Hoof Beat Read Free Page A

Lisa had the feeling he always did that when he was thinking. He looked to the left and to the right, though there was nothing in either direction for him to see but piles of papers. Finally, he looked at Lisa again.
    “Deal,” he said. “I want five hundred to seven hundred and fifty words a week. That’s two to three typed pages. Copy is due Wednesday noon. It’s your byline, I won’t make changes in the stories, unless I have to correct English. You can come in Tuesday night and use the typewriter over there if you want.”
    Lisa looked dubiously at the ancient relic. “No thanks. We’ve got a computer at home. I’ll use that. It’s easier for me.”
    “Would be for me, too,” Mr. Teller joked. “Anyway, I’ll pay you fifteen dollars a column.”
    “You’ll
pay
me?” Lisa couldn’t believe she’d heard the words correctly. She was stunned. “Every week?”
    “Of course I’ll pay you,” Mr. Teller said gruffly. “If I don’t pay you, you may start thinking this isn’t important.It
is
important. I’m going to be counting on two to three pages of copy from you every week. I’ll hold space for it. If you let me down, I’ll be in trouble. I don’t want that. You don’t want to not get paid. See?”
    Lisa just nodded. She was too excited to speak.
    “All right. This is Thursday. Think you can have your first column in by next Wednesday?”
    For fifteen dollars, she’d have it in that afternoon! “Yes, sir, Chief!” she said, standing at attention. Her portfolio fell onto the floor and her A papers were scattered everywhere. She flushed with embarrassment.
    “See what I mean about paper walking around this office?” Mr. Teller said, crouching to help her pick up the mess. Lisa smiled, knowing he was trying to make her feel better. “Oh, and one more thing …”
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t call me Chief. ‘Mr. Teller’ will do nicely.”
    Lisa stuffed the last of the papers into her portfolio, shook her new boss’s hand, called him Mr. Teller, not Chief, and left the office.
    Lisa practically floated down the stairs, she was so excited. She was a reporter—with a beat of her own! This was the most exciting thing that had happened to her since she’d discovered horseback riding. She had a job. It was a real job, the start of a real career.
    Sure, she told herself,
The Willow Creek Gazette
wasn’t exactly
The Washington Post
or
The New York Times
, but it was a start. After all, she was only thirteen. If she got a running start at her age, she couldland something bigger on the
Post
while she was in college. Maybe get bylines. Investigative reporting was what she’d aim for. She could go undercover, tracking mobsters and drug smugglers or maybe even uncover government scandals. She’d go to war zones and interview soldiers, talk to dictators and presidents. And spy stories—she could reveal double agents who were jeopardizing democracy. With that kind of reporting, she’d get a Pulitzer Prize—maybe two! And that would bring her to the attention of the Nobel Committee …
    But first, she realized with a start, she had to write an article about training Samson.

S TEVIE STILL COULDN ’ T believe how cute Samson was. She’d seen him being born and she’d watched him stand and nurse for the first time. Since then, she’d seen him almost every day—and each time she saw him it was as exciting as the first time.
    He was a lot bigger, of course. He’d grown a tremendous amount in the first months of his life, but he was still little and he was still very cute.
    Samson stayed near his mother most of the time, though now he would sometimes venture as far away as the other side of the paddock, a distance of perhaps twenty feet. But if somebody approached the paddock, Samson would usually trot quickly to his mother’s side. Delilah was always there waiting for him. She’d nuzzle him and comfort him when he was frightened. Stevie thought she was a very good and attentive mother.
    Stevie was