Hot Potato (Shelby and Blue) - Alyssa Brugman [2]
'Why isn't Clint interested?' asked Erin.
'Maybe he thinks it's too risky?' Lindsey suggested. 'Someone thought that these horses were too crazy or too sick to bother with.'
'Not everyone knows what they're doing, though,' Shelby observed.
'Yes, and that's why all these other people are bidding on them,' Lindsey added.
At the end of the row there was a chestnut pony with four white stockings and a blaze. Despite the mud that matted its coat, it was the prettiest pony in the whole place. Shelby tugged at her friends' sleeves and they followed her to the edge of the yard.
'This can't be one of the Dog Man's horses. It must be the beginning of the next lot.'
'Cute!' squealed Erin. The pony turned its head at the sound of her voice. She reached out a hand and the pony sniffed it cautiously.
'Tiny,' observed Lindsey. 'It's not even thirteen hands. And look at all those white hooves! You never buy a horse with four socks.'
'I think it's beautiful. If it is a Dog Man's horse then whoever sold it to him was an idiot,' said Shelby.
She wondered if the owner had thought the pony was sick when it just needed worming. Maybe it had been bought for a beginner who didn't know how to handle it, or lost interest?
Shelby could picture it in a show ring with its mane in rosettes, doing what the magazines called 'an extravagant extension', which meant it flicked its toes out when it trotted.
She imagined that she was riding it, wearing a dark grey, pinstriped hacking jacket and top-boots. She would be so proud and confident, and not even a little bit nervous, because they would have practised together. They would win Supreme Champion. The judge wouldn't even look at the other horses. He would wave them away before they got into the ring.
Adults at the shows would offer her ten thousand dollars for the horse, and she would shake her head, smiling to herself, knowing that, not so long ago, everyone thought the horse was worthless. It happened to Phar Lap and Seabiscuit. It probably happened all the time.
The pony's forelock was so long that it had to peek out at Shelby from under the weight of it. It had long eyelashes and large brown eyes. It nibbled at her fingers, and Shelby knew she couldn't go home without it.
She'd never been to the sales before – she'd never even thought about it until Clint mentioned it that week. This horse was obviously of a higher quality than any other pony here. What were the chances of them being at the same place at the same time? It couldn't be a coincidence.
The auctioneer had reached the yard and the little pony snorted suspiciously as the crowd closed around them.
'It's OK, little one,' Shelby crooned to it.
'What do we know about this one, Phil?' the auctioneer asked one of the fellows in the crowd.
The man shrugged. 'I dunno, mate. I only picked her up yes'dee.'
'It's a mare, isn't it?' He waited for a nod of confirmation from the man in the crowd. 'We'll start the bids at two hundred dollars. Anyone? One eighty dollars. She's a steal at one eighty.'
The auctioneer looked at the spectators with his eyebrows raised. 'One hundred and eighty dollars. She's a pretty little filly.'
People scuffed their feet and looked at the ground, or chatted amongst themselves.
'Why isn't anyone bidding?' Shelby asked her friend.
'Haven't you been watching?' replied Lindsey. 'This is a toy horse. All these blokes are looking for stock horses or quarter horses – working horses.'
'One seventy-five,' said the auctioneer. 'A nice pony, gents. Buy it for your granddaughters.'
'We should buy it,' whispered Erin. Her eyes were bright. 'Shelby, you got fifty dollars for your birthday and I've been saving.'
Shelby had received a lovely crisp fifty-dollar note from her Aunt Jenny for her birthday, but she had spent it already. She was sure she could get some more money, though. She would do extra chores, offer to mow the neighbours' lawns, or wash their cars. Fifty dollars was a cinch.
'How much do you have, Lindsey?' Shelby asked.
She had an idea that