Free Secret Pony Society by Janet Rising

pitch-black, I didn’t know what time it was, and the solution to where Jazz could hide had suddenly (annoyingly!) popped into my mind of its own accord. It was blindingly obvious.
    Oh, wow , I thought, of course . No one will ever find her there!
    But that meant I had no excuse not to help Jazz.
    Pooh.
    So I lay there and had a conscience struggle, mentally listing all the “fors” and “againsts” about revealing my hideout. Helping Snow and helping Jazz and doing the right thing came under the “fors,” and staying close with my friends at the yard came under “againsts.” And now I had the perfect hiding place, which was the biggest “for” of all.
    Four “fors” and only one “against.”
    So that settled it. I was helping Jazz after all. End of story!

Chapter 11
    The weather the next day was more winter than autumn. The wind blew in gusts, undecided about which direction it wanted to come from and go to, making Drummer’s long coat stand to attention one minute, then lie flat like it had been ironed the next. We stood on the hillside, unable to turn our backs to the ever changing wind, hoping the driving rain wouldn’t get any heavier. The weather threw up strange sounds that made me jumpy. I kept thinking someone was watching us, spying on us. I was glad I had Drum to talk to.
    I had put Drummer’s waterproof exercise sheet on him to keep his back dry, but the wind kept getting underneath it and lifting it up like a kite—only the fillet string under his tail stopped it from sweeping us both along like a sailboat. The situation was not one taken stoically by Drum.
    â€œCouldn’t you have picked a less exposed meeting place?” he grumbled. “Like the top of Mount Everest or the middle of the North Pole? And this fillet string keeps getting caught under my tail. It’s most uncomfortable!”
    â€œGoodness, how you do complain,” I replied, wishing I’d put another fleece on.
    â€œWhat made you decide to help our traveler friend, anyway?” asked Drum.
    â€œYou did,” I replied, wanting to blame someone. “I know reverse psychology when I hear it.”
    â€œI knew this would be my fault,” he mumbled.
    I patted his neck. “You want to help Jazz and Falling Snow, you can’t fool me.” I swallowed hard. The next sentence wasn’t going to be easy. “I know you love Jazz, and you don’t want Snow to race again. You like to come across as hard, Drummer, but I know you better than that.”
    Drummer tossed his head and snorted. I couldn’t tell whether it was a yes snort or a no snort. Strangely, I felt better. Saying that my pony loved Jazz had been hard, but it felt better to get it out in the open. I wondered, if it came to it and Drum had to make a choice, whether he would stay with me or go with Jazz. I put that thought to the back of my mind. I’d decided on my course of action, and whatever I did wouldn’t make Jazz any less of a pony whisperer—a real one.
    A noise behind us made us whirl around in fright. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff was making both our nerves bad.
    â€œYou came,” Jazz said simply. “I didn’t think you would.”
    Oh, pooh , I thought. Jazz hadn’t expected me to be there—she hadn’t been relying on me at all, and I could have stayed away without it being a big deal! Jazz sat astride Falling Snow, a folded blanket under her legs. She wore a big jacket over her sweater and jeans. Her dog, as always, stood by her side, panting, his amber eyes staring at me.
    â€œCome on,” I said, turning Drum into the wood. I wanted to get this over with and prayed no one would see us together.
    I led the way through the woods, back toward the yard, skirting around it so that we didn’t go too close. Riding around three of the farmer’s fields and keeping out of sight close to the trees, we headed for the