Wild Horses by D'Ann Lindun

as if her fingers were melded to the halter. If she fell, she’d be trampled. She had one other option. Praying she could make it work, she took two running steps, grabbed Gato’s mane with her right hand and swung her leg over his back.
    Made it!
    Her breath rushed out and she fell forward, wrapping both arms around Gato’s neck and her legs tight against his slick torso. Without reins, there wasn’t any way to guide or stop the runaway horse except to try to grab his halter and spin him in a circle. Afraid that might cause him to fall on the slippery ground, Castaña prayed he wouldn’t step in a hole or trip over a log, but he could see better than she could. Ahead of her, the herd charged as if they were being chased.
    Too busy concentrating on not falling off, Castaña didn’t give it too much thought as Gato lunged up the steep hillside, wove through cottonwoods and dove over downed trees and small ravines. Wind rushed through her hair, and a wet branch slapped her cheek.
    Sitting up, she held on with her knees and with her fingers tangled in the dun’s mane. She hadn’t ridden like this since she was a kid. She and Martin never used saddles when they were young. How had she forgotten how much fun it was to ride bareback? The ground shook from the horses’ hooves, and around her the air vibrated with an intensity that stimulated her soul.
    She caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. Sure it was human, she turned her head for a better look, but nothing was there. Her imagination had to be working overtime.
    She forgot about the weird shadows as the herd made a sharp left turn, disappearing over the steep hillside, back into the canyon. Beneath her, the dun finally began to tire, although the horses ahead showed no signs of slowing.
    “Whoa, boy,” she called.
    The gelding ignored her and continued to follow the other horses. Castaña grabbed for Gato’s halter, but he jerked his head out of reach. She tried again. Her fingers brushed the nylon halter, but didn’t grip the slippery material.
    When he began to lope, then trot, she reached up and grabbed the side of his halter, pulling hard. The gelding reluctantly obeyed her command, spun in a tight circle and stopped.
    She slid off and would have collapsed if her hands weren’t wrapped around the halter. She leaned against the horse’s sweat soaked neck and tried to calm her raging heartbeat. Still anxious, the gelding lifted his head and neighed. Somewhere down the ravine another horse answered.
    Rojo, maybe?
    Cloud would probably keep running with the mustangs until they stopped. The appaloosa had lived in captivity since he was a colt, but his wild instincts wouldn’t be easily forgotten. Catching him wasn’t going to be easy, it might even take herding him in with the mustangs when the BLM did their annual fall roundup. Luckily, he had the white freeze branded numbers on his neck that would signal the BLM employees he belonged to someone. Martin would kill her if anything happened to his prized mustang.
    Without grain to entice Rojo, or even a way to lead him, Castaña turned back the way she’d come and trudged up the canyon floor pulling the reluctant gelding with her. He flicked his ears back, still worrying about the other horses. Once in a while he’d snort and try to toss his head, but she held him with a death grip. If he broke loose now there’d be no catching him.
    “Come on,” she said. “The sooner we get back to the cabin, the sooner we can get Rojo.”
    Ahead she heard the dim sound of Jake calling her.
    “Down here,” she shouted back. “I’m okay.”
    Rounding another bend, she could hear him better.
    “Castaña? Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine,” she answered. The rain pushed at her back and she bent her head, trudging. She was almost upon Jake when she realized he was hunched over something in the mud. “What’s wrong?”
    He looked up, rain running down his face. “I think I found your