"Well, there he is!" Maitre Scaufflaire announced cheerfully, pointing to the far end of the paddock.
"Monsieur Scaufflaire, that's not a horse. That's a thicket! "guffawed Bamatabois.
Javert looked to the corner of the field (quagmirish even in July) which Scaufflaire had indicated. At first glance there was indeed nothing to be seen but a tangled, spiky looking bramble thicket. But, peering closer, Javert picked out a flickering patch of white which looked as if it could be – and indeed was – a horse's tail, lashing back and forth in a thoroughly bad tempered fashion. One hardly had to be a detective to figure out to whom it belonged.
"No, no – there he is indeed! Shall we go and catch him then?"
"Oh, Monsieur Javert," the Fleming sighed, "I should so dearly love to see you try"
The horse, Maximus, had almost completely hidden himself in the thicket, and was glaring at the approaching men balefully, his eyes rimmed white and ears pinned flat back on his head. The creature's expression, of fear mingled with extreme and savage consternation, was almost human and most unnerving - although the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that the stallion's impressively large, chalk white rump could be distinctly seen poking out of the scrub. The twitching tale added to the comedy of the picture, making Maximus look like a large dog who had contrived to get his head stuck in some wrought iron park railings.
With each step the men took towards him, the horse took a further step back into the tangle of briar, snorting crossly.
"Well, what are you going to do about him?" Bamatabois asked the horse trader and the police officer (he had never once in his life caught and saddled his own horse – he certainly wasn't about to start by extricating the terror of the district from a thorn bush)
"Oh I'm not going to do anything," said Scaufflaire, "If you want it, you catch it. That's the golden rule on my yard."
Javert glared balefully at Scaufflaire and Bamatabois, then strode over to the briar thicket. He tried to consider the horse as he would a cornered felon that he wished to bring in with a minimum of fuss and effort. "If I were this gaillard Maximus, what would I do?" He cocked his head to one side and pouted, "Well, I think I'd finish backing out of that bramble patch, spin left on my haunches and make a bid down the fence towards freedom. Ergo I shall feint going left, go right, and cut him off!"
Alas for Javert, what he did not see was the horse cock one ear in his direction and = improbable as this sounds, even in a folk tale – roll its eyes, actually role its eyes as if to say, "Oh, think you're clever do you? We'll see!"
Consequently, when Javert darted right to where he thought the horse would take his most likely escape route, Maximus simply shouldered him aside into the mud and ran to the left, breaking out of the thicket at considerable speed. He circled the astonished Scaufflaire and Bamatabois, shaking his beautiful head and squealing, before running a lap of the field, fly bucking and leaping into the air as he went, whinnying and squealing so loudly that the two men had to raise their voices.
"And how long will he do that for?" asked Bamatabois
"Until he tires himself out" Sighed Scaufflaire.
What Maximus actually did was canter back to the thicket and pull up with a sliding stop next to Javert, who was still lying sprawling flat out in the mud, his pride and good temper mortally wounded, but otherwise fine. Javert felt the horse's muzzle on his face, as soft and delicate as pinkish-grey velour. He opened his eyes to see the horse looking at him with such a quizzical expression that he could have sworn it was asking "What the devil are you doing down there old chap? I was only playing!"
"What do you imagine I'm doing down here, eh?" he said woozily, slowly getting to his feet.
At a distance, Bamatabois heard these words and sniggeringly whispered to Scaufflaire, "He's talking to himself"
"Shock probably. Still, he isn't the first and he won't be the last."
Even as the two man enjoyed their joke they noticed that the horse Maximus was trailing behind the policeman Javert, occasionally bumping him in the small of the back, for all the world as if to say "Hullo you! Yes, you! I am still speaking to you!"
"Congratulations Monsieur Javert – I've never seem it accomplished that way before.
With this remark Scaufflaire was saving face. The truth was, aside from Scaufflaire's two children, no one had successfully caught or saddled the horse since he bought it.
Back at the yard Scaufflaire's children, Paul and Manon, appeared carrying a saddle and bridle both larger than they were. They had Maximus saddled in no time, despite the fact that the boy had to stand on the fence to reach his back. He even lowered his head obligingly so that the little girl could pull the reins over his head and slip the bit in his mouth.
Javert noted that the horse did not even puff out its stomach when the boy did up his girth. "That horse is lazy – and it has taken a fancy to those children," he thought to himself, "It has no intention of being sold to someone who will expect it to exert itself on police business or on the hunting field when it can be their spoilt pet. And good luck to it!"
He tipped his hat to Scaufflaire and Bamatabois then strode off without offering an explanation for his departure. He did not come on shift for another two hours but, frankly, anything was better than this. He still had some friends back in the cavalry – maybe if he wrote them, they would find him something suitable.
He turned and looked back at the yard, Maximus was executing a high speed turn on the forehand in an effort to get away from Bamatabois, who had one foot in a stirrup and was attempting to scramble up into the saddle with no real success.
Javert turned away, smirked, "Yes, I really must get a horse – but not that one! Oh my Gentle Jesus no indeed!"
