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CASSIE & JASPER
Kidnapped Cattle
by
Bryn Fleming
Acknowledgments
Thanks to the ranchers of Wheeler County for sharing their stories and to my sister-in-law, Kim, for her Spanish expertise.
Text © 2016 by Bryn Fleming
Cover illustration © by Ned Gannon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Fleming, Bryn, author.
Title: Cassie and Jasper : kidnapped cattle / by Bryn Fleming.
Other titles: Kidnapped cattle
Description: Portland, Oregon : WestWinds Press, [2016] | Series: Range riders | Summary: With her family’s ranch struggling financially, twelve-year-old Cassie and her best friend Jasper head for the mountains to bring the cattle home, but an early snow storm, rustlers, and other dangers turn the weekend into a fight for survival.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016006835 (print) | LCCN 2016027306 (ebook) | ISBN 9781941821954 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781943328659 (e-book) | ISBN 9781943328666 (hardbound)
Subjects: | CYAC: Cattle drives—Fiction. | Cowgirls—Fiction. | Cowboys—Fiction. | Ranch life—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Survival—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.F59933 Cao 2016 (print) | LCC PZ7.F59933 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016006835
Edited by Michelle McCann
Designed by Vicki Knapton
Published by WestWinds Press®
An imprint of
Contents
Cassie & Jasper: Kidnapped Cattle Study Guide Questions
Chapter 1
Soaked by the freezing rain, I leaned far out from atop the muddy cut bank over the storm-swollen river. My head was bare, my ponytail swinging drenched and matted.
I scanned the water roiling below me for any sign of Jasper. Logs, branches, a drowned jackrabbit twirling round and round in the current. The cold rain blurred my vision. Then I saw it: Jasper’s black cowboy hat.
I watched as it whirled twice around an eddy, following the jackrabbit carcass, catching for a few seconds on a half-submerged juniper branch. Then, whoosh! It hit the rapids. White water grabbed the hat and sucked it under, spit it back up a few yards downstream, then swallowed it again.
Gone.
The cattle bellowed behind me, the cows comforting their calves after the swim across the river. My paint horse, Rowdy, stood beside me at the water’s edge, blowing dirty river water from his nostrils and shivering. The cold rain pelted down on us.
I held my breath. The cattle had made it across. Rowdy and I had waded and swum and scrambled onto the bank. I’d watched Jasper’s horse, Tigger, pull herself ashore downstream of the rapids, but my friend and his dog were gone.
This was all my fault. I brought us up into the mountains, into the storm: now, the worst may have happened. How could I live with myself?
You’re
