Free Katie and the Mustang, Book 2 by Kathleen Duey Page A

squeal again. A second or two later, the sky sparkled, then cracked open, pouring the blue-white light over the earth.
    â€œEasy,” I said, “Easy, easy...” repeating that single word over and over as I walked toward the Mustang, pitching my voice so he could hear me over the sound of the dry wind rushing across the ground.
    The sky laced with lightning, then darkened, then lit up again. The thunder was less violent each time; the storm was passing us, rolling fast across the land, holding whatever rain it had inside its clouds high above the earth. It didn’t even smell like rain... the wind was kicking up dust.
    I used every flash of light to get closer to the Mustang. I knew he was watching me, that he was not afraid of me at all. I could also tell that the storm didn’t really scare him either. It had only been that crashing, close strike, with the thunder shaking the ground, that had startled him into rearing.
    In the next flash of blue-white light, I reached out and caught the broken lead rope in my hand. The Mustang felt the halter pull, and he turned toward me, nuzzling my face and shoulder, then tossing his head and lashing his tail.
    I didn’t try to lead him anywhere—there was nowhere better to stand that I could think of. The wind was still rising fast, beating the grass flat, whipping my hair and the stallion’s mane. It was then that I first smelled smoke. A fire? Who would be fool enough to light a fire in this wind? Then I knew. No one. The lightning had started the blaze.
    In between the bolts of lightning, I stared at the sea of wagons around me. There. An orange glow in the dark that should not have been there. I could hear shouts and screams, scattered and dimmed by the dry, rushing wind.
    The smell of smoke got stronger, and I could see the tips of orange flame reaching skyward. The fire got brighter, and I saw the silhouettes of people running, gesturing wildly. I knew they were still shouting, but the wind rose a notch, and I couldn’t hear anything above it anymore. I wondered if I should try to lead the Mustang and the rest of the stock farther from it.
    I hesitated, squinting, trying to figure out how far away the fire was—there was nothing visible to help me judge the distance. For a long time, I stared, afraid that if I looked away, the fire would rush forward. But it didn’t. The orange glow diminished and faded and then, finally, it was gone.
    The wind slowed a little, and I could hear shouts again. But they died down fast. Every wagon had a barrel or two of water, every wagon had buckets. People had put the fire out, in spite of the wind. I hoped that no one had been hurt.
    I suddenly realized that I was holding a tangled handful of the Mustang’s mane in my right hand, and I loosened my fingers to release it. If he had reared again, I might have been dragged under his hooves.
    I knew he would never mean to hurt me. He was my friend. Maybe the only real friend I had now. I squinted into the wind, looking for Hiram, but wherever he was, he wasn’t worried enough about me to come back and help.
    The wind got stronger, coming in gusts, screaming through the grass. I pulled on the Mustang’s shortened lead rope, gentling him forward a step or two, then another. I walked him toward the mares, dropping the lead rope as he worked his way up beside them and stood close, lowering his muzzle almost to the ground. Both mares had their heads low, using the wagon as a windbreak.
    Then I went around to the other side and crawled beneath the wagon bed again. Uneasy, I waited for the sky to light once more so that I could see the end of the broken lead. I crawled forward just far enough to reach it, then ducked back under the shelter of the wagon.
    Holding it loosely, I sat beneath the wagon, cross-legged, glad to have Hiram’s bedding between me and the dirt, listening to the storm. The worst of it was already past—I could hear thunder in the