The Dark Horse Read Online Free PDF

Now he hid his surprise at seeing Mother Morag and only said, ‘Out of the way, scamps, and let me have a look,’ as he knelt down beside the table.
    John showed Mother Morag round the stables, ‘which is a real treat,’ and her face glowed. Gog and Magog dutifully rose to attend them, but first the children tugged at her habit, caught her hand, propelled her by the elbows to come and see their ponies, their own and others. The bandar-log were useful in schooling ponies, ‘belonging to other and better children,’ John said severely.
    â€˜Who can’t ride and ruin their lovely little animals.’ The eldest bandar boy spoke so exactly like his father that Mother Morag could not help laughing, but she could see that this was serious; Quillans were always serious about horses and the children all rode, ‘like angels – or devils,’ said John.
    It was the first time she had heard pride in his voice.
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    In contrast with the untidy ill-kempt house the stables were impeccable; the stalls, shaded by a verandah, ran round three sides of a square. Mr Leventine had lent John the money to build the concrete block that filled the fourth side, a range of twenty up-to-date loose boxes, with water laid on, fans and ventilators, but still with verandahs and, John had insisted, roofed with old tiles – there were plenty from old outbuildings that had fallen down. ‘Must have cost near half a lakh of rupees,’ said Bunny.
    â€˜At six per cent.’ The bank rate was three or four. ‘But they wouldn’t have given it to me without collateral, so six.’
    â€˜
Six!
Leventine charged you six per cent! I told you he was a bounder.’
    â€˜Not at all,’ said John. ‘He knew I had to have the money and he’s nobody’s fool. That, if you want to know, is me, but at least there’s no hurry about paying it back.’
    The old stalls and verandahs were floored with brick; each, too, had an electric fan and, over the open fronts, guarded by wooden rails, hung rolled up khus-khus, thick grass matting blinds which were let down in hot weather and sprayed with water for added coolness. Each horse had its head collar hung beside the stall, its name above it. Mother Morag read them as she walked along: Ace of Spades: Rigoletto: Flaming Star: Flashlight – ‘Those two are Lady Mehta’s,’ said John – Ontario Queen: Belisarius: The Gangster – ‘He’s the Nawab’s newest buy.’ The bedding had been put down for the night and across the front of each stall the grooms had made a thick plait of straw to prevent wisps coming out. The horses were tied outside ready for the evening grooming.
    A track of tan ran round the square’s central lawn which was green and smooth; Mother Morag could guess it was watered every day. There were white-painted benches and chairs under its trees because it was here the owners gathered to watch the evening parade when the horses, groomed to perfection, were exercised round and round. ‘Exercised and scrutinised,’ said John. Now his foreman, the Jemadar, attended him and Mother Morag as they went from horse to horse and handed her, as the guest, appropriate tidbits for each, and heads came round and necks strained to catch them. One or two horses laid back their ears, showing the whites of their eyes, but John saw Mother Morag was not afraid. ‘There are always one or two bad seeds,’ she said; besides, the groom was always standing by to give a sharp slap of reproof. ‘Ari bap! Shaitan!’ John’s Matilda did not wait for them to come close, but started whickering at the sound of his footsteps. ‘Give her a banana,’ said John. ‘She’ll peel it herself.’
    â€˜What a beauty!’ Mother Morag patted the satin neck. ‘Mr Quillan, she’s outstanding.’
    â€˜Was. I had her in the regiment.’ Warmed by her delight, he