She groaned as she fumbled her way downstairs, glancing at the clock in the hall. Two o’clock in the morning! “Get a move on, Kirstie!” her brother, Matt, called from the porch. “You’re the one who wanted to see this, remember!” “Uh-uhh!” Eyes wouldn’t stay open; fingers refused to work. “I’ve got a problem pulling my boots on!” Matt grunted. “Follow me to the barn when you’re ready, OK?” Kirstie heard his footsteps cross the yard. Two o’clock! She should be fast asleep, not struggling with stupid boots. With three hard stamps she forced the second foot inside the tough leather casing, grabbed her cap from the hook by the door, and followed her brother outside. Stars. A crescent moon. No clouds. Kirstie’s slow brain registered the fine night. Pure habit took her from the ranch house across the yard to the open barn door. She yawned again, then shivered. It was cold at night, even in late April. Her breath came out as a small cloud of steam, and frost glinted on the cabin roofs up Apache Hill.
