Paint the Wind by Pam Muñoz Ryan

who’d been taught all the mischief known to man, a wilderness where she might disappear and never be seen orheard from again, and the very animals that were her parents’ undoing. And that one word that had fastened itself to her heart. Journeys . As she pushed the bacon around on her plate, her body pulsed with a combination of dread and excitement.
    â€œBetter eat up,” said Fig, “Then head upstairs and collect your things. We’re going to have to load the truck right after breakfast and get on the road.”
    After she finished eating, Maya left Moose and Fig with their coffee. She pushed through the swinging door and, as it closed behind her, she paused on the other side to listen.
    â€œI’m trying to imagine those three out there together,” said Fig. “My, oh my. Vi and Payton may have met their match.”
    Moose chuckled. “Or Maya will meet hers.”

M AYA SAT SANDWICHED IN THE TRUCK CAB BETWEEN Moose and Fig with her box of horses on her lap. Golly sat in Fig’s lap, hanging her head out the truck window. Sprinkles of dog fur floated through the air, and occasionally a bit of slobber hit the wind and came back in Maya’s face. She coughed and sputtered and rubbed at her cheeks, but neither Moose nor Fig seemed concerned about her possible dog allergy.
    They had been driving on the high desert plain for almost two hours. Uncle Fig narrated like a tour guide, pointing out a llama farm, an actual moose by a stream, several herds of mule deer, and a bald eagle. “See that yellow-blooming bush on your left? That’s rabbitbrush, Chrysothamnus nauseosus . The nauseosus part refers to itsfoul taste. Know what we have right here in Wyoming that’s special to the American West? Antilocapra americana , the pronghorn. Looks sort of like a deer and sort of like a goat. Of course a lot of what we have here is one variety or another of sagebrush like Artemisia tridentata .” Uncle Fig’s arm swept across the cab to indicate the vast gray-green ocean that reached both horizons. “Notice how your grandpa is keeping quiet? That’s because he can’t remember a Latin name from his own.”
    â€œNow, that’s not true. I’m just letting your uncle Fig show off. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise even if I wanted to, since he goes on and on and on. Someone in the family has to be the strong silent type and someone has to be the blabbermouth.”
    Maya’s head turned from one man to the other. Sitting between Moose and Fig was like trying to followa ball at a Ping-Pong match, so easily did they tease back and forth.
    â€œI know the Latin name for bison,” said Moose. “Want to hear it, Maya?”
    She nodded.
    â€œ Bison bison .”
    Fig slapped his leg. “That’s the only one he can remember.”
    Maya bit back a smile.
    â€œWe’ve got a lot of exotic things out here, Maya,” said Fig. “Just pay attention and you’ll get an eyeful.”
    â€œDo you have ghost horses?” she asked.
    Uncle Fig glanced at her. “Now there’s something I haven’t heard about in a while. Sure. At night, when there is just enough light from the moon, but not too much, only the white splotches of the Paint horses arenoticeable. They appear to be floating. People who’ve seen them say they give them the shivers. Whether they’re real ghosts or not depends on the believer.” He winked at her.
    Moose shook his head at his brother and slowed the vehicle to turn down a long dirt road. The truck crawled slowly, avoiding holes and ruts. A jackrabbit scampered across their path. The wind kicked up and sudden blasts whistled through the cab.
    When Maya thought the road and the sagebrush would never end, she saw an old dilapidated trailer in a clearing between two hills. “Is that the camp?”
    Uncle Fig laughed. “No. And we wouldn’t put you in that rusty thing. That’s an