Katie and the Mustang, Book 2 Read Online Free Page A

this would think I was touched. But it was true. I had no family anymore. Hiram was very kind to me, but he was not my father. “I don’t want to be alone,” I whispered, and the Mustang lowered his head and touched my cheek, his breath still coming fast from the gallop. “I am so scared to be all alone,” I breathed. And I held on to the Mustang’s mane and let myself cry hard—exactly the way I had back in the Stevenses’ barn.
    The Mustang did what he had done then. He stood still and let me lean against him. He was motionless for a long time, his head up, breathing in the scented air of dawn, touching the top of my head with his muzzle. When I stepped back, he began to graze again.

CHAPTER THREE

    There are many kinds of two-leggeds.
Some mean no harm. Others seem to mean nothing
else. It was wonderful to run free, but the scent of the
mares and the small one brought me back. I do not
want to be alone in a land of two-leggeds.
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    T he next night, I stood holding the tether line, letting the Mustang graze next to the mares as long as I could stay awake, then I tethered him near them—instead of near the wagon. I woke up worried, but he was still there, grazing peacefully with the wagon team.
    â€œIt’s natural for a stallion to want a band of mares,” Hiram said that morning. “Mares and a batch of healthy foals to protect.”
    Four nights later, I didn’t tether the Mustang at all. I stayed awake, watching him sleep next to the mares. Three or four times there was some little sound, a rustling in the grass or an owl dropping down to catch a mouse.
    The Mustang would open his eyes as though he hadn’t been asleep at all. His head would lift, and he’d wait, listening and watching and scenting the night air. Then, when he was sure there was no danger, he would close his eyes again. Now that he had mares to watch over and protect, the Mustang was calmer. I didn’t take his halter off because I was afraid he might not let me put it back on, but I untied the lead line. And every morning after that, he let me walk up to him while he stood calmly and tie it on again.
    Twice we had to ford rivers. The Mustang followed the wagon across, steady even when the water was deep. The horses all had to swim a little way to get over the second one. The wagon slewed with the current, and Hiram shouted at me to hang on. For a long instant, I thought we were going to wash downstream, then the horses’ hooves touched the bottom again, and the wheels began to turn. Hiram guided them up the muddy bank, keeping to the rutted tracks of wagons that had come before us.
    â€œToo close,” he said to me on the far side. “Far too close to calamity for me.”
    I jumped down from the wagon gate, my skirt soaked, my knees like rubber. We camped early and spread out our possessions and provisions on the grass to dry overnight.
    A few days after the second river crossing, we saw another group of wagons behind us. The day after that, there were wagons behind us and in front of us. It made the Mustang skittish, but not as much as I had feared. He was getting used to the sound and sight of people more than he ever could have locked away in a barn. When he was most nervous, he would walk right next to me, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck.
    One evening, we couldn’t find a place to camp that was out of earshot of the other wagons. The Mustang jittered all night long. He tried to watch all the strangers, tried to hear every footstep, every voice, turning and shifting his weight, pawing at the ground. It scared me. If something startled him when he was that uneasy...
    If he attacked anyone, someone would shoot him, and there would be little I could do about it. When other wagons were close, I stayed near him and warned people away if anyone tried to approach him. I stayed awake late enough to know that no one