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tighter ring, contemplating meall the while. I backed away faster. I was only ten feet away from the fence when the stallion charged. I bolted for the fence and dove under, the barbs catching on my shirt, scraping my back. I wiggled frantically, but the barbs caught on the belt of my jeans and held fast. The stallion’s hooves pounded against the ground. I tried to roll sideways to loosen the barbs, struggling to get most of my body underneath the fence. I knew that the stallion could still reach me, though. He could kick or trample me—those hooves would pummel me to a pulp.
    I looked up in terror as the enormous creature pounded toward me and I fought to get under the wire, thrashing my legs, yanking the wire upward.
    The red chestnut mare bolted suddenly, right into the stallion’s path. He reared to avoid hitting her, clouds of dust billowing up as he twisted and plunged sideways. She streaked away from him across the prairie. Distracted from his goal of cutting me to pieces, the stallion shot after his runaway mare at a furious gallop. She squealed as hesank his teeth into her flank and turned her back toward the band.
    I pushed upward on the wire with all my strength. There was a ripping noise as the cloth finally gave way and I rolled to safety on the other side of the fence.
    Sort of.
    Grandpa was striding toward me, outraged disbelief on his face. “Reese!” he shouted. I cringed as he grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. “What were you thinking!” he bellowed. “You could have been killed!” Without waiting for an answer, he wrapped me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. I could feel Grandpa’s heart hammering against his ribs, and instantly I knew that he had been really scared.
    â€œI’m sorry, Grandpa,” I said, my voice muffled in his shirt.
    Grandpa released me and swallowed hard. “Are you all right?”
    I nodded, but I realized as I did that at least half a dozen places on my body stung badly, my shirt was torn to ribbons and stained with dirt and my own blood, and my hands werered with welts from the wire. “It hurts a bit,” I admitted.
    â€œI have some iodine that I keep in the truck. I’ll paint you up, and that’ll hold you till we get home.” Grandpa headed back in the direction of the truck.
    As I hobbled after him, I glanced back at the herd of mustangs. The chestnut mare had managed to evade any more punishment from the stallion, and once she was back in the band, he seemed satisfied. The stallion was moving the herd up the gully and over the ridge, deeper into the military’s land.
    Grandpa rummaged in the glove compartment and found an ancient bottle of iodine. I set my teeth as he dabbed it on the worst of the scratches.
    â€œThis is gonna hurt,” Grandpa warned. I nearly howled as he painted the deep cut on my lower back where the barbed wire had caught in my now-tattered jeans.
    â€œWhy do you suppose she did that?” I gasped through the stinging pain.
    â€œWho did what?” Grandpa said, capping the bottle. “All done.”
    â€œThe mare. Running past the stallion like that. She probably saved my life.”
    â€œI know,” Grandpa said soberly. “For one terrible minute I thought you wouldn’t make it. I was trying to get there first, but I’m no match for a charging stallion.” Grandpa paused.
    I didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Let’s go home,” I said.

chapter six
    â€œNext rider in the ring, number 81, Taylor Jennings on Fraggle Rock.” The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers.
    I peeked into the arena. It was similar to ours, but Greenbriar’s jumps had all been decorated with pots of silk flowers for the competition. It looked colorful and festive—a lot different from the usual training ring.
    I adjusted my paper number carefully so it wouldn’t rip. It was tied with narrow, dark coloredstring