Autumn in Snake Canyon

By Angela Dorsey

Evy has a couple of BIG problems.

First, her orphaned moose calf is causing her a world of trouble. Her mom is ready to lock him up and
throw away the key.

Second, Evy discovers that her mom’s art dealer is stealing money from them, and even worse, he’s
purposefully destroying her mom’s confidence in her art.

How can Evy prove his crime? Maybe with a little help from her friends, both horses and human – and one very rambunctious moose calf. Maybe moose trouble is exactly what her family needs!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Enchanted Pony Books
• Release date: Aug 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781927100226

Book preview

AUTUMN IN SNAKE CANYON

Whinnies on the Wind Series: Volume 4

by Angela Dorsey

Copyright 2012 Angela Dorsey

www.aydorsey.com

Published by Enchanted Pony Books

www.ponybooks.com

License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Autumn in Snake Canyon

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Winter of Sinking Waters

Also Available by Angela Dorsey

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Does treachery bloom?

Dark flowers

steeped in poison.

Loyalty slips to shadow,

hides behind tree trunks,

inside hollow logs.

Devotion rushes to

the dark side of the moon,

cowers unseen.

Truth

lies

undiscovered.

Chapter 1

I didn’t know that my mom’s sedate mare, Cocoa, could jump so high, but there she was, sailing over her pasture fence with at least a foot between her and the top rail. She looked like an expensive show jumper except for her unbraided mane and tail and the expression of horror on her face.

Tumpoo, her moosey pursuer, wasn’t quite so elegant. He scrambled over the fence like a knobbly-kneed, four-legged, spastic spider. Not over the top rail, though – that he simply sent flying with his newly muscled shoulders. On the other side, he straightened his long legs and looked around for his victim. The moment he spied her standing in the middle of the unfenced part of our meadow, desperately seeking a safe place to hide, he bawled with undisguised glee and trotted jauntily toward her.

Tumpoo! I yelled in exasperation. Leave her alone!

The moose ignored me, but Cocoa didn’t. She spun toward me and with a whinny of relief, sprinted in my direction, whickering for help as she galloped. When she screeched to a halt in front of me, I petted her already-dark-with-sweat neck.

It’s okay, girl. I’ll save you.

Cocoa shook her chocolate brown head and snorted snotty flecks all over me in appreciation. I patted her big behind as I stepped past her to face down my once small moose calf.

Tumpoo charged toward me, his mischievous eyes locked on Cocoa, who now trembled behind me, doing the horsey equivalent of praying for the mean moose to go away. His muscles moved like thick, knotted ropes beneath his glossy fur, and for a moment I wondered how it had happened so fast. He used to be so little and cute, so delicate and frail. My baby was growing up.

I pulled myself out of daydream land and waved my arms. He didn’t slow down. I yelled. Finally he noticed me and stopped – mere seconds before he ran me over, I might add.

What are you doing, Tumpoo? I asked, with my hands on my hips in my best imitation of Mom. Maybe if I acted like I had authority, he’d listen.

Nope. He turned and sauntered back to the barn, sending me the occasional sassy look over his shoulder.

It’s not easy having a moose for a pet, especially one who has a tendency to get bored and entertain himself by pushing, pursuing, or being pesky. In fact, he totally reminded me of Twilight, my almost-two-year-old buckskin filly, when she was feeling bratty. The only difference was that Tumpoo was like that all the time, plus with Twilight, I could always eavesdrop on her thoughts to find out what she was doing. I didn’t have that advantage with Tumpoo.

Yeah, I can understand horse thoughts. Yeah, it’s weird. I’ll talk more about exactly how weird later.

But right then I didn’t need to read Tumpoo’s mind to know what he was thinking. If I was going to ruin his game with Cocoa, he’d find something else fun to do – something even more destructive and irritating, no doubt. That’s the thing about wild animals. They not only haven’t learned to be polite, they see absolutely no reason to try. It’s beyond irritating.

Tumpoo doesn’t realize that he’s lucky. Wild moose his age are working all the time: finding food, watching for danger, and learning about survival from their mothers. Tumpoo, on the other hand? Well-fed, safe, and all too free to use his vast energy to keep himself entertained at everyone else’s expense. After I made the woodpile untippable, the front door of our cabin moose-proof, and stopped filling the big water trough so he had nothing to knock over, he simply looked for other forms of entertainment. The barn cats, Socrates and Plato, amused him for about thirty seconds and avoided him after that. Loonie, our ancient German shepherd, just barked at him, which he didn’t like. Mom and I refused to play his striking game with him. For days, Tumpoo wandered around the outside of the cabin, grumpy and beyond bored.

Then one day, he popped out from behind a tree and startled Cocoa, learning by happy accident that not all horses were tougher than he was. Rusty, my gorgeous gray gelding, simply ignored the brat, and if the moose calf threatened to upset his peace, he’d bite him. Twilight went straight to biting. No patient ignoring stuff for her. But Cocoa? Cocoa was a mild mannered, live-and-let-live creature, an eager napper and a reluctant nipper. She couldn’t imagine that Tumpoo would chase her for fun, and was totally convinced that he’d murder her if he caught her.

I turned back to give her a comforting rub behind her dark chestnut ears. She rolled her eyes at me, still a little freaked out. I could only hope that Tumpoo would tire of his bullying soon, because I knew exactly how much stress Cocoa was going through because of him. Her panic and nervousness still jittered through my body like an electrical current. The poor girl.

Come get some oats, Cocoa, I said, then sent a faint mental image to her of oats in her stall, hoping to make her feel better. She perked up immediately, and the two of us walked toward the barn. Cocoa lives for oats.

And now about my gift: yes, I can communicate with horses. With Rusty, Twilight, and Wildfire, who is now a wild horse, I can even speak a telepathic language. However, most horses think on too elemental and emotional a level to use words, especially the wild ones who have no contact with humans. This is how it feels to hear them: if a mustang rolls in the snow after a good run, the snow’s delicious coldness lingers on my back, the heat of the mustang’s muscles pulses in mine, the mustang’s enjoyment and pleasure lives in my mind. It’s really cool actually, especially now that I’ve learned to stop myself from being overtaken by their stronger emotions. That part kind of sucked.

Anyway, I’d just started speaking to other horses again – after a bad experience that I don’t want to tell again – and was being super careful to use soft and subtle images. And it was working.

When Cocoa and I entered the barn, Brat, I mean Tumpoo – who had been pushing against the barn stove’s chimney – rushed toward us. Cocoa’s fear lanced into my body, but I was able to push it down right away and it only gave me a glancing blow.

I stepped toward Tumpoo and put my hands out like signs. Stop! I commanded, though it sounded more like a panicked shriek.

Tumpoo stopped. Trying to exercise patience with all my might – I mean, he honestly thinks this is fun for everyone – I shoved him over so Cocoa felt safe enough to walk past him to her stall, then I ran to open her stall door before she got there. Of course, Tumpoo followed right behind me at a brisk trot. This was going to be close! Cocoa tossed her head up and looked back with wild eyes as I passed her, then broke into a trot too. I reached the door and jerked it open. Cocoa ducked inside and I slammed the door behind her, bumping her big bum and clipping Tumpoo’s nose.

The moose calf looked at me as if he couldn’t believe I’d ruined his fun again. You’re coming with me today, you big pest, I said and gave him a neck scratch, then a hug. You need to get out.

No mushy stuff for him. He bumped me away with his nose, then strode down the barn aisle toward the door.

Stay out of trouble, I called after him. Honestly, I’d give almost anything to be able to lecture Tumpoo for five minutes and have him understand me. I’d explain a few things to him that would make all of our lives easier. Like, clothes drying on the line aren’t food. The kitchen floor isn’t a bathroom. Cabbages aren’t wild beasts that you need to attack. You are neither a horse nor a predator of horses.

Ready to go? I asked Rusty, who was out grazing. Moments later, I heard hoofbeats, then Rusty and Twilight clattered into Rusty’s stall together. Rusty nickered eagerly. He was so ready to get out. I could hear him thinking that it had been days since he’d been out for a good run. Yeah, two days. And he had his big pasture, so it wasn’t like I was abusing him or anything. But at the same time, I could understand why he loved getting out. I was going to enjoy today too, as much as possible.

I saddled and bridled Rusty while Twilight looked over my shoulder and poked her golden face and jet-black nose into everything I was doing. She was trying to hurry me along, I think.

I didn’t bother putting a halter on her before we left. I needed her to babysit the brat. He’d never come on one of my trips to Kestrel’s house before and Twilight was good at keeping him out of trouble – as long as she could keep out of trouble herself, that is. On the ride over, they could run alongside me and Rusty, and play. They’d both use up some

Reviews for Autumn in Snake Canyon

[Jenny Guillemette · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love this book!! I've read all of your books except 2 and I love them all!