The Wild Boy and Queen Moon by K M Peyton Page A

a halter for control, he had the horse perfectly in hand and it pulled up as if it were in a dressage arena, dropping its nose obediently.
    ‘What’s the game?’
    The boy looked down on the girls angrily, even defiantly. He did not look scared or guilty, they noticed, only annoyed. At close quarters he seemed to be about sixteen, slenderly built and certainly gypsy-looking, with tousled black hair and frowning dark eyes. He had high cheekbones and a hawkish nose and an undoubted air of superb self-confidence, bordering on arrogance. Although it was quite cold he wore only a dark T-shirt and faded jeans.
    Leo stepped forward and said boldly, ‘The police are questioning all the people who were down here yesterday evening – all of us, that is. And you were too. The old lady who lives in the cottage up there was robbed of all her savings.’
    ‘I didn’t do it!’
    ‘No. It’s only routine questions, in case you saw anything.’
    ‘I didn’t see anything either.’
    ‘No. You have to tell them though. Your name and all that.’
    ‘I’m in a hurry.’
    ‘You’re always in a hurry.’
    The boy hesitated and looked at Leo more closely. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’
    ‘Nothing. We just said we’d stop you, that’s all. To help them – the police. If you ride on, they’ll probably think you’re guilty.’
    ‘Where are they then?’
    ‘In the stable-yard.’
    The boy stared at the police car and hesitated some more, then he saw the sense of Leo’s argument and shrugged. The girls started back for the yard and he followed. His grey horse, from being all fire, was now as mild as milk, not tizzed up like most horses after a gallop, but gentle and quiet. At close quarters the grey, a mare, was beautiful; Sandy was entranced with her. She had enormous dark eyes like her owner and a fine silver mane. She was lightly built but very compact, about fifteen hands, and she moved like a dream. She was slightly too thin, no doubt with all the galloping, but the loveliest horse Sandy thought she had ever seen.
    They went into the yard and one of the policemen was standing in the doorway of the tackroom. The boy rode over and pulled up beside him. The policeman asked him to dismount. He slipped off with one agile movement.
    ‘What is your name, sir?’ the policeman asked.
    ‘Jonas Brown.’
    Sandy and Leo knew they couldn’t stand there gawping, so retreated into George’s loosebox and sat in the straw.
    ‘Jonas! What a gorgeous name! Isn’t he heavenly!’
    ‘And the horse, the mare! She’s a dream horse!’
    ‘You don’t think he did it, do you?’
    ‘Of course not!’
    ‘You ought to get them here – as liveries! Wouldn ’t it be wonderful? That boy – he’s fantastic!’
    ‘The Magic Man?’ Sandy enquired.
    ‘Oh yes!’
    ‘I think the horse is magic.’
    Julia went past, saw them and came in.
    ‘Who’s that boy then?’
    ‘Jonas Brown.’
    ‘Oh,
him
. Is that who he is? Fancy.’
    ‘What do you mean? Do you know him?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Julia. ‘He used to show-jump when he was little. I didn’t recognize him on the sea-wall.’
    ‘Where does he come from?’
    ‘His father’s a fisherman from Riverhead. A very rough man. His mother left, that’s why he didn’t come show-jumping any more. She was the horsy one. She taught him.’
    Sandy and Leo digested this in silence. Trust Julia to know! She would no doubt take him over, as she had taken over Sneerwell. She seemed to have no inhibitions when it came to barging in.
    ‘He could’ve done it. His father’s not very honest. Got done for pinching a horsebox once,’ Julia said coolly.
    ‘How could he have done it, with the horse?’ Sandy demanded hotly.
    ‘It stands when he asks it. I’ve seen. Down on the sea-wall once, he got off to go out to a boat – a yachtsman he knew wanted some help to get his engine started or something – and it just stood there, not even tied up. Didn’t graze or anything. Like in a cowboy