Dark Days at Saddle Creek

  She carefully put the silver buckle back into her pocket and wiped her nose on her arm.

  Sunny pawed his right front hoof. It’s time to go.

  Bird took a deep, ragged breath. She walked up to the beautiful chestnut gelding and stroked his handsome face, enjoying how his satiny coat gleamed in the sunlight. She grabbed his mane with both hands, bent her knees, and jumped up on his back, her yellow dress draping his back and sides.

  “Let’s go.”

  The mighty Dancer led the way down the gravel road toward Saddle Creek Farm, followed by Moonlight Sonata. Cody was unseen but close by, and Bird and Sundancer completed the procession home from Pete Pierson’s funeral.

  Bird wondered if the pastor had even finished his sermon. She smiled. Pete would understand.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many years ago, the germ of this story was planted by a conversation with a man who called himself Indian Fred. In the first book of this series I created Bird in his likeness to speak to Sundancer. Now, in Dark Days at Saddle Creek, the circle is completed when we meet the initial inspiration, Indian Fred himself. He’s been dead for some years now, but I salute him with this book.

  I sincerely thank Doug Gordon, who is Education Consultant for Native Studies and has been a friend for many years plus an exceptional educator all his life, for making the time to read this story and endow me with his quiet wisdom. James Bartleman, best-selling author, Canadian diplomat, policy advisor to the Prime Minister’s Office, and 27th Lieutenant Governor of Ontario, was extremely helpful and generous. I thank him profusely for his thoughtful nuance and sensitivity.

  My family, as always, with humour, patience and love, gave me the benefit of their encouragement and advice.

  Thank you. I love you all.