students took turns attending to morning chores. Ten girls cared for three mounts each in two shifts. Three mounts might be brought to the feeding trough together.

The mounts got along well enough as most of them had been gelded. Intact males were usually fed individually to avoid conflict. Intact males were notorious for their impulsivity, laziness and alacrity for violence. Intact males were jealous and quarrelsome as they competed frantically and even violently for their rider's attention and favor. Elite riders found intact males more spirited and treasured the special bond a woman might forge with her mount. Many chose to put up with their drawbacks. For the rest, a gelding served adequately with less trouble.

Most girls came to ride after school, to attend to their evening chores, and finally to bed the beasts down for the night.

Stalled individually in clean stalls, the mount appeared well cared groomed, if not a bit under-worked or over-fed. The school kept only a beaten up gelding named Lucky, and a stallion named Mississippi Gambler or Gambler for short. The rest of the mounts belonged to the individual students.

Beginning student were allowed to ride with control rods but no spurs or quirt. Intermediate rides added stubby blunted spurs. Advanced riders added a leather riding quirt.

As an elite rider, Beth wore rowelled spurs that jingled as walked. The merest touch on her mount's flanks communicated her urgent demand for speed with no ambiguity. She loved the way they looked on her heels. She wished that she might afford better boots.

In general, Beth liked the other girls. None had had the benefit of as solid a program as she. They were good-hearted bunch and eager to learn. They didn't hold their large difference in wealth against her.

Daphne de Winter was a singular exception. She considered herself an elite rider and she certainly looked the part in her expensive designer outfits. Her Pony, a gelding called Noblesse Oblige, was a well-constructed and loyal beast. Her gear was the best. She lacked only the special empathy required of a great rider and any perception of her deficiency. An elite rider knows her mount completely. She takes him to his limit and no further. In his passionate yearning to please, a Pony will exert himself beyond the abilities of his body to sustain him. He will rip sinew and splinter bone. He will run beyond his heart and lung's capacity to supply oxygen to his straining muscles. Clumsy riders have damaged valuable Ponies. Ponies have collapsed dead when driven too hard. Daphne de Winter resented anyone who had what she lacked.

“Race around the oval!” Julia challenged, riding her gelding Bigfoot. Before Daphne could answer, Julia had jabbed her mount with her heels and the big gelding was flying down the track.

For an instant, Daphne thought about protesting the whole thing as unfair. Julia had hardly given her a chance, but she knew that her mount was far superior and she might teach the upstart girl a lesson. Julia was the best student in French and that was one more reason to hate her. She set off in pursuit on the half-mile track. A crowd gathered to watch and cheer on their favorite.

Noblesse Oblige gained steadily. Daphne went to her lash very early in the backstretch. She used it sparingly, though, just so her mount wouldn't lose focus. She gained steadily as they came into the far turn, about three hundred yards from the finish, but then panicked. She applied the lash for all she was worth and Noblesse Oblige surged under her. He gave all that she asked, all that he could.

Julia kept her nerve and held Bigfoot to his fast but steady pace. About one hundred yards from the finish, Noblesse Oblige pulled even and then pulled a bit ahead. Now Julia went to her lash and Bigfoot' found some yet untapped reservoir of strength in his great heart and sprinted down the home stretch.

Daphne tried to answer but despite his desire to serve, her mount was exhausted. His arms and legs pumped ferociously but he seemed to move in slow motion. He crossed the finish line a body's length behind Bigfoot and collapsed.

Daphne's leaped clear and landed on the hard packed cinders, abrading her hands. She tore her white jodhpurs but was otherwise unhurt. Julia continued down the track, unaware of what had happened. People gathered to see to Daphne and once assured she was all right, saw to her mount.

Noblesse Oblige writhed on the ground and moaned. Dirt stuck to his sweat covered skin and caked on the oozing streaks left by Daphne's lash. His moaning and thrashing stopped for an instant and then abruptly started again.

Beth ran onto the track with first aid kit. Wary of his size and strength, she approached the male warily. She shuddered to see the splintered end of his tibia protruding through his torn skin. He didn't even move when she poked him with the morphine syringe.

Caitlin came out to the track. She saw briefly to Daphne, who just stood in a daze.

Julia Michaels dismounted and walked back with her Bigfoot. “Daphne, I'm so sorry!” she said, holding back tears.

After the morphine, Noblesse Oblige quieted. Caitlin took one look at his injury and retrieved the keys from her belt. “Beth, go get my revolver. The bullets are in the drawer on the right.” There wasn't much to be done.

Beth set off at a run. Not much had changed when she returned, except the crowd had grown. People talked quietly among themselves. Daphne stared at her mount and picked the grass and dirt from her hair.

Caitlin loaded the pistol. “Daphne, you do the honors. He's your mount.”

“I really don't know how,” Daphne protested. “You know, it wasn't my fault.” All eyes were on her and her torn and soiled outfit.

“I never said it was your fault,” Caitlin answered safely. “Just flick off the safety and pull the trigger.” Caitlin deftly loaded the empty pistol.

“I can't!” Daphne insisted.

Caitlin shook her head and looked to Beth. “You, up for the dirty job?”

Beth nodded and took the pistol. She needed three tries at the safety. She had never done this before. She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. There's a first time for everything, she thought. The creature needn't suffer any more.

Caitlin squatted by the male's head and stroked his face gently.

Beth knelt with one knee to the ground and held the pistol about a foot from the back of the male's head. She took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.

The pistol barked and Noblesse Oblige lay quiet. Beth stood unsteadily. She set the safety and returned the pistol to Caitlin who carefully removed the unused cartridges.

“My mother's going to buy me a new and even better Pony. I'll just have to pass my French midterm.” Daphne bragged. “This one was really no good for anything.”

“I'm so sorry about your Pony,” Julia Michaels commiserated. Julia was in Dapne's French class. “I'll do anything I can to help.”