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mentally retracing their journey. “Good Thunder Meadows and Susanville.”
    Good Thunder Meadows had a familiar ring to it, but Sam couldn’t decide why.
    â€œHe’s awfully young to be on his own,” Jen said.
    â€œWe searched for his mother,” Nicolas said. “There’d been a lightning storm and I feared…”
    Nicolas glanced toward the colt, then shrugged. Sam and Jen understood his hint that the foal’s mother might have been killed by lightning.
    â€œHmm,” Jen said, and Sam guessed her scowl was for whoever had failed to keep track of the vulnerable young animal.
    â€œI talked with a sheepherder, two days north of here, who called him a ‘bummer’ foal. He suggested the colt was orphaned and had fallen in with some mustangs and just sneaked meals from whichever mares would have him.”
    Sam had heard of bummer calves and lambs, but never a bummer colt.
    â€œFrom what we just saw,” Jen said, gesturing to the spot where the Phantom’s herd had been, “that seems unlikely.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Sam said, trying to take the sting out of Jen’s remark. “Those wild mares wouldn’t make it easy for an outsider because he’s old enough to be weaned. But when he was younger, they might have fed him. Remember Mistress Mayhem?”
    Jen had picked up a twig and she took her time examining the autumn leaves that still clung to it before she nodded.
    â€œA friend of ours has a colt that was temporarily adopted by a burro,” Sam explained to Nicolas, butthere was something else about the dun colt, all alone on the range, that started a niggling thought in her brain.
    â€œLace is tolerant when he noses around her flank, but he was very disappointed to find she couldn’t be his nursemaid. Still, he seems to have found enough food to get by.”
    Sam wanted a good look at the colt, but he stayed flat against the paint’s black-and-white barrel. No matter where she wandered, he pressed to the side farthest from the people.
    Jen tossed the twig she’d been twirling toward the fire.
    â€œWhat do you call him?” Jen asked.
    â€œHe’s not mine to name.” Nicolas sounded surprised. “I hope he’ll go back to the wild ones, because soon we’ll be trotting along the roadside, with traffic buzzing by.”
    Recalling the colt’s heedless rush across the clearing, Sam hoped so, too.
    â€œYou’re right. We’re not far from the highway,” Sam said.
    â€œOr home,” Jen added pointedly.
    â€œYeah,” Sam said, but she wasn’t sure she had enough energy to ride the rest of the way tonight.
    While Jen explained the purpose of their trip and the unplanned “adventure” of the last eight hours, she picked up another stick and poked the leafy twig the rest of the way into the campfire.
    The leaves burned with a hiss while Sam thought of cuddling down in her own bed.
    Nicolas seemed as interested in turkey vultures as Jen, until a coyote’s howl nearby made him turn away.
    Jen shot Sam a questioning look, but then Nicolas turned back.
    â€œWere you planning to make the rest of your ride tonight?” he asked.
    â€œYes,” Jen answered.
    â€œNo,” Sam said at the same time.
    Nicolas chuckled.
    â€œYou’re welcome to roll out your sleeping bags at my fireside,” he invited.
    Sam scooted forward on the boulder and tilted her head to see Jen’s face.
    â€œDo you really want to keep going?” Sam asked.
    â€œWe’ve probably seen the last of the turkey vultures,” Jen pointed out.
    â€œBut Jen, the horses are tired and no one’s expecting us until tomorrow.”
    Jen shot Sam a glare.
    Sam sighed. “Okay, I don’t want to get in trouble again.”
    Sam wished she hadn’t said that, either. She sounded like a little kid. Still, it was the truth. She couldn’t stand being grounded.
    But why