Storm and the Silver Bridle (10 page)

Issie realised now that the red, orange and violet bobbles tied in Angel’s mane were not purely for decoration—they denoted the colour of El Caballo Danza Magnifico’s hacienda. As each of the twelve haciendas assembled by the entrance to the square their flag bearer rode to the front so that the other riders representing his stables could line up behind him. Each flag bearer held aloft the colourful banner that bore their hacienda insignia. El Caballo’s flag was golden and in the middle was a red letter C with the red heart stamped inside it.
Carrying the flag, Alfonso rode to the front of the El Caballo riders, smiling at Issie as he cantered past her.

“Look!” Francoise said to Issie. “It is so high up here, you can see all the way back to El Caballo. The hacienda looks beautiful, doesn’t it?”

Issie looked across the square. Francoise was right, you could see the house and stables quite clearly from here. At the gates she could make out an El Caballo flag, the same as the one that Alfonso was carrying, fluttering in the wind on the flagpole.

There was a mood of anticipation now, as the flag bearers shouted out to their riders as last-minute preparations began. Issie wanted to get excited too, to get into the spirit of the
feria
, but she couldn’t. She was still so desperately worried about Nightstorm. She hadn’t really been concentrating when the flag bearers explained what to do, and she couldn’t speak Spanish anyway. She suddenly felt overwhelmed and bewildered.

“It’s OK. Stick with me,” Francoise told her. She pulled her Anglo-Arab up to ride alongside Issie. “All we must do is ride once around the square so that everyone can admire our horses.” And then she added under her breath, “Of course, this admiration comes at a price. Most of the haciendas are here trying to decide which horses they will claim from their rival stables if they are lucky enough to win the race.”

Which horse would Issie choose if she won? The truth was, as she looked around at the stallions, mares, fillies and colts being paraded in the
feria
, Issie would have chosen all of them. Each horse seemed more beautiful than the next. And then, one particular horse caught her eye. He was a gigantic jet-black stallion, enormous, almost seventeen hands high, and solid with it. Unlike the other stallions in the parade, who all seemed to share the placid
Spanish nature, this black stallion had fire in his belly. He skipped and danced beneath his master as they rode back and forth. While the other riders in the parade marched obediently behind the flag bearer, the man on the black stallion paid no attention and rode ahead, circling his flag bearer and horses like a shark. Issie looked at the flag, which was bright yellow and black with a capital V surrounded by curlicues on either side
.

“Which hacienda is that?” Issie asked, pointing it out to Francoise.

Francoise didn’t have the chance to answer Issie’s question before a string of young horses came into view behind the yellow and black flag. The young horses were riderless, a string of colts and fillies, all wearing neck collars that joined together with leashes so that the line of horses formed a cobra.

Leading the cobra was a man on a grey stallion with a stock whip. He kept the young horses in line behind the man who carried the yellow and black flag. There were four colts in the cobra. The first three colts were almost identical, all of them steel-grey, with the classical physique of the Spanish Andalusian. But the fourth colt was quite different. He was a bay, with a broad white blaze and an elegant dished face with pretty
wide-set eyes. Issie saw him and her heart leapt.

“Storm!” she called out across the square.

Before anyone could stop her, she had turned Angel and was barging her way back through the crowded parade, going against the tide, pushing past the other horses and riders. She could no longer see Storm, he was lost in the crowd now, but she kept her eyes on the yellow and black flag that marked the spot where her colt must be.

“Storm!!”

There was no way the colt could possibly hear Issie’s cries over the noise of the parade. Was she even getting closer to him? It was hard enough to hold her ground against the crowds who were pushing past her, going in the opposite direction. She kept losing sight of the yellow and black flag. Where was Storm?

Panic-stricken, she pulled Angel to a halt, took a deep breath and gave two short, sharp whistles—the same signal she used to call Storm in the paddock at home.

The bay colt heard her call and he returned it with a heartfelt whinny, letting her know that he was there.

“Storm!” Issie kicked Angel on again, heading in the direction of the colt’s cry, forcing her way on through the crowd. Behind her, Alfonso had been the first one to realise what was going on. He had turned too and was
trying to follow her through the parade, but his flag was making it hard to manoeuvre. Francoise was right behind him, making apologies to people as they barged through the crowd, pushing past the other riders as she tried to catch up.

There was a brief moment when the procession suddenly swelled around her and Issie lost Storm once more in a blur of horses and colourful flags—and then she urged Angel on and suddenly they were through and on the other side of the parade. The crowds had cleared and Issie was sitting there on Angel, staring directly at the man who held the cobra of colts.

“Hey!” Issie shouted at the man. “Where did you get him from? That’s my colt!”

The man, who clearly didn’t speak English, looked at her blankly as she pointed at Storm.

“You have my horse,” Issie repeated slowly, “and I want him back.”

The man shrugged at her and then turned away and shouted something in Spanish that Issie didn’t understand. A moment later, the ranks of riders wearing the yellow and black colours of the hacienda opened up to let through the man on the gigantic black stallion, the one that Issie had first noticed in the crowd.

Now that she was closer Issie could see that although the horse was large, the man was not. He was short, and far too fat for the traditional
vaquero
costume that he was wearing. His gut bulged over the black satin cummerbund of his trousers. Underneath his black oiled hair, beads of sweat kept forming on his forehead and he dabbed at these with a white handkerchief. His eyes were beady and small, his face dominated by a very thick, bushy moustache.

“Hey
chica!
Little girl! What’s going on?” the man on the stallion mocked her. “Do you not understand Spanish or do you think you are being funny? You’re blocking our way. The parade has begun. Get a move on!”

Issie didn’t move. “You have my colt,” she said. “That bay colt there—he’s mine and I want him back.”

“You cannot make a claim on the property of Miguel Vega!” the man said dismissively

“Miguel Vega is nothing but a thief,” Issie said, shaking with fury, “and I’m not making a claim. I’m telling you. That colt does not belong to Vega—his name is Nightstorm and he is mine.”

As Issie said this, Alfonso finally reached her side. “Are you OK?” He looked at Issie. She shook her head. “Alfonso, that’s him. That’s my colt. He’s got Storm.”

Alfonso turned to face the man on the black stallion.

“You’ve got a nerve stealing that colt and then bringing him here, Miguel.”

Miguel? Issie suddenly clicked. Of course! This man in front of them was none other than Vega himself!

Francoise had joined them now. She had a steely look in her eyes as she rode past Issie and Alfonso, taking up position in front of them to confront the grinning man with the moustache.

“Miguel. You’ve gone too far this time. You know that the colt belongs to this girl and she has nothing to do with our feud, or the race. Why don’t we settle this now? Do the right thing and give him back.”

Vega gave a smirk at this. “You’re mistaken, Francoise. The colt is one of ours. Look at the brand!”

Issie looked down at Nightstorm and as the colt danced about, fighting against his handlers, she caught a glimpse of his hindquarters. Freshly burned into his left haunch was the ∼V∼ brand of the Vega stables.

Vega sneered at Francoise. “You see? You insult Miguel Vega! I do not need to steal your feeble horses! I will win the five best horses in your stable anyway when Victorioso and I cross the line ahead of you for the Silver Bridle!”

All this time, as they had been standing there facing Vega, Issie had been struggling to control Angel. The stallion had
been pacing and fretting beneath her, fighting her hands, desperate to get away from the man with the moustache. It hadn’t occurred to Issie until now that Angel would have a lingering memory of Vega’s cruelty, and that the stallion would be so terrified of his former master. She was struggling to keep him still so that she could confront Vega. “Steady, boy,” Issie breathed, trying to hold the stallion as he danced beneath her.

“Ah!” Vega said. “I see you are riding Angel. He still bears the marks of my
serreta
.” He laughed and reached out a hand to touch the stallion’s scarred face. Angel instantly pulled back and Issie struggled once more to hang on to the reins and control him.

Vega laughed again and looked at Storm. “We shall soon see how this little one likes the
serreta
. He is almost old enough, I think, to begin his training.”

“You leave him alone!” Issie shouted. Before she could stop to think about it she had kicked Angel on and was aiming her horse straight at Vega, her hand raised, ready to strike at the man with her closed fist.

“Hah!” Vega reached out his own hand and caught Issie’s arm in midair, grasping her wrist tightly. “We have a young wildcat here! You need to control your child, Francoise! I might need to use the
serreta
on her as well.”

“Let go of her!” Francoise egged her horse on, riding forward to reach out her hand and free Issie from Vega’s grasp. As she did so, though, Vega’s enormous black stallion reared up. Vega had no choice but to let go of Issie’s wrist as the horse rose up underneath him. But Francoise was still riding forward to help her and as the big, black stallion came back down to the ground his front hoof caught a glancing blow on Francoise’s shoulder.

Francoise let out a scream of pain and toppled forward from her side-saddle to land hard on the ground. Then her chestnut mare reared up in fright and suddenly there were horses loose everywhere and riders yelling and shouting in panic, jostling and shoving each other to try and get clear.

“Francoise!” Issie was trying to find the Frenchwoman, but she was out of sight on the ground, in danger of being trampled in the blur of hooves.

Alfonso fought the crowds too, struggling to reach Francoise, but it was Avery who appeared out of nowhere and managed to reach her in time. Realising the danger to anyone who was dismounted among the rabble of panicked horses, he stayed on his horse and reached down low to grab Francoise by the arm. Yanking her roughly to her feet, he grabbed her tight and threw her across the
saddle in front of him. Francoise was clearly in pain, and had to use all her strength to cling on desperately as Avery rode to get them clear of the crowds.

“I’ve got her.” Avery lifted Francoise to safety. “Issie! Follow us!” But Issie was already heading in the opposite direction, fighting her way back into the crowd to look for Storm. Vega’s riders had all disappeared in the fracas and the colt was nowhere to be seen. She rode into the crowd, being barged and shoved by other horses and riders as she tried to force her way through to the last place she had seen Vega and her colt.

“Come on!” She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Alfonso. “It’s no use, Issie,” Alfonso insisted. “Vega is arrogant, but he’s not stupid. He knows better than to hang around after that. You won’t find him now. He’s already gone and he’s taken Storm with him.”

Issie ignored Alfonso. She kept looking, her eyes searching out the bay colt, hoping to catch a glimpse of Storm in the crowd of horses and riders.

“You’ll get hurt if you stay in the way here,” Alfonso said. “Come on, please. Follow me.”

Alfonso led Issie and Angel out of the crowd, past the crush of horses and riders to a clear space where a row of park benches lined the far side of the town square.