Free Saddlebags by Bonnie Bryant Page B

forcing it into Mrs. Atwood’s hand. “Use this to pull yourself up.”
    Mrs. Atwood leaned forward and tried to pull herself along with the rope. But the saddle pommel gave her better leverage, so she went back to using it to stay on Spot’s back.
    Finally, with tears and rain streaming down her face, Mrs. Atwood reached the spot where Lisa was waiting.
    “Here.” John tossed Lisa the reins to her mother’s horse. “Take her up to the top, and then come back and give me a hand with the others.”
    Lisa nodded. “It’s okay, Mom. You’re okay now,” shesaid, choking back her own sobs. John pivoted around and slid back down into the water.
    The island was being swallowed by water. The four parents remaining on the small plot of land were trying not to panic, but Carole could tell from her father’s face that he was very anxious. His expression grew even more frightened when Yellowbird whinnied and pawed at the mud, then started to buck.
    When John reached the island again, he mounted the upstream banks and grabbed Yellowbird’s reins.
    “Grab the pommel and sit back,” John yelled. “We’ve got no time to lose. Just follow me.”
    Carole rode upstream, turned, and slid down into the water. She couldn’t just watch—she had to do something. She guided Berry against the current. When the horse’s feet left the ground and he started struggling against the current, she felt strangely suspended. But she had no time to think about it. John and her father were swimming toward her. John handed her Yellowbird’s reins, then turned Tex back around and headed toward the island.
    “Come on, Dad,” said Carole, “we’re almost across.”
    Their horses soon found footing on land again, and climbed up out of the water.
    Back on the island, Mr. Lake seemed to have Melody under fairly good control. He headed next down the bank to meet John, sliding with rocks and mud and rain into the water.
    But as he went, Melody slipped and tumbled on her knees. Mr. Lake let go of the reins and went right over her head, splashing into the water. He flailed his arms as the current spun him around and swept him downstream.
    “Dad!” cried Stevie. She’d been waiting downstream. Now she pivoted Stewball and urged him down into the water.
    Stewball plunged into the white foam. Water swirled around the tops of his legs and splashed into Stevie’s boots as the two of them moved into the deeper water. Mr. Lake was moving toward them.
    Stevie whipped her poncho over her head and tossed one end to her father. He reached out to grab it, and Stevie held tight to her end with both hands.
    Quickly she wrapped the poncho around the pommel of her saddle, then signaled Stewball with her legs. That was all he needed. The horse turned back to shore, carrying Stevie on his back and towing Mr. Lake behind them.
    Without a poncho Stevie was drenched in a second. Rain streamed down her back. But she barely noticed. Every ounce of her concentration focused on clutching the poncho rope. Her father’s life depended on it.
    Finally they reached the bank. Stewball started to climb up out of the river. Stevie stopped him and dismounted to pull her father up on shore.
    Father and daughter collapsed in the wet rocks and mud.
    “Dad, are you all right?” Stevie gasped.
    “Yes,” he managed to say. “Thanks to you.”
    “And Stewball.” Stevie fought back the tears. “Think you can climb on him?” she said. “We have to get you farther up this bank, and it’ll be easier on Stewball than trying to hike it on foot.”
    “Okay.” Mr. Lake got up and Stevie helped him into the saddle. “Now lean forward, and crisscross your way up. You should stay on—this time.”
    Mr. Lake and Stewball started up. Stevie turned and looked back upstream. Kate was leading Mrs. Lake through the water. Stevie sighed with relief to see her mother still on her horse. Her mother looked at her and gave her a grim thumbs-up. After them came Mr. Atwood, led by John. Carole