Free Wild Horses by Jenny Oldfield Page A

the way it’s likely to be.”
    “How come?” Matt asked. He saw that his mom meant what she said.
    “Well, just suppose you’ve hit on the right answer and Bob Tyson, say, is the guy who’s taking care of the stallion. Now I don’t know Tyson in person, and I’ve never met him, but I hear he’s got a bad name in town for not paying his bills.” Sandy turned to Lisa for confirmation.
    “I guess,” Lisa agreed awkwardly.
    “He lives real rough, he owes hundreds of dollars at the grocery store and the gas station and the diner. And one more thing I know about Bob Tyson …”
    “What?” Kirstie suspected that she wasn’t going to like this one little bit. Her stomach turned over and began to tie up in another knot.
    “He does know plenty about horses, like you said. He used to work the rodeos in San Luis and Silvertown.” Sandy paused to fling her hat onto the porch swing, sat down, then delivered the bad news. “So what he does now when he wants to scrape together a few dollars is go up the mountain and trail a herd of wild horses. He picks out the best horse in the bunch, watches and waits until he can cut that one out. Then he’ll lasso it and bring it down. Great. Now he has something to sell at the horse sale.”
    “What are you saying?” Kirstie gasped. She had a strong picture in her head of her own black stallion being brought down by a snaking lasso, of him being dragged into the dust, tied down, bullied until the fight went out of him. His gleaming black coat would be covered in dirt, there would be fear in his eyes.
    “Bob Tyson catches wild horses to sell onto the rodeo circuit,” Sandy repeated. She looked long and hard at Kirstie, then Lisa, then Matt. “So I’m telling all three of you right here; you don’t tangle with the Bob Tysons of this world.”
    “No, ma’am,” Lisa agreed and hung her head.
    Matt gave a quick nod.
    “Kirstie?” Sandy prompted.
    She hung her head and gave in at last. “OK,” she breathed, turning on her heel and striding away from the house.

8
    So much for Kirstie’s belief in her mysterious horse healer. She spent the rest of Sunday doing chores on the ranch, helping Matt and Charlie to bring in logs for the fires and stacking them outside the guest cabins, then raking the dirt surface of the arena behind the corral. That evening Charlie and Matt were to give an exhibition of horsemanship there, and everything had to be made neat and tidy.
    But Kirstie felt too let down to work well. It was like riding Lucky up to Hummingbird Rock, feeling great, seeing that the world was a beautiful place, then suddenly, unexpectedly, falling off. She was down on the ground, covered in dirt, looking like an idiot. And she only had herself to blame.
    She raked the arena with sullen strokes, head down, eyes fixed on the furrowed pattern she made with the rake. Trust her to believe that the black stallion’s helper was someone you could trust. All that stuff about knowing nature and caring about horses turned out to be Kirstie’s own imagination running away with her, making up romantic stories that turned out not to be true.
    “Sorry,” Lisa had said quietly after Sandy had dropped the bombshell. “I know how much this means to you.”
    Kirstie had done her best to smile back at her friend. “Sure. But I guess we can still hope.”
    “How come?” Lisa was waiting for her grandfather, Lennie Goodman, to drive over from Lone Elm, pick up her bicycle, and drive her down to her home in San Luis. “You heard what Hadley and your mom said. No way can we take any more risks to save the stallion.”
    Inwardly Kirstie had groaned. But she didn’t show how disappointed she felt, and had waved Lisa off in her grandpa’s red pickup truck without giving anything away.
    It was only when she was alone in the late afternoon sun, working in the arena, making it ready for the evening show that she admitted even to herself how bad it was.
    For a start, she really loved and