Horse Trade Read Free Page A

tickled. No-Name’s spot was under her brown forelock, just above the top of the white exclamation point.
    As Stevie tickled No-Name, the horse looked as if she were sizing Stevie up. Just like Stewball, Stevie thought warmly.
    Whenever The Saddle Club went to visit their friend Kate Devine at The Bar None Dude Ranch out West, Stevie rode a skewbald horse named Stewball. Stewball was smart and independent and Stevie loved riding him. In fact, during the girls’ last visit out West, Stevie’s parents had given her permission to buy the horse. But then Stevie had realized that Stewball was a ranch horse who needed to be out West, where there was more open space and where he could do what he was good at—being a cattle horse. Cooping him up in a stable would have only made him miserable. Admitting to herself that Stewball was better off at The Bar None, and coming back East without a horse of her own, was one of the hardest things that Stevie had ever done.
    Stevie handed the lead to Phil and moved down No-Name’sbody, checking her out. No-Name had great legs—delicate, but strong and long, ideal for dressage. Healthy hooves. Good rich coat. Except …
    “Ugh,” Stevie said, pulling her hand away from No-Name’s flanks. “Has she been wrestling in mud?”
    “Worse,” Phil said. “Much worse.”
    Stevie ran her hand over No-Name’s back, sending up a cloud of dust. “I know. She’s been totally neglected.”
    “That’s it, unfortunately,” Phil said.
    “Let’s get a bucket and soap and give her a quick wash. There’s time—and anyway, we can’t take her to Cross County like this,” Stevie said. “While we’re washing, you can tell me what happened.”
    “It’s a revolting tale,” Phil said.
    “I think I have an idea,” Stevie said with a grin, because she had three brothers and the word “revolting” immediately reminded her of them.
    As they were searching in the tack room for soap, a bucket, a towel, and a dandy brush, Stevie said, “So, does No-Name’s condition have anything to do with Rachel?” Rachel was Phil’s ten-year-old sister, who could be pretty obnoxious at times.
    “Why didn’t my parents stop while they were ahead?” Phil groaned as he carried the bucket to the outdoor tap.
    Stevie laughed.
    “It’s not only that No-Name needs to be washed andgroomed,” Phil went on. “She has a problem. She’s allergic to something. Mr. Baker says that every so often she breaks out in big welts on her head and neck, and no one knows what causes them. It could be fly spray, or saddle soap, or oil on the tack. Or it could be mold in the hay. Judy Barker, our vet, gave us cortisone and antihistamine to reduce the swelling, so we’ll just have to see.”
    “That’s tough,” Stevie said as she poured a line of water down No-Name’s back. “I wouldn’t want to have welts all over my face and neck.”
    “Mr. Baker didn’t have time to figure out what she was allergic to, so my dad got this great idea that we could make a trade-off. We’d stable No-Name and get to ride her, and in return Rachel would find out what she was allergic to as a Four-H project.”
    “I think I know what went wrong.” Stevie vigorously brushed No-Name’s side. “Rachel.”
    “Actually, to be fair to Rachel, she had a problem. The minute No-Name arrived here, she stopped getting hives. That made the job of figuring out the cause of the hives much harder. After a few days Rachel decided that she’d raise chickens for her project instead of caring for No-Name.”
    “I always knew that kid had a screw loose,” Stevie said. “Imagine preferring chickens to a horse.”
    “It’s kind of hard to believe,” Phil said. “You can’t even ride a chicken.”
    “Maybe Rachel can.”
    They laughed and stood back to look at No-Name, who wasn’t exactly perfectly groomed—they didn’t have time—but was now gleaming in the early-evening moonlight. No-Name nickered with pleasure.
    “I think she can tell