the horses stopped as abruptly as it had started. After a moment of stillness, there was movement in the center of the pack, where a silvery stallion ran in circles and whinnied loudly. Therewas something else about him, something odd. Lisa squinted.
“Did you see that?” She couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her, but there appeared to be a white-clad figure on the stallion’s back.
“What was it?”
The horse shifted directions again and began a gallop to safety. Unquestioning, the brood followed his lead. Within seconds the whole herd began to disappear behind an outcrop of rocks.
“It was a rider,” Kate said breathlessly, sitting forward in her saddle for a clearer view of the now almost invisible herd.
“Don’t be silly—” Carole said, dismissing the claim.
“Pure silvery white, just like the horse,” Lisa said.
“And just like White Eagle—” Christine added.
“Oh, come on you guys,” Stevie said. “It’s just John, playing another joke on us.”
“Do you think—?” Kate began.
“Of course I do,” Stevie said. “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”
Kate closed her eyes and shook her head as if trying to shake the image from her mind. Then she opened her eyes again. “I don’t suppose so,” she said. “You’re probably right, it was John.”
“Well, more power to him,” Carole said. “At leasthe figured out how to save the horses from being attacked by the coyotes.”
“I don’t think that was what he had in mind when he planned the joke,” Kate said. “I think he was just trying to scare me away again.”
“I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere trying to know what’s going on in John Brightstar’s mind,” Christine said. “Let’s just get to my house.”
The girls proceeded together. The thoughts of pioneer days were gone now for Lisa. The only thing on her mind was John. Maybe Kate was right—he was trying to scare her off—but Lisa had to admit that that was a pretty incredible thing to do. Not only was he the kind of boy who would take care of an ailing horse and come up with a deliciously romantic tale to justify keeping a horse in the wild, he’d even risk riding the creature!
Or was it possible, just possible, that John’s story was true and the stallion had come to help them because they were helping the children on the Indian reservation?
Lisa really didn’t know what to think. All she knew was that she had a lot to think about. And his name was John.
M RS . L ONETREE WAS positively a whiz with her sewing machine. Within what seemed like a matter of minutes, she’d created three adorable sets of mouse ears—field mice, not Mickey—and had them tacked onto the girls’ sweatshirt hoods.
“They’re perfect,” Lisa declared, and everybody agreed.
Then she deftly unfolded three wire coat hangers and quickly covered them with white felt. The blind mice now had canes to walk with. The final touch would be sunglasses, and Mrs. Lonetree said the girls were just going to have to do that themselves. Lisa, Stevie, and Carole thought that was more than fair. Then, while Mrs. Lonetree was adjusting the oldgingham dress to create a farmer’s-wife outfit for Kate, Christine took the “mice” into the bathroom, where they could all practice applying whiskers with an eyebrow pencil.
“Should they curl?” Stevie asked.
“I don’t think so,” Lisa said. By then, though, it was too late for Stevie. Her whiskers curled all the way up to her eyebrows!
“This is just a test,” Stevie reminded her friends, working hard to remove the pencil marks. “I mean, we’re supposed to make our mistakes now, aren’t we?”
Lisa and Carole giggled and tried their own whiskers. In the end it turned out that the best ones were just a few brief straight lines radiating from above their mouths. Soon they each had proper whiskers and assured Stevie that her unsuccessful curly whiskers were hardly visible anymore.
“Nothing a
“Did you see that?” She couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her, but there appeared to be a white-clad figure on the stallion’s back.
“What was it?”
The horse shifted directions again and began a gallop to safety. Unquestioning, the brood followed his lead. Within seconds the whole herd began to disappear behind an outcrop of rocks.
“It was a rider,” Kate said breathlessly, sitting forward in her saddle for a clearer view of the now almost invisible herd.
“Don’t be silly—” Carole said, dismissing the claim.
“Pure silvery white, just like the horse,” Lisa said.
“And just like White Eagle—” Christine added.
“Oh, come on you guys,” Stevie said. “It’s just John, playing another joke on us.”
“Do you think—?” Kate began.
“Of course I do,” Stevie said. “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”
Kate closed her eyes and shook her head as if trying to shake the image from her mind. Then she opened her eyes again. “I don’t suppose so,” she said. “You’re probably right, it was John.”
“Well, more power to him,” Carole said. “At leasthe figured out how to save the horses from being attacked by the coyotes.”
“I don’t think that was what he had in mind when he planned the joke,” Kate said. “I think he was just trying to scare me away again.”
“I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere trying to know what’s going on in John Brightstar’s mind,” Christine said. “Let’s just get to my house.”
The girls proceeded together. The thoughts of pioneer days were gone now for Lisa. The only thing on her mind was John. Maybe Kate was right—he was trying to scare her off—but Lisa had to admit that that was a pretty incredible thing to do. Not only was he the kind of boy who would take care of an ailing horse and come up with a deliciously romantic tale to justify keeping a horse in the wild, he’d even risk riding the creature!
Or was it possible, just possible, that John’s story was true and the stallion had come to help them because they were helping the children on the Indian reservation?
Lisa really didn’t know what to think. All she knew was that she had a lot to think about. And his name was John.
M RS . L ONETREE WAS positively a whiz with her sewing machine. Within what seemed like a matter of minutes, she’d created three adorable sets of mouse ears—field mice, not Mickey—and had them tacked onto the girls’ sweatshirt hoods.
“They’re perfect,” Lisa declared, and everybody agreed.
Then she deftly unfolded three wire coat hangers and quickly covered them with white felt. The blind mice now had canes to walk with. The final touch would be sunglasses, and Mrs. Lonetree said the girls were just going to have to do that themselves. Lisa, Stevie, and Carole thought that was more than fair. Then, while Mrs. Lonetree was adjusting the oldgingham dress to create a farmer’s-wife outfit for Kate, Christine took the “mice” into the bathroom, where they could all practice applying whiskers with an eyebrow pencil.
“Should they curl?” Stevie asked.
“I don’t think so,” Lisa said. By then, though, it was too late for Stevie. Her whiskers curled all the way up to her eyebrows!
“This is just a test,” Stevie reminded her friends, working hard to remove the pencil marks. “I mean, we’re supposed to make our mistakes now, aren’t we?”
Lisa and Carole giggled and tried their own whiskers. In the end it turned out that the best ones were just a few brief straight lines radiating from above their mouths. Soon they each had proper whiskers and assured Stevie that her unsuccessful curly whiskers were hardly visible anymore.
“Nothing a
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