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animals. “Didn’t I see Mahoney look? And if your friend was there—well, he’d bide quiet till tonight, wouldn’t he? Slip into the wagon when I leave for the station. He’s nota complete fool. If he was, they’d have him already.”
    The cat looked over her shoulder. With another growl she disappeared around the corner. Moving deliberately, as if advertising to the world at large that everything was normal, absolutely normal, Dennis closed the stall door and limped after her.
    Phin hugged his knees tight, fighting the urge to run. He wasn’t good at this. Found again already; if he didn’t get out of here soon, he’d be found by the wrong person, or get some friend in trouble.
    But it was broad daylight, and he wasn’t a complete fool. Act that way. Think.
    He’d do what Dennis said, get to the rail yard, get on a train. How?
    Ride the rods; that was one way. There was a cradle of support struts under each car. You could hide there, inches above the rails. Men and boys had traveled the whole country that way—the lucky ones. Fall off, though, and they gathered you up in a basket. Phin shuddered. Not the rods. Not unless he had to.
    Thirsty. Hungry, too, in a distant way. He could smell the bacon warming inside his shirt, next to his body—
    â€”Engelbreit’s body would be cold by now—
    And he had to pee.
    No one was near. He could hear Dennis cleaning stalls in another part of the barn. He turned over, dampened the chaff beside him, rolled back to hug his knees. That was the best position. It held him together.
    The breaker whistle blew. Boys poured down the Street, running, yelling, fighting. A stickball game began outside. Horses returned from the day’s work. Phin heard their measured hoofbeats in the front aisle, snorts, harness shaking. Talk. He couldn’t catch much of it; just again and again, “Engelbreit.” It startled him every time, brought back the fearless face, turning, falling, the gun leveled next at him—
    A quicker set of hooves clopped through the barn. The mule dealer turned the corner, silhouetted in the dim light; hat low over his bearded face, long coat sailing out behind. The stallion followed on a loose rein. A ruddy bar of sunlight slid over shoulder and haunch, revealing the red glow within the apparently black hide.
    The stallion sniffed along the floor as he came. Quick and restless, with a tang of wildness in him, he still searched out oats like any ordinary horse. Phin relaxed at the sight, smiling—
    As if he heard the smile, the stallion paused, one front foot lifted. For a long moment he stood that way, looking toward the stairwell.

7
D ARK H ORSE
    P hin stopped breathing. His heart drummed. He heard the air whistle in the stallion’s nostrils, saw them flare, flare, flare.
    The mule dealer turned to look at his horse, then glanced briefly toward the stairs. “Aye, lad,” he said. “Right enough.”
    Right enough —the words rang and echoed in Phin’s head and he nearly ran—everything in him wanted to, and it took violent effort to stay still. “Can the beast fly?” Mr. Lundy had asked, and the man said, “He can about fly, right enough….”
    The oat bin banged open in the other aisle. Dennis wasfeeding. The mule dealer led his horse into the stall, and Phin could breathe again. He listened to the sound of unsaddling. Dennis brought oats, exchanged a few words with the mule dealer, clumped up the stairs over Phin’s head. Hay shushed down through the trapdoor, and the stallion crunched his supper to the rhythmic swish of brush on silken hide.
    Then just eating sounds; nothing human. Phin wouldn’t have guessed the man was still in there. Time stretched; the darkness thickened. Phin’s mouth was dry, his throat was dry, he was hungry, he ached all over, and it all felt loud, as if hunger and thirst droned inside him, blocked his