Horse Whispers by Bonnie Bryant Page B

was pleased. Without waiting for a cue, he picked up his pace, from a lagging shuffle to a swinging walk. It was as if he wanted to tell them they had made the right decision. Carole felt her spirits rising. She had been in a daze all morning. She’d almost
known
that their search was going to be fruitless. Now she felt optimistic.
    “Hey, let’s sing a little to keep our spirits up,” John suggested.
    “Great idea,” said Carole.
    John started with “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” Carole chimed in, then went on with “Erie Canal.”
    “Hey, you’re not going to forget ‘Home on the Range,’ are you?” Frank demanded.
    Carole sat up straighter in the saddle. She lifted her hand off the saddle horn where it had been resting and reined Stewball properly. Singing “Home on the Range” when you
were
on the range was a thrill and a privilege—and it was a moment Carole would never forget. She didn’t want to spoil it by slouching!
    The singing was fun, and what was more, Carole thought, it got them breathing deeply, which helped their circulation. Before she knew it, close to an hour had passed. They were approaching the valley sandwiched between the mountain and Two-Mile Creek. The creek was completely frozen. Luckily they didn’t have to cross it. Instead they wandered alongside it. They automatically fell silent so as not to scare the horses if they were nearby.
    They didn’t have to wait long to find out. Rounding a large patch of shrub bush, Carole caught her breath. The black mare was standing about fifty yards away. Carole felt her heart soar as she caught sight of Cobalt’s twin. She was struck for a second time by the uncanny similarities. She didn’t trust herself to speak. And it wasn’t just the mare’s resemblance to the stallion that took Carole’s breath away. It was her solitude in the wilderness, and her beauty—night black against white, unspoiled snow.
    “She almost looks as if she’s been waiting for us,” John murmured.
    Carole frowned. “But where’s the rest of the herd?” It seemed strange that the mare would have separated from them.
    Frank gestured toward the mountain trail. “They probably caught our scent and took off,” he said. “I’d put money on it.”
    Just then a high, distant whinny pierced the air.
    “It’s the stallion!” John whispered, pointing. “He’s telling her to come with them.” The three riders craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the herd, but they were too late. The horses had vanished into the gray afternoon, leaving only a trail of hoofprints.
    The mare pricked her ears. She turned her elegant head toward the mountain. A moment later she answered the stallion’s whinny. But she didn’t move. She seemed to be hesitating, wondering which way to go.
    “You two cut left and right in case she runs,” Frank said quietly. “I’ve got my lasso ready.”
    Carole started in the saddle. She had been so caught up in the scene, she hadn’t been at all prepared for Frank’s order. Obviously, though, that was what they had come for. Fortunately Stewball seemed to know what to do without being told. He jogged left, flanking the mare, as John guided Tex to the right. In a matter of seconds, Frank was close enough to swing his rope. It whistled through the air. Carole fought an instinct to yell, to scare the mare off. The lasso landed neatly around the black neck.
    Carole felt herself cringe. The mare had looked so beautiful standing alone in the wilderness. Now she was just another horse in captivity.
    Don’t be silly
, Carole told herself angrily.
You didn’t ride seven hours not to catch her!
    “Carole, why don’t you hop down and halter her?” Frank suggested. “She must have lost hers out here somewhere.”
    Carole jumped off Stewball and took the halter Frank handed her. She could tell the mare was ready to run. Her ears swiveled back and forth. She seemed to be waiting for a sign. For a moment Carole stood stock-still. The