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DeerpathRanch and the Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary, they’d be easier to catch. Mrs. Allen’s road was fenced on both sides. Sam knew, because she’d helped build that fence.
    But a sprint for Deerpath Ranch meant the horses would cross the highway. Though there wasn’t likely to be much traffic, five horses could get into a lot of trouble if there were.
    No, even though it would be tougher to gather them, Sam hoped the horses would keep moving along the river toward Three Ponies Ranch.
    Amigo tossed his head against the reins, eager to follow the other horses.
    Sam smooched to Amigo. He swiveled one ear to listen, but she could feel his impatience.
    â€œLet them get settled,” she told him. “Then we’ll just herd them back toward home.”
    Finally she let Amigo start toward the others. She kept him at a walk until, up ahead, Strawberry veered into the river.
    They were near enough now that Sam heard the mare blow through her lips as she lowered her head to drink.
    Sam sighed as first Jeep, then Ace and Sweetheart followed Strawberry. Finally Popcorn joined them, grazing on the soft summer grass hidden among the riverside stones.
    â€œEasy, easy,” Sam told Amigo.
    By the time they reached them, the horses showedno signs of bolting.
    Tree-strained sunlight dappled their backs and they barely raised their heads at Amigo’s approach.
    Popcorn lowered himself into the shallows and rolled in the mud.
    It wasn’t the first time Sam had seen the albino gelding change his coat from milky brightness to a calico of green and brown streaks from mud and river grass. Popcorn lurched upright and shook like a dog, splattering them with drops of muddy water.
    Still, Sam didn’t rush the horses.
    A taste of freedom could make them hungry for more or, if she gave them half an hour to graze and wade, they might be willing to mosey on home.
    At last she reined Amigo behind the group and gradually rode closer. The horses moved off in the general direction of the ranch.
    So far, so good. Sam scanned the empty range for distractions. No cattle, no cars on the highway.
    Strawberry snorted at the flick of a ground squirrel disappearing behind a boulder, and Sam leaned forward in the saddle. For some reason, the saddle herd followed the roan mare as their leader. If she made a break for open country, they’d be right behind her.
    The horses kept moving. If everything stayed this way, she could bring them home.
    Ace was the first to break into a jog. His bay head swung as if he were checking the mountain range formustangs, but he followed Strawberry.
    Sam increased the pressure of her legs just slightly and Amigo lengthened his strides. All of the horses fell into a lazy jog toward home.
    Hooves made sucking sounds in the mud, struck submerged rocks, then dry dirt. Ears up, knees lifting, Strawberry began loping toward the bridge over the La Charla River.
    â€œAlmost there, almost,” Sam murmured as Popcorn, who’d stayed toward the back of the herd, broke into a lope and caught up with Strawberry. With a quick flattening of her ears, she told him to back off, and though he was definitely headed for River Bend Ranch, he shortened his strides and didn’t pass the invisible barrier that ran even with the roan mare’s tail.
    They were almost there when the metallic glitter of a truck, approaching from the direction of Linc Slocum’s Gold Dust Ranch, caught Sam’s eye.
    Ace stopped. Ears pricked so intently that the tips trembled, he stared at the champagne-colored truck, looked away after the other horses, then considered the truck again, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
    It figured. Linc Slocum was the richest rancher in this part of Nevada, maybe in the entire state, and though he longed to be considered a real cowboy, Sam was pretty sure it would never happen.
    If there was a way to mess up the business of ranching—of dealing with the land, animals,