Wild Horses by Jenny Oldfield Page B

clearing with us, we’ll try to get near and talk to him,” Kirstie said as she dismounted and tied Lucky up. “The more he gets to know us, the easier it’s gonna be in the long run.”
    “We can always come back later today and try again if need be.” Lisa had been the first off her horse and was ready to take the track down into the canyon.
    “Or stay out here the whole day and keep watch,” Kirstie said. She was on the lookout for the herd, expecting to see the gray mare at their head. The fact that they weren’t here on the ridge surprised her slightly.
    “You can’t be serious!” Lisa retorted, thinking of her stomach as usual. “Stay here the whole day without a sack lunch?”
    She went on ahead, grumbling and kidding, but Kirstie stayed on the ridge, still looking out for the wild horses. She thought she heard the faint sound of hooves drumming down the hillside toward her, and then she caught sight of the young sorrel, quickly followed by a piebald. They galloped through the trees, kicking up dirt, swerving past boulders. “Hey!” she said softly. These horses weren’t playing a game of chase. Their flattened ears and reckless speed told her they were fleeing from an unseen pursuer.
    Two young foals came next, skidding down the slope, their stick-like legs folding under them as they crashed down. They jerked back up onto their feet and ran on. Then more fully grown horses came hard on their heels. Kirstie saw the fear running through their bodies, making them toss their heads and rear up. What was it? Who was chasing them?
    “Say, what’s happening?” Lisa had heard the noise and climbed back onto the ridge. She stopped and stared.
    Kirstie took a step forward, then another. Here came the gray mare at the back of the herd, half-hidden by a cloud of dust. The horse ran more slowly, hindered by something that she couldn’t quite make out.
    “What’s that around her neck?” Lisa cried. “See—she’s dragging a length of rope!”
    Kirstie broke into a run. She saw it now; the rough slipknot, the trailing rope that caught in the bushes as the horse ran.
    The other wild horses had reached the ridge and galloped along its length. But the gray mare was winded. She saw the girls, slowed, and wheeled away. Up on her hind legs, front hooves flailing, she whirled back the way she’d come.
    But her path was blocked. There was a man scrambling down the mountain toward her; a dark figure in a black hat, the brim pulled well down. He spread his arms wide to threaten the mare, paused to unhitch another rope from his shoulder, then raised it over his head to launch a second lasso.
    “Don’t do that!” Kirstie yelled the first words that came into her head. She ran faster, straight at the gray horse.

    Caught between them, the mare reared up.
    The second rope snaked through the air. Kirstie leaped forward, jumped, and caught it. The man’s harsh voice swore. He jerked at the rope and heaved Kirstie off her feet.
    “Let go of the damn rope!” he cried.
    She hung on. Her arms felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets as the stranger dragged her over the rough ground.
    “Get out of my way!” he yelled again. “I plan to rope that mare in, and no fool kid’s gonna stop me!”

9
    “Kirstie, let go of the rope!” Lisa begged.
    Kirstie was cut and bruised, covered in dirt. But she’d hung on long enough to give the gray horse a chance to get away. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the mare turn on the spot and race along the ridge after the other wild horses. Her white mane and tail streamed in the wind. OK;
now
Kirstie would loosen her grip!
    “Damn fool kid!” the man shouted, falling back as the tension on the rope suddenly slackened. He jerked it and began to coil it toward him.
    Quickly Lisa helped Kirstie to her feet. She pointed at the scratches on her arms. “You’re bleeding!”
    “I’m OK.” Breathing hard, her shoulders and hands hurting, she brushed herself down. “No