The chestnut mare galloped across the flats outside Salt Lake City. “Go!” I pressed my heels to her sides, wrapped my fingers in her wild tangle of mane, and urged her on, my own hair whipping about my face. I laughed, thinking of the warm biscuits and gravy Ma would have ready when I got home. I’d give Marigold’s legs a good rubdown when we got back to the farm. Already I could feel her muscles unknotting beneath my hands. Marigold took the bit between her teeth and bolted. “Watch out!” I screamed, hauling her head to the side, desperate to turn her so she didn’t step in the — Marigold lurched as her foot hit the rabbit hole. With a sickening crack, she stumbled. Down she went, her eyes wild. I sailed over her shoulder, my mouth gaping as I tried to scream. Only a harsh gargle came out as I hit the ground. Clip-clop-clip-clop. For a moment I thought it was Marigold, trotting away without me. But the chink and jingle of harness and the rumble of a heavy cart made no sense.
