Foghorn Flattery and the Dancing Horses by Barbara Steiner

Author:Barbara Steiner
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497620049
Publisher: Open Road Media

CHAPTER

11

We started down the darkened midway, me leading Favory Maximilian. He trotted along, and I was thankful he was easy to handle. Maybe no temperamental stallions trained as performers. I thought of the difficult horses we saw in our movies at home, some of the wild stallions I had seen films of, and knew how I would never be able to lead any of them on a jump rope or any other kind of rope. Some of the movements that the Lippizaners used in their shows, such as the courbette, where they rear up on hind legs, came from when they did fight in the wild. But apparently any wildness had been bred out of them.

Foghorn half-ran beside me. He looked right and left and glanced behind us, making sure we weren’t being followed. It had gotten quiet amazingly fast as soon as the circus show was over. I assumed the circus had had an afternoon show as well, so they were all probably exhausted. I was beginning to feel pretty tired myself. It had been a long day.

We had almost reached the cover of the woods, when someone yelled. “Hey, come back here with that horse!”

“Run, C. C.!” Foghorn took off, leading the way.

The voice belonged to Brown Gloves, and I didn’t need any urging to hurry. Our only chance was to get deeper into the woods where we could lose him. I tugged on the rope, and the horse trotted behind me willingly.

There was a full moon, but the beams of light didn’t do a lot of good as soon as the forest closed around us. We had to slow down a little, but since Brown Gloves would be able to hear us crashing along, we might do better to sneak more than run.

Pine needles underfoot padded our steps to some extent. As my eyes adjusted to the shadows, the trees took on strange, ghostly shapes. Black trunks leaped up before us. Limbs stretched and reached, grabbing at us, clutching as we dodged and wove our way through the forest.

Despite his poor eyesight, Foghorn seemed to have better night vision than I did. We hadn’t gone far before he grabbed my hand and pulled me off the tiny path we’d been following. We half-walked, half-slid down a steep hill, then followed a ravine to where it came to a dead end. It could be a dangerous hiding place if someone was right behind us and heard us veer off the path. We’d be trapped.

I caught my breath, trying to suck in air without wheezing. My heart was pounding up around my temples, making my head seem to vibrate. I was sure it was booming so loud anyone within a mile could hear it.

“Keep Max quiet.” Foghorn risked a whisper.

At that moment, I realized Foghorn hadn’t touched the stallion since he’d felt the L on his cheek. I had done all the mothering—if you could call it that. Smiling at the idea of my being Max’s mother, I made a mental note to remember to ask Foghorn later if he was afraid of horses.

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