by the time they got home. âEducatingâ was what her father called it, and Biddy thought he enjoyed it as much as the dogs.
Mum rode at the back with the packhorse, pushing along the dawdlers. Biddy was on the seaward side, splashing steadily through the shallows and turning back any steers that wandered towards the surf or stopped to chew on the rubbery yellow kelp washed in with the tide. She rested one leg across the pommel of her saddle and wondered again who really had plaited the horsesâ manes last night. She was pretty sure her mum and dad werenât tricking her, and the plaits werenât just tangles. Gordonâs tail was braided in the same way she and Irene did their hair, and Mumâs horse had a running plait sloping down her neck. Bellaâs mane had three fine single plaits, with speckled feathers bound into the ends of them. Maybe the next time she braided Ireneâs hair she would try it. She had some crimson rosella feathers that would look fantastic in her black hair. Perhaps some red beads . . .
âBiddy! Biddy!â Her motherâs voice broke into her daydream. âGo out and get those cattle off the sandbar.â
Without thinking, Biddy clicked Bella into a canter and raced after the long straggle of steers. Bella put her ears back as she wheeled the cattle around, and gave them a dirty look.
âGet back there! Git moving!â Biddy shouted. âYou boys canât even swim!â
Bellaâs hooves pounded as she raced alongside the galloping steers.
The shifting clouds overhead reflected in the wet sand so that the ground itself seemed to be moving . . .
Later, Biddy tried to remember what happened, but there was no warning, no deep sand, no bog. It was just bangâstraight in. One minute Bella was bowling along on firm sand, and the next she had stopped. The sudden halt flung Biddy over the ponyâs head.
At first she thought Bella had fallen, so she staggered to her feet and urged the pony to do the same. âCome on, Bella! Come on, girl! Get up!â It was only when she felt the sand sucking at her legs that she realised what had happened.
âMum!â she screamed. âMum! Help me! Bellaâs bogged! Sheâs in quicksand!â Bella struggled and sank even deeper, past her shoulders. âOh please, God, Iâll do anything. Please donât let her sink! Come on , Bella! Get out!â
Biddy dragged on the reins. Bella grunted with effort and heaved desperately, but couldnât budge. The bridle pulled over the ponyâs slippery ears and came away in Biddyâs hands, sending her sprawling into the bog. She lay there, sandy, wet and sobbing, as her mother rode up and dismounted on the firm sand.
âCome on, Bid. Get up. Weâll see if Blue can pull her out.â She looped a rope around the chest of the old pack- horse and threw the end to Biddy. âTie this under her surcingleâwhere it goes across the top of your saddle. If you lie flat on the sand you wonât sink so much.â
Biddy wriggled across to Bella. The pony had stopped struggling but it made Biddy sob to see her looking so pathetic. Her beautiful mane was plastered into a brown lump and her terrified eyes were messed and dirty with sand. At least she wasnât sinking any more.
âDonât worry, girl,â Biddy soothed. âYouâll be right.â
The rope was heavy and stiff, and her hands just wouldnât stop shaking. She pulled off her gloves and flung them away. âI hope this strap will hold, Mum. Okay, you pull and Iâll push.â
Lorna turned Blue towards the shore and he leaned into the rope around his chest. He dug his hooves in the sand and heaved with all his might . . . Suddenly he plunged forwardâbut without Bella. Only the broken surcingle dragged on the end of the rope.
âItâs not working, Mum!â Biddy screamed. âItâs broken! She hasnât