Horse Wise (10 page)

“Let’s go!” Stevie said.

“Wait a minute, we need to take a few things with us,” Carole said rationally.

“A halter for Samson,” Lisa suggested. “And a lead rope.”

“Not a bad idea,” Carole agreed. “Though he’s barely used to the halter and it might not work. But you’re right. We ought to have them with us.”

“The first-aid kit, just in case?” Stevie offered.

“Yeah, good idea,” Lisa said. “I’ll go get it from the tack room. And some extra ropes, too. You never know.”

“And one other thing,” Carole said.

“What’s that?” Lisa asked.

“Delilah,” Carole said.

Of course,
Stevie thought. There was one thing that would be more appealing than anything else in the world to a lost or frightened colt, and that was his mother.

Quickly, Carole snapped a long lead rope on Delilah and fastened it to Barq’s saddle. Delilah was a well-trained horse. She would follow along willingly.

“One more thing,” Lisa said to her friends. Stevie wondered what it was they might have forgotten. “The good-luck horseshoe,” Lisa said.

“Once for us and once for Samson,” Stevie said, brushing the horseshoe twice as she passed by. The shiny, smooth surface seemed reassuring to her.

Then they were off!

A
S ITS NAME
implied, Pine Hollow was surrounded by hills. They weren’t very steep, but there were a lot of them. While the hills made it easy to look up and inspect the nearby fields, they made it very difficult to
see anything farther than a couple of hundred yards in every direction. Also, since Max had made arrangements with many nearby farmers to ride in their fields, as long as fences were opened and closed properly, it was just about impossible to figure out which direction the rider might have taken. There were signs of horse paths everywhere they looked.

“We just have to follow the open fences,” Carole said logically. “And we have to hope that the rider didn’t leave them
all
open. As soon as we find the closed one, we’ve got Samson located, more or less. Then, with some luck, Delilah will do the rest of the work for us, right?”

“Sounds good, except for one thing,” Stevie said. Carole recognized Stevie’s bad-news tone of voice. “There’s only one rider at Pine Hollow who would waft out into the fields without thinking about closing fences behind her.”

Carole and Lisa supplied the answer at the same time. “Veronica diAngelo,” they said.

“Yeah, and she would not only leave one fence open behind her. She’d leave
every
fence open behind her. Let’s face it. If she stays in the fields, Samson will probably be okay, because at least he’ll be contained in an open area. The worst thing, though, would be if she went into the woods up on the hill, because once she goes through the last fence up there, there are no more fences.”

“Oh, no! The highway!” Lisa said. “Those woods run right by the interstate, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do,” Carole said. “And they’re very thick woods up there where a little inexperienced colt could get into a lot of trouble! There’s no time to waste! Let’s go!”

The decision, then, was an easy one. Since the worst possible outcome was that Samson could have made his way into the woods, they had to go there first. If he didn’t turn out to be there, but did turn out to be in one of the fields, that could be tricky, but at worst, wouldn’t really be dangerous to Samson.

Carole had learned that horses seemed to be able to sense urgency, whether it was to win a competition of some kind or to act in an emergency. Most horse books she’d read said they weren’t especially smart animals, but they sure did seem to understand certain things at certain times. This was one of those times. If Carole hadn’t been able to hear all four of Barq’s hooves hitting the ground as they rode up the rise, she would have sworn they were flying. Delilah kept right up with them, and Stevie and Lisa were right behind her.

Ironically, their trip was sped up by the fact that, as they went from field to field, they only had to pause to close the gates behind them. The way was easy for them—and for Samson—courtesy of Miss Veronica diAngelo.

And then they spotted Veronica. She was having a wonderful time. She and Garnet were cantering in a field next to the woods. It was one of the most level fields in the area, a logical choice for somebody who
just wanted to canter. Carole pursed her lips in anger. It was so babyish to think that the most fun you could have on a horse was cantering, just because it was fast. In the first place, it wasn’t true. Having fun on a horse meant learning to work
with
the horse, not getting the horse to do all the work. A horse wasn’t a race car. In the second place, constantly cantering wore a horse out. Garnet would do what Veronica told her to do, but she’d be tired for days, and could stiffen up badly. Carole wanted to give Veronica a good lecture on her behavior. She would have, but Samson was more important. And Samson was nowhere in sight.

Carole looked at Delilah hopefully. The mare would know where her colt was before anybody could see him. Delilah just looked forlorn and confused. She whinnied. Carole knew she was calling for Samson. There was no answer.

“Where could he be?” Carole asked Stevie and Lisa, who drew their horses to a halt where she was standing. “If Veronica’s here, then he can’t have gone any farther, can he?”

“Not unless Veronica did,” Lisa said logically.

Then, all three of them looked at the fence along the edge of the woods. The gate stood wide open.

“I’d like to give that girl a piece of my mind!” Stevie burst out angrily.

“Me, too, but first things first. Let’s find Samson!” Carole said.

She gave Barq a signal and once again, he flew into action.

It irked Carole more than she could say to see Veronica wave to them gaily as they went through the open gate into the woods. Veronica had no idea how much trouble she had caused. She probably wouldn’t care when she found out, either.

A four-month-old colt is a curious animal. Carole found herself making lists of ways he could get into trouble—everything from eating poisonous plants, to tripping and breaking a fragile young limb. Sometimes people reported seeing bobcats in these woods. Even worse, sometimes there were hunters, looking for deer, in
and
out of season. A colt was about the size of the local deer. There was a dreadful cold feeling in her stomach.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” Stevie said sensibly. “We’ll find him. He’ll be okay.”

It didn’t surprise Carole that Stevie could read her mind. Stevie was probably feeling the same way, and so was Lisa. Carole took comfort in the fact that the three of them together seemed to have a way of solving some pretty terrible problems. It wasn’t just strength in numbers, because three wasn’t a very large number. It was the power of their friendship. That was what The Saddle Club was about. But would friendship be enough this time?

Suddenly, Delilah’s ears perked up. Her nostrils flared. She halted, bringing Barq to a sudden stop. Carole watched the mare carefully. She was their leader now.

Delilah pawed the ground and whinnied. Her ears flicked around, listening for a return signal. She took two steps up the hill, and the girls followed. Delilah glanced at Carole. On a hunch, Carole unclipped the mare’s lead rope. Carole had the feeling that Delilah was so well trained that she wouldn’t run away from her human masters as long as she felt close to them. Without the rope, she could follow her instincts and they would surely lead her to her colt.

For a moment Delilah stood frozen. The girls were silent, waiting. Then Delilah whinnied again, calling to her son. She raised her head high, trying to make the sound carry. Then she waited.

A rustling sound came from the leaves down the hill a bit to the left. The girls eagerly turned their heads in that direction. A squirrel emerged from a pile of leaves and skittered up a tree.

Tentatively, Delilah began to walk up the hill, ducking under branches, and squeezing between trees. There was no way anyone riding could follow her. The girls dismounted and led their horses after Delilah, making as little noise as possible so the mare could hear what she was listening for.

Delilah’s pace picked up. Her ears flicked to the left and she turned that way, going straight now. She whinnied louder and repeatedly. Her tail twitched excitedly, and her head bobbed, as she tried to see everything in range.

Then she stopped and whinnied loudly. And, for
the first time, the girls could hear Samson’s reply. It was little more than a whimper. The girls wrapped their horses’ reins around firm branches, and ran over to see where Samson was.

He’d fallen into a gully totally overgrown with briars. His legs were completely tangled in the mass of leaves and sharp green shoots. He was lying down and seemed to be crying. His slender legs had been poked and torn at repeatedly by the vicious weeds. Blood trickled out of his wounds.

They’d found Samson, all right, but were they too late to save him?

“W
HERE DO WE
begin?” Stevie asked, aghast.

“We begin by freeing him,” Carole said sensibly. Carole, who could sometimes be flaky when it came to anything else, was all common sense with horses. She could keep a cool head in emergencies.

“Okay,” she began, knowing her friends needed some assurance. “We helped bring this little guy into the world and it’s our job to keep him here.” It sounded good. Somehow knowing that Samson and her friends were relying on her helped. Her mind was sharp, her mission clear. “Stevie, are you carrying your pocketknife?”

“Of course,” Stevie said and handed it to Carole.

“Here’s how we’re going to do this. I’m going to work on cutting the briars. Stevie, you stay by Samson’s head and do whatever you can to keep
him calm. I don’t want him kicking me if we can help it. Lisa, you put the lead rope back on Delilah and tie her up where she can watch, but not interfere. Stay with her for a while until we’re sure she’ll stay calm. The last thing we need on our hands is a hysterical mother!”

Stevie and Lisa laughed at Carole’s joke. It was good for all of the girls. It broke some of the tension. Carole opened Stevie’s old Girl Scout knife and surveyed the situation. The briar was the kind that was like a tough philodendron with stickers on the stems. Once you stepped into it, it acted almost like a Chinese finger trap and there was no getting out without some kind of scratch. Carole quickly realized that she wouldn’t be able to keep Samson from getting hurt, and began to see her job as trying to keep him from getting hurt badly. She was going to need his cooperation as much as her friends’.

Samson had slid into a gully where the briar was flourishing. The good news was that he hadn’t slid very far. He was lying on his side, and all four of his legs and his tail were entangled.

First things first: Carole needed to know if he had any wounds worse than scratches. Slowly and carefully, to minimize her own scratching, she lowered herself into the gully and sat down next to the colt. He looked at her fearfully. His eyes were wide open and white at the edges.

“There, there, boy,” Carole said soothingly. “Take it easy, now. I’m just going to check you out and then get you out.” His eyes closed a little bit and he seemed to relax.

“He trusts our voices,” Stevie said.

“Maybe because they were the first sounds he ever heard when he was born. Do you think that means he thinks we’re his mother?” Lisa asked. At that moment, Delilah whinnied and Samson answered with his own small cry.

“No, I think he knows who his mother is. He just thinks we’re a team of capable humans who helped him out of one jam and are going to help him make it out of this one,” Carole said. She hoped Samson was right. She began her task.

“What’s the first step?” Lisa asked.

“I’m feeling his legs to make sure we’re not dealing with any broken bones here. I can also see if any of the cuts are deep.”

“Why?”

“Well, if he’s losing a lot of blood from something, I won’t have time to cut away gently. We’ll have to slash at the briars and take our chances on giving him fresh wounds in order to get him out as fast as possible.”

Carole clipped a few of the briar’s tendrils, snagging her hands as she went. She was closest to Samson’s left foreleg. As soon as she could, she reached down and ran her hand along the outside of it. It
felt moist, but okay. She felt along the inside, coming back up. “No problem there,” she reported to her friends. “Yet.”

They were in a very shady area of the woods, and the autumn sun was beginning to sink in the sky, casting long shadows through the forest. Along with all of the other problems they had, Carole couldn’t see very well. She was going to have to do the entire check on Samson with her hands.

She reached into the briar again, groping for his right foreleg. “Ouch!” she said. Samson flinched at the sound of her voice.

“Problem?” Stevie asked with concern.

“It’s me, not him,” Carole told her. “I just got scratched. It’s not serious. It just hurts.”

“Pull your sleeves down,” Stevie suggested.

“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Carole said, withdrawing her scratched arm from the tangle of briars. She tugged her shirtsleeves down and hoped they’d stay that way. “I wish I were wearing one of Dad’s shirts today. They’re so big, they always come down over your hands.”