Free Cut Throat by Lyndon Stacey Page B

and with a wealth of protective ‘boots’ on the horse’s valuable black legs, took him out into the copse for a training session.
    The value of the low rustic fences was in their rigid construction – the poles being bolted to the uprights – which encouraged the horses to pick their feet up, and the undulating terrain that promoted surefootedness and good balance.
    Bishop worked like a dream. He skimmed through the wood, giving all the jumps at least a foot’s clearance, enjoyment evident in every stride. Ross walked him back to the yard on a loose rein, letting him blow and dreaming of the places he could go with this exceptional young horse. This was a once-in-a-lifetime talent, he felt sure.
    A sudden rustling in the hedge caused Bishop to shy and Ross, instantly alert, turned to see a long black snout and forepaws pushing through the quickthorn. Bishop swung round, snorting nervously as the newcomer scrambled out and proved to be the German Shepherd from the local farm.
    â€˜You’re trespassing,’ Ross told it with mock severity. ‘Come on. Better come with me.’
    The dog watched him warily but when he rode on it followed at a discreet distance, and when he reached the yard it flopped down in the shade of the overhang and appeared happy to stay there.
    No horse is perfect, and if Black Bishop came close to perfection to ride, he was the devil’s own job to handle in the stable. The giant horse’s pet hate was having his legs touched, which made him the bane of the farrier’s life.
    The safest way to apply or remove leg guards or bandages was for one person to hold the horse’s head while the other tackled the task.
    On this occasion when Ross dismounted in the yard there was not a soul in sight. With a resigned sigh he led Bishop into his stable and, having removed the saddle and exchanged the bridle for a headcollar, tied him up short to the ring in the wall. This done, he began to remove the boots, thanking God that Velcro and sprung clips had long replaced the fiddly straps and buckles of old. Even so, the job was a tricky one and the only way to remove the boots from the hind legs was first to grasp and hold tightly the hamstring tendon above the horse’s hock joint and, by so doing, incapacitate the lower leg temporarily.
    Ross talked soothingly to the horse all the while, although his words seemed to have little effect. With great relief he was reaching down for the last straps when he felt something shove him forcibly between the shoulder-blades and was sent sprawling into the straw by Bishop’s hind legs.
    With a grunt of outraged surprise the black jumped forward and lashed out with both back legs. Massive, steel-shod limbs that could power the horse over six foot of timber with ease slammed into the kickboards with a deafening crash, missing Ross’ head by a whisker.
    He scrabbled on the slippery straw to get out of the way as Bishop regained his balance and lashed out again. For a few moments his world was a confusion of pistoning black limbs and cracking, splintering wood as he rolled like a jockey to avoid being trampled, and then he was on his feet and lunging instinctively for the horse’s head to try and restore control.
    He released the slip-knot and hung on grimly as Bishop spun round one hundred and eighty degrees to see what had attacked him, and then threw his arms round the horse’s neck just behind the ears and let his weight bear the animal down until he was still.
    As Bishop gradually calmed, Ross stood up straight again and looked towards the door. There was nobody there, although he could hear footsteps hurrying across the yard in his direction and after a moment Bill appeared.
    â€˜Is the horse all right?’ he asked anxiously, seeing Ross on his feet and apparently in one piece.
    Ross took a deep breath to steady himself. He patted the sweaty black neck and nodded. ‘I think so. I’ll have a look in a