The Quicksand Pony by Alison Lester

she die of? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You must have been lonely . . . ’ Her voice trailed off.
    â€˜I think it was about a year ago.’ Joe was still looking at the ground, but he’d stopped sniffing. ‘She just got sick and died. You talk a lot.’
    Biddy smiled and looked up at the sky. It was tinged with pink. She suddenly thought of her parents. Dad had said that they’d have to leave at sunset to get the ute around the beach. She looked at Joe. ‘How long does it take to get to the beach from here?’
    â€˜A while.’
    â€˜No, I mean in hours. How many hours would it take?’
    Joe shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Don’t know hours. Joycie taught me, but we never had a clock.’
    Biddy felt stupid. ‘Well, could we get to the beach before dark?’
    Joe shook his head. ‘No. Too far.’
    Biddy rested her arms over Bella’s back. Her parents would kill her. She’d done everything wrong. She’d got Bella bogged, then let the horses go and now she’d disappeared. She hoped the worry wouldn’t make Grandpa sick. Surely they’d go home, and come back tomorrow morning?
    She felt a touch on her back, light as a feather. It was Joe’s hand. ‘You all right . . . Bid . . . Biddy?’ he asked.
    Now it was Biddy’s turn to sniff. ‘Yeah. Thanks, Joe. Just worried about my mum and dad and Grandpa.’
    Joe gave her one of his lovely smiles. ‘Come on. Come back to my place. We’ll walk out in the morning. You can meet Devil.’
    He turned and Bella followed him. So much for my loyal horse, thought Biddy. She had to jog to keep up with Joe. He had a strange gliding walk, almost silent, as though he hardly touched the ground.
    â€˜Who’s Devil?’
    â€˜My dog. My dingo.’ Joe stopped, and Biddy took the opportunity to vault onto Bella’s back. She’d felt like a little kid, tagging behind him. On Bella, she felt like a princess. They walked on.
    â€˜Devil’s shy. He might not like you.’ Biddy felt miffed again. Of course his dog would like her. Just then the path opened on to the valley. Joe stopped again and whistled twice; low whistles that Biddy could barely hear. Nothing stirred.

Biddy thought Joe’s home was the best house she’d ever seen. She’d made cubbies, but they were always flimsy things that fell down; just play houses. This was proper. She tried out the bed, sat on the chair, examined the stove. ‘I feel like Goldilocks,’ she laughed, then stopped suddenly. ‘Sorry. You probably don’t know about Goldilocks.’
    â€˜Yes I do.’ Joe pulled a tin of books from under his bed. ‘Look, here’s the story. It was one of my best ones when I was little.’ The pages were soft and faded, but there wasn’t a rip or a crease.
    Underneath the books was a pile of comics. They were so old they felt like cloth. ‘Hey! The Phantom! I love these comics. Irene always gets them.’ Biddy flipped through the first one and idly read a page.
    â€˜So that’s what you were calling Bella this afternoon: Hero. You were calling her Hero.’ She pointed at a drawing of the Phantom’s white horse. ‘D’you reckon you’re the ghost-who-walks?’
    Joe blushed. ‘She didn’t mind. But you call her what you like. Why Bella, anyway?’
    â€˜It means beautiful.’
    Joe put the comics and books away. ‘That suits her. That’s much better than Hero.’
    Biddy walked outside and almost stepped on a dead rabbit lying beside Joe’s campfire. ‘Why would a rabbit die there?’ she asked.
    Joe started to giggle.
    â€˜What’s so funny? What? Tell me.’
    â€˜It didn’t die there.’ He was nearly bursting with laughter. ‘Devil left it. It’s our dinner.’
    Biddy’s father crested the last rise before the beach. He had run