Third-Time Lucky

by Jenny Oldfield

  Quietly Kirstie dismounted. She needed to find a way around the back of the rock without breaking her neck on the loose shale slope. Maybe climbing up it would be better. Footholds were hard to find in the pink granite, but she managed it and eased herself up to the top of the dome.

  Lying flat on her stomach, peering down the far side, Kirstie saw the pony.

  The tiny spotted horse had got her wide saddle and bulky stirrups wedged between a tree and the rock. She was six feet away, looking up at Kirstie with wild eyes and flaring nostrils. Her hooves scraped and pawed at the rocky ground, but the more she struggled, the tighter she wedged herself.

  In spite of the little pony’s distress, Kirstie saw right away what she had to do to help. Once she got down there and unbuckled the cinch strap, she could ease the saddle off and set the poor creature free.

  “OK, hang on in there,” she whispered, scrambling over the top of the rock. “I’ll have you out in a couple of minutes, no problem.”

  2

  “The strange thing is, you’d expect her to have worked up a sweat, but she feels real cold.” Kirstie ran her hand down the appaloosa’s neck. A nimble scramble down the rock, making sure to keep out of the way of the small but still lethal hooves, had brought her alongside the trapped pony. She’d moved in close, saying soothing words all the while, until the poor thing had calmed down enough to stay quiet as Kirstie unbuckled the cinch. As predicted, once the saddle was loose and she was able to lift it, the pony quickly squirmed free.

  Lisa and Snowflake had decided to follow Kirstie and Lucky after all, and it was at the moment when the pony broke loose that they drew level with the dome-shaped rock. They’d blocked the pony’s escape route as, relieved of her saddle, she’d blundered through the undergrowth and shot out across the track. She’d reared and turned, but had been stopped again by Lucky standing in the way. Meanwhile, Kirstie struggled after her, carrying the battered saddle.

  Really it had been no contest: Lisa and Snowflake, Kirstie and Lucky against an eleven-hands-high pony. Lisa had unhitched a rope from her saddle horn and handed it to Kirstie, who had quickly looped it around the runaway’s neck.

  And now that Kirstie was running a hand down the little appie’s side, she was puzzled. The pony must have been jammed between the tree and the rock for at least five minutes, working hard to break free. Yet she definitely felt cold and clammy.

  “It must be the trauma of being trapped,” Lisa suggested, then went to search in Snowflake’s saddlebag. “What have we got to help keep her warm?” She drew out her waterproof slicker that she wore only when it rained. “Any good?”

  “No thanks.” Kirstie thought that the best thing to do was to get the shocked horse moving. “Let’s lead her back to the ranch, then call around to see if any kid has taken a fall and gone home without her pony.”

  “Can she walk OK?” Lisa pointed to the cuts on her knees and fetlocks, where she’d bashed herself against the rock.

  Kirstie lifted the pony’s dainty feet to check, feeling her sides heave rapidly in and out. Her breath seemed to rasp inside her chest, probably another sign that she was in shock. But as far as the legs went, there seemed to be no reason why she couldn’t make it safely to Half Moon Ranch.

  “She doesn’t care about you messing with her,” Lisa commented, noting how the pretty pony turned her head to follow Kirstie’s every move. The horse let her attach a lead rope securely to the head collar that she wore under her bridle and was then ready to follow.

  “She’s great!” Smiling, Kirstie gave her nose a rub, appreciating the dished shape which gave her the look of a high-class Arabian. The pony’s eyes were large, her ears pointed, dainty again. Yet her withers were strong for a horse of her size, and when she walked forward, her stride was long and straight.

  “Yeah, well, don’t get too attached.” Lisa smiled as Kirstie remounted. They were ready to leave: Lisa with the pony’s saddle slung across Snowflake’s broad hindquarters, Kirstie and Lucky leading the runaway. “There’s an owner out there somewhere!” Lisa reminded her. “This pretty little lady has a home to go to, so don’t start making any plans!”

  “Neat work, honey!” Sandy Scott congratulated Kirstie as she took the appaloosa pony into the barn and found an empty stall in which to bed her down. “Someone’s gonna be real happy you and Lisa took the trouble to bring her in.”

  Kirstie’s mom had got back from leading the intermediate riders and heard the tale from Lisa. She’d just found time before the evening barrel race to come out and check the situation in the barn.

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Kirstie spread an extra layer of hay to make sure the visitor was comfortable.

  “Yep. Pony of the Americas,” Sandy noted. “Eye-catching, that’s for sure. The breed began in Mason City, Iowa, back in the ’50s; a cross between a Shetland pony and an appaloosa mare. Now they’re everywhere.”

  “Should I put a blanket on her?” Kirstie asked, her voice edged with concern. “She’s still cold.”

  “OK.” Sandy leaned next door to unhitch a spare hay net from little Moonshine’s stall. The palomino foal nickered and came to poke her head around the corner. “Give the appie this to eat and plenty of fresh water. Then come on out to the corral. Barrel racing’s about ready to start.”

  So Kirstie worked fast to follow her mom, making a fuss of the appaloosa and giving her everything she might need to get over her ordeal by Deer Lake. When she emerged into the daylight, the first person she met up with in the sunny yard was Tommy Woodford, the San Luis vet’s fifteen-year-old son. The second person was Lisa.

  “Would you believe it!” Lisa cried, running over from the ranch house with a broad smile. “Word travels fast. We already found the appie’s owners!”

  “What appie?” Tommy wanted to know. Like his dad, he was dark haired and tanned. He wore a white T-shirt, jeans, a brown Stetson, and boots, ready to take part in the barrel racing contest. “What owners?”

  “Hold on a minute, Tommy!” Kirstie cut in. “What do you mean, you found them?”

  “I called my grandpa over at Lone Elm to tell him what happened. He called Smiley Gilpin at the Forest Guard station. Smiley had heard about some nine-year-old kid who fell off her pony yesterday afternoon near Red Eagle Lodge.”

  “But that’s by Bear Hunt Overlook,” Kirstie pointed out as the three of them walked toward the corral. A crowd of about thirty people had gathered at the fence, ready for the evening’s events. “Miles away from here.”

  “Yeah, but Grandpa called the family. Their name’s Gostin and they’re here on vacation. They have a lodge house along Timberline Trail. And the pony’s a white and black appie called Whisper.” Lisa checked the facts off on her fingers. “She’s been loose almost twenty-four hours, easily enough time for her to make her way over to Deer Lake.”

  “OK.” With a sigh Kirstie was forced to give in to the evidence. She grabbed the top rung of the fence and slung her leg over, settling in to watch the race. “It’s their pony for sure.”

  “Tough.” Lisa climbed up beside her and gave her a small, sympathetic grin. “But, hey, think of how great the Gostin kid’s gonna feel when she hears the news!”

  “The aim is to get around those barrels in the fastest time possible.” Tommy Woodford explained the rules to Richie Stewart. “You just give your horse his head and let the sucker blast out of the starting gate and around the course. You rein him around the barrels as best you can. If you’re still in the saddle when you hit the exit, you’ve got a chance.”

  “Go for it!” Lisa urged. “Kirstie and me are entered.”

  “Yeah, but …” The visitor from New Hampshire frowned uncertainly. His older brother, Craig, had just fallen off his horse and landed in the dust. Next it was his younger brother Brad’s turn on Crazy Horse.

  “What have you got to lose?” Lisa asked.

  “My pride!” came the swift reply from the fair-haired boy. “I’d hardly even been on a horse before
I came to Half Moon Ranch.”

  “So?”

  “So I don’t have a chance of winning against you guys.” Richie looked on nervously as a ten-year-old dude rider shot out of the starting gate on Jitterbug. The sorrel mare raced for the nearest barrel, made a sliding stop in a cloud of yellow dust and turned. Then she loped hard for the next barrel.

  “If that kid can do it, so can you.” Taking no argument from Richie, Lisa dragged him down from the fence and across to Charlie, whose job it was to enter the competitors on a list. “Richie Stewart,” she told the junior wrangler. “Put him on Rodeo Rocky, OK!”

  Back on the fence, Kirstie grinned at Tommy. “Lisa likes him,” she explained wryly. “That’s just her way of showing it.”

  “He’s not happy.” Tommy grinned back, jumping to the ground and pulling on a pair of leather gloves. It was his turn to ride. The kid on Jitterbug had achieved a time of fifty-two seconds, the fastest so far.

  “Who are you riding?” Kirstie asked, going along to the starting point with Tommy in order to get Lucky ready.

  “Johnny Mohawk.”

  She wished him luck on the high-spirited black gelding, slipped into the barn for a quick look at the little appie, then back into the corral in time to see the vet’s son complete the course in forty-nine seconds flat. The crowd applauded as Tommy slid from the saddle. Then they fell quiet again as a tense-looking Richie Stewart came up to the starting gate. Kirstie saw Matt open the gate and Rocky blast out into the arena. The bay’s coat gleamed in the sun; his black mane and tail streamed out as he made the first barrel in record time, spun on a spot the size of a silver dollar, then raced on.

  Kirstie grinned. Rodeo Rocky was in his element, despite his relatively novice rider. He showed off his amazing bursts of speed in front of an audience. His wild past on the plains of Wyoming showed through in the smoothness of his action, the power of his bunched muscles. And, to his credit, Richie hung on through all the twists and turns, giving the horse his head and coming out with a time of forty-seven seconds.

  “C’mon, Lucky, that’s our target.” Kirstie led her palomino to line up behind Lisa and Snowflake.

  Lucky held back until the gate was clear, making room for Richie and Rodeo Rocky to pass by. The boy from New Hampshire was breathless and triumphant, but trying not to show it. “Cool!” he told Kirstie, sliding from the saddle and leading his horse away.

  Out in the arena, Lisa was not so lucky. She and Snowflake made the third of the six barrels in good time, but then they misjudged the turn. Snowflake swerved wide and fast, running Lisa up against the fence.

  “Ooh!” The crowd gasped and jumped back in the nick of time. Snowflake thundered by, Lisa’s left stirrup hit the fence, and her foot slipped out. “Aah!” Another cry as the horse slid to an uncontrolled halt and tipped her unbalanced rider forward over the saddle horn.

  “Wow!” Richie Stewart looked back in time to see Lisa part company with Snowflake. She tumbled headfirst over the horse’s neck, did a complete forward flip, and landed on her butt.

  “Unintentional dismount,” Kirstie murmured. She could tell right away that the only thing her friend had injured was her pride. As Lisa grabbed her baseball cap from the dust and went to take hold of Snowflake’s reins, Kirstie stuck her foot in Lucky’s stirrup and swung up into the saddle.

  “Forty-seven to beat!” she murmured in her horse’s ear. “We can do it!”

  Matt swung open the gate, and they took off at a full gallop. Responding to the crowd’s cheers, the palomino gave it everything he had.

  “… Eight point five seconds!” Charlie announced as Kirstie and Lucky rounded the first barrel.

  She reined him to the left, tilting her shoulders, going with the smooth movement of the horse. Lucky shook his head, made a tight turn, and trucked on.

  “… Twenty-three seconds!” Charlie gave Kirstie’s time at the halfway point. Dust rose from the arena into the golden evening light. Shadows fell long and cool across the open space.

  “C’mon, Lucky!” she urged. She felt a split second’s hesitation, a momentary loss of will. But the palomino gathered himself and went on.

  “Thirty-six seconds!” Charlie yelled.

  Two barrels to go. Kirstie saw the sweat on Lucky’s neck, heard him suck in breath for the final effort.

  “You can do it!” Lisa cried. “Go, go, go!”

  “… Forty-eight point five seconds!” Charlie gave the final time as Kirstie and Lucky raced through the finishing gate.

  “Tough.” Lisa came up to them to commiserate. “One and a half seconds outside Richie’s time.”

  Kirstie nodded and dismounted. With only one more competitor to go, it looked like the visitor had won.

  “I guess you couldn’t concentrate,” Lisa said quietly as Kirstie led Lucky away. Both girls knew that Kirstie could usually make a better time. “Your mind must have been on little Whisper.”

  “Not really,” Kirstie had to admit. She tethered Lucky to a post and quickly untacked him. “I was trying real hard. It was Lucky whose mind wasn’t on the job.”

  Seeming to pick up her disappointment, he dropped his head and gave a short cough.

  She wrapped an arm around his neck and rested against him. Poor Lucky, he knew he could have won the race and didn’t enjoy letting Kirstie down. Now he looked sad and down.

  It made her feel bad, too. So she stroked him and whispered sweet nothings in his ear, to let him know the barrel race didn’t matter. What mattered was him and her. Nothing else.

  Lucky nuzzled Kirstie’s cheek with his soft white nose. Sorry, he said in his gentle, wordless way.

  “No problem,” she murmured. “You helped rescue the little appie, didn’t you? That’s enough for one day!”

  “We had to get over to Half Moon Ranch fast, because we leave Colorado tomorrow,” Pamela Gostin told Sandy Scott. She did all her daughter’s talking for her.

  The Gostins’ trailer stood in the yard, gleaming in the moonlight. It was nine thirty, and the excitement of the barrel race had long since died down. Richie Stewart had accepted his winner’s plaque to general applause, and Lisa had taken him and his brothers off to celebrate in town. Shortly afterward, Whisper’s owners had showed up to reclaim their runaway pony.

  Kirstie led the small group into the barn, listening to Pamela Gostin’s explanation.

  “The pony’s a little hard for Lacey to handle sometimes. She spooks easy at any small thing, not like these steady old trail horses you have at the ranch.”

  Less of the old, Kirstie thought, and less of the steady. The horses of Half Moon Ranch had as much spirit as any she knew. She led the Gostin kid and her mom along the row of stalls, past Moonshine and Taco who were stabled together for the night.

  “So what spooked Whisper yesterday?” Sandy asked the girl kindly.

  “It was kind of weird,” Pamela Gostin cut in. She was a small, overweight woman dressed in a bright red suede leather jacket, with her long, glossy dark hair pinned back Spanish style. “Lacey’s big brother, Wade, was riding with her. He says Whisper just bucked without warning. Before they knew it, she’d dumped Lacey and galloped off. Their father didn’t take the news too well, I can tell you. Why, the tack alone on that pony’s back is worth over two thousand dollars!”

  Kirstie’s mom’s smile faded. So far, neither Lacey nor her mother had even thanked them or asked how the pony was. “So anyway, it turned out OK in the end,” she said pointedly.

  By this time, Kirstie was busy in Whisper’s stall. “Did you bring trailer bandages?” she asked the Gostins. “Your pony cut her legs when she got trapped. They need some protection while you drive her home.”

  Frowning, Pamela Gostin shook her head. “Maybe we can borrow some from you?”

  Nodding her reply, Sandy helped Kirstie by gathering up the pony’s saddle and bridle. “Here.” She handed the silent daughter the bridle to carry. “Kirstie will lead Whisper out and load her into the trailer for you.”r />
  The sooner, the better, Kirstie said to herself. Poor pony. With owners like this, I’d pretty soon run away myself! They showed no relief, no gratitude, nothing. In fact, she suspected they didn’t even like their sweet little horse.

  She was glad when they had Whisper out of the barn and into the waiting trailer. People like the Gostins made her sad and angry.

  “Bye.” Sandy shook hands with the mother as Kirstie bolted the trailer shut. Inside the box, Whisper stood tethered and shivering.

  “Thanks for your help,” Pamela Gostin said, cool and formal. “Finding the pony means we can set off for home early tomorrow morning, as planned.” She gave the briefest of smiles, then ordered her daughter into the cab.

  Kirstie took one last look at the miserable appaloosa pony. “Bye, Whisper,” she murmured. She went to stand by her mom while the trailer drove slowly out of the yard, its red tail lights glowing in the dark.

  There was a deep frown on Sandy’s face as she stood, arms crossed, watching the Gostins leave. Then, “C’mon!” she said briskly to Kirstie. “Don’t say a word, OK! Forget about them. Time for hot chocolate and bed!”

  3

  “How’s your new method with Taco’s foal coming along?” Hadley asked Matt over breakfast the next morning. Though it was changeover day at the ranch, when old guests left and new ones came in, there was still a long list of chores to get through. The old ranch hand grabbed a chance to talk between mouthfuls of coffee, before he and Charlie started to bring the horses in from the remuda to pick out their hooves, ready for the shoer, Chuck Perry.

  Matt swallowed the last of his eggs and bacon before putting his hat on. “Moonshine? We’re doing great. That’s where I’m going right now. Come and take a look if you’ve got the time.” With a grin in his kid sister’s direction, he quickly left the kitchen.

  “Kirstie doesn’t approve,” Sandy explained. “She thinks imprinting is tough on both the foal and the mare.”