Pony Rebellion by Janet Rising Read Free Book Online Page A

with my knee—with James’s help.
    â€œYou know Tiff’s not very good on the road,” Bean told us doubtfully.
    No surprises there.
    â€œWe’ve only got about half a mile before we get to the yard,” James assured her. “Tuck her on the inside of Moth behind Drummer and Henry. She’ll be between Moth and the bushes, and the others will give her confidence.”
    But as soon as we turned onto the pavement, Henry dropped back so that he was behind Drummer, almost pulling my arm out of its socket. Riding escort to Tiffany, it wasn’t so easy for James to keep Henry going, and we couldn’t ride more than two abreast. A car passed us and Tiffany did a bit of a dance—but she had nowhere to go except backward, and Bean held her tight so that wasn’t an option. Henry, right behind Drummer now, went along sideways, his backside out into the road. Very helpful—not.
    Then I heard a motorcycle approaching from in front of us.
    â€œOh, rats!” exclaimed Bean. “Tiffany dreads motorcycles! What are the chances?”
    â€œIs that one of those two-wheeled dragon things that make a terrible noise?” I heard Tiffany say, her voice rising.
    â€œNothing to worry about, Tiff, get a grip,” I heard Drummer try to reassure her. Good old Drummer, nothing causes him to lose his cool. I would have patted his neck in gratitude—if I’d had a hand free, which I didn’t.
    â€œDo you think you could work with us a little here, Henry?” Drummer asked as I leaned farther backward to keep hold of the stirrup leather.
    â€œWhy should I?” I heard Mrs. Bradley’s Dales reply sulkily. “You guys are pathetic the way you always do as you’re told.”
    The motorcycle came into view and, mercifully, the rider slowed right down when he saw the ponies. I could see his passenger rider behind him, tapping him on the shoulder and waving his arms around as though he was urging him on.
    â€œDon’t be stupid!” I muttered under my breath, aware that Tiffany was starting to jog and bounce around behind us, causing Moth to step farther into the road. Then there was silence as the motorcycle rider shut off his engine completely.
    â€œThank goodness!” I heard Bean sigh, and she talked encouragingly to Tiffany, who was muttering to herself and shaking poor Moth around like a pinball machine. But I couldn’t worry about Bean. I had my own problems—Henry, taking advantage of the situation, pulled back farther and farther, dragging me back with him. To keep hold of the stirrup leather I had to lean right back over Drummer’s quarters.
    â€œWhat are you doing up there?” Drummer asked me. “This is hardly the time to lie down.”
    â€œTell me something I don’t know!” I muttered under my breath. “James!” I yelled. “You’re slacking back there!”
    â€œSorry, got my hands full here!” James shouted back, unable to help me.
    â€œYou guys are spineless,” I heard Henry continue, between orchestrating the whole situation. “You’re basically puppets.”
    The motorcycle passenger rider was getting off the bike. My arm felt like it was being pulled out of its socket as Henry made a medieval torture rack seem like a fairground ride.
    â€œWe are not puppets, actually !” I heard Tiffany say indignantly. “If you paid attention, you would know that we’re even now planning a reb—”
    â€œShut up , Tiffany!” I heard Drummer shout. “ Someone can hear you!”
    Henry stopped altogether. I considered letting go but decided I really couldn’t let Mrs. Bradley’s pride and joy loose on the road (however tempting that was), so I gave a desperate tug instead. Sensing victory, ever-helpful Henry jerked back and I went with him. For once, my brain actually kicked in and, blessing the newfound confidence I had discovered doing backward roll