Free Ghost Horses by Gloria Skurzynski

let’s get moving. This mustang trapping is going to be quite an adventure!”
    On the long drive toward the Chloride Canyon, Olivia chattered on and on about the seminar: “…so when your dad teased me yesterday about pinkeye in the deer population, he actually picked a good example of the different policies in the Park Service and the BLM. Mostly, though, I spoke about the condition of the deer population here in Zion National Park.”
    She turned in her seat to face the kids in the back. “Have you seen any deer since we’ve been here? They’re kind of small and scraggly looking. We think it’s because they’ve stopped migrating out of the park in the fall—they just stay here all year long. That means the herd’s isolated, and getting too little fresh genetic material into the mix when they breed.”
    â€œThat’s cool, Mom,” Jack told her. “So what are they going to do about the deer not getting any new genes?”
    â€œNew jeans?” Summer whispered, totally puzzled. “For the deer?”
    â€œNot those kind of jeans,” Ashley giggled. “Genes that are inside your cells—you know, that tell your body whether to make brown eyes or blue or white skin or red and all that kind of stuff.”
    â€œAnd if too many of the bad recessive genes hook together because they didn’t get genetic variation, then you get problems,” Jack explained, bewildering Summer even more.
    â€œThat’s exactly what I was talking about at the seminar,” Olivia said. “I suggested that the park people trap male deer from other areas and bring them in here to revitalize the herd, but it’s national park policy to let nature take its course. So they’re doing nothing.” She raised her eyebrows in a “that’s the way it is” expression.
    His parents were being a lot like the Park Service, Jack mused. They were letting human nature take its course. The Landons could go on doing nothing and let Ethan keep secretly trying to hurt them— if that’s what Ethan was doing. His dad’s talk had succeeded in making Jack feel guilty about his suspicions, but that didn’t make them go away.
    Ethan sat slumped in his corner of the tailgate seat in the SUV. His fingers drummed the edges of his knees, where his jeans had worn thin. They looked like they could use a good washing—both the fingers and the jeans; he looked as punky as one of the scruffier deer in Zion. Well, Jack decided, he’d follow park policy and leave Ethan alone.
    Acres of dried-up land reached into a horizon of low mountains and cloudless sky. All around him were barren, lifeless stretches of sand with occasional patches of sagebrush and blowing tumbleweed. It was hard to believe that Zion, with its color-drenched stone and brilliant green foliage, was only an hour’s drive away. This land was open, flat, and lifeless. How could wild mustangs even survive out in this parched desert? Through the window, Jack watched the miles slip by.
    Grinning mischievously, Ashley deliberately began to chant, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” since she knew how much it got on Jack’s nerves.
    â€œStop it!” he hissed. “Don’t be a dork.”
    â€œI wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mom. Hey, Mom, are we there yet?”
    Olivia was wrestling with the map. “I’m trying to figure out which road we’re supposed to take,” she answered. “I think we ought to be getting there pretty soon. And Ashley, I’ll let you know when we get there. In other words, you don’t have to ask again.”
    Funny, Jack thought—when they traveled, Steven usually did the driving, although Olivia was a perfectly good driver. Without ever talking about it, his parents seemed to divide their lives: His dad did the yard work, kept their car in good shape, and did most of the driving; his