Racehorse by Bonnie Bryant Page A

for Stephen. The track vet hurried toward Prancer. Judy and Mr. McLeod broke out of the grandstand, running for the horse and rider as well. The crowd called words of encouragement and concern.
    Carole saw and heard none of this. All she could see was Prancer, lying in the dirt, crying out in pain. Without knowing what she was doing, Carole kicked her pony to action. The horse sprang at her touch, dashing across the track to where Prancer was lying and unable to move. Images flashed through her mind, images of horses who had to be destroyed because of injuries; images of horses who had died because of carelessness; images of horses who wouldn’t live to ride again. She saw death and pain. And she saw Prancer.
    Carole was the first person to arrive at the horse’s side. Stephen was pulling himself up and seemed okay. Carole dismounted and turned her attention to Prancer. As soon as the horse saw Carole, she stopped crying so loudly. Carole didn’t think she was in any less pain, it was just that she seemed to feel comforted by Carole’s presence. Her cry turned to a whimper.
    Although she didn’t want to, Carole automatically reached for the filly’s right leg. It was the one that had collapsed under her. It was almost certain that was where the trouble lay, and Carole was terribly afraid of what she would find. A racehorse with a broken leg was useless on the track. No matter how much an owner loved it, he might not be able to keep it. Many severely injured racehorses met the same sad end. Carole didn’t even want to think about it.
    She didn’t feel any breaks in Prancer’s leg, though shewasn’t sure she would have known one if she had. She was more sure that if she touched a place where the bone was broken that Prancer would call out again. The horse remained still and quiet. Then Carole’s hand felt the hoof. It was hot. She checked Prancer’s left front hoof. It was not hot.
    “How is she?” Judy asked breathlessly.
    “It’s in her right hoof,” Carole informed her automatically. “Here, feel.” She stood up and stepped back to allow room for Judy to examine the horse. The instant Carole was out of Prancer’s field of vision, the horse began crying loudly again.
    Carole stepped closer and then sat down cross-legged on the track, holding Prancer’s head on her lap. She stroked the horse’s cheek and neck calmly, talking all the while.
    “It’s okay, girl,” she said. “Judy’s here. She’ll take care of you. She’ll find out what’s wrong, and she’s going to know what to do to make you better so you can race again and lead the field again and cross the finish line again. And I’ll be there with you, cheering and calling your name, and I’ll hold your trophies and then I’ll hug you in the winner’s circle.”
    “What’s the story?” the track vet asked Judy when he arrived.
    Judy stood up, and the two of them walked a few steps away to talk about Prancer’s condition. Mr. McLeodjoined them. The three talked in low voices. Carole couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was afraid she knew.
    “Prancer, my beautiful Prancer,” she said, hugging the horse, hoping that the love that flowed through her arms would heal the filly and save her life.
    “She’s a good horse, you know,” Stephen said.
    “I know,” Carole said, lifting her head from Prancer’s cheek. She noticed the cheek was moist with her own tears. She hadn’t even known she’d been crying.
    “I never saw her run like that, you know. Mr. McLeod was right. You were a good omen for her. She was running for you. She was going to win the race or die trying,” Stephen said.
    Carole glanced at him sharply. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Do the horses have to sacrifice themselves to win?”
    “No,” he said. “But it happens. And when it does, often it’s because the horse wanted it that way.”
    “Prancer wanted to die?”
    “No,” he said. “She wanted to win.”
    Carole looked down at