Spirit Riding Free--The Adventure Begins

by Suzanne Selfors

  His nostrils flared again and he looked at her. Then he took a hesitant step in her direction. She moved her palm up and down. “It’s okay, fella, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re all right.” He took another cautious step, then another, slowly moving closer. Maybe he bites, Lucky warned herself. Maybe I shouldn’t be sticking my hand out like this. But as she weighed the risk of losing her fingers against the thrill of feeding a wild mustang, the stallion lowered his neck and reached with his teeth. Lucky slowly pulled her hand back, trying to coax him closer. The fruit’s scent had clearly entranced him, because his eyes were focused on the shiny red apple. He stepped closer, still trying to get a nibble. When he was close enough, Lucky reached out and gently tapped him on the chin. “Boop,” she said with a playful laugh. Startled, the stallion lifted his head. Lucky tossed the apple at him and he caught it in midair. Then he devoured it. “Guess you needed that,” she said.

  He watched her for a moment. Before she could react, he dipped his head and grabbed her sandwich out of the leather bag.

  “Hey,” she said with another laugh. Lucky didn’t even know what kind of sandwich it was, but he seemed to like it. She couldn’t believe he was standing so close to her. This gorgeous creature who’d been running across the prairie was here, in front of her. How she longed to pet him just once.

  Bong. Bong.

  Both Lucky and the stallion turned toward the sound of a bell ringing.

  “Oops, I’d better get to school.” Lucky didn’t want to leave the stallion, but her new life was about to start. A new day, with new friends. She scrambled to her feet and wiped dirt from her dress. Cora wasn’t going to be happy about the stains. “Well, good-bye,” she said. She started to leave, then noticed how all the other horses were still hanging out together, far away from the stallion. “Tell you what,” she said, climbing back onto the fence. He cocked his head, listening attentively to her every word. “I’m gonna make lots of friends today. And so should you.” He snorted and shook his head. “I know, but we’re both stuck here. So we might as well make the best of it. I promise to try if you promise to try. Okay?”

  He moved closer to her. Did he want her to pet him? Turned out, she’d forgotten about her lunch satchel, which still lay open on the ground. “Hey,” she said as he grabbed the cookie. Then he trotted around the corral in triumph. She might have been angry, but all she could do was laugh. He was quite the skilled thief. She jumped off the fence, grabbed her satchel, then waved good-bye.

  “Remember our promise!” she called out to him. Then, lifting the hem of her skirt, Lucky ran the rest of the way to school.

  18

  The stallion watched the girl as she ran away. He neighed at her, wanting her to come back, because her gifts had been delicious. He’d eaten apples many times, but where had she found those other foods? Did they grow nearby? He wanted more.

  While his stomach had appreciated the girl’s visit, there was another reason he longed for her return. Her voice had soothed him, the way cricket song did, or the soft patter of rain. When the girl spoke, he didn’t feel so scared, even though he was captured and imprisoned behind a fence. But, alas, that was where he found himself. No matter how hard he pushed, the gate would not open. He flicked his tail, trying to get rid of an annoying fly. Then he rubbed his flank against a post, working on an itch.

  “Pasture time!”

  The stallion stopped scratching and tensed. A man opened the gate in the larger corral and began ushering the other horses outside. Was he letting them go? The stallion snorted, expectantly, for surely he would be next. Surely they’d let him return to his herd. The stallion neighed, high and tense, demanding the man’s attention.

  “Don’t worry,” the man called to him. “Mr. Granger will be out to deal with you.” He patted a few of the horses on the flank. They playfully nudged him as they walked past. He even pressed his face against a white horse’s face. “Good girl,” he said.

  Why did those other horses allow him to touch them? Why did they follow him willingly?

  Once the horses had disappeared from view, the man took something from his pocket, drank from it, then leaned against the fence. The stallion hadn’t had anything to drink in a while. He’d refused the offers of water and oats from his captors. The girl, however—she’d been different. She hadn’t locked him up.

  A second man leaned against the fence. Now there were two, staring at the stallion as if they’d never seen a horse before. Frustrated, the stallion was about to turn his back to them when a third man appeared, this one taller and wider than the others.

  “You two are new, so I’m gonna explain to you how this works. Listen up.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Granger,” they both said.

  The taller man opened the gate and stepped into the small corral. The gate clicked shut behind him. The stallion watched warily. “When you first get yourself a wild horse, you gotta put him in a small, round corral. Why do you think that is?”

  The other two men shrugged.

  “’Cause there ain’t no corners. You see? You don’t want the mustang putting his head in the corner, ’cause that means his backside is facing you. And you never want his backside facing you. Mustangs can kick real good.” He lifted his shirt and pointed to his belly.

  “Whoo-eee, that’s some scar, Mr. Granger.”

  “And you want the corral to be small so he can exercise, but he can’t build up enough speed to jump out,” the tall man said.

  “That makes sense.”

  “Since today’s the first day with this stallion, we’re gonna take it easy. We gotta build his trust and that takes time.” The taller man took a step forward. The stallion tensed again, and took two steps back. A rope hung from the man’s hand. “It’s okay, boy. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He stepped closer. The stallion began to move around the inside edge of the fence. There was nowhere to go. Only around and around. There wasn’t enough room to break into a gallop, so he trotted.

  The tall man stood in the center of the corral. “You see what I’m doing?” he asked the other two. “I’ll talk to him, real gentle, but I’ll let him circle until he gets tired. Tired is good. It’ll make him less ornery.”

  The stallion kept trotting, but there was no place to go. Why was the man standing there, watching him? Why was he smiling?

  “If they’re young, like this one, they get tired easier,” the tall man said.

  “He don’t look like he’s getting tired,” the second man said.

  The stallion didn’t like the way the tall man was looking at him. It was a look of challenge. A look of threat. The stallion headed straight for the tall man. “Whoa!” The man turned tail and ran, flinging himself back over the fence, his hat flying. The stallion reared and neighed, but this time it was the sound of victory.

  “You okay, Mr. Granger?” the first man asked, helping the taller man to his feet.

  “That mustang’s a real wild one. You really think he can be broken?” the second man asked.

  The taller man wiped dirt off his palms. “It’s just a matter of time,” he said, placing his hat back on his head. “Every horse can be broken.” His gaze met the stallion’s, their eyes equally ablaze with stubbornness and determination. Then the three men walked away.

  Even though he was alone in the corral, the stallion reared and bucked. Thirst burned his throat and exhaustion weighed down his muscles, but he reared again. He would not be like those other horses.

  He would never be broken.

  19

  For Abigail Stone it was a regular sort of morning. She rode her horse to school alongside her best friend, Pru Granger. And because Snips, her six-year-old brother, loved riding but wasn’t ready for a big horse of his own, she let him climb into the front of her saddle so he wouldn’t have to walk. She even let him take the reins for a short while. Snips was wiggly, but Abigail’s horse was patient and mostly ignored the kicking.

  When they got to school, Abigail and Pru led their horses, Boomerang
and Chica Linda, into the school’s small corral. They removed the saddles and reins and grabbed their brushes from the saddlebags. Brushing a horse was hard work, and Abigail’s arms were getting really strong. But there were only a few minutes until school began, so the brushing was quick. Abigail made sure the trough was filled with water. Pru got a scoop of oats to keep the horses happy. After some smooches and hugs, which the horses loved, they said good-bye. Then the girls climbed the front steps into the little schoolhouse. It was a pretty building, painted brick-red with white trim. They set their lunch baskets on a shelf, then walked to their seats. The first thing Abigail heard was Maricela talking. And talking. Which was Maricela’s favorite thing to do.

  Only on this morning, Maricela actually had something new to say.

  “I met her yesterday,” Maricela told a few other students who’d gathered around her.

  “Who?” Abigail asked.

  Maricela smiled proudly, for she loved it when she knew stuff no one else knew. This happened often since her father was the mayor, and he received important news over the telegraph. “I met the new girl,” Maricela said. “She’s from the city. You should have seen it. They had about twenty trunks. Daddy says her father is a railroad baron, which means she’s a cut above. I’m so happy I finally have an equal to socialize with.”

  Pru looked at Abigail and rolled her eyes. If anyone could get under Pru’s skin, it was Maricela. “‘Cut above,’” Pru said. “That’s insulting.”

  “Well, it’s true,” Maricela told her. “Anyway, she’s my new best friend.”

  Bong. Bong. The school bell rang again. Miss Flores, the teacher, emerged from the stairwell that led to the little bell tower. Abigail loved most everything about Miss Flores. She was the kindest teacher, and she always let the girls run outside to check on their horses. Her hair was a mix of blond and red. Abigail’s mother called it ‘strawberry blond.’

  As Miss Flores shuffled through some papers on her desk, the students began to take their seats. There were four rows of desks in the Miradero schoolhouse. Abigail and Pru always sat next to each other, except for the days when Miss Flores had to separate them because they were giggling too much. Pru had been Abigail’s best friend her whole life. They’d celebrated birthdays together. They’d had sleepovers together. They’d even learned how to ride horses together. It never bothered Abigail that Pru was a much better rider. Abigail just loved being outside on her horse. But those difficult trails, the ones Pru preferred, were not her favorites.

  “I hope the new girl isn’t as stuck-up as Maricela,” Pru whispered to Abigail.

  Abigail hoped the same thing. There were very few kids her age in Miradero, and having a new girl would be so much fun. But the way Maricela was talking, it sounded as if this girl wouldn’t want to hang out with Abigail and Pru. There was always a chance Maricela was wrong. “You know how Maricela likes to brag,” Abigail whispered back. “Maybe the girl is nice.”

  “Everyone, take your seats,” Miss Flores said.

  “Snips,” Abigail called. She motioned to her brother to stop rolling his marble on the floor and to take his seat. This was his first year at school, and she’d promised their mother that she’d keep an eye on him since he tended to wander off. And break things.

  “Aw, can’t I just—”

  “Snips,” she urged again. With a pout, he stuck the marble in his pocket. But instead of getting into his chair, he stared at the doorway. The room fell into silence as everyone turned in that direction.

  A girl stood there. She didn’t move. She didn’t say anything. She seemed unsure of what to do next. “What is she wearing?” Pru whispered.

  Abigail had been wondering the same thing. The girl’s pink dress filled the entire doorway. Abigail had never seen so many ruffles. It was like something she’d only read about, like what Cinderella might wear to the ball. “It’s the most beautiful dress in the world,” she said.

  Miss Flores stepped out from behind her desk to greet the girl. “Hello. I’m Miss Flores, your teacher. You must be Fortuna Prescott.”

  Fortuna, what a pretty name, Abigail thought.

  “Actually, she prefers to be called Lucky. All her real friends call her Lucky.” Maricela smiled smugly. Abigail thought that Lucky was an even prettier name than Fortuna. “I know all about her name because—”

  “Yeah, we get it, Maricela,” Pru said with a groan. “You know everything.”

  Because Lucky looked frozen in place, Miss Flores gently placed her hand on Lucky’s back and guided her toward the front of the room. “Please come in. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”

  Lucky’s cheeks went red. She looked around. Everyone was seated, including Snips, so all eyes were staring at her. She swallowed hard, then began. “Well, um, I’m twelve.”

  “Oh, that’s the same age as me and Pru,” Abigail said happily.

  “And me,” Maricela added.

  Lucky continued. “My dad, my aunt, and I arrived yesterday. On the train.”

  “Her dad owns the railroad,” Maricela interrupted.

  “Why don’t you let her talk?” Pru snapped.

  “Yes, Maricela, we know that you’re excited to welcome our new student, but let’s give Lucky a chance to talk.” Miss Flores often encouraged Maricela to be quiet.

  Maricela folded her arms and made her signature hmmphf sound.

  “My dad doesn’t own the railroad,” Lucky explained. “My grandfather does. My dad works for him. He’s going to help build the line from Miradero to the ocean.”

  “How come you’re dressed like a princess?” Snips asked.

  Lucky’s cheeks turned even redder. “I… I…” She looked down at her feet. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. We wore uniforms at my old school. Madame Barrow’s Finishing School for Young Ladies.” Someone snickered.

  “What are they finishing?” a boy asked.

  “Um…” Lucky hesitated. “Madame Barrow always says that she’s trying to turn us into works of art.” More snickering.

  Abigail didn’t like it that people were laughing at the new girl. “It’s a pretty dress,” she said.

  Pru raised her hand. “Can I ask a question?”

  “May you ask a question,” Miss Flores corrected. “And yes, you may.”

  “How did you ride to school in a dress like that?”

  “Ride to school? You mean, on a horse?” Pru nodded. Lucky shuffled in place. “I didn’t ride here, I walked, just like back home. Mrs. MacFinn and I always walked together, even in the rain.”

  “Who’s Mrs. MacFinn?” Abigail asked.

  “She’s our…” Lucky looked around and gulped again. “Housekeeper.”

  “Housekeeper? Yup, total snob,” Pru whispered to Abigail.

  Abigail sighed. Uniforms, housekeeper, a school for young ladies. It did seem as if Lucky was very different from them. Maybe Maricela was right.

  “Well, Lucky, we are very happy to have you here with us. Why don’t you take that empty desk?” Miss Flores said. The desk just happened to be on the end of the row, right next to Pru.

  “Can’t she sit next to me?” Maricela asked. “We have so much in common.”

  “I’m sure Lucky will be fine next to Pru. Okay, everyone, open your math books.” Miss Flores handed Lucky a brand-new book.

  “Thank you,” Lucky said. It was a bit of a struggle for her to fit behind her desk, what with all those layers of fabric, but she managed. Abigail wondered if she could borrow that dress one day. But then she remembered the “cut above” comment and frowned. With a disappointed sigh, she opened her book.

  The morning moved along at a snail’s pace, with Abigail sneaking glances at the new girl now and then. Lucky wore her brown hair in a long braid, just like Pru. And she seemed quick at her work, solving math equations faster than anyone else. At every opportunity, Maricela sauntered over to Lucky, whispering things in her ear. They certainly seemed like best friends.

  “Lunchtime,” Miss Fl
ores announced. “Be back in twenty minutes.”

  “Finally,” Pru said. “My stomach’s growling like a cornered badger.” She pushed back her chair and hurried into the mudroom. Abigail followed. With lunch sacks in hand, they ran down the stairs, straight to their horses. Boomerang and Chica Linda were waiting expectantly. Abigail loved Boomerang with all her heart. He was the nicest horse she’d ever met, and the goofiest, too. He was brown with large white patches, and no matter how often she tried to tame his forelock, it always seemed to hang in his face. While Boomerang was handsome in a sweet way, Chica Linda was beautiful. Golden in color, with a white mane and white tail, she had the longest eyelashes of any horse Abigail had ever seen. And just like Abigail and Pru, these two horses were the best of friends.

  After the girls checked to make sure there was enough water in the trough, it was time to eat lunch. The girls claimed their favorite spot under the oak tree. Abigail opened her lunch sack. It was her job to make lunch for Snip and herself, so she’d made their favorite—blueberry jam sandwiches, carrot sticks, and apple wedges. Pru had a hearty chicken salad sandwich and enough oatmeal cookies to share.

  “I heard one of Dad’s ranch hands talking about some arrowheads he found,” Pru said. “I’m gonna find out where he got them and maybe we can go.”

  “That would be fun,” Abigail said. Pru always had great ideas for adventures. As Abigail munched on a carrot stick, she noticed that Lucky was sitting on a bench with Maricela on the other side of the schoolyard. Maricela was talking a mile a minute. Lucky was listening, but she wasn’t laughing or smiling. How come she wasn’t eating? Didn’t she have food? Abigail thought about offering her some apple wedges, but then Lucky got up and wandered over to the fence. Chica Linda eagerly presented her neck for a good rub. Then Boomerang jealously pushed Chica Linda aside, trying to get all the attention.

  “Don’t worry,” Lucky said with a laugh. “I’ve got two hands.” She pet both horses. This surprised Abigail. While Boomerang loved everyone, Chica Linda was picky and could take a while to warm up to a stranger. But there she was, letting this new girl stroke her neck.