Dark Days at Saddle Creek. Shelley Peterson

whining dog spoke. We call him Sox.

      The lead dog slowly wagged his tail. He’s a good horse. Come with us. We know the way.

      Bird followed them.

      “How did you do that?!” Sally stood still. She looked bewildered and afraid.

      “Are you coming or not?”

      “Aren’t they vicious?”

      “No. They’re good guard dogs.”

      Sally was still unsure. She tentatively stuck her foot onto the Moreland property. When the dogs ignored her she quickly caught up to Bird. “I don’t know what you did or how you did it. Everybody knows these dogs are killers!”

      Bird was too busy to respond. Are people here?

       They sleep.

       Are there cameras to watch our actions?

      The leader answered, Up in that corner.

      Bird looked. A camera was mounted in the corner of the doorframe, but it looked dusty and disused. There was no light to indicate it was working. It was too late anyway. If it was working, it already had their faces on tape.

      Bird and Sally followed the dogs along the hall and around a corner until they stopped at a stall door and sat. Bird looked inside. Tall Sox?

      A dark horse with a wide white stripe down his nose turned and gave her a looking-over. In the dim light he appeared to be in good shape. As well as the white blaze, he had tall white markings on all four legs. Tall Sox. Apt name, thought Bird. She guessed that he was a thoroughbred, built for speed and agility, and was probably close to ten or eleven years old.

      Now the horse answered, Tall Sox is what humans call me. Animals call me Sox. When I raced against all the others, my name was Silk Stockings. That was a long time ago.

      So she was right — he was a thoroughbred racehorse. And friendly. He didn’t seem to have a bad attitude. Why would a horse like this become a problem?

       Do you have soreness or pain anywhere?

       Once I bowed a tendon. That’s when I stopped racing. It hurt.

       But now?

       I feel good all over, except for a sore spot on my back.

      Bird noted that he had an exceptionally handsome face, and clear, intelligent eyes. She asked another question. This girl beside me. Do you like her?

       She is not a good rider, but she is kind. I will look after her if I’m allowed.

       And the man we call Dexter Pill? Do you like him?

      Tall Sox backed into the far corner of his stall and began to shake.

      Bird reassured him. He’s not here.

       I do not like him. He puts something sharp on my back where he sits. It hurts when I move. It doesn’t hurt now, but it aches.

       Can I look? I want to help.

      Yes.

      Bird opened the stall door and entered. She gently worked her fingers along his back in the saddle area. Tall Sox flinched. There! That’s where it hurts!

      There was a raw spot in his coat. It was warm to the touch, and swollen. Bird felt the sticky residue of blood. With this sore, right where the saddle would sit, any horse would react to the pain. She gasped. Had Dexter Pill purposely made this horse misbehave?

      Sox, messaged Bird. Dexter is going to take you away tomorrow. Do you want to go with him?

      No. I don’t trust him.

       Then can you come home with me now?

       Where do you live?

      Bird knew that the unknown was sometimes worse than the known to a horse, however bad the known might be. Not far. I live with Sundancer and Moonlight Sonata.

       I know them. And now I know you. You go by the name of Bird.

       Yes.

       I will come with you.

       Let’s go now, before anybody wakes up.

      Bird opened the stall door wide and together they walked out.

      “What are you doing?” asked Sally, aghast. “You can’t just kidnap him!”

      Bird looked at the girl, surprised. “Then what do you want to do? Why are we here? Tell me.”

      “I don’t know,” Sally whined. She seemed confused and fidgety. “Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong with him? You said you could help!”

      Bird felt the girl’s uncertainty, and took her time to explain the obvious. “You told me they’re taking him away first thing in the morning. If he’s here in the morning, that’s what’ll happen.”

      Sally nodded jerkily and began to speak quickly. “Okay. You’re right. I know! I’ll clean out his stall and fix it up so the grooms will think it was meant to be like this. Then they won’t call for help right away. I mean, if it looks messy and everything, it’ll look like he was kidnapped. Like he was.”

      Bird said, “Great idea. I’ll start walking with Tall Sox, and you catch up when you can.”

      “You’d leave me alone in the dark?”

      “We don’t have a lot of time, Sally.”

      She nodded. “Okay, I’ll be quick. But go slow!”

      “Okay.” Bird walked down the hall with the gelding following. Horses nickered softly from their stalls as he said goodbye to his barn-mates. Once outside, the guard dogs escorted them to the path.

      Thanks, Bird messaged. Watch out for the girl, and make sure she gets back here safely. And try not to make her nervous.

      They wagged their tails. Yes, of course. Then they were gone, silently, into the barn.

      Bird picked up Hannah’s bike, and she and Tall Sox began to walk along the road. He kept close to her, and together they enjoyed the silence of the night until they heard the sound of bicycle tires on gravel behind them.

      “I made it look perfect!” exclaimed Sally. She jumped off Bird’s bike and walked along with them. “They won’t notice anything unusual until Dexter comes to get him.”

      “Good work,” said Bird. “That gives us a little time to figure things out.”

      “What things?” asked Sally.

      Bird stared at her. Sally seemed to be completely unable to think ahead. “Things like, what to do with your horse,” she replied, trying not to get irritated. “How we get Hannah to agree to keep him at Saddle Creek. How we convince your father that Tall Sox is not a crazy, untrainable horse that needs to be euthanized. How we get your mother’s car home. Things like that.”

      “Oh my gosh. You’re right.” Sally began to fret. “Oh my gosh. What’ll we do?”

      “Can you drive your mother’s car home? I mean, without killing yourself?”

      “Of course I can! I drove it here in the first place.”

      “This might be a bad idea,” Bird said, “but why don’t you leave Tall Sox with me and drive your mom’s car home. Slowly. And I mean slowly, Sally.”

      “I’m insulted you think I’m such a bad driver.”

      “That’s not important,” said Bird. “What is important is to think out a good plan for Tall Sox.”

      “Oh, yeah,