Brooke’s heart faltered as she gazed in bewilderment at the black halter and lead rope dangling lifelessly from the wooden post. Was this a joke? Black was one of her favorite colors, but she didn’t need another halter and rope. Seeing the happy faces of her parents, Brooke tried to swallow her disappointment. “Um, thanks,” she said halfheartedly. “They are nice.”
“They? Nice?” Dad looked puzzled. “Don’t you like her?”
Brooke shook her head in frustrated confusion. Why was Dad referring to a halter and lead rope as “her”? Was this a trick birthday present?
Dad’s bushy eyebrows furrowed as he glanced at Brooke and then went into the barn. He picked up the halter, turned it over in his hands, and let it drop back against the post before disappearing into the dark interior of the barn.
Brooke watched Mom and Skye as they walked to the barn. They appeared to be as stunned as Dad by this turn of events. Joining them, she asked, “What’s going on?”
Mom shrugged her shoulders. “Believe it or not, we had a lovely new mare for you tied to this post, but obviously, she didn’t want to stand here and wait for us. She must have rubbed her halter off.”
Brooke picked up the empty halter and hung it over her elbow. Gripping the lead rope with both hands, she yanked hard to loosen the slipknot to release it from the post. Despite the dull pain in her left shoulder, Brooke couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having a horse of her own again! She glanced around the barn, looking for clues that would point her in the direction of her horse. Since the front doors had been closed, the horse could not have escaped in that direction. As Brooke coiled the rope in her hands, she saw Dad return from the back of the barn. She took a step toward him, eager to see her new horse.
“Water disappearing. A missing horse. What’s next?” Dad muttered as he stopped beside her. “I’m sorry, Brooke. I checked all the stalls and even the tack room. There is no sign of her.”
Brooke peered into the shadows of the barn. Disappearing water? A missing horse? Did her horse run off with the water bucket?
Dad continued. “I did find the back door open just wide enough for a horse to squeeze through. I think she must have gone outside in search of water.”
Brooke’s eyes widened in alarm. The pasture behind the barn had over ten horses in it. Adding a new horse into a herd that size was like dropping a lit match on a pile of dry leaves. Horses could be vicious toward any new arrival. They would chase, bite, and kick the new horse until it learned where it stood in the pecking order, usually at the bottom. It was far better to introduce the newcomer to a couple of horses first.
“Dad, we have to find her,” Brooke pleaded. Pictures of a bruised and bleeding horse flashed through her mind.
Dad put his arm around her shoulders and reassured her. “Don’t worry, Brooke. We’ll find her.”
Brooke barely held in a frustrated laugh. Don’t worry? That would be tough. While she knew they would find her horse, she was concerned what condition she would be in when they did. It only took one well-placed kick to break a horse’s leg.
Dad began to give orders. “Skye, go with Mom and check the north side of the pasture. Brooke, you come with me. We’ll check the watering hole on the south end. I suspect that is where she will be.”
Thwack! Brooke dropped the halter and lead rope as she ran to the back of the barn and went outside. Shielding her eyes from the brilliant sunlight, she scanned the horizon, looking for a lone horse. Since the ranch’s yard sat on top of a hill, she had a clear view of the green pastures and hay meadows that stretched to the hills that banked the Silverton River.
Realizing she didn’t know what her horse looked like, Brooke called out, “Hey, Dad. What color is my horse?” Hearing no answer, she looked over her shoulder and saw him walking down a dirt path to the watering hole. She scanned the fields one more time and turned quickly to join Dad.
A sharp yelp sounded from under Brooke’s feet. Startled, she glanced down and saw Chinook, the family’s rusty-red Corgi dog, holding up one of her white paws. Since she was longer than she was tall, she could be hard to see.
“Sorry, girl.” Brooke reached down to pat her head and examine her paw. When she saw that Chinook was okay, she hurried after Dad. Chinook followed in hot pursuit. For a small dog, she was never far from the action because she loved to chase anything that moved.
“Do you think my horse could have made it to the river, Dad?” Brooke gasped as she struggled to catch her breath.
Dad pointed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Judging by the dust cloud at the watering hole, something has the horses riled up. Likely, that’s where she is. We’d better get down there.”
Brooke half-sprinted to keep up with Dad as she followed him down the pasture trail. When they stopped, she could see the watering hole better. The horses were dashing back and forth in a wild, deadly game of tag. The willow trees surrounding the pool of water stretched out their leafy fingers, ready to snatch anything that got too close.
Brooke swallowed hard. “Dad, we have to do something.” She didn’t want to lose another horse, but entering that commotion would be foolish. Maybe Dad could do something if he got his horse, Chocolate. As she turned to give voice to her idea, Chinook whizzed past her, charging into the confusion. It was impossible to see her in the puffs of gray cloud rising from the ground, but she could hear Chinook’s ferocious bark, first on one side and then the other. It wasn’t long before she had the horses headed north in a charging stampede.
“That silly dog,” Dad said. “She’s going to get hurt one of these days, chasing those horses like that. But this will be one time I won’t get after her. She’s got them headed right to the corrals. That’s the only place we’ll be able to get your horse separated from them. Come on! We’d better help her.”
Brooke was about to follow when she heard a lonely whinny from the direction of the watering hole. “Dad, wait! There’s still a horse down there.” She ran down the hill, stopping as she came to the tangled maze of willow trees. Peering through the twisted branches, a swish of movement caught her eye. Fighting through limbs that smacked her back as she passed by and dodging roots that threatened to trip her, Brooke hurried through the web of trees.
“Whoa, girl,” Brooke said in a low, calm voice as she slowed down and cautiously approached a reddish-brown horse that stood in a thick clump of willow trees. The horse turned its head and nickered. The soft vibrating sound coming from its throat told Brooke the horse was happy to see her. She reached out her hand and brushed the black mane out of the horse’s face. She noticed that it looked like someone had taken a paintbrush and dabbed a twinkling white star between the horse’s eyes. Brooke continued to check the horse for injuries but could not find any. The horse was putting weight on all its legs, so why wasn’t she moving? Brooke continued to rub the horse’s head as she moved to the other side.
“Oh, no! How did you do that?” Brooke stared in disbelief. The horse was firmly wedged in the middle of the bushes. There was no way it could get free on its own. She tried to pull on the limbs of one tree to free the horse, but she didn’t have enough strength. Taking a step back, Brooke saw that it would be impossible for her to release the horse without more help. She waited for Dad to arrive because she didn’t want to leave the horse alone.
“I see it, but I don’t believe it,” Dad’s voice rumbled as he broke through the tree web. “In all my years, I have never seen a horse get trapped in a tree.” He chuckled. “Well, this isn’t exactly how I planned it, Brooke, but here is your new horse. Her name is Jazz.”
Her horse? Brooke looked at Jazz in surprise. She had been so intent on wanting to free the horse she had failed to realize it might be hers. Thankful to have found her horse unhurt, she began to stroke Jazz’s mane. “Don’t worry, girl. We’ll find a way to get you out.” She frowned at the willows that were holding Jazz captive. “Any ideas, Dad? I tried to pull the trees away, but they were too big.”
Dad shook his head. “I don’t think I have any other choice.”
“Can’t you get her out?” A shiver of foreboding crept up Brooke’s spine at the sight of Dad’s grim expression and his ominous words. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to get my chainsaw,” Dad said. “We’ll have to cut her out of the tree.”