I Owe You One Read Free

it as deep as the horse if my mother or the Delanys found out.
    Our screams scared the horse, and it struggled even more and sank even deeper into the mud.
    A couple more horses were at the top of the rise, ready to head for the swamp.
    â€œZach, chase those other horses back into the field while I try to help this one.”
    Zach dropped his bike and ran toward the horses, waving his arms. They scattered at the sight of him and turned back along the path to the dismantled fence. Then one skittered sideways and started down the incline toward the swamp.
    â€œGet him! GET HIM!” I yelled, terrified we would soon have two horses stuck in the mud.
    â€œI’m trying!”
    â€œTake off your shirt.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œTake off your shirt and wave it like flag.”
    The horse in the mud neighed again, and the loose one responded. They were probably telling each other what a bad idea it had been to go through that hole in the fence. It was exactly what Zach and I were thinking.
    Zach whipped off his yellow T-shirt and held it out in front of him like a matador’s cape.
    I tried to get close to the stuck horse by stepping on some rocks. If I could grab its halter, maybe I could direct it out of the deep mud.
    Zach inched toward the loose horse slowly, gently shaking the shirt. The horse eyed it suspiciously and took another step toward his pal in the swamp. Zach backed up to try and come between them.
    I put one foot on a clump of grass. Neither Zach nor I made a sound in case we spooked the horses again. My fingers barely touched the halter. A couple more inches and I could get a hold of it.
    Zach stepped back and to his left.
    I stretched out as far as I could and curled my finger around the metal loop on the halter. I had him.
    At the sudden pressure on his halter, the horse in the mud flung its head back, taking me with it. And there I hung, yelling, my legs kicking frantically, trying to find the ground again.
    The other horse startled and lunged forward. Zach scrambled backward, lost his footing and toppled into the thick layer of muck.
    â€œWhat in the blazes is going on?!”
    The voice belonged to Mrs. Delany, and, man, did she sound furious.
    Zach and I froze. He was sitting, shirtless, in the mud, and I was hanging in midair from the halter. I felt my cold fingers begin to slip, and I seemed to hover in the air for a second before I landed facedown in cold, slimy mud. It oozed between my fingers as I pushed myself back up.
    â€œOf all the ignorant, irresponsible, clueless acts of vandalism I have ever seen…,” Mrs. Delany yelled. I was sure she had this lecture memorized. When her five sons were little, they were the terrors of Six Roads. She would have continued, I’m sure, but just then Mr. Delany appeared at the top of the rise.
    â€œGet the tractor, Bill,” Mrs. Delany said. “Domino here is right stuck.”
    She ignored us as she unclipped a lead line hanging from her jeans and walked slowly up to the loose horse, clipped the line to his halter and tied him to a nearby pine. Then she spoke softly to the horse in the mud until it calmed down and stopped struggling.
    Zach and I pulled ourselves out of the mud and stood off to the side, shivering. I felt just about as stupid as I could be.
    Mr. Delany came back on the tractor, and he and Mrs. Delany both ignored us as they attached a wide leather strap to one of the chains on the back of the tractor. It looked kind of like what tow trucks use. Mrs. Delany stood on the boards and slipped the strap under the horse’s belly just behind its front legs and snapped the other end to another chain. Mr. Delany edged the tractor forward while Mrs. Delany pulled on the horse’s halter and encouraged the horse to try and move.
    It worked. He heaved and bucked out of the muck, then stood at the edge of the swamp while Mrs. Delany ran her hands down his muddy legs.
    â€œLooks like he didn’t pull or break