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faint roar behind her made her spin around. The roar grew louder, and Oliver appeared around a bend in the track, hunched over the seat of the ATV, squinting from under the hood of a flapping rain slicker. Tory felt weak with relief at not being alone. But she was afraid that Oliver would be angry.
    He wasn’t. He had a rain slicker for her, which she slithered into, and he told her to climb up behind him. She had ridden only once before on the ATV. She had loved it. But this time she was too worried about Lucky to enjoy herself.
    Oliver shouted so Tory could hear him over the roar of the engine. “The rain’s probably washed away Lucky’s tracks, but keep your eyes peeled just in case.” He drove slowly along the rough road. When he got to the woodcutting clearing, he stopped and turned off the ATV’s motor. Tory hopped off.
    â€œThat’s as far as we can go on this thing,” he said. “We’ll walk for a bit, see if we can spot anything.”
    The rain had eased to a drizzle but the trees were still dripping. When Tory brushed against branches, water drops sprinkled her face.
    She followed Oliver along a narrow deer trail. Once, he stopped and said, “These branches here that are broken? That could be from Lucky.” Then he stopped walking and frowned. He was staring at something on the ground.
    â€œWhat is it?” said Tory, her heart beating fast.
    â€œScat.” Scat was the fancy word for poop , Tory knew.
    â€œWolf scat. Lots of it. There must have been more than one wolf come this way. Three or four maybe.”
    Wolves! Her stomach lurched.
    â€œThe scat could have been here for a week or even longer,” he added quickly. “It’s impossible to tell with all the rain.”
    They walked for another twenty minutes, to the edge of a steep gully. Oliver turned to Tory. “There’s not much point going any farther. We’ll never find Lucky out here. He’s probably made his way to a farm somewhere. You’ll see, he’ll turn up snug and warm in someone’s barn.”
    All the way back, Tory told herself over
and over again that Oliver was right. Lucky was safe.
    But prickles ran up and down her spine. Wolves!

    The man was finishing his sixth can of beer when he thought about water for Lucky.
    â€œDon’t want that pony dying on me,” he mumbled. “Not with all that reward money
I could get.”
    He heaved himself off the couch with a grunt and took a pail out to the pump in the yard.
He filled it with brownish water and carried it to the shelter.
    â€œHey!” he cried. “How did that happen?”
    The stall door was open and the pony was gone.

Chapter Thirteen
    After dinner, Cathy phoned all their neighbors, asking if anyone had seen Lucky. No one had, but everyone promised to call back if they had any news.
    Tory asked Cathy for paper and felt pens. “I’m going to make a sign about Lucky to put up at the store.”
    â€œGreat idea. Make a few. Oliver’s going back to the Mathesons’ place tomorrow to get the horses, and he could put some up in town.”
    Tory sat at the kitchen table and thought hard about what to write. Her first attempt was terrible, her printing crooked and the letters growing smaller and smaller as they advanced across the paper. Fiercely she crumpled it into a ball.
    Cathy, who was unloading the dishwasher, looked as if she was going to say something, then changed her mind. Tory scrunched up her second attempt too. She smashed the felt pen on the table and flung her head down on her arms. Everything she did was messed up. Tears burned behind her eyelids.
    Cathy leaned over her. For a second, Tory thought she was going to hug her, and she tensed. But Cathy never hugged. Instead, she took a fresh piece of paper and drew some faint pencil lines. “That’ll keep your letters straight.”
    The lines helped. Tory ended up making five signs, each with the