Dick Francis - For Kicks

The names of the three newest horses were Chin- Chin, Kandersteg, and Starlamp. The first was owned by Humber himself and the other two by Adams.

I put the account books back where I had found them and looked at my watch. Seventeen minutes left. Putting the pencil back on the desk I folded the list of horses and stowed it away in my money belt. The webbing pockets were filling up again with fivers, as I had spent little of my pay, but the belt still lay flat and invisible below my waist under my jeans: and I had been careful not to let any of the lads know it was there, so as not to be robbed.

I riffled quickly through the drawers of press cuttings and photographs, but found no reference to the eleven horses or their successes. The racing calendars bore more fruit in the shape of a pencilled cross against the name of Superman in the Boxing Day selling 'chase, but there was no mark against the selling 'chase scheduled for a coming meeting at Sedgefield.

It was at the back of the receipts drawer that I struck most gold.

There was another blue accounts ledger there, with a double page devoted to each of the eleven horses. Among these eleven were interspersed nine others who had in various ways failed in their purpose. One of these was Superman and another Old Etonian.

In the left-hand page of each double spread had been recorded the entire racing career of the horse in question, and on the right-hand pages of my eleven old friends were details of the race they each won with assistance. Beneath were sums of money which I judged must be Humber's winnings on them. His winnings had run into thousands on every successful race. On Superman's page he had written "Lost: three hundred pounds." On Old Etonian's right-hand page there was no race record: only the single word "Destroyed."

A cross-out line had been drawn diagonally across all the pages except those concerning a horse called Six- Ply; and two new double pages had been prepared at the end, one for Kandersteg, and one for Starlamp.

The left-hand pages for these three horses were written up:

the right-hand pages were blank.

I shut the book and put it back. It was high time to go, and with a last look round to make sure that everything was exactly as it had been when I came in, I let myself quietly, unnoticed, out of the door, and went back to the kitchen to see if by some miracle the lads had left me any crumbs of lunch. Naturally, they had not.

The next morning Jerry's horse Mickey disappeared from the yard while we were out at second exercise, but Cass told him Jud had run him down to a friend of Humber's on the coast, for Mickey to paddle in the sea water to strengthen his legs, and that he would be back that evening.

But the evening came, and Mickey did not.

On Wednesday Humber ran another horse, and I

missed my lunch to have a look inside his house while he was away.

Entry was easy through an open ventilator, but I could find nothing whatever to give me any clue as to how the doping was carried out.

All day Thursday I fretted about Mickey being still away at the coast.

It sounded perfectly reasonable. It was what a trainer about twelve miles from the sea could be expected to arrange. Sea water was good for horses' legs. But something happened to horses sometimes at Humber's which made it possible for them to be doped later, and I had a deeply disturbing suspicion that whatever it was was happening to Mickey at this moment, and that I was missing my only chance of finding it out.

According to the accounts books Adams owned four of the racehorses in the yard, in addition to his two hunters. None of his racehorses was known in the yard by its real name: therefore Mickey could be any one of the four. He could in fact be Kandersteg or Stariamp. It was an even chance that he was one or the other, and was due to follow in Superman's footsteps. So I fretted.

On Friday morning a hired box took the stable runner to Haydock races, and Jud and Humber's own box remained in the yard until lunch time.

This was a definite departure from normal; and I took the opportunity of noting the mileage on the speedometer.

Jud drove the box out of the yard while we were still eating the midday sludge, and we didn't see him come back as we were all out on the gallop farthest away from the stables sticking back into place the divots kicked out of the soft earth that week by the various training activities; but when we returned for evening stables at four, Mickey was back in his own quarters.

I climbed up into the cab of the horse box and looked at the mileage indicator. Jud had driven exactly sixteen and a half miles. He had not, in fact, been as far as the coast. I thought some very bitter thoughts.

When I had finished doing my two racehorses I carried the brushes and pitchforks along to see to Adams' black hunter, and found Jerry leaning against the wall outside Mickey's next door box with tears running down his cheeks.

"What's the matter?" I said, putting down my stuff.

"Mickey… bit me," he said. He was shaking with pain and fright.

"Let's see."

I helped him slide his left arm out of his jersey, and took a look at the damage. There was a fierce red and purple circular weal on the fleshy part of his upper arm near the shoulder. It had been a hard, savage bite.

Cass came over.

"What's going on here?"

But he saw Jerry's arm, and didn't need to be told. He looked over the bottom half of the door into Mickey's box, then turned to Jerry and said, "His legs were too far gone for the sea water to cure them. The vet said he would have to put on a blister, and he did it this afternoon when Mickey got back. That's what's the matter with him. Feels a bit off colour, he does, and so would you if someone slapped a flaming plaster on your legs. Now you just stop this stupid blubbing and get right back in there and see to him. And you, Clan, get on with that hunter and mind your own bloody business." He went off along the row.

"I can't," whispered Jerry, more to himself than to me.

"You'll manage it," I said cheerfully.

He turned to me a stricken face.

"He'll bite me again."

"I'm sure he won't."

"He tried lots of times. And he's kicking out something terrible. I daren't go into his box…" He stood stiffly, shivering with fright, and I realized that it really was beyond him to go back.

"All right," I said, "I'll do Mickey and you do my hunter. Only do him well. Jerry, very well. Mr. Adams is coming to ride him again tomorrow and I don't want to spend another Saturday on my knees."

He looked dazed.

"Ain't no one done nothing like that for me before."

"It's a swop," I said brusquely.

"You mess up my hunter and I'll bite you worse than Mickey did."

He stopped shivering and began to grin, which I had intended, and slipping his arm painfully back inside his jersey he picked up my brushes and opened the hunter's door.

"You won't tell Cass?" he asked anxiously.

"No," I reassured him; and unbolted Mickey's box door.

The horse was tied up safely enough, and wore on his neck a long wooden-barred collar, called a cradle, which prevented his bending his head down to bite the bandages off his fore legs. Under the bandages, according to Cass, Mickey's legs were plastered with 'blister', a sort of caustic paste used to contract and strengthen the tendons.

Blistering was a normal treatment for dicky tendons. The only trouble was that Mickey's legs had not needed treatment. They had been, to my eyes, as sound as rocks. But now, however, they were definitely paining him; at least as much as with a blister, and possibly more.

As Jerry had indicated, Mickey was distinctly upset. He could not be soothed by hand or voice, but lashed forwards with his hind feet whenever he thought I was in range, and made equal use of his teeth. I was careful not to walk behind him, though he did his best to turn his quarters in my direction while I was banking up his straw bed round the back of the box. I fetched him hay and water, but he was not interested, and changed his rug, as the one he wore was soaked with sweat and would give him a chill during the night. Changing his rug was a bit of an obstacle race, but by warding off his attacks with the pitchfork I got it done unscathed.