Free Buckskin Bandit by Dandi Daley Mackall

on. “Swap, Winnie? That horse looks like a Siamese cat, man.”
    I’d never thought about it, but Catman had a point. The dun was cream-colored with brown shadings like a Siamese. “Be my guest,” I said.
    I held the dun while Catman mounted. Then I climbed into the stiff saddle on the bay. “Did this horse used to be a Trotter?” I asked Leonard. “A Standardbred?”
    â€œYeah.” Leonard looked surprised. And suspicious. “How’d you know that?”
    â€œTrade secret,” I said. But it wasn’t that hard. The horse was powerfully built, without the refined look of a Thoroughbred. His body was long, with sloping shoulders and short legs.
    I glanced around at the horses the others had ended up with. All the horses seemed so tuckered out that I didn’t think we’d have much trouble with them on the trail.
    â€œTallyho!” cried Mr. Coolidge.
    Leonard pointed to the trail and told us to ride out and back. At least that was one good thing. None of the horses had to carry him. “Them horses could do the route blindfolded,” he said, getting into his battered pickup. “I’ll be back before you are.”
    â€œHawk, you lead!” I hollered as she mounted a sorrel mare. “I’ll bring up the rear.”
    The horses lined themselves up as they plodded on the rough trail toward thick trees. Mrs. Coolidge pulled her horse out of second in line and let Sal go in front of her. She said she wanted to be in front of her husband. Mr. Coolidge’s hat was crooked, and I hoped his toupee would stay on. He leaned to the side, but I didn’t want to insult him by telling him to sit up straighter.
    For the first 15 minutes, Hawk couldn’t get her horse to move faster than a painfully slow walk. I had to keep pulling up the Trotter so he wouldn’t trot into the back of M’s horse, who would then ram into Catman’s horse.
    Sal, who had moved in behind Hawk, kept a steady conversation going with her. After a while, Sal turned back and shouted, “Hey! You’re all invited to Winnie’s barn for a horse birthday party Saturday morning! Amigo will love it! M, you can hang with Buddy. Catman, we know you’ll bring cats.”
    â€œSal, I—” But I didn’t know what to say. I still hated birthdays—my birthday anyway. I’d vowed I’d never celebrate March 24th again. Too many pictures stored up in my head.
    But some of the older pictures were good ones. A photo shot to my brain. I must have been about eight because Lizzy and I were almost the same height. Mom was holding Buttermilk, her buckskin, so I could ride her. I was wearing new boots I’d gotten for my birthday. But the real gift was Mom trusting me with her horse.
    â€œSo aren’t you going to say anything, Winnie?” Sal was twisted around in her saddle—one hand on her horse’s rump, the other clutching the saddle horn. “We’re bringing the cake and everything—unless Lizzy insists on baking it. Hint, hint.”
    I looked up to the front of the line. Hawk was staring back at me. Our eyes held each other’s. And I knew. It wasn’t that she had forgotten how I felt about birthdays. Hawk understood. She just wanted to kick me past it.
    â€œA horse birthday party, huh?” I said slowly. When I looked at it like I was somebody else, somebody whose mother hadn’t died like mine had, it was just about the nicest thing anybody had wanted to do for me in a long time. “I like it.”
    â€œThat’s better.” Sal turned back around.
    Ahead of me, Catman was staring at something, holding it up to the sinking sun.
    â€œWhat have you got, Catman?” I hollered.
    He waved what looked like a tiny leaf he must have pulled from a tree.
    M grabbed a leaf from a tree as we passed by. He held it up, exactly like Catman.
    I plucked a leaf off the next tree and stared at it, holding it up