at the start of the trail? It has a pony on it, just like the marsh trail sign had a goose.”
“Maybe there are ponies on the trail.” Carole looked hopeful.
“Maybe.” Denise sighed. “Look, I know you all want to look for ponies, but please, I want to see the ocean. Can’t we do that first?”
“Sure,” Stevie said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Maybe there will be wild ponies on the beach.”
T HE ODDS OF the wild ponies’ being anywhere on this beach, Carole reflected, were pretty small. The wide strip of white sand went for miles in both directions, but near the parking lot it was covered with people, lying on beach towels and wading in the surf, just like every other beach she had ever seen. Here was Denise’s ocean, immense, unending, sending gentle waves against the shore. Carole took a deep breath of the clean ocean air. It was pretty wonderful, even without the ponies.
They left their shoes in the car and walked along the edge of the water, letting the waves slosh around their ankles. They walked for a long time, past the sunbathers and the children playing Frisbee, north to where Snow Goose Pool and the ocean almost connected.Again they saw birds of all types. Suddenly Stevie stopped and looked down at the sand by her feet.
“I could be wrong,” she announced, with a typical Stevie grin on her face. “But I don’t think I am. Here’s the first proof that there really are wild ponies on this island!”
Carole and Lisa looked. “Hoofprints!”
“Lots of hoofprints,” Denise added. They searched the marshland and beach with their eyes, but they didn’t see any ponies. “Maybe they come down here at night and play in the surf,” Denise suggested.
“Surf ponies!” Stevie said. “They bring their beach towels and lie on the sand, and the foals go swimming, but not too far out—”
“
You’re
far out,” Carole put in. “Surf ponies! Everyone knows you wouldn’t call them that. They’d be sea horses!”
They giggled. Lisa threw herself down on the sand, imitating a mare lying on a beach towel, and Stevie pretended she was a foal that had never seen the ocean before. She darted forward and back at the water’s edge, rolled her eyes and pawed the sand, and looked so much like Samson, the colt at Pine Hollow, that The Saddle Club rolled on the sand with laughter.
“I hate to say this,” Lisa said at last, checking herwatch, “but shouldn’t we be thinking about heading back? It’s going to take us over half an hour just to get back to the car, and we promised Mrs. DeSoto we’d help with dinner.”
But we haven’t seen the ponies yet, Carole felt like arguing. Still, she knew Lisa was right. They turned and began the long walk back to the car.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Denise promised them. “Thank you for letting me spend so long on the beach.”
A S THEY WERE passing the edge of Snow Goose Pond on their way back toward Chincoteague, they saw two things. First, standing on one foot in the water at the edge of the pond, was a huge bird with blue-gray feathers and a wise expression. A large crowd of people had gathered around him, some of them taking his picture. The bird seemed to regard all the attention with benevolent acceptance, Lisa thought, rather like a king receiving adulation from his subjects.
Denise slowed so they could get a closer look. “That’s a great blue heron,” she said. “I’ve never seen one. They’re endangered, you know.” She drove on past the Visitors’ Center toward the bridge to Chincoteague.
“Wait!” cried Stevie. “Stop the car!”
“What’s wrong?” Denise hit the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt.
“There!” Stevie pointed. “I think we scared them.” They looked. Something was moving among the pine trees—a large something—many somethings—a pinto something?
“The ponies!” cried Carole. Sure enough, it was a band of wild ponies. The Saddle Club could see long manes and scruffy tails, darting
“Maybe there are ponies on the trail.” Carole looked hopeful.
“Maybe.” Denise sighed. “Look, I know you all want to look for ponies, but please, I want to see the ocean. Can’t we do that first?”
“Sure,” Stevie said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Maybe there will be wild ponies on the beach.”
T HE ODDS OF the wild ponies’ being anywhere on this beach, Carole reflected, were pretty small. The wide strip of white sand went for miles in both directions, but near the parking lot it was covered with people, lying on beach towels and wading in the surf, just like every other beach she had ever seen. Here was Denise’s ocean, immense, unending, sending gentle waves against the shore. Carole took a deep breath of the clean ocean air. It was pretty wonderful, even without the ponies.
They left their shoes in the car and walked along the edge of the water, letting the waves slosh around their ankles. They walked for a long time, past the sunbathers and the children playing Frisbee, north to where Snow Goose Pool and the ocean almost connected.Again they saw birds of all types. Suddenly Stevie stopped and looked down at the sand by her feet.
“I could be wrong,” she announced, with a typical Stevie grin on her face. “But I don’t think I am. Here’s the first proof that there really are wild ponies on this island!”
Carole and Lisa looked. “Hoofprints!”
“Lots of hoofprints,” Denise added. They searched the marshland and beach with their eyes, but they didn’t see any ponies. “Maybe they come down here at night and play in the surf,” Denise suggested.
“Surf ponies!” Stevie said. “They bring their beach towels and lie on the sand, and the foals go swimming, but not too far out—”
“
You’re
far out,” Carole put in. “Surf ponies! Everyone knows you wouldn’t call them that. They’d be sea horses!”
They giggled. Lisa threw herself down on the sand, imitating a mare lying on a beach towel, and Stevie pretended she was a foal that had never seen the ocean before. She darted forward and back at the water’s edge, rolled her eyes and pawed the sand, and looked so much like Samson, the colt at Pine Hollow, that The Saddle Club rolled on the sand with laughter.
“I hate to say this,” Lisa said at last, checking herwatch, “but shouldn’t we be thinking about heading back? It’s going to take us over half an hour just to get back to the car, and we promised Mrs. DeSoto we’d help with dinner.”
But we haven’t seen the ponies yet, Carole felt like arguing. Still, she knew Lisa was right. They turned and began the long walk back to the car.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Denise promised them. “Thank you for letting me spend so long on the beach.”
A S THEY WERE passing the edge of Snow Goose Pond on their way back toward Chincoteague, they saw two things. First, standing on one foot in the water at the edge of the pond, was a huge bird with blue-gray feathers and a wise expression. A large crowd of people had gathered around him, some of them taking his picture. The bird seemed to regard all the attention with benevolent acceptance, Lisa thought, rather like a king receiving adulation from his subjects.
Denise slowed so they could get a closer look. “That’s a great blue heron,” she said. “I’ve never seen one. They’re endangered, you know.” She drove on past the Visitors’ Center toward the bridge to Chincoteague.
“Wait!” cried Stevie. “Stop the car!”
“What’s wrong?” Denise hit the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt.
“There!” Stevie pointed. “I think we scared them.” They looked. Something was moving among the pine trees—a large something—many somethings—a pinto something?
“The ponies!” cried Carole. Sure enough, it was a band of wild ponies. The Saddle Club could see long manes and scruffy tails, darting
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