Deadfall by Lyndon Stacey

He was the perfect gentleman, taking a strong but manageable hold and jumping high and wide. Linc wasimpressed and told Dee he’d be glad to ride him in the main class.
    With a few minutes to go, he was riding the grey round near to the start with a couple of other riders who were waiting their turn, when one of them drew alongside.
    â€˜That Dotty Dee’s grey?’ he asked.
    â€˜That’s right,’ Linc said cautiously, and the other rider raised an eyebrow.
    â€˜Hmm. Well, good luck, mate.’
    There was something odd in his tone but Linc was called to the start line before he could follow it up.
    â€˜Ready?’ the starter asked. ‘Five, four, three, two, one. Good luck!’
    As the words left the steward’s lips Dee Ellis’s ‘pussycat’ ripped the rubber-coated reins through Linc’s fingers and set off as if all hell was after him. Caught napping like a novice, Linc swore, desperately trying to regain his balance and some semblance of control. The first fence was looming, a low, inviting hedge and rail – but even so not designed to be taken at full tilt. All the fences on a cross-country course need to be treated with respect.
    By the time Linc had gathered his looping reins, the hedge and rail were upon them and it was far too late to try and steady the grey. Steamer took off a full stride early and landed a similar distance out the other side.
    â€˜Steady, you mad bastard!’ Linc shouted at him, alternately pulling and releasing as they approached the oil barrels that formed fence two.
    Steamer wasn’t about to relinquish his advantagewithout a fight. He skipped over the barrels with scornful ease and thrust his nose earthwards, almost pulling Linc from the saddle. As the reins slipped again, he set off with renewed vigour, and the best that Linc could do was steer him towards the third and pray.
    As in Noddy and Hobo’s class, the fourth was a combination fence, and as they landed over the third Linc knew he had to get a hold of the grey before they reached it. There was no way any horse could jump three solid fences in quick succession going at that speed.
    As a general rule of thumb, to achieve the right trajectory a horse needs to take off the same distance away as the height of the fence. Too close and he risks hitting it with his front legs and tipping over. Too far away and he is liable to catch it with his hind legs. Combination fences compound any error. If the first element is met wrong, the problem tends to be magnified by each successive part. Steamer was showing every likelihood of meeting the first element very wrong indeed.
    Clamping his legs as tightly as he could to the horse’s sides, Linc sat down hard and physically forced Steamer to change his rhythm, driving him on to his bridle with all the strength he could muster. The grey’s gait became ragged for a few strides, then his neck and back rounded and his pace dropped. By the time they reached the first rail he was still going far faster than Linc would have liked but at least he felt they had a chance of clearing it.
    Steamer was as clever as a cat. He skimmed through without touching a rail, and in a crazy,irresponsible kind of way, Linc began to enjoy himself. The course flashed by in a blur, speed nearly proving to be their undoing at the watersplash where the dragging effect of the stream unbalanced the grey and caused him to miss the log jump out. He then jumped so fast and wide at the lane crossing that he took both hedges in one leap, landing with his quarters in the second and kicking himself free. Linc did take an extra pull on the approach to Lovers Leap but Steamer had other ideas and he could do little more than console himself with the thought that to have qualified for the bigger class, the grey must surely have safely negotiated obstacles such as these before.
    One leap up, a brief touch on the top of the mound and a sky launch over the rail and drop.