Dick Francis - For Kicks

I took Jerry with me to the feed bins where Cass was doling out the right food for each horse, and when we got back to the boxes we solemnly exchanged bowls.

Jerry grinned happily. It was infectious. I grinned back.

Mickey didn't want food either, not, that is, except lumps of me. He didn't get any. I left him tied up for the night and took myself and Jerry's sack of brushes to safety on the far side of the door. Mickey would, I hoped, have calmed down considerably by the morning.

Jerry was grooming the black hunter practically hair by hair, humming tonelessly under his breath.

"Are you done?" I said.

"Is he all right?" he asked anxiously.

I went in to have a look.

"Perfect," I said truthfully. Jerry was better at strapping a horse than at most things; and the next day, to my considerable relief, Adams passed both hunters without remark and spoke hardly a word to me. He was in a hurry to be off to a distant meet, but all the same it seemed I had succeeded in appearing too spineless to be worth tormenting.

Mickey was a good deal worse, that morning. When Adams had gone I stood with Jerry looking over the half-door of Mickey's box. The poor animal had managed to rip one of the bandages off in spite of the cradle, and we could see a big raw area over his tendon.

Mickey looked round at us with baleful eyes and flat ears, his neck stretched forward aggressively. Muscles quivered violently in his shoulders and hind quarters. I

had never seen a horse behave like that except when fighting; and he was, I thought, dangerous.

"He's off his head," whispered Jerry, awe struck.

"Poor thing."

"You ain't going in?" he said.

"He looks like he'd kill you."

"Go and get Cass," I said.

"No, I'm not going in, not without Cass knowing how things are, and Humber too. You go and tell Cass that Mickey's gone mad. That ought to fetch him to have a look."

Jerry trotted off and returned with Cass, who seemed to be alternating between anxiety and scorn as he came within earshot. At the sight of Mickey anxiety abruptly took over, and he went to fetch Humber, telling Jerry on no account to open Mickey's door.

Humber came hurriedly across the yard leaning on his stick, with Cass, who was a short man, trotting along at his side. Humber looked at Mickey for a good long time. Then he shifted his gaze to Jerry, who was standing there shaking again at the thought of having to deal with a horse in such a state, and then further along to me, where I stood at the door of the next box.

"That's Mr. Adams' hunter's box," he said to me.

"Yes, sir, he went with Mr. Adams just now, sir."

He looked me up and down, and then Jerry the same, and finally said to Cass, "Roke and Webber had better change horses. I know they haven't an ounce of guts between them, but Roke is much bigger, stronger, and older." And also, I thought with a flash of insight. Jerry has a father and mother to make a fuss if he gets hurt, whereas against Roke in the next-of-kin line was the single word 'none'.

, "I'm not going in there alone, sir," I said.

"Cass will have to hold him off with a pitchfork while I muck him out." And even then, I thought, we'd both be lucky to get out without being kicked.

Cass, to my amusement, hurriedly started telling Humber that if I was too scared to do it on my own he would get one of the other lads to help me. Humber however took no notice of either of us, but went back to staring sombrely at Mickey.

Finally, he turned to me and said, "Fetch a bucket and come over to the office."

"An empty bucket, sir?"

"Yes," he said impatiently, 'an empty bucket. " He turned and gently limped over to the long brick hut. I took the bucket out of the hunter's box, followed him, and waited by the door.

He came out with a small labelled glass-stoppered chemist's jar in one hand and a teaspoon in the other. The jar was three-quarters full of white powder. He gestured to me to hold out the bucket, then he put half a teaspoon of the powder into it.

"Fill the bucket only a third full of water," he said.

"And put it in Mickey's manger, so that he can't kick it over. It will quieten him down, once he drinks it."

He took the jar and spoon back inside the office, and I picked a good pinch of the white powder out of the bottom of the bucket and dropped it down inside the list of Humber's horses in my money belt. I licked my fingers and thumb afterwards; the particles of powder clinging there had a faintly bitter taste. The jar, which I had seen in the cupboard in the washroom, was labelled "Soluble phenobarbitone', and the only surprising factor was the amount of it that Humber kept available.

I ran water into the bucket, stirred it with my hand, and went back to Mickey's box. Cass had vanished. Jerry was across the yard seeing to his third horse. I looked round for someone to ask for help, but everyone was carefully keeping out of sight. I cursed. I was not going into Mickey alone: it was just plain stupid to try it.

Humber came back across the yard.

"Get on in," he said.

"I'd spill the water dodging him, sir."

"Huh."

Mickey's hoofs thudded viciously against the wall.

"You mean you haven't got the guts."

"You'd need to be a fool to go in there alone, sir," I said sullenly.

He glared at me, but he must have seen it was no use insisting. He suddenly picked up the pitchfork from where it stood against the wall and transferred it to his right hand and the walking stick to his left.

"Get on with it then," he said harshly.

"And don't waste time."

He looked incongruous, brandishing his two unconventional weapons while dressed like an advertisement for Country Life. I hoped he was going to be as resolute as he sounded.

I unbolted Mickey's door and we went in. It had been an injustice to think Humber might turn tail and leave me there alone; he behaved as coldly as ever, as if fear were quite beyond his imagination.

Efficiently he kept Mickey penned first to one side of the box and then to the other while I mucked out and put down fresh straw, remaining steadfastly at his post while I cleaned the uneaten food out of the manger and wedged the bucket of doped water in place. Mickey didn't make it easy for him, either. The teeth and hooves were busier and more dangerous than the night before.

It was especially aggravating in the face of Humber's coolness to have to remember to behave like a bit of a coward myself, though I minded less than if he had been Adams.

When I had finished the jobs Humber told me to go out first, and he retreated in good order after me, his well-pressed suit scarcely rumpled from his exertions.

I shut the door and bolted out, and did my best to look thoroughly frightened. Humber looked me over with disgust.

"Roke," he said sarcastically, "I hope you will feel capable of dealing with Mickey when he is half asleep with drugs?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered.

"Then in order not to strain your feeble stock of courage I suggest we keep him drugged for some days. Every time you fetch him a bucket of water you can get Cass or me to put some sedative in it. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

I carried the sack of dirty straw round to the muck heap, and there took a close look at the bandage which Mickey had dislodged. Blister is a red paste. I had looked in vain for red paste on Mickey's raw leg; and there was not a smear of it on the bandage. Yet from the size and severity of the wound there should have been half a cupful.

I took Jerry down to Posset on the motor-cycle again that afternoon and watched him start to browse contentedly in the toy department of the post office. There was a letter for me from October.

"Why did we receive no report from you last week? It is your duty to keep us informed of the position."