Read Online The Winter Pony by Iain Lawrence - Free Book Online Page B

feeding biscuits to Uncle Bill, because he was worried about
him
as well. “He’s having trouble with his forefeet,” said Birdie. Even the biggest pony was struggling, so I didn’t feel so bad.
    Mr. Oates made me rest the next day while the other ponies brought up more supplies. It was awful to be left behind and see them trek off through the snow. But my leg was very sore, and in truth I was glad for the rest. In my old home in the forest, I would have been kept at work until I finally fell in my tracks. That would have been hard to bear, but all I’d expect. I had believed it was the way to the ponies’ place, that I could never get there by shirking.
    Hours and hours went by before I heard the ponies coming back, their sledges rasping in the snow, their breaths hot and panting. I felt lonely then, afraid they’d be angry because I hadn’t done my share. But Blossom came and nibbled at me, picking away my lice, and I knew that no one minded that I had stayed behind.
    In the morning it was Sunday, and Captain Scott held a service on the Barrier, with all the men standing silently as he read from a small black book. The wind whooshed across the ice, and snow flurried around their feet, but they didn’t move until Captain Scott had finished and they had sung a solemn song.
    Mr. Oates handed out bandages to the pony handlers. He showed them how to wrap our legs like soldiers’—round and round—so the snow crust wouldn’t chafe our skin every time we stepped through it. Uncle Bill didn’t understand, and right away he ate one of his bandages. I thought mine would be a big help, but for days I did very little work as we moved the supplies forward again, to a place about two miles from the sea.
    Two men were sent back with injuries, and Captain Scott took Nobby for himself. We moved along in stages, back and forth across the Barrier, every journey a struggle. There was ice as hard as rock, then snow as soft as pudding, and we wallowed in drifts up to our bellies. We had to leap at the traces then and jerk the sledges forward. Our legs ached; our shoulders ached. We sweated as we moved along, and shivered when we stopped, with our sweat freezing into skins of ice.
    My eyes stung from the light on the snow. When the sky was clear and the surface glared, I had to squint as hard as I could. But cloudy days were even worse. The white of the sky and the white of the snow were the same, and it was hard to place my hooves on ground that had no shadows. There were times I could hardly see anything, but still I soldiered on.
    I wasn’t happy that my sledge was the lightest of all. It was hard to think that I wasn’t doing my share, and I wished thatJehu and Chinaman were with me, so that I wouldn’t be the weakest of all.
    When Captain Scott blew his whistle that afternoon and called an end to the march, I had never been more tired. I gobbled down the biscuits that Patrick fed me. The dogs got into a big, happy fight with each other, but the ponies just stood and panted clouds of breath.
    Captain Scott went ahead on his skis to see if the way ahead was any better. But he came back very disappointed. “It looks grim,” he told Mr. Oates, who was looking rather gloomy. “What do you think?”
    “It’s too much for the ponies,” said Mr. Oates. “They won’t last long like this.”
    “Let’s give the snowshoes a go,” said the captain.
    Mr. Oates let out his breath. “They’re a wasted effort, those wretched things.”
    “Nonetheless, I should like to try,” said Captain Scott, and he sent Birdie Bowers to fetch them.
    Birdie could normally put his fingers on anything in a moment, but not this time. After a lot of rummaging around, he produced just one set of snowshoes. They were the strangest things I’d ever seen: hoops of wire and bamboo that looked like squashed umbrellas. I was sure Mr. Oates was right and that I would tangle my feet together as soon as I wore them. So I was happy when the men chose Weary