Son of Fleetfoot by Kathryn Ramage

"I confess, I can't see any reason why any of them would want to take Fleet," Lad said once he'd rejoined Frodo, Sam, and Milo. "Myrtle's chances of winning might be better against Candlestick, but she's practically a little sister to me, and would no more harm a pony of mine than I would nobble one that belonged to her and her mother. And as for the others, their own ponies do well enough that Fleet's not a great threat to them."

"Perhaps Dolpho and Brugo don't think so. They seemed a bit resentful of having children not yet in their tweens as riders," observed Frodo. He had other suspicions about Happ Broadbanks, but didn't speak of them yet.

"So they do," agreed Lad, "but if they did mean to strike against us for that, they'd try to take Mosco out of the races, not Fleet."

"They wouldn't dare," Milo said darkly at this hypothetical threat to his firstborn.

Lad grew thoughtful, and it was some minutes before he spoke again, "I say, Frodo, what about the Longchalks? D'you remember them?"

Of course Frodo remembered them. The three burly brothers had once trapped him and Lad at the inn to prevent Lad from going out to the fairfield to ride Fleetfoot in that afternoon's races. Frodo had only escaped by sneaking out dressed in Angelica's clothes. Lad hadn't been able to get out in time to race, and Mosco had ridden Fleetfoot for the first time that day. The trio had been on his mind since he'd glimpsed one of the brothers a few minutes ago. "They aren't running any ponies today, are they?"

"They do sometimes, but not this summer. They haven't had much luck producing a fast un."

"Have they been any trouble to you since that ah- difficulty we had with them a couple of years ago?"

Lad shook his head. "I suppose that's why I hadn't considered them before, not 'til I just saw Ulfodo gaping at Candlestick. I haven't seen much of them at all since Dad won the mayorship again in the last election, but you know what sort of mischief they get up to when they have a mind for it."

Frodo agreed that this was a reasonable theory. "Where is their farm in relation to your house?" he asked. "Is it up along the northern road?"

"It's to the north, but not along the lane past our stables. It's on the far side of that broad meadow over the way--the one the boys like to race in. It's not very many miles away, but they'd have to cut across country or go `round by the road through town."

"If Ulfodo hasn't already told his brothers, why don't we go and tell them that Candlestick's running in Fleetfoot's place?" Frodo suggested. "I want to see their faces when they hear about it. It might tell us a great deal."

But Lad balked; after his previous encounter with the Longchalk brothers, he wanted nothing to do with them.

"I'll go," said Milo, who wasn't intimidated by the Longchalks.

He found the other two Longchalk brothers with Ulfodo at the fence at the very end of the field, the three all talking together. The Longchalks were a large and brawny trio. Their father was a well-to-do local farmer, just as Lad's father had been before he'd become Mayor, but no one would call them gentlehobbits of the same class as the Whitfoots. They were a rough-spoken and ill-mannered lot, given to bullying people to have their way. After meeting them once, Frodo sympathized with Lad's reluctance to be in close proximity to them again; he followed Milo toward them but kept some distance back so as not to draw their attention.

Milo began to tell them his tale of the strained fetlock, but he didn't get far, for the Longchalks had already heard it.

"Everybody's talking about it," said the eldest Longchalk brother, Urgo. "I guessed something was up even before that. I hear tell you and Lad were dashing about yesterday, asking after your famous pony. Your boy came by our way."

"That's just it," Milo lied smoothly. "Poor Fleet broke out of the paddock the night before last, and we had to go hunting for him. By the time we found him, he'd gone a bit lame. I'm sure he'll be right as rain in a day or two, but Lad and I thought it best not to run him today and make the strain worse."

"And will you be racing today?" asked Ulfodo. "I saw you brought along another pony. He looks little more than a baby to me."

"Yes, he's only a two-year-old colt, but he was sired by our Fleetfoot. We meant to introduce him tomorrow, but since Fleet isn't able to run, he'll take his sire's place. His name is Candlestick."

The three brothers stared at Milo. "Candlestick?" Udo Longchalk laughed after a moment. "What sort of name is that?"

"Lad's daughter named him," Milo told them. Ill-mannered the Longchalks might be, but they were not going to insult a four-year-old child to her uncle's face.

"Is he any good, this colt of yours?" asked Urgo. "Being Fleetfoot's?"

"I've no idea," said Milo, "but we'll soon find out."

The first race was about to begin, and there was no time for further conversation or investigation. Milo excused himself to the Longchalks, and walked swiftly away. Frodo caught up with him as he returned to where Moro and Lad were waiting with Candlestick. "Well?"

"I'm sure they're behind it, though I can only guess why," Milo said tersely, without slackening his pace. "Pure mischief, most likely, or because they have a big wager on someone else."

"Yes," Frodo had to agree. The sneering way the brothers had asked about yesterday's search for Fleetfoot, as if they were well aware Milo was lying, not to mention their surprise at Candlestick's existence, suggested a great deal to him. As Milo walked on, Frodo stopped to consider Milo's second guess as to their motives. The Longchalks had first quarreled with Lad over Fleetfoot losing them money. Could they have wagered a large amount against him, and were keeping him to ensure their winnings? Candlestick's presence might well spoil such plans, if the colt were as fast as his sire. Spotting Pippin and quickly seizing him by the arm, Frodo sent his Took cousin off on another errand among the brokers.

The course was cleared, and the ponies were brought to the mark by their riders. Candlestick was skittish about being among so many strange ponies and hobbits, but Moro did his best to keep the colt under control. A red flag was waved, and the ponies were off.

Candlestick didn't win his first race; the shouting of the crowds alarmed him and Moro had trouble keeping him to the course at first. Once the young pony understood what he was meant to do, he showed a burst of speed and came in third behind Twinkletoes and Windchaser, which Milo said was a creditable beginning. The colt had settled down by the time he ran his second race in the afternoon, and with a similar burst of speed, pulled ahead at the last moment to beat out Windchaser by a nose. In his third race, no one could catch him. Lad and Milo were beaming with pride and relief as they accepted congratulations and hearty handshakes.

Pippin was grinning when Frodo found him again. "I put my money on Candlestick all three times," he announced cheerfully. "The brokers thought I was a fool at first, but family loyalty paid out in the end. I can go back to Buckland for the rest of the summer now--I won't need my allowance from Father for weeks!"

"And did you ask them about the Longchalks?" asked Frodo.

"Oh, yes. I asked every broker I could get hold of. They all know the Longchalks, and everybody else who comes to races regularly. None of them accepted a wager from them for any of the ponies that were supposed to run against Fleetfoot today."

So, unless one of them had made a private wager with a friend, the Longchalks had no interest at all in Fleetfoot's winning or losing today. But Frodo remained certain they were behind the pony's disappearance. Why then? Was it merely an act of spite, or could there be some other reason? Frodo's mind was already turning to another possibility, based on all he had seen and heard today.
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