Free Trickster by Laurie Halse Anderson Page B

minutes.”
    Dr. Mac looks up. “We’re pretty sure these animals have been accidentally poisoned,” she quickly explains. “Have you gotten any new hay recently?”
    Linda frowns. “Yeah, yesterday. It came in the nick of time. We were almost down to the barn floor.” She pauses. “These horses were the first ones to get it. What’s wrong? Is the hay moldy?”
    Mr. Quinn dashes toward the big barn as Dr. Mac explains about the blister beetles again. Linda looks like she just came out of a horror movie.
    “You mean, they were in the hay? But I didn’t see any bugs. I would never feed them anything with bugs in it!”
    “Of course you wouldn’t,” Dr. Mac says. “Theywere probably chopped up, in tiny pieces. It only takes a couple of blister beetles to kill a horse. The fact that the horses are still alive proves they didn’t eat very much.”
    Mr. Quinn steps back into the barn with a flake of hay. “Here’s a sample.”
    Dr. Gabe stays with the horses, and the rest of us file outside to watch. Mr. Quinn puts on a pair of work gloves and scatters the hay on the ground. Dr. Mac and Linda get on their knees.
    “Here, is this one?” Mr. Quinn pinches something small and black, and then drops it on the ground where Dr. Mac can see it.
    “Hard to tell. Could be. Don’t touch it,” she warns. “It will blister your hand just like the insides of the horses. We’ll analyze it.”
    “What can we do?” Linda asks.
    “The horses in the pasture haven’t eaten any of the new hay, have they?”
    Jared and Linda both shake their heads.
    “Good,” Dr. Mac says. “Let’s get some fresh hay here—from a different grower—as soon as possible. You’ll need to notify whoever sold you this batch about what we found. And every stall has to be swept clean, every speck of hay removed.”
    “What’s the antidote?” asks Mr. Quinn. “How do we treat them?”
    I look at Dr. Mac.
    “There is none,” she says. “The best we can do is to keep their fluids up. We’ll give them pain medication and antibiotics for infection.”
    “That’s it?” Mr. Quinn asks. “That’s all we can do?”
    “We could transport Starfire to the equine hospital,” Dr. Mac suggests. “There they can monitor his calcium, magnesium, and protein levels, which we can’t do here. If his calcium gets out of whack, he could have a heart attack.”
    “Can’t you take all of them to the hospital?” I ask. But I already know the answer. Mr. Quinn can’t afford to take all the horses to the equine hospital. Starfire and the other show horses would be the ones to go. It would be way too expensive to treat unproven horses like Trickster.
    It feels like something is squeezing my chest. I look up into Mr. Quinn’s eyes. He looks like he feels the same way.
    “I’m going to call Brenna’s father,” Dr. Mac says briskly. “He can take you all home.”
    “Wait,” I say. “I can’t go home—I have to stay here and help.”
    One of the horses in the barn whinnies.
    Mr. Quinn runs his hand over his head. “Look, David, I appreciate your concern. You obviously care a lot about these horses. But I think you should go home.”
    “Let me stay,” I plead. “The others can leave—they aren’t used to being around horses, not like me. How old was I the first time Dad brought me here—five? Six? I could clean the stalls for you, get rid of the hay. Anything, just let me stay.”
    “David—” Dr. Mac begins.
    Whump!
    She’s cut short by a loud crash and heavy thump from inside the foaling barn.
    “J.J.!” Dr. Gabe calls from the foaling barn. “It’s Starfire!”
    Dr. Mac and Mr. Quinn get there before me, but not fast enough to keep me from seeing what happened.
    The beautiful black stallion has collapsed in his stall. His head is stretched limply out on the straw, and his eyes are open and dull. Mr. Quinn kneels, touches the horse’s leg, and turns his face away from the rest of us.
    Starfire is dead.
    Mr. Quinn clears his