High Horse

by Bonnie Bryant

  “There is?” Carole said. “Tell me about it.”

  “I got to see that Phil is madly in love with Betsy Cavanaugh.”

  “No, he’s not,” Carole stated. “He thinks she’s a total drip.”

  “So that’s why he spends all his time with her.”

  “You mean that’s why he spends all his time running away from her.”

  Stevie shrugged. “I don’t know what’s going on between him and me. But I’ll tell you one thing I do know. I have to stop acting so competitive around him. It’s like I just get carried away or something.”

  Carole blinked. Stevie’s words sounded just like Lisa’s journal. She glanced at Stevie. Was it possible that Stevie had read Lisa’s journal, too? She wanted to ask her, but then again, if Stevie hadn’t snooped, Carole didn’t want to offend her.

  “Listen,” she said finally. “There’s no point in getting upset about being upset.” She stopped, trying to put her thoughts together. “What am I trying to say?”

  “That I should lighten up?” Stevie said.

  Carole giggled. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  Stevie stopped and picked up a pine cone. “I guess we could use a few of these.”

  “Good idea,” Carole said.

  Stevie filled her arms with pine cones, and then Carole piled small fallen branches from pine trees on top. “We can’t gather the good stuff like hickory, because it will still be wet,” Carole said as they walked deeper into the forest. “We’ll have to go for the fast-burners like spruce and ash.”

  “How do you know that?” Stevie asked.

  Carole grinned. “Just another boring bit of MTO lore.”

  They found a white ash tree that had fallen on top of an old log so that it wasn’t resting on the ground. “I believe we’re in luck here,” Carole said. She inspected the broken end of the tree. “It’s still dry.”

  Stevie stood on top of the ash tree and jumped on it to break it in half. But when she landed, there was a dull thump and then nothing more. “This is one tough tree,” she said, and jumped again.

  This time when she landed the trunk rocked, tossing her off into a drift of soggy leaves. “Great,” she said, getting up and picking up the pine cones and kindling she’d dropped. “I think I need your help. How about lending some of the weight of all that horse knowledge of yours to the job of breaking this trunk?”

  “No problem.” Carole giggled and climbed up next to Stevie.

  When the two of them jumped, there was a cracking sound. They climbed off and bent the two halves of the trunk toward each other, breaking them.

  “Two more jumps and we’re out of here,” Stevie said.

  When the two girls headed back to camp, the sun was low in the sky.

  “I guess you saw what happened with Amie and Jackie,” Carole said. “They didn’t want to come and gather wood. They’re tired of my horse lectures.” She sighed. “Sometimes I think I’m better around horses than people.”

  Hmmmm, Stevie thought. There was something familiar about this. Could it be that Carole had read Lisa’s journal, too? Should she ask Carole and find out? But then Stevie realized that if Carole hadn’t read the journal, she’d just be making trouble between her and Lisa.

  “Amie and Jackie are tired,” Stevie said. “They’re little kids, and it’s been a big day for them—an immense day when you come right down to it.”

  Carole shrugged. “I guess I wanted to teach them everything—for instance, I thought they’d want to know that a horse won’t eat toadstools in the woods.”

  Stevie shook her head. “Believe it or not, Carole, they’ve had enough of horses for today.”

  Carole turned to Stevie. “That’s the reason? And I thought it was just because they think I’m a big bore.”

  Stevie giggled. “Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly that way, but if you insist …”

  At that Carole burst out laughing. One of the wonderful things about Stevie was that she could often help Carole to see the humorous side of things—even if it had to do with Carole’s own worst side. She’d wanted to do a good job on the Big Sister/Little Sister project and she’d just gotten carried away. Carole had to admit that Lisa had said pretty much the same thing about her in her journal. Only there it hadn’t been funny. It had hurt.

  Stevie and Carole came out of the woods onto the edge of the meadow, where the tips of the grass were pink with sunset light.

  “The meadow really changes,” Stevie commented.

  “What?”

  “It’s different every time you look at it.”

  From the other side of the hill came voices and laughter.

  When Stevie and Carole reached the top, they could see the campsite and the temporary paddock. The horses had been unsaddled and groomed, and now they were standing lazily, flicking their tails to keep away flies. The younger kids were running around the campsite, playing some kind of tag. The older riders were bustling with preparations for dinner. It was almost like watching a family.

  Carole and Stevie walked slowly down the hill. When they reached camp, Max looked at their logs and said, “Nice work. White ash is a good bet for dryness.”

  The two of them made a ring of stones and laid a bed of twigs and small branches inside. They put four logs on top and lit the kindling with a box of matches that had been protected from the damp by being dipped in paraffin. The twigs sputtered and smoked, sending off a toasty smell, and then the logs suddenly caught fire.

  “Am I glad to see that,” Joe Novick said. “I felt like I was going to be damp for the rest of my life.”

  The riders gathered around the fire and watched it flare and take hold.

  “Ten more minutes until I make my special hot dogs,” Phil said. “These are known as Phil’s Phabulous hot dogs. ‘Phabulous’ with a ph, of course.”

  “That’s too long to wait,” Amie said.

  “I’m practically dead with hunger,” Jackie said.

  “They’re worth waiting for,” Phil promised. “You haven’t experienced phabulous until you’ve had one of my hot dogs.”

  “I know it,” came Betsy’s voice. “I can’t wait.”

  Carole and Stevie looked at each other, and Carole pressed her lips together as a sign that Stevie should let it go. Stevie went over to where Joe and some of the others were wrapping potatoes in aluminum foil.

  “That was a great race you ran,” Joe said.

  “Thanks,” Stevie said.

  “You really know how to handle your horse.”

  “Thanks, Joe,” Stevie said. “You too.”

  The riders finished wrapping the potatoes and brought them over to the fire. They tucked them against the inside of the ring of stones. Soon the stones would be as hot as the fire, so the potatoes would be baked from both directions.

  “Take a look at this,” Phil said. He had used two long, skinny branches to spear fourteen hot dogs. He held the hot dogs over the fire and said to Amie and Jackie, who were watching him, “The secret is to crisp them without burning them.”

  “Crisp yes, burn no,” sang Amie.

  “Brisp no, curn yes,” sang Jackie.

  Phil had positioned the hot dogs exactly the right distance from the flames, so they sizzled without catching fire. At exactly the right moment Phil turned them over to crisp the other side. Then, when they were done, he said, “My assistant will now do the buns.”

  He had been looking at Amie, but Betsy pushed her way forward and grabbed the buns. “The secret is to toast, not burn,” Betsy said.

  Stevie wouldn’t have believed it, but Betsy managed to do it without scorching a single bun. Then Betsy slid the hot dogs into the buns.

  Stevie usually didn’t like hot dogs—and she was hoping to hate this one—but actually it was delicious, especially when it was slathered with lots of mustard. She finished her first one, and then she was still so hungry, she had a second. Probably she would wake up in the middle of the night with a severe case of hot-dog breath,
but she didn’t care.

  Phil tested a baked potato with a fork and pronounced it done, so he fished the rest out with the fork and distributed them. Stevie’s potato had a slightly smoky flavor with a distinct woodsy tang. But both of these tastes were completely eradicated when she added sour cream, cheese, sauerkraut, pickles, and onions. It wasn’t just on ice-cream sundaes that Stevie liked to eat weird combinations.

  At last they all lay back with their feet to the fire. This was the first hot meal that they’d had since they started on the MTO.

  Stevie looked up. The stars were so bright, they seemed to be hanging just behind the trees, and the air was so clean, it smelled sweet. Out in the forest there were foxes and raccoon and deer, maybe even a bear or two. Here around the fire it was safe and warm.

  Someone started to sing, “Home, Home on the Range.” Amie and Jackie—and Peter and Liam, as well—sang in high soprano voices. A deeper voice rumbled off-key. Stevie looked—it was Red O’Malley. And then a clear, strong voice rose through the other voices, “… seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day.” It was Phil.

  Betsy Cavanaugh was sitting next to him, her hair shining in the firelight.

  Stevie looked back up at the stars. Tears formed in her eyes. It seemed like days since they’d left Pine Hollow for the Mountain Trail Overnight. Back then she’d thought it would be a special time for her and Phil. Now she was wondering if the two of them would ever even be friends again.

  WHEN LISA WOKE, there was a terrible racket. She rolled over in her sleeping bag and wondered why the younger kids were making so much noise at this hour. But then she realized it wasn’t a human racket; it was birds. She slipped out of her sleeping bag and got dressed as noiselessly as she could, but Carole opened her eyes and looked at her.

  “Birds,” Lisa said. “It sounds like they’re starting a riot.”

  Carole started to work her way out of her sleeping bag, but Lisa couldn’t wait. She had to see what was going on.

  There were two blue jays with bright eyes picking at crumbs around the campfire. In the dark last night Lisa hadn’t realized that Horse Wise members were such messy eaters. Another blue jay fluttered down to the spot where Amie and Jackie had been sitting. The blue jay grabbed a piece of hot-dog bun and tried to fly with it, but the bun was too heavy, so his tail flew skyward while his beak remained stuck in the bun.

  The blue jay came back to earth and took small hops, banging the bun along the ground until a piece tore off, and then he flew over the hilltop with his prize.

  Max came out of his tent, yawning. “Birds like a balanced diet,” Max said. “A worm, a bun. Maybe a little mustard.”

  It was a perfect morning, bright and warm. At last, Carole thought, we’re going to have a really long ride.

  “Everybody eat quickly,” Max said. “We’ve got a busy day ahead. Carole, you rouse the younger riders; I’ll wake the older ones.”

  In twenty minutes everyone, even Veronica diAngelo, was dressed and ready to go. There was no time to have Max’s Morning Madness, including his famous Maxerino; instead they had granola bars and fruit.

  After breakfast Max held a brief Horse Wise meeting. “This is going to be a great day,” he said. “But we’ll have to ride hard if we want to meet the vans on time on Tuesday. The trail is dry in spots, but not in others. We need to know where we can canter and trot and where it’s still not safe, so we need scouts.”

  He looked at Stevie. “You did so well as the fox on the mock fox hunt last fall, I’m going to make you one of the scouts.” He turned to Phil. “I’m going to make you the other scout because you know Silverado State Park. I want the two of you to ride a mile or so ahead, check the trail, see where we can make up for lost time and where it’s dangerous. We’ll wait until you come back and give us a report.”

  Sounds perfect, Stevie thought bitterly. Max must have designed this day especially to torture me. Last night had been no fun sitting around the campfire listening to Phil croon to Betsy Cavanaugh, but at least she hadn’t been alone with him. Stevie opened her mouth, about to give some kind of excuse, such as that she wasn’t really awake, but one look at Max told her that he was worried. Stevie knew that he needed an exact report on trail conditions. Suddenly, being a scout for Max seemed like too important a job to let her petty differences with Phil get in the way.

  Stevie and Phil saddled their horses in silence and mounted them in silence. Teddy was edgy, the way he’d been last night. But again Phil managed to soothe him until he was calm.

  They rode around the edge of the meadow to where the trail entered the wood. “How about it?” Phil asked.

  “What?”

  He nodded at the trail ahead, which was flat and looked dry. “Let’s trot.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

  Ahead of her Teddy broke into a trot. Stevie pressed Topside with her knees, and he began to trot smoothly, head up, glad for the action. The rain had flooded away a great deal of dirt, so the rocks on the trail were loose and exposed. As they trotted, there was a shower of pebbles.

  “Rocks,” Stevie called.

  Phil reined in Teddy, who didn’t like it. The horse pranced and tossed his head, making a snorting, complaining sound. Phil turned in his saddle. “It’s bad ground.”

  “Too many rocks,” Stevie agreed. “We might have to stop and pick the horses’ hooves every ten minutes.”

  Phil got a funny look. “I guess you and Joe Novick could take care of that.” Then he turned, and at the top of the hill, where there was another flat stretch, he put Teddy into a trot and then into a canter.

  Stevie felt stunned as she gave Topside the signal to trot after Teddy. Was Phil actually jealous of Joe Novick? If so, he was completely wrong about how Stevie felt. But it certainly did explain a lot. Maybe that was why Phil had let Betsy Cavanaugh follow him around, Stevie mused.

  “Hey, the thing about Joe Novick …,” Stevie called as she cantered after Phil, but he didn’t seem to want to stop and listen.

  They came around a bend in the trail. There was a fine clear trail ahead under oak trees. As Phil leaned forward, Teddy cantered faster. Topside stretched his neck, lengthening his stride. Ahead Phil let Teddy go flat out, his hooves sending back plumes of dust into Topside’s and Stevie’s faces. The riders thundered alongside a blueberry patch and past a stand of skunk weed.

  Then Phil slowed Teddy. There was a gravelly creek bed ahead. He guided his horse onto the mossy edge of the trail where there were no stones, and then through the clear creek water.

  “The thing about Joe …,” Stevie tried again.

  But Phil and Teddy were off, trotting past a gathering of ferns and crossing a field. Phil was definitely trying to avoid her.

  “All I wanted to say,” she yelled, “was—” But at this instant Teddy broke into a canter. Stevie could hear his hooves thud on the brown winter grass.

  Abruptly there was a flash of white ahead. A fawn darted across the road in front of Teddy, its tail high.

  Without warning Teddy reared, giving a whinny that sounded to Stevie like a scream. The horse’s front legs frantically pawed the air as the small deer disappeared into the woods as swiftly as she’d emerged. Phil’s arms were around Teddy’s neck, his knees high. Then, as Stevie watched in horror, Teddy lost his balance and fell with a thud. Phil flew off the horse and landed in the rocks beside the trail in an awkward position. Terrified, Teddy scrambled to his feet and turned and galloped past Stevie, his reins flapping.

  Stevie had halted Topside when she spotted the deer. Now she jumped out of the saddle, tied Topside to a tree, and ran over to Phil. His face was pale and his eyes were closed.

  “Phil? Phil? Are you okay?” There was no answer.

  But when she leaned close, she could feel his breath on her ear. She told herself she had to be calm because Phil needed her. She remembered Max saying that you should never move an unconscious fallen rider. You should wait for help. Tedd
y would probably gallop back to camp, where Max was waiting with the other riders, and Max would come and look for them.

  Stevie knew she shouldn’t move Phil, but she couldn’t bear the sight of his head lying on the rocks. She sat next to him and gently lifted his head into her lap.

  The black fabric on his helmet was torn, and under the tear she could see a dent. If Phil hadn’t been wearing a helmet, he might be dead. Tears filled Stevie’s eyes. Oh please, Max, she prayed silently, hurry!

  Stevie took Phil’s hand. It was terrible to feel how limp it was. She shivered. Maybe if she talked to him, it would help somehow. “You never let me tell you about Joe,” she began softly. “I mean, I don’t care about Joe. It’s you I care about.” Stevie swallowed. “This whole trip I thought you liked Betsy Cavanaugh. Maybe you do, I don’t know. But the thing is, I like you. All week I was thinking about coming here with you.” She closed her eyes, remembering how she’d imagined taking a special bareback ride alone with Phil on the MTO. “We were going to ride bareback at dawn,” she went on. “Kind of stupid, huh? We were going to ride out in the dawn, and then we were going to—”

  “Make out?”

  Stevie jumped and her eyes popped open. Phil’s eyes were open, and a trace of color had returned to his face. Slowly a grin appeared on his face, and Stevie had the feeling he’d heard every word she’d said. In fact, he must have let her think he was knocked out.

  He smiled at Stevie’s astonished expression.

  “How …?” she started to say, but she was so filled with relief and surprise that the words wouldn’t come.

  And that was fine with Phil. He reached up, put his hand behind her head and drew her down closer. Stevie closed her eyes and then …

  Topside neighed.

  There was a clattering of hooves and Max appeared on the trail, leading Teddy by the reins.

  “No harm done, I see,” Max said with a twinkle in his eyes.

  Phil sat up. “Is Teddy okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Max said. “A little shook up, but okay.”

  “It was a fawn,” Stevie hastily explained. “Otherwise Teddy was doing great. He wasn’t spooked at all. But then this fawn came streaking out of the woods and he reared. Phil flew off his back.”