A Sense of Justice
by Jennifer Ballard

         My horse, Sydney, and I had just finished a great round in the amateur division when we were accosted by Darby Kirst, who was in the middle of one of her fits. I recognized her immediately, but I was sure she didn’t know who I was.
         She was wearing one of her expensive, top-quality riding outfits, trying to look like an experienced, knowledgeable horse person.
         “Chuck, I swear that is my horse,” she said to her companion, and then pointed at me. “You, get off my horse. Bring Syndicate to me.”
         Sydney and I looked at her without moving, although I almost smirked at her being with someone called Chuck. The Darby I knew would have called him something dignified, like Charles, whether that was his name or not.
         “Chuck, get that person off my horse!” Darby demanded.
         Chuck didn’t know how to handle Darby. He said, “If you think that’s your horse, perhaps we should speak to the police.”
         Chuck looked to me like he couldn’t have managed anything outside of polite, social situations.
         “Since you’re not going to do anything, it looks like I’ll have to,” she said.
         She gave me one more chance. “Give me that horse right now, or I’m going to go to the police.”
         “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t believe this is your horse.”
         Darby abruptly walked away in search of a police squad, with Chuck trailing after her. I didn’t know where she would find an officer of the law at a horseshow, but I figured she could get one as easily as she acquired everything else in life.
         I hopped down off Sydney and walked him over to the warm up arena to watch Jay.
         “You and Sydney were great, Skip,” Jay said as soon as she saw me. “I need your help. Cinema’s class is coming up and he’s not getting his lead changes. Can you school him?”
         “Sure. Cool Syd for me.”
         We traded horses. Sydney and Cinema are a lot alike. They are big, matching dark bays, with lots of white on their legs and faces. Sydney is a Thoroughbred and Cinema is a cross – something odd, like Quarter Horse and Standardbred. Being his owner, I think Sydney is more talented.
         Jay walked Sydney outside the ring, watching me work with her horse. It took a few minutes, but I finally got Cinema relaxed enough to listen to me. Sydney and I had no more classes to ride in, so when Sydney was cooled off, Jay led him back toward the trailer.
         When Cinema was finally changing his lead on cue, Darby reappeared with Chuck and two men not wearing uniforms, but looking like cops all the same.
         “He’s got a tattoo,” Darby said. “He raced when he was young. I’ll recognize the number. Look under his upper lip.”
         One of the officers looked as puzzled as Chuck, but the other knew enough about horses to understand that all Thoroughbred horses that had ever raced on the track were marked with a tattoo. He looked comfortable around horses, not intimidated by the idea of dealing with one up close. I dismounted as he approached me and introduced himself as Jacob Linn, FCPD.
         “Would you mind if I had a look at your horse's tattoo?” he asked.
         “This horse doesn’t have a tattoo,” I said. “He’s not a Thoroughbred.”
         The man glanced back at Darby.
         “I know that is my horse!” she said. “Check the tattoo. The tattoo will prove it.”
         I raised Cinema’s upper lip. The lack of tattoo a tattoo sent Darby into another small fit.
         Keeping his voice low, the officer asked me, “Do you know anything about this woman or her stolen horse?”
         I remembered hearing Darby talking to a friend of hers at my grandfather’s stable where they kept their horses. The friend had been thrown by her horse and broken three of her fingers.
         “If that happened to me,” Darby had said. “I would have the animal shot.”
         “Her horse is dead,” I told officer Linn. “There’s a record of it somewhere. She kept him at a farm where I worked. A gunshot from a neighboring farm spooked her horse and he threw her and broke her arm. She ordered the horse to be destroyed.”
         “I can believe that,” the officer said. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to remind her about it.”
         “Probably not.”
         He shook his head and went back to deal with Darby.
         My grandfather had rebelled at the idea of putting Syndicate down, but he was a vet and Syndicate was Darby’s horse, to do with as she liked. Syndicate was a wonderful, talented horse, easy going enough to keep his good attitude through Darby’s episodes of temper and abuse. He never should have belonged to someone like Darby.
         I hadn’t expected to see Darby Kirst again. I had also never really expected a close shot from my rifle to spook her horse enough to throw her.
         Jay returned after unsaddling Syd and leaving him comfortably settled near the trailer. I helped her up on Cinema and watched her ride into the ring.
         I never forgot the look on my grandfather’s face when he signed the papers saying that Syndicate had been destroyed. It was more than fraud; it was horse-theft. Grand larceny in the case of a horse of Syndicate’s worth.
         I pointed out to Granddad that Darby didn’t deserve a horse like Syndicate. And now he was mine.

The End.

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