Free Buckskin Bandit by Dandi Daley Mackall Page A

to the sun. It was green and nice and everything, but nothing special. “I don’t get it!” I shouted.
    But M did. “Blocks out the sun,” he explained. “Decidedly amazing.”
    I looked at the leaf again. M was right. As we rocked along on our horses, I stared at the leaf and couldn’t see the sun behind it. Amazing that something that small could block out something so big.
    â€œMrs. Coolidge?” Mr. Coolidge’s panicky voice startled me. “Darling, where are you going?”
    â€œI’m not doing it!” she hollered back, terror in her voice.
    I dropped my leaf and saw that Mrs. Coolidge’s horse was very slowly walking past Sal’s horse, reclaiming her rightful spot as second in line.
    Mr. Coolidge yelled, “Stop that horse! It’s running away with my wife!”
    â€œNo, it’s not, Mr. Coolidge!” I shouted up. “The horses are used to taking the trail in a certain order. She’ll be fine when she’s back in the right slot.”
    But he wasn’t listening to me. “Mrs. Coolidge!” he cried. “Hang on! I’m coming!” He gripped the saddle horn. “Yeee-haw!”
    I’m not sure what he did next. But suddenly his horse sprang to life. The mare gave a little buck I could have sworn she didn’t have in her and broke out of line in a trot.
    â€œPull back on the reins!” I yelled as loud as I could.
    But he was only holding the tips of the reins. So when he pulled, nothing happened. In fact, the mare trotted faster, past Sal, past Mrs. Coolidge, past Hawk.
    â€œStop!” cried Mr. Coolidge.
    But the mare had a taste of the lead and wasn’t about to give it up. She broke to a canter, sending Mr. Coolidge farther sideways. His legs stuck out. One hand continued to grip the saddle horn, and the other clutched his hat as his horse took off through the woods in a real, live runaway.

“Go, Bart!” Catman shouted as his dad’s horse disappeared into the forest ahead of us.
    I couldn’t believe Mr. Coolidge’s mount had that much spunk. I knew the horse would just run back to the barn, but I was afraid Mr. Coolidge might fall off first.
    â€œCome on, Trotter!” I coaxed, urging my bay out of line.
    Catman started to follow me, but then M’s horse pulled out to follow him.
    â€œStay in line, Catman! Please!” I cried. “I’ll get your dad!”
    â€œSave Mr. Coolidge!” his wife pleaded, as my Trotter broke to a fast trot.
    â€œDon’t worry!” I yelled back. I wished I didn’t have the stupid saddle between the Trotter and me. He wasn’t reading my leg cues to canter. But he trotted faster and faster as I guided him toward the cloud of dust ahead of us.
    When I spotted the tail of Mr. Coolidge’s mount, I leaned forward on Trotter’s neck. He trotted even faster, threatening to bounce his saddle off. But the gap narrowed between Mr. Coolidge and us. I could see the Tweety Bird tie flapping in the wind.
    â€œHang on, Mr. Coolidge!” I screamed.
    My horse easily overtook the loping runaway. Without slowing down, I leaned over and grabbed the reins. “Whoa!”
    His horse slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Then she stopped.
    â€œAre you all right, Mr. Coolidge?” His toupee and hat were gone, and his face was beaded in sweat.
    â€œI was less than forthcoming,” he said, panting, “in recounting my equestrian exploits. I did ride several times, but only as a young lad. Ponies. At the circus . . . in a circle. A couple of times I sat on a horse to have my picture taken.”
    â€œThat’s okay, Mr. Coolidge.” I spotted his hat a few yards away. “You thought you were saving your wife. That was very brave.” I hopped off Trotter and recovered the crumpled, 10-gallon hat. I pretended not to notice the toupee inside as I handed the hat over to Mr. Coolidge.
    He plunked both hat and