Lisa by Bonnie Bryant Page A

stallion?” Stevie asked as we rode along the edge of a small canyon.
    “The herd has been collecting by the rise across thecreek every afternoon recently,” Kate replied. “We should find them there about now.”
    It took a while to get to the spot Kate meant. But finally we reached a small green valley where Two Mile Creek ran, and we found that she had been right. The herd was there.
    I couldn’t take my eyes off them. It was amazing. I’d seen hundreds, maybe even thousands of horses in my life. But I’d never set eyes on one that didn’t belong to someone, didn’t live in a stable or a field, didn’t wear horseshoes and halters. These horses were different—they didn’t belong to anyone but themselves. They were completely wild, completely free, wandering wherever they pleased and eating whatever they could find. It took my breath away.
    “They’re beautiful,” Stevie whispered, sounding as awed as I felt.
    “Where’s the gray?” Carole asked Kate softly.
    “Watch,” Kate said.
    The wind shifted and carried our scent toward the herd. Some of the mares lifted their heads and sniffed. And then a pure white head rose, sniffed, and looked. The horse’s ears twitched like antennae, reaching to pick up any sound. We were silent, but the horse found us anyway. The stallion called the alert to his herd, and as if by magic, they sprang into motion, galloping off with a thunder of hoofbeats, the magnificent stallion urging them along.
    Moments later, all that was left to mark their presencewas the cloud of dust they’d raised. “Oh,” I said breathlessly, still hardly believing what I’d just seen.
    Stevie nodded wisely. “Just what I was going to say.”
    Soon we began the long ride back to the Bar None. I pulled Chocolate up alongside Spot on the trail. “You’ve just got to have him,” I told Kate, the image of the white stallion still dancing in my mind. “He’s so beautiful …”
    “Did you notice the nick in his ear?” Kate asked. “It’s very distinctive. It’s like the imperfection that makes him absolutely perfect.”
    At first I wasn’t sure that made much sense. But as I thought about the horse, I saw what she meant. Part of what made the stallion so beautiful was his wildness, and the scar was a symbol of that. It always would be, even after Kate adopted and trained him.
    Carole and Stevie joined in the conversation as we rode along. “Will you train him yourself?” Carole asked Kate. “Do you know how to do it?”
    “Training a wild horse has got to be different from training a domestic one,” Stevie pointed out. “I mean, that stallion has never stood still for a human in his life. It’s hard to imagine that he ever will.”
    “Walter said he’d help me,” Kate said. “He’s had lots of experience with wild horses.”
    Her mention of Walter reminded me of what happened with the pony saddle a little earlier. I guess my friends were thinking the same thing, because Stevieasked Kate if Walter was always that serious. “He came down pretty hard on John,” she added.
    Kate nodded. “I think Walter feels he has to prove himself. See, he’s got some kind of odd reputation. There’s something mysterious about his past. Neither John nor Walter will talk about it, but it has something to do with John’s mother. She’s dead, I think. I overheard some parents talking about it at school, but as soon as they saw me, they stopped talking.”
    “Too bad,” Stevie commented. Eavesdropping on other peoples’ interesting conversations is one of her favorite activities.
    “It doesn’t matter,” Kate said. “It’s all just gossip. Walter is a hard worker, and John works even harder. Sometimes I feel sorry for them because they work so hard and nothing ever seems to get better. Walter is always grim and determined. John? Well, he’s nice and helpful, but he’s hard to get to know.”
    “He seems lonely,” I commented, thinking of those deep, dark eyes. I guessed that his