Chapter Twelve

Tory ran along the rough road into the forest, stumbling over the ruts and bumps. After a few minutes she slowed to a walk, sucking in gulps of air, trying to stop shivering. Rain slithered down her neck and her runners were soaking wet.

“Lucky!” she screamed. “Lucky!”

She peered into the dark trees, afraid of what the forest might hold. Don’t think about bears and cougars, she told herself. Don’t.

It was hard to keep going. But Lucky was out there somewhere and he needed her. She was certain of that.

A faint roar behind her made her spin around. The roar grew louder, and Oliver appeared around a bend in the track, hunched over the seat of the ATV, squinting from under the hood of a flapping rain slicker. Tory felt weak with relief at not being alone. But she was afraid that Oliver would be angry.

He wasn’t. He had a rain slicker for her, which she slithered into, and he told her to climb up behind him. She had ridden only once before on the ATV. She had loved it. But this time she was too worried about Lucky to enjoy herself.

Oliver shouted so Tory could hear him over the roar of the engine. “The rain’s probably washed away Lucky’s tracks, but keep your eyes peeled just in case.” He drove slowly along the rough road. When he got to the woodcutting clearing, he stopped and turned off the ATV’s motor. Tory hopped off.

“That’s as far as we can go on this thing,” he said. “We’ll walk for a bit, see if we can spot anything.”

The rain had eased to a drizzle but the trees were still dripping. When Tory brushed against branches, water drops sprinkled her face.

She followed Oliver along a narrow deer trail. Once, he stopped and said, “These branches here that are broken? That could be from Lucky.” Then he stopped walking and frowned. He was staring at something on the ground.

“What is it?” said Tory, her heart beating fast.

“Scat.” Scat was the fancy word for poop, Tory knew.

“Wolf scat. Lots of it. There must have been more than one wolf come this way. Three or four maybe.”

Wolves! Her stomach lurched.

“The scat could have been here for a week or even longer,” he added quickly. “It’s impossible to tell with all the rain.”

They walked for another twenty minutes, to the edge of a steep gully. Oliver turned to Tory. “There’s not much point going any farther. We’ll never find Lucky out here. He’s probably made his way to a farm somewhere. You’ll see, he’ll turn up snug and warm in someone’s barn.”

All the way back, Tory told herself over
and over again that Oliver was right. Lucky was safe.

But prickles ran up and down her spine. Wolves!

The man was finishing his sixth can of beer when he thought about water for Lucky.

“Don’t want that pony dying on me,” he mumbled. “Not with all that reward money
I could get.”

He heaved himself off the couch with a grunt and took a pail out to the pump in the yard.
He filled it with brownish water and carried it to the shelter.

“Hey!” he cried. “How did that happen?”

The stall door was open and the pony was gone.