Thieves' Dozen

"Only jumpers," Hiram answered. Dortmunder, unsatisfied, decided to let it go.

On the way out, Hiram and Dire Straits paused while Dortmunder and Kelp restored the rails to the first fence, having to whisper harshly the length of the rail at each other before they got the damn things seated in the holes in the vertical posts, and then they moved on, Kelp muttering, "You almost took my thumb off there, you know."

"Wait till we're in the light again," Dortmunder told him. "I'll show you the big gash on the back of my hand."

"No, no, honey," Hiram said to Dire Straits. It seemed there were other horses in this field, and Dire Straits wanted to go hang out, but Hiram held tight to the rein, tugged and provided the occasional sugar cube to keep him moving in the right direction. The other horses began to come around, interested, wondering what was up. Dortmunder and Kelp did their best to keep out of the way without losing Hiram and Dire Straits, but it was getting tough. There were five or six horses milling around, bumping into one another, sticking their faces into Dortmunder's and Kelp's necks, distracting them and slowing them down. "Hey!" Dortmunder called, but softly. "Wait up!"

"We got to get out of here," Hiram said, not waiting up.

Kelp said, "Hiram, we're go

"Hold his tail," Hiram suggested. He still wasn't waiting up.

Dortmunder couldn't believe that. "You mean the horse?"

"Who else? He won't mind."

The sound of Hiram's voice was farther ahead. It was getting harder to tell Dire Straits from all these other beasts. "Jeez, maybe we better," Kelp said and trotted forward, arms up to protect himself from ricocheting animals.

Dortmunder followed, reluctant but seeing no other choice. He and Kelp both grabbed Dire Straits' tail, way down near the end; and from there on, the trip got somewhat easier, though it

was essentially humiliating to have to walk along holding on to some horse's tail.

At the second fence, there was another batch of horses, so many that it was impossible to put the rails back. "Oh, the hell with it," Dortmunder said. "Let's just go," He grabbed Dire Straits' tail. "Come on, come on," he said, and the horse he was holding on to, which wasn't Dire Straits, suddenly took off at about 90 miles an hour, taking Dortmunder with him for the first eight inches, or until his brain could order his fingers, "Retract!" Reeling, not quite falling into the ooze below, Dortmunder stared around in the darkness, saying, "Where the hell is everybody?"

A lot of horses neighed and whickered and snorted and laughed at him; in among them all, Kelp's voice called, "Over here," and so the little band regrouped again, Dortmunder clutching firmly the right tail.

What a lot of horses-more than ever. Hiram, complaining that he didn't have that much sugar anymore, nevertheless occasionally had to buy off more intrusive and aggressive animals, while Dortmunder and Kelp had to keep saying, as horses stuck their noses into pants pockets and armpits, "We don't have the damn sugar! Talk to the guy in front!"

Finally, they reached the last fence, where Hiram suddenly stopped and said, "Oh, hell."

"I don't want to hear 'Oh, hell,'" Dortmunder answered. Feeling his way along Dire Straits' flank, he came up to the horse's head and saw Hiram looking at the final fence. Because this was the border of the property, on coming in Dortmunder and Kelp had left the rails roughly in their original positions, though no longer nailed in place, and now the press of horses had dislodged them, leaving a 12-foot gap full of about the biggest herd of horses this side of a Gene Autry movie. More horses joined the crowd every second, passing through the gap, disappearing into the darkness. "Now what?" Dortmunder said.

"Apples," Hiram said. He sounded unhappy.

Dortmunder said, "What apples? I don't have any apples."

"They do," Hiram said. "If there's one thing horses like more than sugar, it's apples. And that"-he pointed his chin in disgust-"is an orchard."

"And that" Kelp said, "is a siren."

It was true. Far in the distance, the wail of a siren rose and fell, and then rose again, more clearly. "Sounds exactly like the city," Dortmunder said, with a whiff of nostalgia.

Kelp said, "Aren't those lights over there? Over by the road?"

Past the bulk of many horses stretching their necks up into apple trees to eat green apples, Dortmunder saw the bobbing beams of flashlights. "Over by the van, you mean," he said. The siren rose, wonderfully distinct, then fell; and during its valley, voices could be heard, shouting, over by the flashlights. "Terrific," Dortmunder said.

"What happened," Hiram said, "is the owner. The orchard owner."

"He probably lives," Kelp suggested, "in that house we saw across the street from where we parked."

"Across the road," Hiram corrected.

"Anyway," Kelp said, "I guess he called the cops."

Beyond the bobbing flashlights, which seemed to Dortmunder to be moving closer, red and blue lights appeared, blinking and revolving. "State troopers," Dortmunder said.

"Well, we'll never get to the van," Hiram said. Turning around, looking past Dire Straits' shoulder, he said, "We can't go back that way anymore, either."

Dortmunder turned to look and saw many more lights on now in the main ranch building and the outbuildings. The ruckus over here had attracted attention, maybe; or, more likely, the owner of the orchard had phoned the owner of the ranch to say a word or two about horses eating apples.

In any event, it was a pincer movement, with the orchard people and the state troopers in front and the ranch people in back, all moving inexorably toward the point occupied by Dortmunder and Kelp and Hiram and Dire Straits.

"There's only one thing to do," Hiram said.

Dortmunder looked at him. "That many?"

"It's time to ride out of here."

Kelp said, "Hiram, we'll never get to the van."

"Not drive. Ride." Saying which, Hiram suddenly swung up onto Dire Straits' bare back. The horse looked startled, and maybe insulted. "Grab mounts," Hiram said, gripping the rein.

"Hiram," Dortmunder said, "I don't ride horses."

"Time to learn, Bo," Hiram said unsympathetically. Bending low over Dire Straits' neck, whamming his heels into Dire Straits' rib cage, Hiram yelled into Dire Straits' ear, "Go, boy!"

"I don't ride," Dortmunder said, "any horses."

With Hiram on his back, Dire Straits walked over to the nearest apple tree and started to eat. "Go, boy!" Hiram yelled, kicking and whacking the oblivious thoroughbred. "Giddy, damn it!" he yelled, as flashlight beams began to pick him out among the branches and leaves and green apples.

"I never did have much luck with horses," Dortmunder said. Out in front of him was a scene of mass, and growing, confusion. As the siren's wail continued to weave, horses shouldered their way up and down the tight rows of gnarly apple trees, munching and socializing. Human beings uselessly yelled and waved things among them, trying to make them go home. Because green apples go right through horses, the human beings also slipped and slued a lot. Hiram, trying to hide in the tree Dire Straits was snacking off but blinded by all the flashlights now converged on him, fell out of the tree and into the arms of what looked very much like a state trooper, who then fell down. Other people fell down. Horses ate. Lights stabbed this way and that. Back by the breached fence, Dortmunder and Kelp watched without pleasure. "That reminds me of the subway," Dortmunder said.

"Here comes that truck," Kelp said.

Dortmunder turned, and here came a pair of headlights through the night from the ranch, jouncing up and down. "I do understand pickup trucks," Dortmunder said and strode toward the lights.