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  Hoser crunched the carrot thoughtfully and nosed me, looking for more. “Sorry, pal,” I told him. “No more.” I untied the reins, put one foot into the stirrup and swung up. It was a Western saddle, so it felt a little weird, but I settled into my seat, held the reins with firm hands and gave Hoser a squeeze with my legs.

  He didn’t budge.

  “All right, then,” I muttered. “I can see you’re called Hoser for a reason.” I delivered a sharp kick to his ribs. I didn’t have spurs, but it seemed to do the trick. Hoser bolted forward and began to canter. I gripped him with my knees and steered him toward the pasture. Bellamy had to take the long, U-shaped drive to the road, but Hoser and I could cut him off if we went straight across the pasture.

  Bellamy would never be able to turn that big truck and trailer around on this narrow, bumpy drive, so he had to be driving forward— slowly, too, or he’d bottom out on the ruts. He’d pass right by Grandpa’s truck. The keys were still in it. If I could pull it across the road before Bellamy got there, he’d be stuck. If I could get the cell phone to work, then the police would be on their way. If I could convince them of what Bellamy was up to, convince them to get those forms...

  Hoser clearly didn’t want me on his back, but I clung to him, trying to get the rhythm of his rough gallop. The barbed wire fence was just ahead. With a quick prayer, I gave Hoser the signal to jump and hoped like anything that someone had taught him what to do. My heart was in my throat as Hoser leaped.

  We sailed over the fence, landing with an ungraceful thump on the other side. Hoser’s hind legs slipped on the ice-crusted mud, and for a minute I thought we’d go down. Instead he scrambled up and immediately took off through the trees. I had to duck to keep from being lashed across the face by branches.

  I slowed Hoser and guided him through the woods so we could come out near Grandpa’s truck. “We’re almost there,” I told him.

  I could hear Bellamy’s truck shifting gears through the trees. I slid out of the saddle and tied Hoser a good distance away.

  “Good boy,” I said, giving him a heartfelt pat on the neck. Then I yanked on the door of Grandpa’s truck and dove inside. I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking. I jammed my foot down on the clutch.

  I didn’t really know how to drive. Grandpa had let me drive the tractor before, but that was it. The ignition turned over and the engine coughed and sputtered to life. I gently let the parking brake in and hit the gas. The engine roared, but I didn’t go anywhere.

  My palms were slick with sweat. I let the clutch out and gave it less gas. The engine gave an abrupt thrum, the truck lurched forward a few inches, and the engine died.

  “Oh, no!” I turned the key, but this time the old truck refused to budge.

  chapter seventeen

  Rrr-Rrr-Rrr, went the engine.

  I closed my eyes. “Not now,” I said. I turned the key again, but nothing happened. Bellamy’s truck sounded louder—it was getting close. Grandpa’s truck was too heavy for me to push it out into the drive, especially without help. I checked Kayla’s cell phone and dialed 911, but there was still no signal. I tucked it inside my shirt pocket and shook my head in desperation. I’d tried so hard, and now to fail, like this. Bellamy was going to drive right past me with Rosie in that trailer, and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it. Tears stung my eyes, and a solid lump in my throat stopped me from swallowing. I wanted to bawl, but I blinked hard, willing myself not to cry.

  “There has to be another way,” I said. I got out of the truck. I could see Bellamy’s trailer through the trees. He would be here in a matter of moments. I looked wildly around for something else that could block the road—rocks, a fallen log, anything. But the only things around me were poplar saplings, sparse fir trees, trampled grasses and fresh cow pies. Bellamy must let his cattle pasture through here, I thought. It was funny to notice such an ordinary detail when I had a crisis to deal with, but there they were—big ones that were still wet, not dried or frozen solid.

  I picked up a cow pie in my—lucky for me—gloved hands. “Eeeuuuw!” I wrinkled my nose. “This is totally disgusting!” I told Hoser. “But it’s my last chance.” I armed myself with several heaps of cow manure and ducked behind a fir tree.

  Bellamy’s truck bumped over the road. He’d picked up a little speed, knowing that the main road wasn’t much farther. There was a faint noise coming from the cell phone in my pocket, but with my hands full of wet manure I couldn’t do anything about it.

  I watched the truck come closer...

  “Now!” I yelled, flinging the cow pie at the windshield. It hit square in the center, splattering in a wide circle. My next shot hit the hood, but it sprayed upward, adding to the general mess.

  The truck lurched to a stop. Bellamy swore and jumped out of the truck. “What do you think you’re doing!” he yelled. In two strides he was in front of me, his face contorted with rage.

  “You keep away from me, you filthy liar, or you’ll get a faceful of this stuff next,” I told him, backing quickly away. I held up a third handful of manure.

  Bellamy’s lips twitched. “Honey, I shovel this stuff every day. You think I’m not used to it by now?” He advanced slowly. “Now you listen to me. You and your grandpa are going to keep your mouths shut about those horses, understand me? Or there’ll be trouble. Big trouble.”

  “What are you gonna do? Lock me up in the shed, like you did to my grandfather and my friend Kayla?” I countered, my knees quivering with fear. I was careful to speak very loudly and clearly. “That’s kidnapping, in case you didn’t know, Jim Bellamy. You can’t threaten me. I’ll tell whoever I want about this, and you can’t stop me.”

  “Oh, can’t I? Your grandpa’s having a hard time scraping money together to keep that ranch running, isn’t he? How would it be if things got just a little bit harder? You wouldn’t want ol’ Granddad to lose the farm, now would you?”

  “You couldn’t do that,” I whispered, forgetting to talk loudly.

  “Try me,” Bellamy said, his eyes glittering like a snake’s.

  “All right, I will,” I said defiantly. I’d heard another faint noise from my pocket, and it bolstered my courage. I sure hoped my hunch was right. I launched my final handful of cow manure straight at Bellamy, dodged behind a tree and dove into the open door of the semi’s cab. The livestock manifests were sitting right on the passenger seat of the truck. Obviously Bellamy had thought he was home free.

  I stripped off my dirty gloves and grabbed the forms, listening to Bellamy swear viciously as he wiped filth off his face with one sleeve. I’d gone way past being frightened. I was numb with terror as the man strode to the truck and stood in front of the driver’s door, his face livid.

  “You little...” He swore again. “I’ve had enough of these games. Give me those forms, little girl.”

  One of the horses whinnied from the trailer. “No,” I said.

  “Don’t make me come in there after you,” said Bellamy.

  I didn’t move.

  Bellamy climbed into the truck. Instantly I opened the passenger door and flew out. And, at last, the sound I’d been waiting for finally reached my ears. The wail of a police siren was cut off as a cruiser pulled into Bellamy’s drive.

  One of the officers got out of the car, one hand on his holster. “Mr. Bellamy?” he asked. He wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from the windshield of the truck and the front of Bellamy’s shirt.

  “Yes.” Bellamy stepped out of the truck and shot me a warning glance.

  “We’ve been called to an assault complaint at this residence. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?” The second officer got out of the car.

  “Absolutely.” Jim Bellamy drew himself up and put on an oily smile. “I believe it was mostly a misunderstanding by my neighbor. His granddaughter here can explain.”

  Bellamy glanced at me, his eyes full of vicious meaning. A picture of Rosie, running free, crossed my mind. Then the thought of Grandpa los
ing his farm overshadowed it. I opened my mouth, but for a moment I didn’t know what to say. I still hadn’t been able to check my hunch about that cell phone.

  “Yes.” I heard my voice crack. “Everything’s...” I paused as a horse whinnied again from the trailer. I was sure it was Rosie. I took a fresh grip on my courage. “...definitely not a misunderstanding,” I answered firmly. Bellamy stared at me in disbelief as I brandished the livestock manifest forms in one hand. “Mr. Bellamy has filled out these forms, showing that he is shipping a bunch of horses to a slaughterhouse today. Those horses were bought at a military auction of wild mustangs, and the rules of that auction said that those horses were not to be sold for meat.

  “But my friend Kayla called you today because when we tried to confront Mr. Bellamy about this, he punched my grandfather and locked him and Kayla in a shed up the road. And now he just told me that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut about the wild horses, he would make sure my grandpa loses his ranch.”

  “Can you prove any of those allegations, young lady?” the officer said.

  “Yes.” I handed the officer the manifests while Bellamy glowered at me.

  “Do you have anything to add?” The officer addressed Bellamy.

  “Yes. First of all, Gus Drayton, who is the girl’s grandfather, assaulted me first. It was simple self-defense on my part.”

  With a sinking feeling, I remembered that Grandpa did hit him first.

  “When I finally got the man off me, I attempted to leave the premises before anything else could happen. He refused to let me leave with my livestock shipment, and I was forced to incarcerate the man in my shed, just so I could get off my own property. Then I found myself assaulted a second time, this time with cow manure on my truck.” Bellamy waved an arm in an outraged gesture toward his windshield.

  The officer’s nostrils twitched. I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket and glanced at it to confirm that it was still connected.

  “What about how you threatened to force my grandfather off his ranch?” I demanded.

  Bellamy faced me with a bland expression. “I don’t know what you think you heard, young lady, but you must have been imagining things.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” My smile didn’t waver. I held up the cell phone in triumph. “Funny thing about cell phones. Sometimes you get a signal, sometimes you don’t. The nine-one-one dispatcher just heard the whole thing.”

  chapter eighteen

  Bellamy’s face lost a little color, but he kept his composure. The officer began leafing through the manifests. I edged closer to him so I could get a look at them too.

  “We can confirm that story with the dispatcher, sir,” the officer said. “Maybe you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

  “Officer, you have to understand my position. I’ve done nothing wrong here. The horses I am shipping are my horses. They are branded with my ranch’s brand. I’m a well-known businessman as well as a rancher, and you can imagine the outcry if this girl spread rumors that I’ve sold wild horses for meat. It could damage my reputation with my clients. I’m not interested in making trouble, but I did tell the girl to keep quiet about the horses. If I’ve scared her, I’m sorry, but I can’t let my business interests fall prey to a little girl who thinks she has a cause on her hands.”

  I felt a wave of frustration wash through me. That man had an answer for everything! I could see the police officer nodding as he read through the manifest. Everything Bellamy said made sense, and I had nothing to prove otherwise. I gritted my teeth at this helplessness. If Grandpa were here, he could help, but by the time the officer questioned him, the policeman would already have made up his mind which one of us he believed.

  But then I saw, as the officer paused to read the manifests, a heading for “Other Brands” on the form. Written below it were the words “C-shaped crescent” letters “M” and “E.” I drew in my breath. That was the brand—the old brand—on Rosie. It was the one identifying mark, which Bellamy had to report on the manifest, that would show she was one of the wild mustangs.

  I could barely contain the grin of relief that spread over my face. Bellamy was watching me, and his expansive smile shrank to a small thin line. He knew something was up.

  “Well, that about takes care of everything,” the officer began, but I cleared my throat.

  “Officer?” I said. “I think you’ll find something on that form that will prove everything I’ve been saying.” I pointed to the section for brands. “That brand is on the mare I bid for at the military auction. She’s a red chestnut with one white sock. She’s in the back of the trailer right now. This proves Mr. Bellamy planned to sell her for meat, in spite of the auction rules. That’s fraud.”

  “What about this girl willfully damaging my property?” Bellamy countered. He gestured to his filthy truck.

  The officer’s lips twitched. “Well, I’ve never had to write up a report with cow manure listed as the weapon, but I guess there’s always a first time.”

  “Look, what I do with an animal after I buy it should be my business,” Bellamy said hotly.

  “Not if you sign an agreement like the auction registration that says you have to keep the horse for at least a year!” I retorted. “And signing a false name, like Fred Flintstone, would be fraud too!”

  The officer lifted one eyebrow. “Fred Flintstone?”

  “I heard him talking to my grandpa,” I said. “He admitted to buying at least fifty of the wild horses and signing other people’s names. Fred Flintstone was one of them.”

  The officer nodded. “Yep, that would be fraud, all right. Sir, I’ll have to ask you to come with me.”

  “No! I’ve done nothing wrong, I’m telling you. You’d take the word of a teenage girl over a reputable businessman like myself? This is ridiculous. I want to talk to a lawyer,” Bellamy sputtered.

  “Oh, you’ll have that chance,” the officer assured him. He snapped the handcuffs on Bellamy’s wrists and guided him into the backseat of the police car.

  “This is unbelievable! What gives you the right to handcuff me?” I could still hear Bellamy blustering as the police officer slammed the door shut, cutting off Bellamy’s voice.

  The officer rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Where did you last see your grandfather?” he asked me.

  “He’s locked in a log shed at the other end of the drive, near the main road. My friend Kayla is in there with him,” I answered.

  “I’ll need a statement from him,” said the officer. “Especially if your grandfather and your friend want to press additional charges for forcible confinement.”

  “What’s going to happen to the horses?” I asked.

  “Ultimately, I imagine new homes will have to be found for them. For now, they’ll be seized by the police.”

  “How do you seize fifty wild horses?” I said.

  The officer scratched his head. “Good question.”

  I smiled. It didn’t really matter—the important thing was that Rosie was free.

  chapter nineteen

  “Whoa, there. Easy, girl,” I said softly. Rosie shifted uneasily, her hooves clattering on the metal floor of the horse trailer. I swung the door open and Rosie snorted, then made her way down the ramp into Grandpa’s corral.

  “Let her get her bearings.” Grandpa folded the ramp and clipped it, then shut the gate to the corral. “We’ll bring her some hay later.”

  I stood on the bottom rail of the fence and watched Rosie explore her new home. She seemed nervous, but not scared. Her nose lifted to the wind, she trotted around the perimeter of the fence, smelling the new scents.

  “I can’t believe she’s really mine,” I told Grandpa.

  He slung an arm over my shoulder and we watched Rosie together, her bright coat lit to a fiery red by the late afternoon sun. “We—you, really—have a lot of work ahead of you. Gentling her, breaking her, training her to jump. She’s a nice little horse, but you’ll have your struggles with her. A rider does with every horse,�
�� he said.

  “I know.” I heaved a happy sigh. “That’s okay. After all that we went through, I’m just glad she’s really here. It’s all over.”

  Grandpa smiled. “Actually, Reese, it’s only just begun.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks go to David Poulsen and Jodi Malm for their helpful advice on the general practices involved in shipping animals for meat, and to Sara Compton for allowing me to sit in on riding lessons at Teesdale English Riding School and for letting me “borrow” Grady, one of Teesdale’s horses, for a promotional photo. An especially big thank-you is owed to Gigi Morse for sharing her insight and knowledge about show jumping, for inviting me to her horse shows so I could see first-hand what it’s like, for reading this manuscript for accuracy, and for her sincere enthusiasm about the writing of this book.

  Author‘s Note

  While Reese’s story is fictional, the events described in this novel are based on a real incident. On January 25, 1994, a military-sanctioned roundup of over 1,200 feral horses began on Canadian Forces Base Suffield. Those horses were called feral instead of wild because their forebears were originally domesticated horses that escaped or roamed, forming a herd that bred and became untamed. True wild horses have never been tamed, but for the purposes of this story I have referred to them as wild. I have also fictionalized the actual roundup for my story.

  The Suffield wild horses roamed the military land for more than fifty years. In the early 1990s, arguments were made that the horses were destroying fragile grasslands, and the roundup began. Animal-rights activists opposed the roundup, fearing that the horses might be mistreated or sold for meat. Although the Canadian military put rules in place to try to protect the horses, there were later allegations that many of the horses, which were supposedly adopted legitimately, were slaughtered for profit. While these allegations were never proven, this scandal was the basis for Reese’s story.