The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

      Abby screeched her brakes to a halt.

      Christine had driven back and forth along the road twice now. She had little idea of what might be happening, but she wanted to be at hand, just in case.

      Suddenly, off the road directly beside her, the unmistakable sound of a gun shattered the peace. The hair all over her body stood on end. She stopped breathing. Slowing the car, Christine pulled over to the side of the road. She put it in park and waited, trying to reason out a course of action and fearing the worst.

      When the shotgun came up, Cody dove for Owens’ leg, throwing him off balance. The resounding roar momentarily deafened them all, but the buckshot flew harmlessly into the treetops.

      Furiously, Owens began to hit Cody with the barrel of the gun. The coyote’s teeth were imbedded in Owens’ calf and he was not about to release his jaws. Owens aimed the gun, prepared to empty the remaining shot into the small grey animal. There were more cartridges in his pocket for Dancer.

      Dancer was galvanized by the tremendous noise. He shook his head, clearing away the last remnants of dizziness. He gathered himself onto his powerful haunches and sprang up the side of the pit in one stride. He sized up the situation and took immediate action. His left hind leg shot out and thumped Owens sharply in the chest.

      Owens’ mouth formed an “O.” Cody let go of Owens’ leg and dashed to Abby, where he positioned himself squarely between his idol and danger.

      Dancer gauged his target perfectly, striking again with his left hind, this time at Owens’ abdomen. Doubling over in pain, Owens tumbled into the very pit that he had dug for Dancer. As he fell, the second shell exploded, the sound muffled by the walls of earth.

      Abby stood immobilized. She looked at Dancer. Magnificent, incredible Dancer. He stood tall and bloodied, head up, ears forward, nostrils flaring. His gaze met Abby’s. “Good boy, Dancer. Good boy,” she whispered. Dancer appeared to nod, then, in the blink of an eye, disappeared along the path toward home.

      Cody grabbed her hand with his mouth and began to pull. “You’re a good boy, too, Cody. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

      Christine sat rigid in her car, hands gripping the steering wheel in a death vice. Two shots. She didn’t have her cell phone with her to call the police. She’d have to go home to call, but she didn’t want to leave. Should she go into the woods? Was Abby in there? She didn’t want to rush in to face a person with a gun, but she couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

      Her dilemma was solved as Dancer, bloody but sound, shot out onto the road in front of her car. With hardly a glance at her, he abruptly turned and galloped down the gravel road toward home.

      Abby was next, frantically pedalling her bicycle, followed by Cody, blood dripping from his mouth.

      Christine threw the car into drive and sped after them. Pulling up beside Abby, she hollered, “Abby! What happened?” Abby’s frightened face looked back at her. She was breathing hard, and spoke in gasps while continuing to pedal down the road. “Oh my gosh, Mrs. James. It’s Mr. Owens! I don’t know if he’s hurt or dead, or what. He has a shotgun and Dancer kicked him into the pit and the gun went off and we ran. I couldn’t bear to look.”

      “Abby, stop your bike. I have to know what happened.”

      Abby did what she was told and unfolded the story as coherently as she could manage.

      When she was finished, Christine thought for a moment. “Go up to Hogscroft and stay there. Call the vet. I’ll be there shortly.” She turned her car around. “Oh, Abby! Before you do anything else, call the police and send them here! I’ll wait by the road to show them the location of the pit.”

      She parked beside the path. As the minutes passed, Christine grew more and more restless. She couldn’t just sit here while a human being, even a despicable man like Owens, lay injured and needing medical help. He may have accidentally shot himself. Since Dancer had kicked him in the chest and stomach, Christine imagined internal bleeding, cardiac arrest, hemorrhage, punctured lungs. Finally, unable to wait any longer, Christine got out of the car and walked briskly down the path.

      Christine reached the huge hole in the ground. The woods were silent. Not even a bird peeped.

      Is Owens already dead? She could hardly dare to look, but she knew she must. Now that she saw the depth of the hole, she wondered about broken bones or a fractured skull. She listened intently. Not a sound.

      Christine picked up a leafy branch and waved it over the mouth of the pit. Nothing. No gunfire, no yelling, no cry for help. Nothing.

      Gathering her courage, Christine knelt at the edge and looked over. It was dark inside. She peered intently, trying to make out the shape of a body. She saw nothing.

      “Samuel?” she called. “Mr. Owens?” No answer.

      Duty done, she rose to her feet and began to hurry back to her car. But it bothered her that she couldn’t see the bottom of the hole clearly. She turned, thinking that she should do a complete search. She didn’t want to hear later that she’d left a badly injured man to die.

      Christine slid down into the hole and carefully looked around. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, she marvelled that Dancer could ever have gotten himself out. The boulders were large and rugged, and she could see where his steel shoes had scraped and scuffed as he’d tried to free himself. Owens was definitely gone.

      Just as she began to climb out, a large shovelful of stony earth hit her on the head.

      “Hey!” Christine yelled. “Stop that!”

      Another load of earth came down, followed quickly by another, and another. More than one person was up there, filling the hole.

      “Hey! Stop it! Who’s there?”

      A rock hit her on the head and she lost consciousness.

      Police officers Milo Murski and John Bains pulled their cruiser up to the barn and parked it beside the veterinarian’s truck. They got out. A very agitated Abby emerged from the barn.

      “Abby Malone!” Milo greeted her warmly. Milo and Abby had become friends two years earlier when she’d solved the Bosco mystery, releasing her father from jail and putting Colonel Kenneth Bradley behind bars, where he still remained.

      “Mr. Murski, Mr. Bains! I’m so glad to see you! We’ve got to go!”

      “We got the call just a few minutes ago. We came as fast as we could.”

      “As fast as we could, considering we were making a drug arrest.” John Bains interjected dourly.

      Alan Masters, the vet, strode out of the barn to his truck. “I’ll finish up soon and be off, Abby. You go ahead. Dancer should be fine.” He opened the hatch and found the items he needed.

      “Thanks, Dr. Masters.” The experienced equine doctor would clean Dancer’s wounds, give him penicillin and painkillers, and stitch the gash on his head.

      “I’ll change the bandages tomorrow morning at eight, Abby, and take a look at how his wounds are healing.”

      Abby answered, nodding, “Okay, I’ll meet you here.”

      “Good day, Milo, John.” Alan greeted the policemen gravely as he returned to his work in the barn.

      “Good day to you, Alan,” responded Milo as John nodded.

      “Where’s that sidekick of yours, Wile E. Coyote?” inquired Milo with a friendly smile.

      “You mean Cody? He’s around, but we have to hurry. Samuel Owens dug a pit—I need to show you; it’s a long story. Can I tell it on the way?”

      Milo ground his teeth. “Any story concerning that man is a long story, and it rarely has a happy ending.” He opened the back door of the cruiser. “Hop in, Abby. Take us to the scene.”

      Abby filled them in as they drove. She tried