Free Wild Thing by Dandi Daley Mackall Page A

stumbler,” I explained, setting down his hoof. “Somebody forced him to do too much too early. He doesn’t use his hocks well, so he drags his back legs.” I stood back so they could see his back shoe. “Toes are worn from dragging.”
    “Winnie!” Dad called as he and Pat walked over to us.
    “Where’s Lizzy?” I asked.
    Pat laughed. “Hiding! Beats me how a gal who cuddles lizards and spiders can be scared of horses!”
    Dad scanned the stalls. “So where’s our moneymaker?”
    I showed them my three picks: a Paint mare, a bay Thoroughbred gelding, and a chestnut Arabian, who was four years older than the owner claimed and nothing like Wild Thing.
    “There might be more,” I said, as we joined Lizzy and the crowd in the arena. “They bring some in late.”
    “You hold our bidding number, Winnie,” Lizzy insisted, shoving a white cardboard 34 on a popsicle stick at me. She scooted closer to Dad.
    The auction began, and we watched as the first two horses went over our limit. I couldn’t help comparing every horse I saw to Wild Thing. They all came up way, way short.
    The Thoroughbred I’d picked trotted in.
    “Is that one of ours?” Dad asked, sounding excited.
    “He’s so skinny . . . and ugly,” Lizzy said.
    “I’m counting on other people thinking the same thing.” I glanced around at the crowd. “He’ll clean up fine though.”
    Even though I still didn’t want to be there—not with Wild Thing out of the picture—my stomach fluttered as the bidding started.
    “Who’ll give me $500 to open it up?” asked the auctioneer.
    Nobody did.
    “One hundred dollars!” somebody called from the crowd.
    The auctioneer did his calling, trying to bid us up.
    Dad elbowed me, and I lifted our number to jump in at $250 and $625. I was so nervous, I kept repeating to myself: not over $750. $750. $750. But we lost out to an old horseman who looked as if he’d been to a million auctions.
    “You were so close!” Pat shouted. “Winnie, you sure know your horseflesh! That fella who bought that Thoroughbred was around when my husband was in the horse trade. He’s as sly as a fox. No offense. ”
    “I liked the others better anyway,” Barker said. “Didn’t you, Catman?”
    The next horse didn’t sell. The owner had drugged the mare, but not enough. She limped in. The crowd murmured, and nobody bid.
    “How much longer, Winnie?” Lizzy whined.
    I started to answer her when I heard a squeal. Something in my heart felt electric. I strained to hear . . . to smell . . . to sense.
    I’m going crazy. This is ridiculous. It can’t be—
    Through the gate came a horse that took four men to lead. They crowded around so we couldn’t get a look at the animal, who whinnied, snorted, reared, and tore at the lines holding her down.
    I knew before the men moved out of the way. I knew before I saw the arch of her neck, the flare of her nostrils. Wild Thing!
    “Man, those cats are no match for that horse,” Catman said.
    “They don’t really think they can sell that horse, do they?” Pat asked.
    “I doubt it,” Dad replied. “Hope it doesn’t slow things down.”
    “Well, they better keep it away from me!” Lizzy cried.
    I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, as I watched them jerk on the ropes. They closed her in from behind, snapping a whip to move her into the arena.
    The auctioneer cleared his throat over the loudspeaker. “As you can see, you’ll be bidding on a lot of horse here,” he said. “Can you bring her all the way in, men?”
    One of the men dropped his rope and jumped the fence as the mare lunged forward. The crowd chuckled.
    “Uh . . . what’ll ya give me for this . . . spirited mare?” asked the auctioneer. “Come on, men! Don’t be shy. You’re not afraid of a little horse, are you?”
    My stomach ached. My head throbbed. Crowd noises blurred. I could sense Wild Thing’s pain as if they were pulling me, humiliating and terrifying me.
    “Is he kidding?” Dad