Free Crazy Horse by Jenny Oldfield

him. She ushered them all out into the passageway and turned out the light.
    “I’m saying be glad Crazy Horse made it,” Hadley insisted. He led the way out into the dark corral.
    “And forget about Cadillac?” Matt challenged.
    “You got one horse back. I’d guess that was one more than was likely.” The wrangler’s gravelly voice refused to back down. “And those guys had plans for the pedigree before they even rustled him—plans that they ain’t about to let you spoil.”
    Kirstie turned to appeal to her mom. “We’re not gonna listen to that!”
    “We’re paying attention,” Sandy said steadily. She nodded good night to Charlie and Hadley, then headed inside the house. As Kirstie careered in after her, falling over herself in her rush to protest, her mom turned around and took her firmly by the shoulders. “I can’t dismiss what Hadley just said. After all, he’s been around sale barns all his life. He knows what he’s saying.”
    “But…C-Cadillac…!” Kirstie stammered.
    Sandy nodded. “I know. I want him back as much as you and Matt.” Pausing to think ahead, rubbing her forehead, she finally decided what they should do. “Matt, you make those phone calls first thing in the morning. We owe it to poor Cadillac to at least try!”
    Crazy Horse stood in Red Fox Meadow in the golden-pink dawn light. He stared wistfully down the length of the long, white fence toward the mountains, looking as if he expected Cadillac’s solitary, graceful figure to appear.
    “Where is he, Crazy Horse? Where’s Cadillac?” Kirstie whispered. The fresh air, the wide open space calmed her after a disturbed night’s sleep. She’d left her mom in the kitchen making coffee, and Matt making a list of all the sale barns he could find in the phone book. “You know where Cadillac is, if only you could tell us!”
    Before he attacked the phone book, Matt had been out to the stable to take Crazy Horse’s temperature. “Normal,” he reported. “No infection. And he wants out,” he told Sandy, still in her robe, yawning as she came downstairs. “He’s leaning over the door of the stall, yelling at the top of his voice to be allowed out into the meadow.”
    “I know. I heard him whinnying. In fact, he woke me up.” Sandy had agreed that Crazy Horse knew best. “If he feels up to it after his adventure, and you’re satisfied he’s OK, Matt, put him out.”
    Kirstie had seen her brother’s face color as he realized that their mom was trusting his judgment without calling in Glen Woodford. He’d walked tall out of the house to take Crazy Horse to the remuda. And he’d grinned at Kirstie, who’d scrambled into her school clothes and run out to join him.
    Now, after he’d gone back to the house with a new spring in his stride, she drank in the quiet scene: the green grass showing through patches of melted snow in the meadow, the horses munching at the hayrack, Crazy Horse standing by the fence, one sore foot lifted clear of the ground, looking longingly into the distance…

    The sound of the phone ringing inside the house made Kirstie quicken her pace as she returned from the remuda for breakfast. Who could it be so early?
    “Larry Francini,” Sandy told her, one hand over the mouthpiece. “Matt’s upstairs in his room. Run and get him, please!”
    Kirstie rushed to pass on the message, but by the time they both got back to the kitchen, their mom was already off the phone.
    “Never underestimate the county sheriff!” she told them, her gray eyes alive, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “Larry may look like your average guy who couldn’t put two and two together, but he just came up with something good!”
    “Anything to do with the fancy rope and bridle?” Kirstie asked. This was clearly good news. Sandy was lifting newspapers and magazines off the window-sill, searching for a pen and a piece of paper to write on.
    “Nope. Actually something about this place!” She scribbled down a