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Authors: Terri Farley
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pasture, made no sense.
The lead mare wanted to force him back, but clanging metal, the huff from the fire truckâs engine, the shouting men, and a dark shroud of smoke turned her trot into a shambles of confusion.
Suddenly a whirlwind of movement swept through the milling herd.
Glinting brightly through the smoke, the Phantom galloped downhill. He ignored the worn path, leaping in sharp turns to make his way through the brush, to take charge of his band.
Chapter Seven
S am didnât know whether she felt relieved or terrified as she watched the stallion rush down with ears so flat they were hidden by his swirling silver mane.
His maresâ turbulent shifting turned to calm as the stallionâs presence settled them. The honey-colored mareâs uncertainty had caused chaos. The Phantom was hurried, but sure.
Sam pictured the stallionâs actions.
Brandishing teeth and hooves, heâd push the herd away from here, back to their secret valley, and leave Pirate to tag along.
But he didnât. Instead of turning his band toward the mountains, the Phantom passed through, then lowered his head into a herding posture.
Pirate was probably a yearling, but the Phantomâs body language was clear. Act like a baby and Iâll treat you like one.
The roan filly saw her sire coming and fled. Swiveling on her heels like a cutting horse, she returned to the herd, leaving Pirate to face his father alone.
Pirate was clearly nervous. He saw the Phantom bearing down on him, but the colt didnât run away. He skittered sideways, head swinging to view everything around him, but whatever had drawn him to the pasture kept him there.
Just yards away from Pirate, the Phantom slowed. Sam heard the beat of each hoof. His ears pricked forward, tips trembling as he strained to listen, but his head stayed low, as if the stallion were trying to ignore his misgivings.
But then, he must have known something was terribly wrong.
His front hooves skidded in a dust cloud. His eyes rolled white, but his head was still lifting as two hollow zip pops split the air. Like huge fireworks launched into the sky, the paint cans exploded. Blasting like bombs, they detonated right in front of the mustangs.
âNo!â Sam screamed.
The horses screamed with her. Thunder rumbled from their hooves and overhead. Through roiling smoke, she saw horses fall. How many? Which ones?
Sam couldnât tell. Smoke stung her eyes and nose. Her chest burned as she ran, trying not to breathe in the thick gray air.
Not the Phantom, oh please.
But he was right there. It had to be him, falling. And Pirate. Their slender, delicate legs had been steps from the exploding cans.
Holding her breath, Sam remembered how firmly sheâd tamped down the lids. If theyâd exploded off, theyâd be like giant, flat bullets.
Another explosion rocked through the air. Then another.
Four cans. That had to be all of them.
Were the horses down and helpless in the blast?
Black timbers rocked apart. Half of the fence sagged toward the earth and the other jutted up like black fingers.
The explosion, or maybe the fire, had destroyed a section of fence and the lead mare saw it as rescue. With bared teeth and slamming shoulders, the big mare herded the mustangs through the opening, away from the flames and smoke and noise, after the other horses, who were no more than silhouettes on the hazy horizon.
Running after them, Samâs whole world bounced around her. Her legs stretched in steps as long-reaching as her hip sockets would allow. Tears from the smoke blurred her vision as she searched for the Phantom. He wasnât with his herd. Even as a smokyshadow she would have recognized him.
âWeâve got two down. Call the vet!â Luke Ely shouted at someone. Her? Should she run back to the house? Confusion and desperation whirled through Sam, but she couldnât go back. Not until she saw her horse.
Two thoughts eased her mind. If Luke
The lead mare wanted to force him back, but clanging metal, the huff from the fire truckâs engine, the shouting men, and a dark shroud of smoke turned her trot into a shambles of confusion.
Suddenly a whirlwind of movement swept through the milling herd.
Glinting brightly through the smoke, the Phantom galloped downhill. He ignored the worn path, leaping in sharp turns to make his way through the brush, to take charge of his band.
Chapter Seven
S am didnât know whether she felt relieved or terrified as she watched the stallion rush down with ears so flat they were hidden by his swirling silver mane.
His maresâ turbulent shifting turned to calm as the stallionâs presence settled them. The honey-colored mareâs uncertainty had caused chaos. The Phantom was hurried, but sure.
Sam pictured the stallionâs actions.
Brandishing teeth and hooves, heâd push the herd away from here, back to their secret valley, and leave Pirate to tag along.
But he didnât. Instead of turning his band toward the mountains, the Phantom passed through, then lowered his head into a herding posture.
Pirate was probably a yearling, but the Phantomâs body language was clear. Act like a baby and Iâll treat you like one.
The roan filly saw her sire coming and fled. Swiveling on her heels like a cutting horse, she returned to the herd, leaving Pirate to face his father alone.
Pirate was clearly nervous. He saw the Phantom bearing down on him, but the colt didnât run away. He skittered sideways, head swinging to view everything around him, but whatever had drawn him to the pasture kept him there.
Just yards away from Pirate, the Phantom slowed. Sam heard the beat of each hoof. His ears pricked forward, tips trembling as he strained to listen, but his head stayed low, as if the stallion were trying to ignore his misgivings.
But then, he must have known something was terribly wrong.
His front hooves skidded in a dust cloud. His eyes rolled white, but his head was still lifting as two hollow zip pops split the air. Like huge fireworks launched into the sky, the paint cans exploded. Blasting like bombs, they detonated right in front of the mustangs.
âNo!â Sam screamed.
The horses screamed with her. Thunder rumbled from their hooves and overhead. Through roiling smoke, she saw horses fall. How many? Which ones?
Sam couldnât tell. Smoke stung her eyes and nose. Her chest burned as she ran, trying not to breathe in the thick gray air.
Not the Phantom, oh please.
But he was right there. It had to be him, falling. And Pirate. Their slender, delicate legs had been steps from the exploding cans.
Holding her breath, Sam remembered how firmly sheâd tamped down the lids. If theyâd exploded off, theyâd be like giant, flat bullets.
Another explosion rocked through the air. Then another.
Four cans. That had to be all of them.
Were the horses down and helpless in the blast?
Black timbers rocked apart. Half of the fence sagged toward the earth and the other jutted up like black fingers.
The explosion, or maybe the fire, had destroyed a section of fence and the lead mare saw it as rescue. With bared teeth and slamming shoulders, the big mare herded the mustangs through the opening, away from the flames and smoke and noise, after the other horses, who were no more than silhouettes on the hazy horizon.
Running after them, Samâs whole world bounced around her. Her legs stretched in steps as long-reaching as her hip sockets would allow. Tears from the smoke blurred her vision as she searched for the Phantom. He wasnât with his herd. Even as a smokyshadow she would have recognized him.
âWeâve got two down. Call the vet!â Luke Ely shouted at someone. Her? Should she run back to the house? Confusion and desperation whirled through Sam, but she couldnât go back. Not until she saw her horse.
Two thoughts eased her mind. If Luke
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