The Harriet Bean 3-Book Omnibus by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

the one next door.”
    I stood outside Black Lightning’s stall. The large racehorse, shiny black and curious,stared out at me. His nostrils were flared, and his breath came in deep heaves, as if two big bellows were pumping away within his chest.
    I edged the door open and began to go into the stall.
    “Now don’t be frightened, Black Lightning,” I said, holding out my hand to him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    This was ridiculous, of course. I couldn’t possibly hurt Black Lightning, who was ten times my size; but he could hurt me—very easily. The horse watched me nervously, his large yellow eyes fixed on every movement I made. Slowly I lifted up the brush and pushed it toward him.
    It was this movement that disturbed him. With a sudden whinnying noise, he rose up on his hind legs, his forelegs raised to strike at me. I fell back, trying to escape the heavy hooves that seemed to be falling all around me. Just behind me, set against one of the walls, was his trough, and I scrambled my way to safety under it. Black Lightning struck the ground a few more times, then stopped.
    I was perfectly safe in my hiding place, as Black Lightning’s hooves would never be able to reach me there. But I was also trapped, and as long as the racehorse was in his stall, it would be impossible for me to get out. I could try to crawl, I supposed, but the horse would easily be able to crush me if I did that.
    I lay very still, wondering what to do. If I called for help, I was sure that Ted, Fred, or Ed would hear me, but what would they think if they found me hiding under a trough? They would realize at once that I was not a real jockey, and that would be the end of that.
    The minutes ticked past slowly. Black Lightning moved a little, but I felt that he was still watching me, and I did not dare attempt to escape. Then, quite suddenly, I heard footsteps outside. I froze. If only it were Mr. Fetlock, or, even better, if only it were one of my aunts!
    Slowly the door of the stall was pushed open.
    “Hello in there,” said a voice. “Anybody there?”
    I said absolutely nothing. It sounded a bit like Ted’s voice, but then again it sounded a little different. Could it be Fred, or even Ed?
    I now saw boots coming into the stall. From where I was hiding, that was all I could see. I looked at the boots. They were ordinary riding boots, badly scratched at the back, just above the heels.
    “Keep calm, boy,” said the voice as the boots moved toward Black Lightning. “This isn’t going to hurt you.”
    I wriggled as close as I could to the edge of the trough. Now I could see a little bit more—boots and a pair of legs mostly, but there was something else. There was a hand, and it was holding something that glinted. For a moment I could not make it out. Then I realized that it was a pot of something, with a brush sticking out of the top.
    I held my breath as I watched what was happening. The person—whoever he was—had now run his hand down one of Black Lightning’s legs and lifted up the hoof, as yousee people doing when they put on a new horseshoe or pick out a stone. Taking the brush out of the pot, he slapped paste of some sort on the hoof and put it down on the ground. Then he moved to the other side of the horse and did the same thing again. Within a few minutes he had put the paste on all of Black Lightning’s four hooves.
    “That’ll fix you for a while,” he muttered, and then, with a chuckle, the boots walked out of the stall, and the door was quietly closed.
    I lay there for a while, wondering what I had seen. Somebody had certainly done something unpleasant to Black Lightning, but what was it? The horse seemed to be standing quite still and was certainly making no noise, so it could not have been anything painful. I slid forward again and peered out.
    When Black Lightning saw my face peeking out from under his trough, he gave a start. Once again, his nostrils flared and his eyes shone with anger. I drew back