Six Ponies (18 page)

“Because I don’t want to,” said Richard. “Crikey, this fog is getting thick,” he went on. “We shan’t be able to see a yard in front of our noses soon. Have you any idea where we are?” he asked, an anxious note creeping into his voice.

“None at all,” said Evelyn, enjoying his discomfort. “I should think we’re going round and round in circles.”

“I expect the others have caught the hares by now,” said Richard. “In fact they’re probably sitting comfortably at your place, waiting for us to turn up. Gosh, I’m cold. I wish I were sitting by a blazing fire having tea.”

“I doubt whether the others have found the hares,” said Evelyn. “I only hope they haven’t got too hopelessly lost.” It was then that Evelyn remembered her mother saying, “Oh, well, it’ll be quite all right if Evelyn’s a hound, as she’ll be able to keep an eye on Margaret and James.” Gosh,
she thought, I hope nothing has happened to them. Marga’s alone, and goodness knows where Jim is. What will mummy say? Suddenly she noticed Richard was speaking. “Don’t you think so?” he said.

“Think what?” asked Evelyn.

“Oh, crikey,” said Richard, “are you deaf? I was asking if you thought it would be a good idea to shout in case the others are anywhere near.”

“I suppose we can try,” said Evelyn, “but I should think they’ve all fallen into chalk quarries by now.”

“I hope not,” said Richard. “What would mummy say if I turned up without Jill? Still, it’s not my fault. I said she’d never keep up, but mummy insisted she should come.”

“Why did we have a beastly paper-chase?” said Evelyn, her voice near breaking. “I’m sure something must have happened to the others.” They rode sorrowfully on, shouting into the impenetrable wall of fog at intervals.

“It’s getting thicker than ever, Hil,” said Roger, pulling Sky Pilot up and gazing into the fog. “I think we shall have to call it off; they won’t be able to see the trail in another ten minutes if it goes on coming up as fast as this.”

“Oh, dash it!” said Hilary. “Why does the weather always have to spoil everything? I suppose we’d better turn back and tell the others.”

“Yes, I think so,” said Roger, “and with any luck we’ll meet them before the fog blots out the trail completely.”

They turned their ponies and retraced their steps. They rode on, through the ever-thickening fog, and with each moment their forebodings grew. At last Hilary said, “Do you think anything’s happened to them? They ought to be here by now.”

“Heaven knows,” said Roger gloomily. “They’ll be hopelessly lost if they’ve missed the trail; but there’s just a chance they turned back earlier and have gone home.”

“Evelyn wouldn’t,” said Hilary with conviction.

“No, I suppose not,” said Roger. “She’s too jolly obstinate. Sssh, did you hear a shout?”

“No,” said Hilary, listening intently. “Yes, wait a minute. What was that?”

“Them, I think,” said Roger excitedly, and he gave a blood-curdling scream, which was meant to be a view-holloa. As it died away they both listened, and, to their delight, they heard an answering yell.

“It’s them all right,” said Hilary. “Come on.” And she broke into a trot.

“Wait a sec.,” said Roger. “It sounded more on our right to me; they may still be on the Roman road.”

“Probably they missed the trail where it turned off into Downley Wood,” said Hilary, “but we can’t go right back there. Shall we take a short cut across the fields and risk getting lost?”

“It’s the only thing to do,” said Roger, “and I think there’s a gate on the right in a minute; I noticed it on the way down.” They soon came upon the gate, and they were delighted to find a footpath, which led across the fields in the direction of the Roman road. They followed it as best they could, shouting as they went. Gradually the answering calls became louder, until they were separated from Noel, Susan, John, James and Jill only by a decrepit and broken-down hedge. Both parties were overjoyed to see each other, but this turned to dismay when they realised that Evelyn, Margaret and Richard were still missing.

“Oh, gosh,” said Roger dispiritedly, “you got parted, then?”

“Yes,” said John, “but they were so far on ahead, we felt sure they would catch you before the fog got really thick.”

“Where did you last see them?” asked Hilary.

“At the bottom of the Nut-walk,” said Noel. “We stopped to put Jill’s saddle back and they disappeared.”

“Which was the right trail in the wood?” asked James. “The thin one?”

“Which wood do you mean?” asked Roger.

“The one where the trails parted,” said James. “One went straight on and the other led to the Roman road.”

“They both led to the Roman road,” said Roger; “but the one that went straight on was a longer way round. Do you think they took that one?”

“Yes,” said James. “Their hoof-marks went that way.”

“Well, where in the dickens can they have got to?” said Roger, “for it only took me ten minutes longer than you, didn’t it, Hilary?”

“That’s right,” said Hilary. “But, of course, I didn’t hurry.”

“I think the best thing we can do,” said Roger, “is to try to find our way across the footpath and down Lindon’s Lane, where I laid the false trail. I should think they must be over that way somewhere, but if they’re not—well, we shall be on our way home.”

“We’ve got to find a way into your field, first,” said Susan.

“Yes,” said John, “and we can’t jump, because there’s a strand of barbed wire in the hedge.”

“There’s a post here that looks pretty rotten,” said Noel, who’d been investigating. It
was
rotten, and, when she and John both pushed, it broke off close to the ground. Then Roger and Hilary stood on the wire while the others led their ponies across, and afterwards propped up the post again before mounting and riding on. The ponies all seemed tired except for Sky Pilot; he was nervous and shied at gates, bushes and cows as they suddenly appeared out of the fog. The riders, who were cold, hungry and anxious, tried hard not to show it. They discussed all the pleasant things which might have befallen the three missing hounds, and the horrid possibilities, of which their minds were full, they kept to themselves. Every few minutes they all shouted together, and at last, when they were riding down Lindon’s Lane, Roger in the lead, they heard an answering call, very faint, but definitely an answer.

“There, that must be them,” said Hilary, as relief surged through everyone, for dead men cannot shout. They all felt inclined to hurry in the direction of the shout, but they were prevented by the fog, which seemed thicker than ever
concentrated between the tall overgrown hedges of the lane.

“What about singing?” suggested John. “That might guide them to us.”

“ ‘Tipperary?’ ” asked Hilary. All seven of them sang with a will. They grinned at each other, and made as much noise as they could, so relieved were they at having found the rest of the hounds. When they had sung “Tipperary” twice, Susan suggested “Pack Up Your Troubles.” Then John wanted “Ten Green Bottles,” which was followed by “What shall we do with the drunken sailor?” to please James, and they were in the middle of the second verse of “John Peel” when there was a shout quite close, and in a few moments Evelyn and Richard were among them.

“But haven’t you got Marga?” asked Hilary in a horror-struck voice. “The others said she was with you.”

“She was,” said Evelyn, “but she got left behind in some beastly lane. We took a short cut, because we saw you, and, as she couldn’t get Pixie over the jump, she was going to follow the trail.”

“Oh, heavens!” said Roger. “This is the last straw. Never again will I organise anything. Where on earth can Marga have got to?”

“She’s awfully scatterbrained,” said Hilary. “She’s bound to have done something silly. We must find her. What will mummy say?”

“I’m sure she’s fallen into a chalk quarry,” said James, voicing everyone’s fears.

“Nonsense, Jim,” said Roger, trying to sound cheerful. “If it was you I’d be much more worried, because, in spite of your compass, you always get lost; but though Marga’s rash, she’s awfully good at finding the way.”

“It’s going to be the dickens of a job finding her,” said John. “What shall we do—divide up into parties?”

“Heaven forbid!” said Roger. “We shall all lose each other again. No one but Hilary and me knows the way home, do they?”

“No, I’m completely at sea,” said John.

“So am I,” said Noel.

“And me,” said Susan.

“We must do something,” said Evelyn. “We can’t just stand here.”

“I wish I’d lent Marga my compass,” said James.

“She wouldn’t have known how to work it if you had,” said Hilary.

“Personally,” said Richard suddenly, “I think we had better go back to your place, and, if she hasn’t got there first, we can call the police and have a proper search party.”

“Oh, yes,” said Jill. “Do let’s go home, I’m so cold.”

“Crikey!” muttered John.

“I’m not going home,” said Hilary. “We’ve got to find Marga.”

“Nor am I,” said James, giving Richard a challenging look.

“Wait a minute, though,” said Roger. “I’m not sure that Richard isn’t right. It’s a quarter to two,” he went on, braving the incredulous looks his sisters were giving him, “and by now the parents will have realised we must be lost; but they can’t search for us, because they don’t know where we were going, and the fog makes it so impossible. The best thing would be to ring up, but I should think the nearest telephone is the Cresswells’ and that’s at least three miles away. Then if we were to do as John suggested, search in parties, we’re bound to lose each other. Neither party will know if she’s been found, and meanwhile she’ll probably get home and turn everyone out to look for us.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Hilary slowly. “But I hate the thought of going, just in case she’s anywhere about. Couldn’t I stay, while you and Evelyn take the others home and collect a search party?”

“But quite honestly, Hil,” said Roger, “I don’t think she’s anywhere round here; she’d have heard our shouts if she was. She got quite a long start of us, you know. Then supposing she was home when we got there, everyone would have to turn out to look for you.”

“That’s true,” said Hilary. “I suppose it’s the only thing to do.”

“Come on, then,” said Richard impatiently, “let’s get going.” They rode on, speaking very little, but occasionally giving a view-holloa, just in case Margaret was about. At last they came out on the Basset-Fenchurch road, and they parted from the Morrissons at the lane which came out opposite Orchard Cottage. Roger apologised for the unpleasant time they had had, Richard replied that it wasn’t his fault, and Jill didn’t bother to answer. As they disappeared down the lane at a fast trot, John said, “Thank goodness we’ve got rid of them.”

“Yes,” said Susan. “To keep on grumbling like that, just because they were cold, when
anything
may have happened to Margaret.” Noel, who was riding beside her, made a face and muttered, “Shut up, you idiot.” There was a loud sniff from James, and Roger said, “We must be nearly at the Cresswells’ now. I think I’d better brave that ghastly woman and ring up mummy. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Hilary. “But I’ll go. I’m better at escaping than you, and anything to end this horrible suspense.”

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind,” said Roger.

“We’d better keep our eyes open,” said Hilary, “or we shall ride past. I’m sure the fog’s thicker here.” When they reached Dormers, Roger held Northwind while Hilary went in. She was quite a long time, it seemed ages to the others waiting in suspense, and when she came back every hope was dashed: Margaret hadn’t got home, she told them, and Mrs. Radcliffe was waiting for them to get back before she started to look for her in the car. They rode gloomily on. Roger dropped back beside Hilary and asked in a low voice, “What did mummy say? Was she very upset?”

“She was—rather,” said Hilary. “She was cross with Evelyn because she told her to keep an eye on Marga and Jim, but I kept her off that as much as I could, for we don’t want a row.”

When they reached the cross-roads where the Basset and
Hogshill roads parted, Noel and Susan said good-bye, and that they hoped the Radcliffes would find Margaret waiting for them. Then they rode off together, for Noel had to drop Rusty at the Spinneys. But John insisted on going back to the Priory. He said he would leave Turpin with the Radcliffes’ ponies and help search, or, if Margaret had turned up, use Major Holbrooke’s drive as a short cut home. As they clattered up the Priory drive, a depleted party, with very different feelings to those they had started with that morning, they gave hunting cries to announce their arrival. Mrs. Radcliffe soon appeared, and the last vestige of hope was taken from them: there was still no sign of Margaret.

Drearily they settled the ponies: Darkie and North wind in the stable, Turpin in Pixie’s place between them, and Sky Pilot in the new portable loose-box. Romany was given a feed and turned out with Rocket, and then they hurried into the house, to find Mrs. Radcliffe answering the telephone. “That’s very kind of you,” she was saying. “I’ll start right away, but I expect it’ll take me some time, the fog is so terribly thick.” All the children forgot their manners and listened intently. “I believe it is,” said Roger. “Why else should she go out in the fog?” Evelyn began to jump about and say, “Hurray, hurray, I’m sure it is!” But the others told her to shut up, and pointed out that their mother wouldn’t be able to hear. At last she put down the receiver and said, “It’s all right, she’s turned up at Flinton-under-Fenchurch. That was Colonel Cagemore. He says he’ll keep Pixie for the night, as she seems dead beat, and we’re to fetch Margaret in the car.”

“Hurray!” said everyone.

“Thank goodness for that,” said Roger. “I’m absolutely fed up with looking. I’ll come with you, mummy,” he went on, “and then, if the fog’s very thick, I can stand on the running-board and guide you.”

“Well, I suppose I’d better go now,” said John in disappointed tones, “unless I can be of some use by standing on the other running-board.”

“You can’t possibly ride all the way home now, John,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. “Turpin must be exhausted. Look! if Pixie is staying with Colonel Cagemore, Turpin can keep her box for to-night, and if you’ll ring up your parents and tell them you’re O.K. I’ll run you home in the car when we’ve fetched Margaret.”