sensible. The important thing is to get you out of here before morning!”
Once more, her voice kept Midnight Lady calm. The other horses had begun to stir and split off, swerving across the field, their manes and tails flying, their hooves kicking up turf. But not the gray mare; she came along sweetly, listening to Kirstie’s words.
“We get you off the ranch, and tomorrow we think again,” she promised. “Maybe the animal welfare people will get involved. Maybe I can persuade my mom to buy you after all …” They were waiting for Lisa to open the gate, their backs to the nervous herd, almost free.
Lisa slid another bolt.
A light went on in a window in the house.
Kirstie saw it. For a sickening moment, as her heart jumped and she held tight to Midnight Lady’s lead rope, she prayed that the light would go back out.
But no. It stayed on. A figure came to the window to look out.
“Quick, Kirstie, get her out of here!” Lisa urged.
But the new urgency had spooked Midnight Lady. She pulled at the rope, veering away, back into the meadow. “Not that way!” Kirstie tried to stop her, felt the strength of the frightened horse, tugged in vain.
The rope stretched taut as Lisa urged Kirstie to be quick. Kirstie felt it burn her palms as it slipped. It was agony to hold on, and Midnight Lady was full of fear, ready to flee in exactly the wrong direction. One more wrench of her head and Kirstie had to let her go.
Now she could run. She was a flight animal. It was all she knew.
She reared and turned, joined the other horses in the meadow, screamed out a warning. Moonpie and Skeeter galloped to her, gathered her, and raced her off across the field. The ranch horses jostled and bunched after them. They thundered down the slope to the stream, splashed into it, turned and made a crazy dash toward a second fence and then a third.
“Get out of the way!” Lisa gasped at Kirstie as the horses swung toward the gate. She shoved her to one side, against the gatepost, leaving the opening clear.
Kirstie was down on the ground, staring up at the charging horses. They galloped rhythmically over the soft earth toward her.
Their hooves shook the earth, they reached the gate, and then they were through. Midnight Lady led them, pounding past Kirstie, who was struggling to her feet. Then came Moonpie and Skeeter, mad with the idea of freedom. They charged through the gate ahead of the ranch horses, who all followed the three broncs into the yard, raising dust, scattering in every direction.
More lights in a lean-to section of the ranch house. Kirstie saw them as she stood up. Her palms were burning, her cheek hurt where she’d fallen against the gatepost.
But the horses were still galloping, three across the flat land to the south, black shadows disappearing into the night.
Two circled the ranch house, then broke off in the direction of the town. In the dim confusion she spotted the black-and-white shape of Skeeter. He raised his head and found the jagged black horizon of the distant mountains.
Then she lost him in another whirl of activity.
Moonpie? Midnight Lady? Two pale horses disappearing into the night. Which was which? Where were they headed? She saw that both gray horses were tracking after Skeeter in his race for the mountains.
But everything was confused; her palms felt like they were on fire, voices yelled out of the darkness.
“Run, Kirstie!” Lisa cried, dragging her across the meadow, away from the house.
Kirstie followed, hardly aware of what she did.
And she didn’t care. Midnight Lady was free; that was all that mattered.
6
“Lisa?” Bonnie Goodman called up the stairs to her daughter, thinking she was still fast asleep in her bedroom.
It was half past seven on Thursday morning, opening time for the End of Trail Diner.
Lisa was sitting fully dressed except for her jacket on the edge of her bed. Kirstie stood by the window with her sleeping bag draped around her shoulders. Her fair hair hung
Once more, her voice kept Midnight Lady calm. The other horses had begun to stir and split off, swerving across the field, their manes and tails flying, their hooves kicking up turf. But not the gray mare; she came along sweetly, listening to Kirstie’s words.
“We get you off the ranch, and tomorrow we think again,” she promised. “Maybe the animal welfare people will get involved. Maybe I can persuade my mom to buy you after all …” They were waiting for Lisa to open the gate, their backs to the nervous herd, almost free.
Lisa slid another bolt.
A light went on in a window in the house.
Kirstie saw it. For a sickening moment, as her heart jumped and she held tight to Midnight Lady’s lead rope, she prayed that the light would go back out.
But no. It stayed on. A figure came to the window to look out.
“Quick, Kirstie, get her out of here!” Lisa urged.
But the new urgency had spooked Midnight Lady. She pulled at the rope, veering away, back into the meadow. “Not that way!” Kirstie tried to stop her, felt the strength of the frightened horse, tugged in vain.
The rope stretched taut as Lisa urged Kirstie to be quick. Kirstie felt it burn her palms as it slipped. It was agony to hold on, and Midnight Lady was full of fear, ready to flee in exactly the wrong direction. One more wrench of her head and Kirstie had to let her go.
Now she could run. She was a flight animal. It was all she knew.
She reared and turned, joined the other horses in the meadow, screamed out a warning. Moonpie and Skeeter galloped to her, gathered her, and raced her off across the field. The ranch horses jostled and bunched after them. They thundered down the slope to the stream, splashed into it, turned and made a crazy dash toward a second fence and then a third.
“Get out of the way!” Lisa gasped at Kirstie as the horses swung toward the gate. She shoved her to one side, against the gatepost, leaving the opening clear.
Kirstie was down on the ground, staring up at the charging horses. They galloped rhythmically over the soft earth toward her.
Their hooves shook the earth, they reached the gate, and then they were through. Midnight Lady led them, pounding past Kirstie, who was struggling to her feet. Then came Moonpie and Skeeter, mad with the idea of freedom. They charged through the gate ahead of the ranch horses, who all followed the three broncs into the yard, raising dust, scattering in every direction.
More lights in a lean-to section of the ranch house. Kirstie saw them as she stood up. Her palms were burning, her cheek hurt where she’d fallen against the gatepost.
But the horses were still galloping, three across the flat land to the south, black shadows disappearing into the night.
Two circled the ranch house, then broke off in the direction of the town. In the dim confusion she spotted the black-and-white shape of Skeeter. He raised his head and found the jagged black horizon of the distant mountains.
Then she lost him in another whirl of activity.
Moonpie? Midnight Lady? Two pale horses disappearing into the night. Which was which? Where were they headed? She saw that both gray horses were tracking after Skeeter in his race for the mountains.
But everything was confused; her palms felt like they were on fire, voices yelled out of the darkness.
“Run, Kirstie!” Lisa cried, dragging her across the meadow, away from the house.
Kirstie followed, hardly aware of what she did.
And she didn’t care. Midnight Lady was free; that was all that mattered.
6
“Lisa?” Bonnie Goodman called up the stairs to her daughter, thinking she was still fast asleep in her bedroom.
It was half past seven on Thursday morning, opening time for the End of Trail Diner.
Lisa was sitting fully dressed except for her jacket on the edge of her bed. Kirstie stood by the window with her sleeping bag draped around her shoulders. Her fair hair hung
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