Free Gabriel's Horses by Alison Hart Page B

swallow my fear. This time, I ain’t going to run from the trainer.
    This time, I’ll take the lash instead of Aristo. I twine my fingers in the colt’s mane, and with my back toward the door and my legs trembling, I brace myself for the first stroke of the whip.

Chapter Nine
    L ight streams into the stall. Aristo startles and blinks. Squeezing shut my eyes, I sing quietly to the colt, “When we all meet in heaven, there is no parting there.”
    â€œGabriel?” Instead of a whip crack, I hear Master’s voice. “What are you doing in here at this late hour?”
    I look over my shoulder. He’s standing in the doorway, the lantern raised. The golden light blinds me. Relief fills me, but then confusion muddles my thoughts.
    If I tell Master about Newcastle, the trainer will hunt me for the rest of my days. If I don’t tell him, the horses will bear the brunt of the man’s meanness.
    Then Aristo nuzzles my side, and I know what path I must take.
    â€œIt’s ’Risto, Master. Newcastle beat him.” Tugging on the colt’s mane, I pull him from the corner.
    â€œBeat him?” Master sets the lantern on the floor. “Hold him still.” He approaches the colt, who eyes him warily as he bends to study the wounds.
    Master straightens. He nods once, his face weary. “See to his care, Gabriel. I’ll leave the lantern.” He strides from the barn, his boots thudding down the dirt aisle.
    â€œLord forgive me, I’ve done it now.” I flatten my palm against Aristo’s neck. “When Newcastle finds out I told on him, the trainer will flog me raw,” I tell the colt. “But Pa told me in his letter to care for the horses, so I gather it’s my duty.”
    Still, the threat of a beating sends a chill up my spine. I’ll have to spend my days staying clear of Newcastle.
    Reaching around the doorway, I lift the halter and rope from the wooden peg. Pa always cared for the sick horses, and now Master’s putting his trust in my doctoring.
    â€œCome on. Let’s get some of Pa’s healing salve on those cuts.” I slip on the halter and give Aristo’s ears a rub. He pushes me with his nose, but I can tell the whipping has stolen some of his fire.
    â€œSalve will heal your wounds,” I promise him, but then I shake my head, knowing it will take more than salve to heal his spirit.
    ***
    Early the next morning, Jackson shakes my shoulder. “Get up, boy. We’re going on a journey. Mister Giles thinks it’s best for you to be out of Newcastle’s way for a few days,” he says as he tosses my pants on the bed.
    Yawning, I sit up. “A journey? Where? You taking me to Saratoga with you?”
    â€œNo, nothing like that. We’re going to see your pa. I promised, didn’t I?”
    That snaps me awake. Tossing back the quilt, I jump from my bed and grab my pants.
    When I hurry outside, shirt untucked, the team of mules is waiting in front of our cabin, already hitched. No one else is stirring yet, but Ma’s filling the wagon bed with baskets of food and gifts for Pa. She kisses me goodbye and waves as we set off for Camp Nelson.
    The wagon creeps down the dusty road. Every once in a while, Jackson slaps the reins on the backs of the mules, trying to move them along. By midmorning, the sun’s so hot and the air’s so still, the smack of the reins has no effect. Those mules aren’t about to hurry.
    I’m still mad at Jackson for leaving, but he
is
taking me to see Pa, so I share some of Ma’s biscuits with him.
    â€œReckon we’ll get to Camp Nelson before nightfall?” I ask, biting into one.
    â€œI reckon we’ll get there for supper,” Jackson replies. He’s swaying lazily on the wagon seat, enjoying the biscuit. Like me, he’s wearing a straw hat to keep the sun off his face. “That is if we don’t get caught by
Newcastle
.” Slanting his