Chapter Seven

By early evening, Lucky had drunk most of the water. He had paced around and around the corral hundreds of times. He knew that the gate was open.

He also knew that it was time to go.

As he trotted through the open gate, he had only one thought: Get away from the smoke! Something told him to hurry, so he kept trotting through a field of tall brown grass that was so dry and brittle it scratched his legs.

An eagle soared high above him, its white head gleaming. A mouse burrowed into the grass to get out of the way. No one else saw Lucky go by.

At the bottom of the field, he crossed a creek bed that had dried up to a trickle. His hooves churned the last of the water to mud. When he scrambled up the far bank, he found another open gate, this one in the middle of a wire fence. On the other side of the fence was a thick pine and spruce forest. He gave one last lonely whinny, but no one answered him. He trotted through the gate into the forest.

Lucky followed a rough, grassy road with two ruts made by the tires of Oliver’s ATV. The road went deep into the forest. Dead grass rustled against his legs; twigs snapped under his hooves.

The road ended in a clearing where Oliver cut up dead trees for firewood. Lucky stood still for a moment, thinking about what to do.

A Great Gray Owl swooped by on muffled wings. A squirrel chattered from the branch of a pine tree. In a small way they were company for Lucky, who felt very alone. He whinnied once, a shrill cry calling desperately to the other horses. When there was no answer, he left the clearing and set off on a narrow deer trail.

Away from the smoke – that was the rule that guided the pony, but the smoke followed him, burning his eyes and making it hard to breathe.

As the night shadows deepened, the trees closed in. The trail was so narrow that branches slapped against his sides and pine needles caught in his mane. He had never been in this forest before. Every one of his senses was alert to danger. His ears were pricked and his nostrils flared. His eyes searched the darkness.

But he was exhausted from his frantic day of racing back and forth in the corral, so he didn’t notice the first gray shape that slipped along beside him through the trees. In a few minutes it was joined by another, and then two more.

Four timber wolves – cruising through the forest, empty stomachs grumbling, cranky from the smoke and the heat. Four pairs of golden eyes glowing in the night.

Lucky sensed something now. He broke into an anxious trot.

The wolves separated, two on either side of Lucky. They loped along easily, gliding in and out of the trees, keeping pace. There was no need now to stay hidden. They were hungry, but they were in no hurry. They could go a long way on their lean, strong legs.

Lucky stumbled, tumbling almost onto his knees. He scrabbled upright, his eyes rolling in fear.

Run!

He plunged ahead, the trail lost, his only thought to escape the wolves.

Run!

Suddenly he was startled by a newcomer, a young deer that bolted in front of him. It bounded through the trees, terrified, as it picked up the scent of the wolves.

The four timber wolves – their hunger growing – were distracted by the thought of easier prey. They veered after the deer and chased it down the side of a steep gully.

Lucky kept running, his chest tight and his legs aching. He crashed through bushes and dodged trees until his sides heaved and dots of foam flecked his sweat-darkened neck. He ran until he could run no more.

Then he stood, head hanging.

Night closed in around the abandoned pony. He was worn out. He desperately needed water. And he had no idea where he was or where to go.