Jo's Journey by Nikki Tate

forearm and watched the four men pass us without even a backward glance. I knew he wanted to go with them. I could feel it in the way he grippedmy arm. The very idea that Bart might leave filled me with a dark dread.
    Two men from our party turned and trotted after the retreating miners.
    My mouth went dry and my heart raced, as if I were the one running back down the trail. If Bart turned now, would I stay or would I go?
    â€œBart,” I said, “we’re almost there—” I choked back the pleading words that threatened to flood the space between us. Bart knew as well as anyone the risks as well as the rewards. He had to make his own decision, just as I had to make mine.
    â€œBoys—help Joshua get these animals over the bridge.” For once I was glad to do as Mr. Emerson commanded. I turned away from Bart and back to the bridge, my heart skittering and jumping beneath my ribs.
    Bridge. To call it a bridge was madness. To think horses could get across was insane. If Mr. Emerson thought it was such a fine idea, he should lead the animals over.
    â€œWith respect, maybe we should see if there’s a better place to—”
    â€œWho’s paying your wages, Joshua?”
    â€œSir, these animals —”
    â€œThese animals will do what you tell them.”
    Joshua’s hand closed on the lead rope of one of our four remaining horses. He looked skyward and his lips moved in silent prayer.
    â€œCome on then, Laddy,” he said, giving the rope a gentle tug.
    To my amazement the horse followed him over the bridge like a giant dog. He placed each foot cautiously, warily balancing himself and his burden one step at a time until he reached the other side.
    The other three horses lifted their heads to watch.
    â€œCome on—one of you has got to come over here and hold Laddy.”
    I hesitated for only as long as it took to decide that this was not the end of the trail for me. If Bart followed, it would be on his own account and not because of anything I might have said. Even though I knew this was how it had to be, it took every ounceof willpower I possessed to step onto the bridge and cross without looking back.
    Honey was next, followed by Louie. Heart still thumping, I watched the progress of the horses and in silence offered a quick prayer that Bart would choose to continue.
    Jacko, the third horse, made it over. One by one the other men wobbled and swayed across the bridge, arms out for balance, faces stern with concentration. When, at last, it came to Bart’s turn, he too stepped onto the log and I muttered, “Thank you.”
    At last, only Tucker and Joshua remained alone on the far side.
    Convinced he was going to be left behind, Tucker snorted anxiously. “Steady now,” Joshua said to the horse. “Watch where you’re going.” They stepped onto the bridge.
    At first I thought it was going to be all right, but when yet another group of men burst through the trees, Tucker threw his head up, his nostrils flaring.
    That was all it took for one back hoof to slip off the side of the bridge. His heavy load andexhaustion did the rest. He slithered backward into the churning water, and Joshua threw himself in the other direction so the rope snapped taut over the edge.
    Bart and George grabbed for the rope, and the three men yanked and hauled against the weight of the thrashing horse. They did everything they could to hold the panicking animal. Mr. Emerson pulled a length of rope from a pack and scrambled down the steep bank.
    â€œStop!” I yelled when he landed the first blow on the horse’s back.
    If he heard me over the roar of the churning water, he didn’t let on. He lashed the poor beast over and over again, as if by sheer brute force he could will the animal to rise from the water.
    Tucker gave one last mighty spasm and then went limp, the water buffeting his hindquarters where they hung in the raging stream.
    I turned away,