CHAPTER 8
Carly looked up from her math homework as the
blast from the shotgun echoed through the hills. Gunshots were
common and Carly didn’t think too much about the sound. Somebody
was always shooting somewhere in the thousand-acre woods
surrounding the farm. It was part of life in the country. When the
hunters weren’t stalking birds or deer, they were shooting at tin
cans or road signs. Carly wished people wouldn’t kill the
animals.
They were her friends. All of them. Her
grandfather often cautioned her to keep clear of the hunters and to
wear bright clothing in the woods. He didn’t want the hunters
mistaking Carly or her pony for a large deer. More than once a
hunter’s mistake had cost someone’s life. It made Carly shudder to
think about it, but she was only eleven-years
