Chapter Thirteen

After dinner, Cathy phoned all their neighbors, asking if anyone had seen Lucky. No one had, but everyone promised to call back if they had any news.

Tory asked Cathy for paper and felt pens. “I’m going to make a sign about Lucky to put up at the store.”

“Great idea. Make a few. Oliver’s going back to the Mathesons’ place tomorrow to get the horses, and he could put some up in town.”

Tory sat at the kitchen table and thought hard about what to write. Her first attempt was terrible, her printing crooked and the letters growing smaller and smaller as they advanced across the paper. Fiercely she crumpled it into a ball.

Cathy, who was unloading the dishwasher, looked as if she was going to say something, then changed her mind. Tory scrunched up her second attempt too. She smashed the felt pen on the table and flung her head down on her arms. Everything she did was messed up. Tears burned behind her eyelids.

Cathy leaned over her. For a second, Tory thought she was going to hug her, and she tensed. But Cathy never hugged. Instead, she took a fresh piece of paper and drew some faint pencil lines. “That’ll keep your letters straight.”

The lines helped. Tory ended up making five signs, each with the word REWARD in bold red capital letters at the top. Cathy showed her how to make a row of telephone numbers at the bottom, and to cut little slits so that someone could tear off a number.

Oliver came in. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the word REWARD but he promised to take the signs with him in the morning.

That evening, Tory couldn’t keep her eyes open, and Cathy sent her to bed early. She was just drifting off to sleep when her bedroom door opened.

Julia stood in the crack of light from the hall. “Hey, Tory. I just…um, wanted to say I’m sorry Lucky’s missing.”

Tory pretended to be asleep. Confusing thoughts swirled in her head. Oliver and Cathy had been nice to her today. And now Julia.

She waited until Julia left, then rolled over on her stomach and pressed her face into her pillow. Things were easier when she could hate everybody.

The night sky was clear and the air was washed clean after the rain. The smoke was gone. Lucky had a new rule to guide him now – get as far away as possible from the man with the rough voice and the sour smell.

He had left the valley bottom late that afternoon and started to climb the mountain. Every step had hurt. The dried blood had caked on his front legs, and the skin around the wounds was puffy and burning.

The sound of rushing water had spurred him on. Above him a stream, swollen by the heavy rains, tumbled down between boulders. He lowered his head and took a long, soothing drink. He rested for a while, water dripping from his muzzle, then he took another drink and continued to climb up the mountain.

Now he was resting. All around him, the air was full of animal sounds – tiny feet scurrying, leaves rustling, twigs cracking. Around midnight a cougar passed close by, curious about the horse but not a threat. Lucky dozed, too tired and sore to care.

In the morning, Lucky’s legs felt as if they were on fire. He ate some grass and found a small spring for water. Then he continued climbing, until he was on top of the mountain.

Below him stretched a new valley, long and narrow, with golden meadows and groves of trees. A silver river, glimmering in the sun, wound like a ribbon down the middle.

Lucky ventured down the slope, his hooves skidding on the rough ground. He was hobbling badly now, and he kept his head low to the ground to avoid stumbling. When he finally reached the floor of the valley, his nostrils quivered. He could smell the cool, clean scent of the river.

He limped across a meadow, snatching a mouthful of grass now and then, until he reached the low, gravelly bank of the river. He waded out to his knees.

A sudden movement caught his eye. It was a boy, a little way down from him. He was sitting on a boulder, hurling rocks into the water. A small dog nosed around the rocks beside him. The boy stood up and walked along the bank until he was opposite the strange pony that had appeared out of nowhere.

He was a thin boy with brown hair that flopped over his forehead. He was wearing baggy shorts and was barefoot. He pushed his hair back and stared at Lucky.

Lucky stared back. He thought about running away, but the icy water felt wonderful on his burning legs. So he stayed where he was.

The dog ran up and down the shore, barking, as the boy plunged into the river and waded toward Lucky.