Karen's Pony Camp

  There were about twenty intermediate girls, who were eight, nine, and ten years old. They stood apart from us beginners.

  “They act like we have cooties,” whispered Hannie.

  I put my nose in the air. I would show those intermediates!

  Since most of them had been to this camp before, they knew the ponies already. Diane and Shannon let each intermediate pick which pony she wanted. Then Shannon led them in a walk around the ring.

  There was still a group of ponies standing patiently. I saw the one I wanted: He was not too big, and he had a soft tan coat and a pale blonde mane and tail. I crossed my fingers and hoped that no one else would pick him first.

  I jumped up and down and waved my hand, but Diane asked Betsy to step forward.

  “You are a beginner, aren’t you?” asked Diane.

  Betsy nodded shyly.

  “I think you and Daisy will be a good team,” said Diane.

  Shannon helped Betsy up onto a shaggy-coated black pony with round, dark eyes. Then Diane matched Hannie with a medium-sized pony with a pale gray coat and dark gray speckles. His name was Dusty. Hannie climbed up happily, and I gave Diane a thumbs-up.

  By now I felt as if I were going to fall apart if I did not pick my pony soon.

  “Okay, Karen,” said Diane. She had read my mind.

  “The palomino, the palomino,” I begged, hopping up and down.

  “Hmm,” Diane said. “His name is Diablo. That means devil in Spanish. I think he might need a rider with a little more experience.”

  “No, no, I can do it,” I said. “Diablo is the one I want. Pleeease. He is so beautiful.”

  “Well, okay,” said Diane. “You can always switch if he does not work out.”

  “Yes!” I cried. Shannon helped me onto Diablo’s back.

  Here are some of the first rules we learned at Camp Happy Trails:

  Rule #1: Always make a little noise when you approach a pony. Do not sneak up from behind.

  Rule #2: Always get on and off a pony (or horse) from the left side. Never the right side.

  I held the reins just like Shannon showed me. My legs curved around the pony’s sides. My feet were in the stirrups. Diablo took a step forward. I was riding!

  The Intermediates

  That night after dinner, everyone at camp gathered around a campfire in the middle of the playing field. Besides about eighty campers, there were fourteen counselors and Mr. and Mrs. Moggy. We roasted marshmallows and made s’mores and sang songs.

  “So far, pony camp is excellent,” said Hannie.

  Nancy bit into a s’more. “I hope we go swimming tomorrow,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs. “Do we have to go riding every day?”

  “Nancy!” I said. “Of course. This is riding camp.”

  Hannie and I giggled. Nancy made a face.

  Diane had first matched Nancy with Buttercup, who was very sweet and gentle. But Nancy thought Buttercup was too tall. Then Nancy tried Peaches. But Peaches was too jumpy. Finally Diane put Nancy on Mellow Yellow, who was a very small, fat pony with a bright golden coat. Mellow Yellow was about a hundred years old. The only way to get her to move was to grab her bridle and drag her along. Nancy liked Mellow Yellow. But she was still afraid.

  “Dusty is so wonderful,” said Hannie. “He is just perfect. I think he likes me, too. Do you like Diablo?”

  “Um,” I said. The truth was, Diablo was the most beautiful pony. But he was not the nicest or the friendliest. And he wanted to do what he wanted to do, not what I wanted him to do. But he looked really great. I did not want to give him up. Once he got used to me, he would probably like me better. “Sure,” I told Hannie. “Diablo is terrific.”

  “One thing that is not terrific is the intermediates,” said Nancy.

  I nodded. We had been at camp only one day, and already I knew that the intermediates were snobby. They looked down on us beginners. A couple of them had snickered when Diablo would not go to the left like I asked him to do. And one girl, Mary-Grace Welles, had made fun of Nancy for riding Mellow Yellow. When Nancy tried to get Mellow to go forward and Mellow just stood there, Mary-Grace had said, “Hi ho, Silver, away!” loud enough for us all to hear. And another girl, Casey Winters, had whispered, “Get a bike!”

  “But we can work really hard and move up,” said Hannie. “Then we will be intermediates.”

  “I think we should get back at them,” I said. “Maybe we could sneak into Misty Cabin and short-sheet their beds.” I wiggled my eyebrows and tried to look sneaky.

  Nancy grinned. “That is just the kind of thing you do at camp,” she said. “My daddy told me about the summer camp he went to when he was little.”

  “Did your daddy go to pony camp?” asked Hannie.

  “No.” Nancy sighed. “I am the first one in my family to go to pony camp.”

  “Maybe tomorrow they will let us trot in the ring,” said Hannie. “Instead of just walking.”

  Nancy looked horrified. “Oh, I hope not!” she said. “I did not think the ponies would be so big or so fast. I am not ready to trot.”

  Hannie and I looked at each other and laughed. Some of the ponies were kind of big, but none of ours was. The biggest ponies were for the experts — the eleven-and twelve-year-olds. Even Diablo was not very tall. And Mellow Yellow was so short that when Nancy sat on her, Nancy’s feet almost touched the ground!

  “I do not think you have to worry about Mellow going too fast,” said Hannie, trying not to smile. “I do not think she would trot even if you waved a carrot in front of her nose.”

  “Well, I hope not,” said Nancy.

  Camp Days

  Let’s Go, Diablo

  “Okay, campers,” called Shannon. “Today we will practice posting.”

  I groaned. I was sitting on Diablo in the beginners’ riding ring. Hannie and Dusty were next to me. Nancy and Mellow Yellow were at the end of the line. (They always went last so they would not hold anyone up.)

  Posting is very hard. It is when you stand up in the stirrups and sit down in the saddle in time to your pony’s trot. If you do it right, trotting is easier. If you do not do it right, it is a pain in the bottom. And I mean that.

  Beginners are allowed to walk or trot their ponies. No cantering or galloping. (A canter is faster than a trot and slower than a gallop.) When I had signed up for pony camp, I thought we would do a lot of galloping and jumping. I love going fast. But they do not let beginners do that.

  “Hannie, would you lead, please?” asked Shannon.

  (Hannie led our class a lot. She did everything right.)

  Hannie smiled, and urged Dusty to the front. Then they turned and began to trot in a big circle along the fence. Hannie made posting look easy.

  I tried to steer Diablo after Hannie. I clicked with my mouth. I touched my heels to his sides. He did not move. I clicked louder. I touched my heels again. Diablo turned to look at me. The sun was very hot. Everyone in class was waiting.

  “Diablo, let’s go!” I said. I pressed my heels into his sides. Diablo lurched forward, and I almost fell off. I grabbed his mane and the reins and hung on. Diablo trotted quickly around the ring and practically ran into Dusty. I was so busy holding on that I could not even think about posting!

  Finally, I managed to pull back on the reins a little bit, and Diablo slowed down. Everyone else was posting. Except Nancy and Mellow Yellow. Shannon led them in a little circle in the middle of the ring. Nancy was saying, “Not so fast.”

  Just then a group of intermediates rode past our riding ring. (They had been on a short trail ride through the woods. I wanted to go through the woods, too, but beginners were not allowed to do that yet.)

  “Diablo can tell he has an amateur on his back,” said Mary-Grace Welles. “When I rode him, he always did exactly what I wanted him to do.”

  Boo and bullfrogs, I thought. I stuck out my tongue at her.

  “Look at the Wimpketeer,” said Jody Barrow. She pointed to Nancy in the middle of the ring.
“They should get her a rocking horse.” Most of the other intermediates laughed. I felt so angry. It was not Nancy’s fault she was scared of riding.

  “Well, maybe I will let Nancy ride my very own pony, Blueberry,” I said, sticking my chin out at Mary-Grace.

  “There is no pony named Blueberry here,” said Mary-Grace.

  “Not yet,” I said. “But there will be. In about two weeks my own pony will come live here for good. Once Blueberry gets here, I will not have to ride Diablo, and Nancy will not have to ride Mellow Yellow.”

  “You do not have your own pony,” said Jody. “You are making it up.”

  I shrugged. I pretended I did not care whether they believed me or not. “You will see,” I said. “Blueberry is coming in two weeks, and he is the most perfect pony in the world. He is much nicer than any of these camp ponies.”

  Mary-Grace and Jody frowned and rode away with the other intermediates. Nancy grinned and gave me a thumbs-up sign. I felt a little bit guilty. The camp ponies were all very nice. I did not enjoy riding Diablo much, but he was not mean. I hoped his feelings were not hurt.

  “Come on, Diablo,” I said, clicking my mouth. “Let’s try to post again.”

  * * *

  After class Nancy and I decided to go swimming. Hannie trotted by on Dusty.

  “We are going to the pool,” I said. “Hurry and put Dusty away so we can change.”

  “No thanks,” said Hannie. “I am going to ride some more with Shannon and Gretchen.” Gretchen was one of the nicer intermediates. My eyebrows rose up.

  “You do not want to go swimming with us?” I asked.

  “Maybe later,” said Hannie. She patted Dusty’s neck.

  “Boy, Karen shut up Mary-Grace,” Nancy told Hannie. “She said that — ”

  “Tell me about it later, okay?” said Hannie, and she posted off to catch up with Shannon and Gretchen.

  Nancy and I stared at each other.

  “Well!” said Nancy.

  The Trail Ride

  The next morning at the flagpole, Mrs. Moggy made an announcement.

  “Two exciting events are coming up, campers,” said Mrs. Moggy. “This weekend is the all-camp overnight trail ride. We will pack sleeping bags and ride a trail deep into the woods. Then we will have a cookout and a sing-along, and spend the night under the stars.”

  “All right!” said Hannie.

  I wiggled with excitement. Finally I would be able to ride my pony out of the ring! Yea!

  “The other event is the annual end-of-camp gymkhana,” said Mrs. Moggy. “A gymkhana is a field day of competitions. We will compete in riding events against Camp Red Pines, from across the lake.”

  “Oh, boy!” said Hannie. “I wonder what events we’ll compete in.”

  I was not sure I would be ready to compete in any event. But I did not say so.

  “I cannot wait for Friday,” said Hannie, giving a little hop. “It will be so great. The Three Musketeers, together on a trail ride.”

  I nodded. Hannie was right. This was just what the Three Musketeers needed to pull us together again. And I was sure Diablo would behave better on a real trail. He was probably as tired of the riding ring as I was!

  “You know what else?” I said. “This will be the perfect chance to get back at those snobby intermediates. Maybe we should put itching powder in their sleeping bags.”

  Hannie giggled. “I think Gretchen is nice,” she said. “And so are Amanda and Lauren.”

  “Yes, but the others are mean,” I pointed out. “Maybe we can sneak up on them while they sleep and tickle their noses with little twigs.”

  Nancy did not say anything.

  “What is wrong, Nancy?” I asked. “Aren’t you excited about the trail ride?”

  “No!” she said. “It sounds awful. Being on Mellow Yellow every day for forty-five minutes is bad enough. But on an overnight ride? In the woods? Forget it!”

  “I do not think they will let you stay in our cabin by yourself,” I said.

  “You probably will have to come with us,” Hannie agreed. “It will be so fun — you will see. The Three Musketeers will stick together. We can pretend we are pioneers, heading west. Like in Little House on the Prairie.”

  “Well, I will be a pioneer in the little cabin by the lake,” said Nancy firmly. “I am not going. Mellow Yellow might run away through the woods. I might fall off. I might get lost. Mellow Yellow might decide to jump over a huge log. I cannot do it.”

  Hannie and I looked at each other. From what I had seen of Mellow Yellow, I did not think any of those things would happen. Probably Mellow would have to be pulled along the trail by her bridle. I decided Nancy needed to get used to the idea. By Friday she would change her mind. I was sure of it.

  * * *

  “I cannot believe this,” Nancy moaned on Friday afternoon. Mrs. Moggy had said that Nancy had to go on the trail ride. Hannie and I had helped her pack that morning, but we could not cheer her up.

  “It will be great,” said Hannie, buckling on Dusty’s saddle. “Riding cross-country like this will be good practice for the gymkhana.”

  “Maybe Mary-Grace will fall into some poison ivy,” I said.

  Shannon helped Nancy get on Mellow Yellow. (Hannie and I no longer needed help getting on our ponies.)

  “Is your sleeping bag tied on tightly?” asked Shannon. “Did you bring sunscreen and bug spray?”

  Nancy nodded miserably and climbed onto her pony’s back.

  Ahead of us, Mrs. Moggy and the expert riders from Secretariat Cabin led the way. Then came the intermediates, then us beginners. Nancy and Mellow were second to last. Shannon rode behind them, so she could urge Mellow forward if she needed to.

  And we were off — just like pioneers!

  Into the Woods

  Riding through the woods was much more fun than riding in the ring. Diablo seemed to like it, too. We rode single file along a narrow trail. The sunlight grew dimmer as we rode deeper into the forest. We were surrounded by pine trees and oaks and maples and sycamores. Soon I could not see the camp when I looked back.

  “Isn’t this great?” said Hannie, turning around in her saddle.

  “Yes,” I said. “This is the best thing about camp so far.” To tell you the truth, up until then I had been a teensy bit disappointed. Riding in circles in the ring was not very fun, day after day. But a trail ride was a real adventure. We saw wildflowers and birds and butterflies. Some campers sang songs as we rode. Diablo was being very good, walking carefully along the trail. I felt so happy, I thought I might melt. Hannie looked as if she felt the same way.

  But one of the Musketeers did not. Nancy was unhappy, even though Mellow was going only about one mile an hour. I heard Shannon urge Mellow forward, again and again. Ahead of us, some of the intermediates snickered.

  Hannie slowed Dusty a little so we could talk. “I’m wondering what I should compete in at the gymkhana,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I have not thought about it,” I said. “I am not sure if I am good enough to do anything.”

  “Of course you are,” said Hannie. “There is a relay race. You and Nancy and I should be a team.”

  I looked at Hannie. “Hannie,” I said, “there is no way Nancy could be on a relay team. Not on Mellow Yellow.” Secretly I thought I would not be good on a relay team, either. I did not trot very well on Diablo.

  Hannie looked surprised. I guess she was so good at trotting on Dusty that she did not realize that Nancy was not.

  Ahead of us we heard laughing and splashing. Soon we came to a clearing with a small, shallow stream running through it. The stream was not much wider than a swimming pool. The water was clear, and I could see pebbles on the bottom. Two of the counselors had stopped their horses in the middle of the stream so they could watch us cross. The water barely came up to their horses’ ankles.

  “Oh, boy!” said Hannie. She touched her heels to Dusty’s side, and they walked quickly through the stream. Hannie la
ughed and watched the water splashing around Dusty’s legs.

  I worried that Diablo might suddenly decide to head upstream. But he did not. We walked across the stream behind Hannie. I patted Diablo’s neck. “Good boy,” I said.

  When I looked back at Nancy, Mellow Yellow was standing still. She would not step into the water.

  “Tap her sides with your heels,” said Shannon.

  “I do not want her to go in the stream,” said Nancy.

  I gently pulled on Diablo’s reins until he stopped walking. Then I gave a little tug on the left side. Diablo turned to the left, just like he was supposed to do. Now I could see Nancy clearly.

  “Come on, Nancy,” I called. “The stream is very shallow. It is fun to walk through. You do not want to fall behind.”

  “It is okay, Nancy,” said Shannon. “Just click your mouth and gently tap her sides with your heels.”

  Nancy did. Mellow Yellow stood there.

  One of the counselors, Jan, rode her horse alongside Nancy and took Mellow’s bridle in her hand. She pulled Mellow gently into the stream. Then Mellow started to walk across by herself, so Jan let go.

  Nancy sat stiffly in the saddle.

  In the middle of the stream, Mellow stopped again.

  “No, Mellow!” cried Nancy. “Keep going! Cross the stream!”

  “It is okay, Nancy,” said Jan. “I will come — ”

  But Nancy panicked and pushed her heels hard into Mellow’s fat sides. Mellow was surprised, and she leaped forward.

  Nancy tumbled off into the water.

  The Campsite

  I gasped and put my hand over my mouth. Nancy sat in the middle of the shallow stream.

  Shannon jumped off her horse and helped Nancy up. Jan caught Mellow’s bridle and held her. Mellow turned around and stared at Nancy. From where I sat, it looked like Mellow was thinking mean thoughts about Nancy.