Full Gallop

by Bonnie Bryant

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Carole continued on her way, urging Belle and Windsor forward. The fire was active on both sides of the aisle they were going through, and she briefly considered turning them and heading out the back way. Deciding that turning two frightened horses, even in Pine Hollow’s wide aisles, would take too much time, she gave Windsor a brisk slap on the withers with the end of the lead. The startled gelding leaped forward, and Belle followed. Carole stayed with them, hustling them past the worst of the flames into the entryway.

  To her dismay she saw that the fire was spreading even here. There wasn’t much to burn on the clean-swept floor, but the fire was eating away at the wooden walls, and a wheelbarrow of bedding and manure someone had left near the aisle was in flames, sending thick black smoke into the already hazy air.

  Carole hurried her charges through the entryway and out into the cool, clean night air. Halfway to the pasture gate Windsor bucked, trying to pull away. As Carole was struggling to bring him back under control—the last thing she wanted was to let him go dashing off into the night to fall into the creek or be run over by a fire engine—Lisa caught up to her, leading Barq as well as Starlight.

  “I’ll get the gate,” Lisa panted, hurrying forward. “Looks like you have your hands full.”

  Carole nodded gratefully, yanking Windsor back into line as he veered off to the side yet again. “Thanks,” she said, coughing to clear the smoke out of her lungs. Now that they were away from the din of the stable, she could hear the eerie sound of a siren in the distance, calling the volunteer firefighters to work. “Did someone call the fire department?”

  “Scott did,” Lisa reported. “They should be here by now!”

  Carole bit her lip. The way the fire was spreading, they couldn’t wait around for the engines to arrive from Willow Creek. They would be lucky if the firefighters could save any of the building—saving the horses was up to Carole and her friends. Picking up her pace, she hurried after Lisa.

  “Max wet down the back aisle with the hose,” Lisa called over her shoulder as she jogged on. “But Ben said the fire’s spreading through the indoor ring to the stalls on the other side.”

  “The indoor ring?” Carole repeated stupidly, thinking of the large, nearly empty open space that took up the center of the U-shaped aisle of stalls. “What’s there to burn in there?”

  Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “But Max was going after Chip and the other horses over there when I came through the entryway.”

  Carole bit her lip as she led her charges along at a brisk trot, thinking anxiously of the south stable aisle. Nearly every stall there was occupied, and so far Checkers was the only horse that was out and safe.

  Soon the horses they were leading were safely enclosed in the large pasture. Carole and Lisa turned and dashed back toward the stable. By that time almost the entire building was lit from within by the glow of the fire. “If we can keep it from catching the loft—” Lisa began, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she ran.

  “Yeah,” Carole replied shortly, knowing how unlikely it was that they could do that. Once the flames found the store of hay and straw in the loft, it would all be over. “Come on, we’ve got to get back in there and help.”

  She and Lisa raced on, almost colliding with Stevie and Phil, who were sprinting toward the building from the direction of the front pasture. “Come on,” Stevie panted, heading for the door.

  Carole and the others followed. But they stopped short as Max appeared in the doorway, three horses in hand. “Don’t go in there!” he shouted at them as he struggled to control Calypso. The Thoroughbred mare was always a little high-strung, and at the moment she seemed ready to break free and race back into the burning building. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “But Max!” Stevie cried.

  “No.” He cut her off before she could say any more. “There’s too much smoke, and the loft could go at any second. Here, you three take these horses to the field.” Shoving the leads at them, Max turned and, holding a water-soaked rag over his nose and mouth, plunged back into the smoky entryway.

  Stevie seemed ready to argue, but since she had ended up with Calypso’s lead, she was soon too busy to focus on anything but the anxious mare.

  Meanwhile Carole took the other two leads, which were attached to Chip and Scooby. Suddenly realizing that she hadn’t seen Ben for several minutes, she glanced into the smoky stable. She didn’t even have to wonder where he was. Like her, he would be in there until the bitter end, fighting to save the horses.

  “Somebody should move the station wagon out of the way before the fire trucks get here,” Lisa pointed out, gesturing at the car, which was still parked in the driveway, blocking access to the stable.

  “I’ll do it,” Phil offered, turning and racing toward the station wagon.

  “Do you need help?” Lisa asked Carole.

  Glancing at the two horses she was leading, Carole shook her head. Both Chip and Scooby, while clearly nervous, were behaving themselves. “I’ve got it,” she said. “Maybe you should wait here so you can grab the next horses Max or Ben brings out.”

  “Okay,” Lisa agreed.

  Carole turned and headed after Stevie, who was already halfway to the back pasture. As she passed the gate to the outdoor schooling ring, Carole was tempted to put the horses in there and return to help bring out more. But she banished the thought as soon as it came. The schooling ring was only a dozen yards from the building—way too close to the fire.

  “Come on, guys,” she panted, tugging on the lead rope to get the two geldings moving faster. “Let’s move.”

  Because no matter what Max said, she was going back in to help. And she wasn’t going to stop until every last horse and pony in the place was safe.

  Stevie’s heart was beating fast as she released Calypso into the field and stepped back to let Carole past with her two horses. Not bothering to wait around while Carole latched the gate, she ran back toward the stable. Every window glowed orange, and she felt a little light-headed at the sight. Or was that from all the smoke she’d breathed in? She still couldn’t quite believe what was happening—despite the inescapable scent of smoke in the air, the burn marks throbbing all over her hands and face where sparks had landed, the sickening odor of singed hair and fabric and skin, the heat emanating from the burning building in waves, it just couldn’t possibly be real. But there was no time to stop and think about that. The small herds in the two nearest pastures were growing rapidly, but it wasn’t fast enough.

  Belle, Starlight, Scooby, Stevie ticked off in her head as she ran. Comanche, Congo, Maddie, Windsor, Topside, Barq, Chip. All of them were safe. But had anyone brought Rusty out yet? What about Diablo?

  She wasn’t sure. But she knew that there were too many other well-loved horses still trapped inside their burning home. Eve. Patch. Most of the ponies, as well as the other residents of the back aisle. The stallion, Geronimo. Several boarders’ horses—Romeo, Pinky, Memphis, Doc. Stevie’s heart clenched as she thought of their owners, probably snug and content at home, with no idea that their beloved horses were in mortal danger.

  When she reached the stable entrance, Max had just emerged again. His short-cropped hair was singed near his temples, and he was coughing violently as he handed over Memphis and Doc to Lisa.

  From inside, Stevie heard the cries of the remaining horses, louder and more panicky than ever. “Don’t even think about it, Stevie,” Max called hoarsely as she stepped forward.

  “But—” Stevie began, then stopped as a shout came from within the entryway.

  Ben called out again for room, hurrying forward with Eve and Pinky in tow. Max jumped aside, looking startled. As he started yelling at Ben, telling him not to go in again, Stevie took advantage of the distraction. She raced forward, pushing past Pinky and barely escaping a kick as the skittish quarter horse struck out at her. Not hesitating for a moment, she ducked inside, ignoring Max’s shouts to stop.

  THIRTEEN

>   If it had been smoky inside the stable the last time Stevie was there, it was a hundred times worse now. She made her way forward mostly by memory rather than sight, ducking down to stay beneath the worst of it. Still, it was like swimming through mud. Heading into the south aisle, she saw that the fire was spreading rapidly there. The six stalls at the end, thankfully already empty, were completely aflame. A little farther down she heard a horse screaming in terror and the thud of hooves against wood.

  Hurrying forward, she soon reached the first occupied stall. Diablo was inside, rearing and dancing to avoid the sparks flying through the thick, smoky air. “Whoa, boy!” she called to him, reaching for the halter hanging by his door.

  As she did, a burning particle of straw floated toward her. She ducked, but not fast enough. It landed in her hair, and she heard a small, sharp sizzle just above her ear. With a shriek, she pounded at it with her hands. When she was sure it was out, she returned her attention to Diablo, ignoring the burning sensation on the side of her head.

  Diablo was still rearing. As she watched, he flung himself against the back wall of the stall as if he wanted to climb out through the high, narrow window there. Of course, Stevie knew that even if he could manage that somehow, it wouldn’t do any good—on this side of the aisle, the windows opened onto the indoor ring. And judging by the smoke seeping in through the half-open window, that didn’t seem like a very safe place to be at the moment.

  “Come on, Diablo,” she called as soothingly as she could manage while she opened the stall door. “Come on, baby. Settle down, okay?”

  If the gelding even knew she was there, he gave no indication of it. He continued to dance around, his forefeet barely touching the ground as he reared again and again.

  Stevie bit her lip, jumping back out of range as Diablo’s front hooves came forward, landing for a split second before he went up again. Sorry, Diablo, she thought grimly as she dropped the halter back on its hook and, leaving the gelding’s door open, hurried next door to swing open the next stall. She felt terrible, but it was clear that the bay gelding wanted no part of her rescue attempts at the moment. She couldn’t take a chance on being struck down by his flying hooves—and she couldn’t waste any more time trying to coax him into listening to her. Not when there were still others to be saved. I’ll be back for you later, she thought, glancing over at Diablo’s stall as she led out the next horse, a boarder’s Morgan mare. I hope.

  Meanwhile Carole was peering through the stable’s rear door. She had sneaked around the side of the stable as soon as Max turned his back, leaving Lisa to help Ben bring the four latest evacuees to the field. Max is crazy if he thinks we’re all just going to stand back and watch these horses burn, she thought grimly, cocking an ear to try to judge where things were the most urgent.

  Almost immediately there was a cry from just a few yards away. “Rusty,” Carole muttered, spotting the sorrel gelding’s head as it poked out into the aisle, looked at the fire burning in the empty stall across the way, and disappeared inside again.

  As she hurried forward, already reaching for Rusty’s halter, Carole saw that the stall next to his was still occupied as well. A young boarder’s pony was in there, stomping his tiny feet and coughing.

  “I’ll be with you in a second, Ninja,” Carole called to the pony breathlessly. Rusty’s stall was farther from the door, closer to the fire. She would get him first, then stop for the pony on her way back past.

  Rusty came forward immediately when she opened his door. But he stopped just short of the threshold, then backed away again, neighing shrilly. Carole glanced down and saw that a line of fire stretched across the threshold of the stall. She kicked at it, but there was no time to put it out. The gelding would simply have to cross it.

  Of course, that was easier said than done. Carole hopped over the flames and quickly slipped on the gelding’s halter. She pulled him forward, but as soon as his front hooves neared the fire, Rusty stopped short, shaking in terror. Carole bit her lip. Now what?

  Suddenly she knew the answer. Rusty wouldn’t hesitate to step over the fire if he couldn’t see it. She ripped off her jacket, which she didn’t need anymore anyway—she was sweating buckets. Then she pulled off the cotton cardigan she was wearing underneath.

  “Okay, boy,” she murmured, taking a deep breath and stepping across the flames herself. One entire back corner of the stall was burning where Rusty’s pile of hay had once been. Carole found herself staring at it for a long second, mesmerized by the dancing flames. Then, realizing what she was doing, she ripped her gaze away and returned her attention to the horse. Noticing that the gelding’s water bucket was half full, she dunked the sweater in and wrung it out. No way did she want the horse’s blindfold bursting into flames from a stray spark on their way out.

  Rusty was watching her suspiciously. She did her best to hide her impatience and anxiety, to keep her motions slow and smooth as she walked up to him. Giving him a pat and a scratch on the withers, she whispered sweet nothings to him.

  “All right,” she said, still clutching her sweater. “Now stay still.”

  With one quick motion she brought the sweater up and over his face. Rusty jerked his head back, but Carole was ready and went with him. In a matter of seconds she had the sweater tied by its sleeves around his head, completely blocking his vision.

  Rusty calmed down immediately, though his nostrils and ears still twitched at the unfamiliar smells and sounds all around him. When Carole tugged on the lead rope, he stepped forward and over the line of fire, which was spreading steadily.

  Carole breathed a sigh of relief, though she regretted it immediately as smoke poured into her lungs. Coughing and spitting out a mouthful of ash, she led Rusty down the aisle until she could reach Ninja’s halter. The pony didn’t give her much trouble, and soon she had both of them squeezing through the back door.

  She found Callie and Scott waiting outside. “How is it in there?” Callie asked.

  “Bad,” Carole reported succinctly, handing them the lead ropes. She grabbed the blindfold off Rusty’s head and tied the damp sweater around her own neck, planning to use it over her face when she went back in. Maybe that would help her deal with the smoke. “Real bad. Where’s Max?”

  “He just came out with that Appaloosa boarder and a limp,” Scott said with a grimace. “He tried to go in for Geronimo and got kicked pretty bad. He just went back in to try again.”

  Carole winced, hoping the second attempt would be more successful than the first. As stallions went, Geronimo was fairly calm and tractable. But that didn’t mean he was easy to handle even in the best of circumstances. Carole herself had never done much more than pat the burly dark bay stallion on the nose. Aside from Max, the only member of the staff who was allowed to handle Geronimo, even just to turn him out in his paddock, was the daytime stable manager, Denise.

  “I think we got everyone from the north aisle,” she reported breathlessly as she turned to head back in. “But I haven’t seen any of the ponies yet except Ninja there.”

  Without waiting for a response, she plunged back into the stable’s smoky interior, pulling her makeshift breathing mask over her mouth and nose. She was thinking of Pine Hollow’s little herd of school ponies—Nickel, Penny, Peso, and Half Dollar. How many times had Carole cheered the sturdy, frisky, sometimes stubborn little beasts on at gymkhanas and Pony Club rallies? And then there was Krona, the shaggy little half-Icelandic that was helping teach Max’s five-year-old daughter to ride.

  She glanced to the side and saw Jinx staring at her over his half door. She was reaching for his halter when she heard Stevie’s voice from somewhere ahead, yelling for help.

  “I’ll get you on the way back, little guy,” Carole called to Jinx as she turned and hurried on to see what Stevie needed. She could see and feel that the fire was getting stronger up near the corner, while the section of the back aisle near the rear entrance was smoky but thus far free of flames. Calling similar reassurances to a boarder�
��s mare as well as to Firefly, whose stall was about halfway down the aisle, Carole pushed on toward her friend’s voice.

  “Stevie?” she called. “Where are you?”

  “Over here!” Stevie shouted back. “Patch’s stall!”

  Carole raced around the corner. She skidded to a stop as she saw that Stevie was struggling to hold on to Patch’s lead as the gelding yanked backward over and over in a frenzy.

  “Stop it!” Stevie yelled at the black-and-white gelding, tugging at the lead. “Come on, boy. Just jump over it!”

  Carole quickly saw the problem. The half-open door of the stall that had, until recently, contained a boarder’s Appaloosa gelding was in flames. A portion of it had fallen off and was blocking the entire width of the aisle. The burning chunk of wood was only about six inches thick, but even so, it would take more of a jump than a step to get past it.

  Carole reached for her sweater, thinking that the same trick might work on Patch as on Rusty. Then she heard an ominous whoosh from somewhere above her. Glancing up, she saw a glare of orange and bright yellow overhead. The loft! The fire had finally found the hayloft!

  Abandoning the blindfold plan, Carole leaped forward across the flaming obstacle herself. Patch wheeled partway around, sending one leg flying in her direction. She jumped aside to avoid it.

  “Ready?” she called to Stevie.

  At Stevie’s nod, Carole swung her arm, smacking Patch as hard as she could across his broad rump. Startled, the horse leaped forward, clearing the obstacle easily. Stevie went with him, urging him on with voice and hands.

  Carole glanced around. She was standing in the southwest corner of the stable aisle. Geronimo’s oversized stall was directly in front of her. Seeing that the stallion was still inside, Carole took a step toward it. Just then Geronimo let out a shrill, bone-chilling cry and let both his rear hooves fly into the back wall with a solid thud.