Third-Time Lucky (2 page)

“You never said he was
always
wrong!” Lisa argued back. “But you don’t have to—I can hear it in your voice!”

Kirstie clicked her tongue, the order for Lucky to lope. She felt him settle back onto his haunches then surge forward; she enjoyed the sensation of her long, fair hair blowing back from her face as the horse wove through the trees. But by the time they reached the ponderosa pines, Lucky was breathing hard, so she reined him back to a trot. Turning around in the saddle, she decided it was time to back down and enjoy the rest of the day. “OK, you win; my darling, handsome, hunky brother is right 100 percent of the time!”

Snowflake came to a sliding stop on the gravelly soil. Lisa pitched forward against her neck. When she righted herself, her thick, red, curly hair had tumbled over her eyes. “Hey, hold on! Did I say that?”

A broad grin lit up Kirstie’s tanned face. “You don’t have to!” she replied. “I can hear it in your voice!”

Lisa had denied everything: no way did she have a crush on Kirstie’s big brother. Sure, he was tall and dark, but she wouldn’t say handsome. Not even in spite of his hazel eyes. “He’s twenty years old, for heaven’s sakes!” she’d protested. “That’s officially ancient!”

“I’ll tell him that,” Kirstie had threatened.

“You do and I’ll never forgive you!” Lisa had pushed Snowflake on ahead, heading across country for a clearing in the trees.

Kirstie had watched the mare’s smooth lope, her white tail streaming behind her, the pretty, white flecks on her coat picked out clearly in the shadows. Then she’d clicked her tongue and made a kissing sound. Lucky had taken off like a shot and thundered after Snowflake, his golden coat gleaming, his head loose and easy. By the time they’d reached Deer Lake, the two horses were neck and neck.

“Easy, Snowflake!” Lisa reined her horse back as soon as she spotted a couple of fishermen at the water’s edge. The men wore rubber waders and stood thigh-deep in the crystal clear water, casting their lines far out into the lake with quiet concentration and skill.

“That’s Dan Stewart.” Kirstie recognized the red-checked shirt, bushy beard, and burly figure of one of that week’s guests at Half Moon Ranch. He had three teenaged sons, Craig, Richie, and Brad, who had all headed out earlier that morning on an advanced ride with Hadley, the head wrangler. Dan, it seemed, had chosen the quieter pastime of fly-fishing.

“Hey, Kirstie!” The lawyer from New Hampshire greeted her as she and Lisa rode quietly by.

“Hey.” She ducked her head shyly, letting her hair fall forward across her face.

“Did you see that little appie in the trees back there?” Dan inquired. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent his line snaking through the air.

Kirstie shook her head, ready to ride on.

“A little appaloosa?” Lisa stopped. She was curious. “A Half Moon Ranch horse?”

“I guess not.” Patiently, Dan Stewart cast out his line again. Sooner or later a fish would bite. “Looked like a kids’ pony, not a ranch horse. I thought it was kinda strange: a pony all tacked up, running loose without a rider.”

A few paces ahead of Lisa and Snowflake, Kirstie sat back in her saddle and reined Lucky in. A loose horse was something that needed to be sorted out. She turned Lucky and went to quiz Dan Stewart. “You’re sure the rider wasn’t around? Then how did the pony get to be here? Have you told anyone what you saw?”

Dan grunted and made her wait for answers. “You’d make a good prosecution lawyer, did anyone ever tell you?”

“Sorry,” she blushed.

“No, that’s OK. First, yes, I’m sure the pony was a runaway. I hollered for a rider to show up and didn’t get any reply. Second, I have no idea how come she’s running loose this far from civilization.” He gazed around at the magnificent silent mountains rising above the snow line, their white peaks jutting into the blue sky. “And third, I’m telling you two what I saw right now!”

“Yeah, thanks!” Picking up that Kirstie was worried by the news, Lisa stepped in. “Where exactly did you see the pony?”

Dan didn’t turn from his task, but nodded his head in the direction of the trees from which the girls had just emerged. “Back there, five minutes ago.”

“C’mon.” Letting Lisa thank the fisherman, Kirstie retraced her steps. She noticed Lucky prick his ears and point them forward, listening intently. His keen hearing had already picked up something unusual. Then, as he re-entered the forest, he curled his lip, threw back his head and gave a high, loud whinny.

“Good boy!” Kirstie leaned forward to pat his neck. Peering between the tall, scaly trunks of the pine trees, she saw a tiny chipmunk scoot across the trail, his boldly striped tail sailing behind like a black-and-white banner.

“Anything?” Lisa came up quietly beside her.

“Nope. Lucky heard something, but he didn’t get an answer.” Softly, Kirstie urged him forward. She watched the moving shadows where sunlight filtered through the trees, listened, and let her horse take the lead.

Deeper into the wood—rich with the smell of pine resin—over fallen trunks, pushing aside brushwood, Kirstie and Lucky went searching for the runaway pony. A glance over her shoulder told her that Lisa had decided to wait with Snowflake on the trail in case there was anything to be seen back there.

Lucky went on, his feet falling softly on the cushion of pine needles. The shadows closed in as the trees grew thicker. Soon, Lisa and Snowflake were out of sight.

“Easy!” Kirstie murmured. She trusted Lucky’s judgment on this. His ears were still up, his whole body alert. He stopped, turned his head to listen, changed direction, and walked steadily on.

He stopped when they came to a large, smooth rock shaped like a dome. It had brilliant pink paintbrush flowers growing at its base and the trunk of a half-felled tree resting against one side. Kirstie noticed with a faint shiver the exposed roots reaching out of the earth like gnarled witches’ fingers. “Here?” she whispered to Lucky.

The palomino stood full square, his head turned to the ten-foot-high rock.

Quietly Kirstie dismounted. She needed to find a way around the back of the rock without breaking her neck on the loose shale slope. Maybe climbing up it would be better. Footholds were hard to find in the pink granite, but she managed it and eased herself up to the top of the dome.

Lying flat on her stomach, peering down the far side, Kirstie saw the pony.

The tiny spotted horse had got her wide saddle and bulky stirrups wedged between a tree and the rock. She was six feet away, looking up at Kirstie with wild eyes and flaring nostrils. Her hooves scraped and pawed at the rocky ground, but the more she struggled, the tighter she wedged herself.

In spite of the little pony’s distress, Kirstie saw right away what she had to do to help. Once she got down there and unbuckled the cinch strap, she could ease the saddle off and set the poor creature free.

“OK, hang on in there,” she whispered, scrambling over the top of the rock. “I’ll have you out in a couple of minutes, no problem.”

“The strange thing is, you’d expect her to have worked up a sweat, but she feels real cold.” Kirstie ran her hand down the appaloosa’s neck. A nimble scramble down the rock, making sure to keep out of the way of the small but still lethal hooves, had brought her alongside the trapped pony. She’d moved in close, saying soothing words all the while, until the poor thing had calmed down enough to stay quiet as Kirstie unbuckled the cinch. As predicted, once the saddle was loose and she was able to lift it, the pony quickly squirmed free.

Lisa and Snowflake had decided to follow Kirstie and Lucky after all, and it was at the moment when the pony broke loose that they drew level with the dome-shaped rock. They’d blocked the pony’s escape route as, relieved of her saddle, she’d blundered through the undergrowth and shot out across the track. She’d reared and turned, but had been stopped again by Lucky standing in the way. Meanwhile, Kirstie struggled after her, carrying the battered saddle.

Really it had been no contest: Lisa and Snowflake, Kirstie and Lucky against an eleven-hands-high pony. Lisa had unhitched a rope from her saddle horn and handed it to Kirstie, who had quickly looped it around the runaway’s neck.

And now that Kirstie was running a hand down the little appie’s side, she was puzzled. The pony must have been jammed between the tree and the rock for at least five minutes, working hard to break free. Yet she definitely felt cold and clammy.

“It must be the trauma of being trapped,” Lisa suggested, then went to search in Snowflake’s saddlebag. “What have we got to help keep her warm?” She drew out her waterproof slicker that she wore only when it rained. “Any good?”

“No thanks.” Kirstie thought that the best thing to do was to get the shocked horse moving. “Let’s lead her back to the ranch, then call around to see if any kid has taken a fall and gone home without her pony.”

“Can she walk OK?” Lisa pointed to the cuts on her knees and fetlocks, where she’d bashed herself against the rock.

Kirstie lifted the pony’s dainty feet to check, feeling her sides heave rapidly in and out. Her breath seemed to rasp inside her chest, probably another sign that she was in shock. But as far as the legs went, there seemed to be no reason why she couldn’t make it safely to Half Moon Ranch.

“She doesn’t care about you messing with her,” Lisa commented, noting how the pretty pony turned her head to follow Kirstie’s every move. The horse let her attach a lead rope securely to the head collar that she wore under her bridle and was then ready to follow.

“She’s great!” Smiling, Kirstie gave her nose a rub, appreciating the dished shape which gave her the look of a high-class Arabian. The pony’s eyes were large, her ears pointed, dainty again. Yet her withers were strong for a horse of her size, and when she walked forward, her stride was long and straight.

“Yeah, well, don’t get too attached.” Lisa smiled as Kirstie remounted. They were ready to leave: Lisa with the pony’s saddle slung across Snowflake’s broad hindquarters, Kirstie and Lucky leading the runaway. “There’s an owner out there somewhere!” Lisa reminded her. “This pretty little lady has a home to go to, so don’t start making any plans!”

“Neat work, honey!” Sandy Scott congratulated Kirstie as she took the appaloosa pony into the barn and found an empty stall in which to bed her down. “Someone’s gonna be real happy you and Lisa took the trouble to bring her in.”

Kirstie’s mom had got back from leading the intermediate riders and heard the tale from Lisa. She’d just found time before the evening barrel race to come out and check the situation in the barn.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Kirstie spread an extra layer of hay to make sure the visitor was comfortable.

“Yep. Pony of the Americas,” Sandy noted. “Eye-catching, that’s for sure. The breed began in Mason City, Iowa, back in the ’50s; a cross between a Shetland pony and an appaloosa mare. Now they’re everywhere.”

“Should I put a blanket on her?” Kirstie asked, her voice edged with concern. “She’s still cold.”

“OK.” Sandy leaned next door to unhitch a spare hay net from little Moonshine’s stall. The palomino foal nickered and came to poke her head around the corner. “Give the appie this to eat and plenty of fresh water. Then come on out to the corral. Barrel racing’s about ready to start.”

So Kirstie worked fast to follow her mom, making a fuss of the appaloosa and giving her everything she might need to get over her ordeal by Deer Lake. When she emerged into the daylight, the first person she met up with in the sunny yard was Tommy Woodford, the San Luis vet’s fifteen-year-old son. The second person was Lisa.

“Would you believe it!” Lisa cried, running over from the ranch house with a broad smile. “Word travels fast. We already found the appie’s owners!”

“What appie?” Tommy wanted to know. Like his dad, he was dark haired and tanned. He wore a white T-shirt, jeans, a brown Stetson, and boots, ready to take part in the barrel racing contest. “What owners?”

“Hold on a minute, Tommy!” Kirstie cut in. “What do you mean, you found them?”

“I called my grandpa over at Lone Elm to tell him what happened. He called Smiley Gilpin at the Forest Guard station. Smiley had heard about some nine-year-old kid who fell off her pony yesterday afternoon near Red Eagle Lodge.”