bathroom run? If so, where was her flashlight?
He watched her glance furtively around, then haul something from beneath the coach. A day pack. What the...? A chill snaked the length of Camp’s spine.
The girl shrugged into the pack and set off with purpose. Before she slipped out of sight, Camp made the decision to follow her.
He expected her to head for the highway, even though it was a five-mile hike. But she didn’t. She’d disappeared. Camp panicked. His heart jackhammered until Maizie’s string of saddle horses began to wicker, and he glimpsed Megan tiptoeing among them.
“Where’s the ruckus, boy?” Camp nearly jumped out of his skin as Maizie’s raspy whisper struck him. Wheeling, he blankly took in her frazzled gray hair and a ratty old sheepskin coat she had buttoned over a long flannel nightgown.
“Megan Benton,” he murmured. “She may be running away. Look there. She’s nabbed herself a getaway horse.”
Maizie chuckled. “The kid won’t go far on Dumpster. Robert’s hoping to unload that nag in Santa Fe. What’re you waitin’ for? I reckon you’ll catch her at the river.”
The rapidly fading hoofbeats spurred Camp to action. “Wake Emily. Tell her I’ll bring Megan back.”
The wagon mistress nodded.
Camp dashed off, thankful for the moonlight and the stillness of the night that let him follow the sound. Breathing hard, he added a burst of speed as he heard the horse snort and whinny, then falter. Obligingly, the river bank sloped gently. Not so much danger of the horse breaking a leg.
At last Camp saw Megan urging her mount into the water. He cupped his hands to yell and saw the horse slow. The animal pranced a bit, then abruptly sat down in the middle of the stream. A bright moon provided Camp with a ringside view. Megan lost her grip on the mane. Inch by inch she slid down the broad back, over the rump, and hit the water with a loud splat. She bobbed immediately to the surface, gasping and flailing her arms. The horse arched his neck and trotted blithely back to shore, uncaring that he’d left his rider behind, bobbing like a cork.
Camp had one boot off and was tackling the second when Emily stumbled through the tall grass, followed by Maizie, who puffed like a steam engine.
“What happened?” Emily’s face was pasty white.
Shaking his head, Camp splashed into the river after Megan, now drifting downstream.
Maizie finally caught her breath. “Told you,” she hollered at Camp around a chortle. “Trait of that horse is to sit every time he lands up to his knees in water. It’s why he’s named Dumpster. Hope the gal swims.” She sobered, peering at Emily.
Still not comprehending, Emily nodded dumbly.
Cold water lapped at Camp’s chest as he carried the coughing, sputtering girl to the bank.
Dumpster shook his head and danced out of reach. Maybe it was a trick of the moon, but Camp swore the roan’s lips peeled back in a grin. Camp wasn’t smiling, though, his eyes glued to Emily’s stricken expression.
“Why?” she asked in a shaky voice, stripping Megan of her soggy pack.
The teen glared defiantly. “I was going to town...to call Mona. This trip sucks. It’s hot and sticky, and the mosquitoes are as big as helicopters.” Huddled in her wet clothes, she burst into tears.
Camp figured Emily would crumble in the face of Megan’s crocodile tears. He pictured all three Bentons leaving the train in Council Grove.
“I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Megan.” Emily’s voice held an edge of steel. “I chose this outing, and I make the decisions for you and Mark until you’re of age. Your grandparents have no say in the matter. Now dry off and go to bed. Apologies can wait until morning.” Emily’s stiff gaze skimmed Maizie and Camp briefly before she grasped Megan by the arm and marched her off.
“Un-huh.” Maizie sounded satisfied. “Well, don’t just stand there, sonny. Rub that horse down and give him an added measure of oats.” She waddled off,
He watched her glance furtively around, then haul something from beneath the coach. A day pack. What the...? A chill snaked the length of Camp’s spine.
The girl shrugged into the pack and set off with purpose. Before she slipped out of sight, Camp made the decision to follow her.
He expected her to head for the highway, even though it was a five-mile hike. But she didn’t. She’d disappeared. Camp panicked. His heart jackhammered until Maizie’s string of saddle horses began to wicker, and he glimpsed Megan tiptoeing among them.
“Where’s the ruckus, boy?” Camp nearly jumped out of his skin as Maizie’s raspy whisper struck him. Wheeling, he blankly took in her frazzled gray hair and a ratty old sheepskin coat she had buttoned over a long flannel nightgown.
“Megan Benton,” he murmured. “She may be running away. Look there. She’s nabbed herself a getaway horse.”
Maizie chuckled. “The kid won’t go far on Dumpster. Robert’s hoping to unload that nag in Santa Fe. What’re you waitin’ for? I reckon you’ll catch her at the river.”
The rapidly fading hoofbeats spurred Camp to action. “Wake Emily. Tell her I’ll bring Megan back.”
The wagon mistress nodded.
Camp dashed off, thankful for the moonlight and the stillness of the night that let him follow the sound. Breathing hard, he added a burst of speed as he heard the horse snort and whinny, then falter. Obligingly, the river bank sloped gently. Not so much danger of the horse breaking a leg.
At last Camp saw Megan urging her mount into the water. He cupped his hands to yell and saw the horse slow. The animal pranced a bit, then abruptly sat down in the middle of the stream. A bright moon provided Camp with a ringside view. Megan lost her grip on the mane. Inch by inch she slid down the broad back, over the rump, and hit the water with a loud splat. She bobbed immediately to the surface, gasping and flailing her arms. The horse arched his neck and trotted blithely back to shore, uncaring that he’d left his rider behind, bobbing like a cork.
Camp had one boot off and was tackling the second when Emily stumbled through the tall grass, followed by Maizie, who puffed like a steam engine.
“What happened?” Emily’s face was pasty white.
Shaking his head, Camp splashed into the river after Megan, now drifting downstream.
Maizie finally caught her breath. “Told you,” she hollered at Camp around a chortle. “Trait of that horse is to sit every time he lands up to his knees in water. It’s why he’s named Dumpster. Hope the gal swims.” She sobered, peering at Emily.
Still not comprehending, Emily nodded dumbly.
Cold water lapped at Camp’s chest as he carried the coughing, sputtering girl to the bank.
Dumpster shook his head and danced out of reach. Maybe it was a trick of the moon, but Camp swore the roan’s lips peeled back in a grin. Camp wasn’t smiling, though, his eyes glued to Emily’s stricken expression.
“Why?” she asked in a shaky voice, stripping Megan of her soggy pack.
The teen glared defiantly. “I was going to town...to call Mona. This trip sucks. It’s hot and sticky, and the mosquitoes are as big as helicopters.” Huddled in her wet clothes, she burst into tears.
Camp figured Emily would crumble in the face of Megan’s crocodile tears. He pictured all three Bentons leaving the train in Council Grove.
“I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Megan.” Emily’s voice held an edge of steel. “I chose this outing, and I make the decisions for you and Mark until you’re of age. Your grandparents have no say in the matter. Now dry off and go to bed. Apologies can wait until morning.” Emily’s stiff gaze skimmed Maizie and Camp briefly before she grasped Megan by the arm and marched her off.
“Un-huh.” Maizie sounded satisfied. “Well, don’t just stand there, sonny. Rub that horse down and give him an added measure of oats.” She waddled off,
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