even if they did, we've got a gun, we've got Mich for a fast getaway; there's the Buckbone Ranch not far away. And I'm sure we won't get hurt. Okay?' Jenni bent over and squeezed her little sister's shoulders affectionately.
     Ivy smiled. 'Okay!'
     Jenni returned the smile and straightened herself. Suddenly she bent over again, pointing at the trees, and whispering excitedly: 'Hey look, Ivy! . . . Wild horses!'
     Ivy had shied just a bit at Jenni's hushed voice, thinking for a second that Indians had been spotted. But then she saw the two lovely animals coming out of the Fleewood, and she smiled in delight.
     The two horses were stallions. One was a fairly stocky, coloured white and golden buckskin - a tovero paint, being more white than colour - with a dark mane and tail; he strode out first, the leader. The second stallion, also stocky with a biggish head, was a bay, a light and dusty blood red with black points and light markings on his lower legs and face. They both looked like strapping beasts, horses of authority, and they moved with such a confidence down the Fleewood hill into the small valley, it was as if they owned the country on which they now marched. However, they were newcomers. Jenni was quite sure of that.
     'I've seen some horse herds around here, on the odd occasion,' she said. 'Like Redskins, they're wary of the Ranch, so they never stay for long. But I've not seen those two before.'
     'Look, that bay's acting funny,' giggled Ivy. Sure enough the large-headed Blood-red seemed very strange a character. He had started moving at an extremely bouncy trot, and was carrying his head low to the ground. At odd occasions, he flicked his nose to touch first his right leg, then his left, in turns.
     'Hehee! And look at Mich, Jenni!' Ivy laughed.
     Michigan had spotted the two stallions. He stood very stiff, watching them from under his massive forelock, blowing great gusts of breath through his nostrils. He looked very alert. Abruptly, he gave a loud whicker, stretching his nose towards the strange horses, to which Jenni and Ivy turned again.
     They were surprised to see not two, but three stallions. Another had come down from the woods. He was a dark, dark horse, lighter in build than the first two, and blackish bay in colour with white markings on his legs and face; and he also walked with authority. He went sauntering up to the Tovero and the Blood-red, neck arched splendidly with nose almost between his forelegs.
     The Tovero and Blood-red had stopped to acknowledge the dark one. They, like him, arched their necks, bobbing their heads. Then, after a minute or so, all three banded close together, sniffing.
     Suddenly, the Blood-red thrust backwards with a push of his forelegs. He reared, shaking his head and neighing furiously. He looked both crazy and comical. He twisted around mid-rear, kicked with his back legs, and he was off up the forested hill at a thundering gallop. The Tovero and the Black Bay instantly started after him, at a stately trot. But within a few seconds, they were running too, cantering with the odd galloping burst. Ivy and Jenni watched sadly as the three horses disappeared into the Fleewood.

     'Lovely!' said Ivy. 'Will they come back?'
     'Maybe,' replied Jenni.
     Michigan gave a hollow, sighing snort; and while Jenni settled herself on the grass, back-to-back with Ivy, to check for gun bullets in the pouch she had brought, and Ivy continued her search for pebbles in her shoe, Mich kept his steady, alert gaze upon the woods for a few minutes more.  
     Ivy managed to extract the last pebble from her shoe. She studied it, before chucking it to one side.
     The pebble hit the ground very near ''The Mont'' calf, who stood grazing. The young bull's short black pelt bristled in fright as the stone bounced towards the surest side of the hill,  and - as Ivy watched - slowed, before suddenly, unexpectedly, it disappeared over what seemed to be an edge. There was a tapping sound as it rolled down, down, down. At length, a distant and irregular clackety-clack could be heard, as if the pebble was bounding off larger rocks.
     I wonder if it has reached the bottom of the hill yet? Ivy thought, smiling in amusement she pulled herself slowly towards the edge.
     The bull looked at her curiously, and Michigan whinnied, a glimmer of his bright-eyed stare showing through the dense hair that covered them. Ivy grinned at them both, reaching the edge over which the pebble had gone. It was not far, just a few metres.
     What an edge!
     Ivy had not expected such a drop. What obviously had once been a gentle, grassy slope had weathered, and fallen away over time, leaving a fairly steep, rugged side, bare earth with rocks jutting out of it. There had been an earthfall. Ivy nervously clutched at the grass, gazing down on on clumps of yellowing vegetation and dying trees, leaning with roots half-exposed after the landslide and lying almost ten metres down at the foot of what was now a cliff. There were also tumbleweeds scattered about . . . except to one side, where a large amount of them were piled. Rather unnaturally.
     Ivy heard a soft noise. Some soil had crumbled off the edge of the cliff. She shuffled backwards a bit, meaning to tell her sister about her startling discovery. But a flash of movement and colour caught her eye. Hanging, folded, on one of the twisted branches of the tipping trees . . . and flapping in the wind . . . was a large piece of fabric. Beige and aqua blue, woven, decorated with bright geometric patterns of various colours . . .
     It was an Indian's saddlecloth.
     'Neeyheeheehergh!' Michigan gave a strained sounding, neigh-snort.
     That very second, Ivy lurched forwards and downwards over the cliff edge - with the cliff edge - the ground completely crumbled beneath her. With a yell and with soil and grass, like the pebble she rolled and plummeted down the slope.

Chapter III
The Letter

Jimbo and Alfie Morris - more commonly known as the Morris Brothers - were both tanned, narrow-faced and quiet men, who walked with shoulders hunched, chins tilted down, looking around from under their thick eyebrows. Their arrival at Wagon Hut was announced by Benny, Jenni's dog, who paced back and forth along the closed yard gate, barking. Paul heard the wavering neighs of Bush and Crackerjack, the Morris' personal horses, followed by a very loud bray.
     Bray? Paul frowned and strode out of the Red Shack, pushing the letter (which he had again been studying, on-and-off) into one of the pockets of his brown checked shirt.
     Jimbo Morris was opening the gate, flinging an arm towards Benny to ward the dog off. He looked up as Paul approached. 'Howdy. Nice mornin'.'
     'Yup,' nodded Paul. 'Got Violet?'
     'Er, no . . . ' Jimbo rubbed his jaw in an obviously awkward way. 'No . . . Violet's not available.'
     'Lost her to Redskins?' Paul was grinning, standing with hands in pockets. Not very long ago, the Morris' old home, a new settlement called Billy'O, was ransacked by Native Indians, and every draft horse they owned had either got loose or was claimed as a war winning by the attackers. But however devastating the event had been for the Morris Brothers, Paul was sure it had changed them for the good in some way. For now they were better horsemen; whereas before the Indian attack, they would shamelessly underfeed and overwork their horses. Their big Brabant stallion (Roc) which Paul had frequently used before Violet, had always been in terrible condition.
     'No,' said Jimbo, looking somewhat hurt at Paul's dig. 'She's ill. With colic. Bad hay. We've got a donkey for you.'
     Paul stared at Jimbo. 'A donkey!' he managed at last. 'How's that going to pull the wagon?'
     'It's a big donkey!' replied Jimbo hastily. 'He's the biggest one we've got. He's strong, honest.'
     'Let's have a look at 'im then,' muttered Paul, and he followed Jimbo over to where Bush and Crackerjack were standing outside the yard.
     Alfie Morris, on Crackerjack, greeting Paul with a tip of his hat. 'Hey, Paul. Say, why d'you bother using our horses when you've got that Michigan?'
     Paul returned the greeting. 'Not cart-horse material just yet, and he's Jenni's. Besides, he's close to lame at the moment. So where's this donkey that Jimbo says is gonna pull my wagon?'
     'Here.' Alfie coaxed a fair-sized, large-eared, large-eyed grey animal from behind his horse. 'He was a burro once -  wild, but was tamed and trained for carts. I think you'll find him strong enough to pull. We call him Brawn.'
     'Howdy, Brawn,' grunted Paul, going over to meet his new work animal. Brawn was almost as tall as Michigan. His eyes, big and brown, stared critically at Paul