The Quicksand Pony Read Online Free PDF

house.
    â€˜I wish you were coming,’ Biddy called to her grand-father.
    He looked so old and skinny waving from the back porch, with Tigger weaving around his legs. She hoped he’d be okay. Still, they’d only be gone for a night. They’d be back with the cattle by Thursday evening.
    â€˜An old bloke like me would only get in your way. My word, you’re a flash-looking outfit. Do your oilskin up. It’ll be freezing out on the beach.’
    â€˜Righto, let’s get a move on.’ Biddy’s dad tightened a final strap on Blue, the packhorse, then swung into his saddle. His old stockhorse, Gordon, stood quietly. He was a great horse, willing and intelligent. Once, years ago, Dad had ridden him into a marshy place, looking for cattle, and nearly got bogged, but Gordon had escaped by testing the ground with his hoof, one step at a time, until he was sure it would hold his weight.
    â€˜We’ll see you pretty late tomorrow. Don’t forget to leave the gate open into the yard paddock—’
    â€˜Of course I’ll leave the gate open!’ Grandpa had never got used to his son telling him what to do. ‘Don’t you forget to look in behind Mount Smoky. There’s always a few stragglers in there. And look out for the quicksand!’
    â€˜Yeah, we will. Bye, Dad.’
    â€˜Look after yourself, Dad,’ called Biddy’s mum as she gathered her reins. ‘Take care.’
    They turned their horses and rode away in the early morning dark, with the packhorse and dogs trotting behind. Biddy kept twisting in her saddle and calling back to the figure in the doorway, ‘Bye, Grandpa. Look after Tigger for me. Bye, Grandpa. Love you,’ until they crested the low hill beyond the stockyards, and the house was blocked from view.
    They were three tiny figures riding over the plain. The headland was a vague shape to the south, and to the east the water of the bay lay flat and grey. Biddy and her parents were riding west to the shallow inlet behind their farm. They would follow the bridle path over the cliffs to the surf beach, which was the only way of getting to the headland. There was no road, and the mudflats on the bay were impassable.
    Biddy thought there couldn’t be a better feeling than riding off into unknown country, on a good horse, with who knows what adventure ahead. It was like being an explorer, or an outlaw. She wished she had a revolver. It would be great to take potshots at rabbits as you galloped along.
    The sky was just light enough for the horses to pick their way along the track. They trotted, fresh and skittish at first, then settled into a steady rhythm. The saddlebags on the packhorse bounced in time to the hoofbeats.
    By the time they got through the scrub and out onto the cliff tops, the sky in the east was blazing pink and orange. ‘Hey, Mum!’ yelled Biddy. ‘Pink sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning! Means it’s going to rain.’
    She held on tight and tried not to look down. They only used this path when the tide was in, as it was now. It was too narrow to drive cattle along; they’d push past each other and fall down the cliff. Biddy looked at the water surging below her, and shivered. When they came back with the cattle the tide would be out and they’d ride on the sand.
    The path wound over the last cliff, then dropped steeply to the surf beach. Biddy leaned back, and Bella slid down the sandy slope on her hindquarters. Ah! It felt good to be back on flat ground.
    Far out to sea the sunlight sparkled on the water like sequins. Sullen clouds hung over the peaks of the headland. The beach was long, endless. It ran for miles, then disappeared into the sea-mist. The dunes towered on one side and the surf pounded in on the other. A freezing wind whipped straight up from Antarctica, blasting sand and rain into their faces. The high tide forced them to ride along the base of the dunes, in soft sand