Spirit Horses

by Alan S Evans

  Tara’s pride and enthusiasm were evident with her next bit of information, “The Shoshone Indians are the only tribe in history who were able to keep their ancestral home. It’s so unique and special that we have been able to retain this land where all our history was actually lived. This is the only reason my tribe has been able to maintain our unique herd here for so many generations.”

  Shane followed her over to a wall that was full of old pictures with captions. They were all portraits of different chiefs and other tribal leaders dating back to the 1800s. Tara pointed out a very old picture of a middle-aged white woman dressed in Indian clothing. The title read 1868—Barbara Stephen Lightfeather, married to a Shoshone warrior and mother of three Shoshone children. “This was my great-great-great grandmother on my mother’s side. She had lived among the tribe most of her adult life and acted as an interpreter between Chief Washakie and the United States during the negotiation that made the Wind River Basin officially the Shoshone’s reservation.”

  “How did she end up living with the Shoshone?”

  Tara explained, “She had been a schoolteacher in the white world and was kidnapped by the Crows during a raid on a settlement in Utah. The Crows tortured her, beat her, and used her as a slave for almost two years. When she was in her mid-twenties she was saved along with some Shoshone prisoners during a rescue mission by my tribe. Our people considered it a great victory when our

  warriors attacked and defeated the enemy, and brought her to the village along with the Shoshone prisoners they brought home to their families.”

  “She must have been a strong woman to have survived all that.” Tara agreed with a nod, “Barbara Stephen was in pretty bad shape. The women of the tribe nursed her back to health, and she later decided to stay and make a life for herself. She was the first white teacher to join our tribe. She worked hard all her life to teach our children how to read, write, and speak English.”

  Shane commented, “Now I know where your blue eyes came from, and why your skin is a bit lighter than most of your tribe.”

  “I am proud of my white and Native heritages,” she said, “but most of all, I am Shoshone.”

  The afternoon had flown by. The information Shane learned about these people and their mustangs answered many questions. Now he understood why the tribe was so protective of the mustangs. Although he respected this, he couldn’t help but recognize how these unique horses might attract an immense public interest. “There must be an award-winning documentary somewhere in all of this,” he muttered under his breath.

  On the way home, he carefully kept their friendly chatter away from anything personal. This was his standard way of keeping new acquaintances from asking about his past. His intent wasn’t to keep his family a secret. It’s just he knew from experience that sympathy was unavoidable once people learned about the tragedy.

  Tara politely acted as though she didn’t pick up on his reluctance to talk about his life, and he appreciated her regard for his obvious reserve.

  Chapter 10

  It was quiet at the ranch as they pulled up to Tara’s house. Shane turned toward her with a lighthearted grin before they went their separate ways, “Thanks for your time. You were such a great tour guide, I feel like I should tip you.”

  Tara laughed, “That’s okay, you can keep your money. I’m already independently wealthy anyway.” As they arrived at their own separate porches they glanced at each other across the three small yards between them and waved good-bye.

  Because he’d kept their conversation casual, he still knew very little about her, except that she seemed to spend a lot of her time at her job, whatever that was. Maybe, in the future I’ll make an effort to show some interest in her personal life, he thought. Unfortunately, he realized this was a two-way street, so for now Shane felt more comfortable keeping a friendly distance.

  Shane rose on Friday morning as he normally did around six a.m. He was usually awake before the alarm went off, but this morning, after a good night’s sleep, it was that annoying buzzer that woke him. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled as he hit the off button. His heart was pounding and his breathing shallow as he sat on the side of his bed, gradually regaining consciousness. Slowly, he stood and staggered into the shower.

  As he started a pot of coffee, he heard a knock on the door. “Who the hell would be here at six fifteen in the morning?” Irritated, he cracked the door open, but quickly chilled when he saw who was there.

  “Good morning, mister. I saw your light. So I figured you were up.” It was Tommy, the kid he’d helped yesterday with the roan gelding. The boy had a plate loaded with eggs and bacon. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Is that for me?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Shane looked a bit confused.

  “You offered to help me with the horse again today, but I got no money to pay you. So, I made breakfast and thought you might have some work I can do to trade for your time.”

  Now the food made sense, and he couldn’t help but admire the kid’s attitude.

  “We’ll figure something out that’s fair. Why don’t you come in while I eat, then we can get started with your colt.”

  “I’ll just wait on the porch.”

  “Suit yourself, son. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  When they walked into the barn, the gelding was acting very bothered in his stall. He was kicking the wall with a back foot while anxiously pawing a hole in the ground with a front one. As Shane attempted to open the stall, the horse immediately charged him, with his ears pinned back in an aggressive posture. Shane quickly backed away and shut the gate. He looked at Tommy, “Does he act like this every morning?”

  “Yes, sir. I don’t know how to break him of it.”

  Shane shook his head with a grin, grabbed an empty feed sack, walked back over to the stall and went inside. The boy watched as the belligerent gelding, once again, charged aggressively. Shane harshly rattled the feed sack at him, sending the horse back to the far corner of his stall. Shane then walked out of the stall, waited a minute, and repeated this several times. Soon, he no longer needed to do anything but walk up to the stall, and the gelding would respectfully move back.

  “Now that he’s not trying to attack me anymore, I need to get him to come to me with a nice attitude so I can put his halter on.”

  Tommy watched intensely as Shane walked into the stall with the big roan now standing with his head in the back corner. Staying near the door, Shane began to rattle the feed sack softly. Finally, the gelding turned around and faced him. As soon as the horse responded in this way, he released the pressure by keeping the bag still and quiet. Timing was imperative to make this work. After several repeats of this process, the horse made the decision to walk over in a friendly manner, so Shane rewarded him with a gentle rub between his eyes.

  With the gelding now acting calm, Shane put his halter on and led him out of the stall.

  Tommy looked amazed at how easily Shane fixed this problem. “Mister, can you teach me how to do that?”

  Shane laughed, and said, “All I did was make the right thing easy and the wrong thing difficult for him. In the process, I made my idea of how he should act into his own idea. I think this horse has a good mind, he’s just a little pissed off at the way you’ve been trying to break him.” Tommy seemed puzzled. Shane winked, “Don’t worry, son, you’ll catch on soon. Now, grab my saddle and tack up ole Tory, while I take the colt outside to the corral and begin with some groundwork.”

  His first goal was to teach the big roan to accept a saddle without a fight. The horse had already learned to hate this, so Shane knew he had his work cut out for him. As he worked with the roan, he noticed the same two men, who had been with Tommy the day before, come over to the fence. Shane walked over and shook their hands. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m helping Tommy.” The last thing Shane wanted to do was to inadvertently show these two guys up and cause any hard feelings.

  Only one of the Indians answered, “It’s okay;
we have no problem with it.” Shane nodded and went back to work. It took some effort, but soon the big roan was saddled and standing quietly. He gently sent the young gelding out to walk around him inside the corral.

  Since this corral was an old-style square breaking pen, Shane used a lunge line, hooked to the horse’s halter, to keep it moving in a circle around him.

  The roan walked off okay, but Shane could tell by the gelding’s expressions he was still thinking about blowing up. Shane looked over at Tommy, who was sitting on Tory, “When I ask this horse to trot, he’s gonna come unraveled and start bucking, so you pick up Tory’s reins and hold on in case the old horse reacts to it.” Sure enough, as soon as Shane tipped the horse into a trot, he blew sky high. It only took a couple of minutes before the gelding started to settle. Before long Shane had the animal long lining around him without any more trouble.

  At this point, Shane asked Tommy to get off Tory so he could get on him. He began working with the bronc from Tory’s back, just as he had done yesterday. Soon he helped Tommy ease onto the roan and he led them around with Tory. Today, Shane was careful to keep the unsure, young gelding snubbed up tightly to his saddle horn.

  This was about all the horse could handle in one session, so Shane told the boy to dismount. “You spend a lot of time petting him. You need to let him know how good he did for us today before you turn him out.”

  “Yes, sir,” the kid said excitedly. He thanked Shane and led the horse away.

  The big roan had done well, and Tommy did a great job. Shane was impressed with Tommy’s courage and natural feel for a horse. He was having fun working with both of them.

  Later that evening, Shane noticed Tara sitting on her porch. He walked over, and after they said their hellos, he asked her about Tommy.

  “He’s a good kid,” she said with an affectionate sparkle in her eyes. “His father left his mother before Tommy was born. His mom is very poor, so she reluctantly lets him live on the ranch. She loves him very much and comes to see him often, but she knows he’s

  better off here. He lives in the bunkhouse across the compound, and all of us make sure he’s taken care of. He’ll start school again when the fall semester begins. I always help him with his homework in the evenings. Until then, he’ll earn money working around the ranch. One of the good things about being Shoshone is that we always look out for each other. I heard you’ve been helping him with a tough horse. I want to thank you for that. Tommy would spend all of his time with the horses if we’d let him.”

  “He sure has a lot of ability,” Shane said.

  Tara paused for a few seconds, “Do you train horses professionally? Everyone here thinks you’re pretty good.”

  “I started about the time I was Tommy’s age and never considered doing anything else for a living.” Before Tara could ask him any more questions about his previous life, Shane wished her good night, and turned to leave.

  As he walked down the steps of the porch, he glanced back and caught her watching him with those piercing, deep blue eyes. It was as if she were trying to figure him out. This casual look between them only lasted a second before they both became a little uncomfortable and shifted their eyes away.

  Tomorrow was the big day. He was finally going out to see the wild horses. He had a couple of good stiff drinks before he hit the sack, hoping it would help him sleep. Shane tried hard, every night, to keep himself in a positive state of mind and not dwell on his family. Tonight for some reason he was having a difficult time. He finally fell asleep watching the old black-and-white TV at the foot of his bed. When he woke at six a.m., the TV was still on with an irritating, loud static and a snowy, gray screen.

  When the two Indians showed up with the horse trailer, Tory was already saddled and prepared to load. The men didn’t have much to say as Shane hopped into the back seat of the old crew cab pickup.

  About five miles into the trip, Shane broke the silence by reintroducing himself. The Indian on the passenger side shook his hand, “I’m Timothy Hawk. Most people just call me Hawk.” He was about five eleven and 180 pounds, looked to be about thirty years old, and in pretty fair shape, except for a slight beer gut. Hawk pointed to the driver, “This is Johnny Badger, we call him JB for short.” JB gave Shane a halfhearted glance with a nod and quickly looked back toward the dirt road he was driving down. “JB doesn’t talk much, so don’t take it personal,” Hawk said as he poked at JB and laughed.

  Shane estimated JB to also be about thirty. He was a little taller than Hawk and in better condition. This Johnny Badger character sure seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, and Shane thought this was not someone he wanted to tangle with.

  JB turned down a narrow grade that would be easy to miss if you didn’t know exactly where it was. The woods were thick here. The narrow road wound around for several more miles until the landscape finally started to open into a series of small ravines. There were few trees in this area but the rough terrain was not drivable, so the rest of the trip would be on horseback.

  The two Indians stepped out of the truck without saying a word and walked around to the back of the trailer. Shane followed them around, but the men just stood there and made no attempt to open the trailer door. Shane sensed that they had something to say, “What’s on your minds, guys? If you have something to tell me, go ahead and spit it out!”

  The two men looked at each other and then back at Shane before Hawk began to speak. “You are only out here with us because Tigee said to bring you. As far as we know, no white man has ever come into the valley this way. Those assholes who try to steal our horses come in from the far north side. If they ever find out about this easier route, it would make it harder for our tribe to protect the horses.” After saying this, the two Indians continued staring Shane down.

  Shane stared back unsure of what to say, “Don’t worry, guys, you have my word, I have no intentions of saying anything to anyone about how we got here.”

  JB clinched his jaw, “Mister, I haven’t met too many white men who thought it was important to keep their word to an Indian.” Then he turned to unload the horses.

  Tory had been the last horse loaded, so now was the first one out. Shane took him aside to tighten his cinch. He was now feeling a little awkward, but he wasn’t going to let JB or Hawk’s bad attitudes get in the way of his enjoying this unique opportunity.

  Shane mounted Tory then waited for Hawk and JB. Both of their horses were nice quality animals, but what caught Shane’s attention was their saddles. They had no fenders or stirrups, and were scarcely more than a small pillow of soft leather stuffed with padding. The horses wore old Spanish-style bridles and bits, and both carried a long braided cord around their necks about the diameter of a man’s large finger. The two Indians used this cord to lead their horses around.

  Hawk noticed Shane looking at the equipment. “These were the type of saddles our ancestors rode. It’s tradition to ride as our forefathers did when we come out to check the mustangs. I guess this seems ridiculous to you,” Hawk snapped.

  “No, not at all,” Shane answered. “Actually, I think it is pretty cool.” The two showed no reaction to this as they mounted their traditional Shoshone saddles and rode north with Shane and Tory following.

  The only modern things the Indians had with them were their two-way radios, binoculars, and rifles equipped with long-range scopes mounted in scabbards on the side of the small saddles. Watching these two on horseback, Shane could picture in his mind what it must have looked like to see Shoshone warriors riding across this same land two hundred years ago.

  They worked their way around the numerous deep ravines. These formations were a series of tiny canyons that all seemed to run together. “This looks like it would be a great place for the herd to hide out,” Shane commented.

  Hawk responded without a look, “We never see them here.”

  Farther ahead, the three came to a ridge. It did not appear to be very high on the side they were riding in on, but when they reached
the top and looked down the other side it took Shane’s breath away. It was a four-hundred-foot drop, and Shane could see for miles. There, running from east to west through the center of the valley below was the Big Wind River. Surrounding the river were plenty of trees and brush as well as scattered open meadows carpeted with thick green grass. This is a paradise for wild horses, thought Shane. To the southwest were the majestic Wind River Mountains. Beyond the basin they were now looking across and just to their north, one could see the snow-capped peaks of the Owl Creek Mountains. Shane knew about the geological layout of the area from the map at the museum. But actually being here and seeing it for himself was damn impressive. Between the ridge, where they stood, and these mountains were seemingly endless miles of untouched wilderness.

  “How in the world do you know where to find them?”

  Hawk answered in his usual short manner, “We’ll start looking for signs at the river’s bank and then track them from there.” It took an hour to slowly work their way down to the river. When they finally got there, the two Indians told Shane to wait under a big tree by the water’s edge. Shane nodded, climbed off Tory, and sat on a large rock. The two men rode off at a fast trot, one headed up river and the other down. After forty-five minutes, Shane began to wonder if the two had played a cruel joke by leaving him out here in the middle of nowhere. Soon after this thought, he heard a rider coming in fast. It was JB. He stopped for only a second, “Come on, white boy, Hawk found some tracks up river.” Shane didn’t appreciate the “boy” part, but he let it go as he mounted up and followed at a hurried gallop. After a mile of hard riding along the river’s bank, JB held his hand high, signaling Shane to slow down. The tracks weren’t hard to see, and it was obvious Hawk had gone ahead to find the herd.

  JB turned and looked him in the eye with a scowl. “All right, slick, stay close and be quiet.” Shane gave him a shit-eating grin and followed the Indian up a steep hill. When they reached the peak, Hawk was crouched there, pointing to a low area on the other side. Looking down in the meadow, Shane got his first glimpse of the horses. Immediately, he could feel his heartbeat quicken.