Free Pony Dreams by K. C. Sprayberry Page A

it. The contract
meant he gave his word to do the job, and a man's word was
something a person never went back on.
    “Two to three weeks,” Charles said. “Man from
Russell, Majors, & Waddel told him we should bring the next
delivery to the first station on our route. The Army's sending a
cavalry troop to clear out the rest of the Paiute.” He sighed.
“They want twice as many horses as normal this time. The Indians
destroyed a bunch of stations. They killed the keepers and took the
stock.”
    “Damnation!” Adam shoved his hands through
his hair. “Hellfire and damnation!”
    My eyes widened. I'd heard curses before, but
never one this bad.
    “Adam James Weston, don't you dare curse in
front of your sister,” Ma bellowed.
    Red-faced, he glanced at me. “Sorry, short
stuff. Okay, nothing for it, we'll have to round up more mustangs.
Abby, don't push yourself too much. Even a grown man has problems
moving after a horse tosses him.” He held up a hand when I opened
my mouth to argue. “Kiddo, it just plain hurts, and you didn't move
all that well when I reached you. Do you want me to repeat what you
said? Let me see, if I remember right?”
    I flew across the room and slapped a hand
over his mouth, shaking my head as fiery heat lit up my cheeks. The
rest of my brothers looked from me to Adam with interest.
    “One of these days, you'll have to enlighten
us,” Mark said.
    “Not unless you want dishwater for supper,” I
said. “The stove is out. I'll need three chickens and dress them.
Don't forget carrots and onions from the garden, Bart, and it's
past milking time. Hop to it, boys, or you won't have supper until
nearly midnight.
    Although they gave me strange looks, they did
as I bid them. Mark had the stove roaring with a fire so hot it
turned cherry-red. By the time Bart returned with the chickens and
vegetables, I had started custard with the breakfast milk and
eggs.
    The rest showed back up as I tried my best to
conjure up a meal like Ma would have done. My hands flew from pot
to pan as I cooked up a hearty chicken soup, and then made
cornbread. The food smelled good. After we sat and began eating, it
tasted even better than the delectable aroma.
    Ma came into the kitchen, after spending a
long time in the wash shed. She sat at the table and leaned her
head against her hands.
    “Lord, I don't know what more to do.”
    Her frightening words stopped us in the midst
of eating. Spoons hung over bowls, and mouths dropped to the
table.
    “You can make them well, can't you?” I
asked.
    “Only time will tell.”
    I had heard those words once before. Someone
else had said them, and I had thrashed around in a fever. An echo
from my past ran through my head.
    “I just don't know, Louisa,” a man had said.
“Only time will tell if she survives. I've done everything I can
for Abigail.”
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    A familiar and
dreaded voice pulled me out of the memory before I could figure it
out. Ma and my brothers stared at the door in horror, but I was
still lost in the words from a person who sounded
familiar.
    “Got a cup of brew for a lonely old man?”
    Trapper Andy had the most horrible habit of
appearing just when a person had too many troubles already. He was
sure to have a long tale of woe and mistreatment at the hands of
one of the storekeepers he dealt with.
    Then it dawned on me. His was the familiar
voice in that memory!
    “Let him in,” Ma said.
    She still had her face buried in her hands,
and her voice trembled with resignation. Bart opened the door and
stood back. He wrinkled his nose as the trapper ambled inside. The
rest of us covered our noses at the smell on the man.
    “Evening, Louisa, I saw Michael headed in
this direction, but he looked poorly,” Trapper Andy said. “Is
everything all right?”
    He lowered himself into Pa's chair and
snatched one of the extra cups. I had set it out without thinking.
Sick folks in the house was new to me. Or was it? All those strange
dreams, and