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on? Was the mare sicker than she looked? Had she simply lost the will to fight?
    A breeze blew and dry aspen leaves applauded overhead, reminding Sam that it was autumn. Soon, the Phantom and his herd would leave for their wintering spot and this mare should go with them, even if she couldn’t lead, because there was no way in the world she could keep this mustang secret until next spring.
    She didn’t have time to puzzle everything out right here and now.
    â€œOkay baby, let’s take a few easy steps.”
    The mare responded to the rope’s pressure by walking gingerly, then taking a three-legged hop.
    â€œWe’ll just go over and get Ace,” she explained, “and you can follow him downhill to Mrs. Allen’s.”
    As she walked after Sam, the mare’s head bobbed downward on the left side, as if that would help her balance.
    â€œThere you go. No need to giddy up too fast,” Sam said.
    She couldn’t help thinking how weird it was that the Phantom’s lead mare acted almost domesticated.
    Forget about it, Sam ordered herself. She didn’t have to touch the mare’s swollen leg to know it was hot and painful. The sooner she got it washed, treated,and bandaged, the sooner the mare could catch up with the Phantom. Then she’d be herself again.
    â€œAnd I promise you, beauty,” Sam said, “if you want to go back to the wild, you’re going.”
    Sam and the honey-colored mare were halfway across the creek when the horse stopped, nearly jerking Sam off her freezing feet.
    The mare gave a loud, relieved sigh. Her shoulders shifted forward and her head sagged almost to the water’s surface.
    â€œDoes that cold water feel good?” Sam asked through nearly chattering teeth.
    If the creek flow cooled the horse’s wounded flesh, Sam guessed she could just stand here and shiver for a little while.
    After all, she remembered the times she’d applied ice packs or even a plastic bag of frozen vegetables to her basketball injuries. She couldn’t help sympathizing with the mare, even though her own feet felt like blocks of ice and then, after a few minutes, like big numb lumps where her shins entered the water.
    â€œIt’s getting cleaner,” Sam said as the water swirled around the mare’s legs. But it would just get dirty again by the time she reached Mrs. Allen’s barn and the first aide kit she kept inside. Mentally, Sam sorted through the things she’d brought with her. What could she use to pad and protect the mare’s injury?
    â€œSocks!” Sam said, and when the mare shied, sheresolved to stop talking.
    Along with her binoculars and a granola bar, she had a pair of fresh socks in her saddlebag. They were wool, and they might be scratchy against the open wound, but not if she ripped a piece off her shirt and tied it over the wound before she wrapped the sock on.
    Suddenly, the mare lurched toward shore and Sam hurried to keep up.
    â€œCareful, careful,” Sam cautioned the horse. One slip caused by that weak front leg and they could both go down. It was unlikely they’d drown, but it sure wouldn’t be much fun.
    The mare stopped beside Ace. While the two horses sniffed each other all over, Sam took the opportunity to put her boots back on. She didn’t need them to ride Ace, and it would put her in a vulnerable position for a few minutes, but she felt safe here, and pretty sure she could keep hold of the rope and tug on her boots at the same time.
    â€œThank goodness,” she moaned when she managed to stand and stomp her cold toes down into her boots.
    But it wasn’t her stamping that made both horses recoil. They heard rustling in the leaves overhead. It wasn’t a morning breeze or a crow hopping on a branch, either.
    Sam’s right hand clamped onto her rope while her left snagged Ace’s reins.
    Looking up, she searched for whatever wasmoving. And she walked backward. So what if