He had paced around and around the corral hundreds of times. He knew that the gate was open. He also knew that it was time to go. As he trotted through the open gate, he had only one thought: Get away from the smoke! Something told him to hurry, so he kept trotting through a field of tall brown grass that was so dry and brittle it scratched his legs. An eagle soared high above him, its white head gleaming. A mouse burrowed into the grass to get out of the way. No one else saw Lucky go by. At the bottom of the field, he crossed a creek bed that had dried up to a trickle. His hooves churned the last of the water to mud. When he scrambled up the far bank, he found another open gate, this one in the middle of a wire fence. On the other side of the fence was a thick pine and spruce forest. He gave one last lonely whinny, but no one answered him. He trotted through the gate into the forest. Lucky followed a rough, grassy road with two ruts made by the tires of Oliver’s ATV.
