Free Dawn Runner by Terri Farley

kneesocks and school uniforms and crossed Grant Avenue to the worried adults. They’d been in big trouble. Their disappearance had gotten them grounded and restricted from television, the telephone, and each other for the rest of the weekend.
    Sam shook her head. She remembered so much, and yet she almost felt as if she’d been a different person then.
    Feeling a little shy, Sam leaned against Ace’s shoulder. He ignored her for a patch of sun-dried grass.
    Then Pam and her mother began lavishing him with pats.
    â€œHe’s gorgeous,” Pam said, running her hand over Ace’s thick, glossy mane. “Do you brush his hair a hundred strokes every night?”
    â€œYou’re going to make him conceited,” Sam said, but she and Ace both stood taller at the admiration.
    Watching her friend stroke Ace’s red-gold shoulder, Sam saw Pam liked Ace, even if she was in no hurry to learn to ride. And that was okay.
    â€œSo, tell me again how you got to come out here,” Sam asked as Ace drew a surprised laugh from Dr. Mora by licking her hand.
    â€œI’ve been slicing apples,” Dr. Mora said, and her smile remained as she began to talk about her work. “A small grant—”
    â€œA grant is free money from some foundation or school,” Pam broke in.
    â€œNot exactly free. It pays my expenses while I work,” Dr. Mora corrected. “Anyway, this grant was listed in one of my journals last year. It funds scholarly study of little known Native American legends that recur in diverse cultures.”
    Sam repeated the words silently in her mind. She must be out of practice from a summer off, because it took her a minute to process what Dr. Mora had just said.
    Sam knew Pam’s mother was a cultural anthropologist. Besides being a college professor, she studied ancient civilizations and their myths and folktales. She also wrote about them.
    â€œYou mean, you find different tribes in different places that tell the same stories?”
    â€œPartly, but they don’t have to be Native American tribes,” Dr. Mora said. “For instance, there are tales of magical horses in Japan, Greece, Ireland…”
    â€œI get it,” Sam said. “And that’s what you’re studying? Magical horses?” Sam realized her mouth had opened in awe. “What a cool job!”
    â€œI agree,” Dr. Mora said. “I’ve been working on this paper for a while and I’m reaching the end of my research,” Dr. O’Malley said, “but the chance to study Native American stories and compare them to what I’ve already found was tempting, so I applied.”
    â€œAnd, as usual, she won the grant,” Pam said. She looked proud of her mother. Still, Sam knew Pam missed her mom when she traveled. More than once, she’d asked Sam to side with her, telling Dr. Mora she was gone too often for a single mother.
    â€œI could become a juvenile delinquent,” Pam had scolded her mother once, in front of Sam. But so far she hadn’t, and Dr. Mora took Pam along on herresearch trips as often as she could.
    Sam thought Pam actually had a pretty good deal.
    â€œThe legend that brought me here centers on an archetype that recurs throughout the West. Besides, it’s a good chance to get you girls together.”
    â€œIsn’t she the best?” Pam said. She gave her mother a one-armed hug and leaned her head against her shoulder.
    â€œThe best,” Sam echoed. She felt a tug of longing for her own mother, though she’d lived most of her fourteen years without her.
    Sam inhaled deeply and turned her attention to the O’Malleys’ camp.
    â€œThis looks like home,” Sam said. She noticed a rock ring around neatly stacked sticks, ready to kindle into a campfire. Sturdy chairs—three of them, Sam noticed with a smile—sat near the fire ring, granite boulders provided decoration, and a solar-powered shower was