Spirit Horses

by Alan S Evans

  “Damn, Jacob, looks like I finally found them!” He must have unknowingly voiced it as JB looked at him.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, man, I was just thinking out loud.”

  It was a large herd, bigger than Shane had imagined. There were at least seventy-five mustangs grazing in the grassy field of about thirty acres. The horses looked up from their feeding and began to get restless.

  JB looked over at Hawk. “They can smell the white boy.” Hawk quickly gave him a hard look. JB grinned as he corrected himself, “I mean they smell the white man.”

  Shane snarled, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  Hawk spoke in a firm voice before the two men had time to increase the tension building between them. “No offense, but JB’s right, the herd knows you’re not one of us. Every time they smell white men they’re getting chased. Just sit still and be quiet. They’ll get used to you and settle.” Shane knew how keen and sensitive horses were, so it didn’t surprise him that they were aware of the human presence even though the three men were out of sight.

  He had seen a couple of wild herds before in his travels, but nothing like this one. These were healthy, vibrant, and much bigger than the other mustangs he’d encountered. About half of them were larger than Sloppy, and she was a nice stout horse. He noticed several mares with newborns by their sides. These mothers with their babies were in their own group, separated from the rest. He spotted a few yearlings playing in a shallow creek that ran through the middle of the low-lying pasture. The remainder of the horses were scattered over the large meadow, heads down, munching on the early summer grass.

  Hawk tapped Shane on the shoulder and handed him a pair of binoculars. He pointed to a ridge across the pasture. Overlooking the herd was a magnificent stallion. He was an impressive blood bay with a black mane and tail and four white stockings. This charismatic horse was the epitome of great conformation, muscle, and class.

  “That’s Naatea-Poha,” Hawk said. “He’s thirteen years old and has been the lead stallion for the last ten years. He’s the daddy to about two-thirds of those younger ones. We geld most of the colts at our yearly branding. But we always make sure there are at least three quality stallions in the herd. This keeps inbreeding from being a problem. That’s one of the reasons, along with a good natural food source and warm winters here in the valley; they get so big and stay so healthy.”

  “He’s one hell of a horse!” Shane commented as he studied the stallion through the binoculars. “What did you call him?”

  Hawk smiled and politely repeated the Shoshone words, Naatea-Poha.

  The last thing Shane wanted to do was irritate Hawk or JB with too many questions, but he reluctantly asked, “What does it mean?”

  After a short pause, surprisingly it was JB who spoke. “Many years ago one of the foundation sires of our herd was called Poha. This word means ‘power.’ The old stories tell of Poha as a great horse that looked much like this one, who is his direct descendant. We usually just call this stallion by the first part of his name, Naatea. This word roughly translates to mean a blood relative.”

  Shane thought for a second. “So, his full name means that he is of the same bloodlines as Poha the powerful.”

  Hawk nodded with a smirk. “The Shoshone language can be tricky to translate into English, but basically, yes, that is what Naatea’s full name means.” He then told Shane to stay put while he and JB went down to get a good count.

  Shane sat there and watched the herd in awe. They were incredible, and knowing about their history made them even more impressive. He felt privileged to be here witnessing these unique, free ranging horses, still existing as they had for centuries. It gave him a sense of inspiration he hadn’t expected.

  Suddenly, something spooked the herd. In an amazing example of unity, they banded together and moved at full speed toward the lead stallion, Naatea, before disappearing with him over the next hill.

  When the two Shoshone returned, Shane asked, “What scared them?”

  “Who knows,” Hawk answered. “It could have been a bear they caught wind of. The truth is, they’ve been chased almost every week lately by those jerks from town, so it doesn’t take much to set them off right now. We’ll spend the afternoon looking for any traps they may have set.”

  Shane wondered aloud, “Why do these guys spend so much time out here trying to catch the horses?”

  JB answered. “They used to only come up here a couple of times a year. It’s always been a game for them to try to steal the mustangs. The sons of bitches think it is funny to piss us off this way. They know how important the horses are to our tribe.”

  “Do you have any idea why they’re coming after the herd so often now?”

  “We don’t know,” Hawk said. “But lately they’ve been a lot more aggressive. We already told you they shot over our heads with rifles last week. We had to ride up a steep slope to get away. That’s when they sent their dogs to attack us. We had no choice, but to shoot a couple of the mongrels.”

  Shane was beginning to wish he’d brought his rifle. He’d left it at the cabin, figuring he wouldn’t need it. Next time he would know better. “Where are we going now?”

  Hawk replied, “We’re riding to the north side of the valley, where the horse thieves always come in. If we see fresh tracks, we’ll follow them to their trap. They usually set up stock panels in a place where they can use rock walls to funnel the horses into their traps. With Naatea at the lead, the mustangs are hard to trick. Still, if they get enough men on horseback, they could potentially catch a lot of them. That’s why it’s important for us to come up here every week.”

  Shane commented, “It still doesn’t make any sense that these guys are spending so much time and money coming out here so often. Do you think there could be some other reason they want to get rid of the herd?”

  “We can’t figure it out,” said Hawk. “Whether it is for fun, spite, or money, they sure are hell-bent on trying to catch our horses. We’re worried that if they keep up this kind of pressure on the herd, the horses may leave this area in search of safer ground. The fact is they could not survive the winters if they didn’t live in this protected valley.”

  The three men finally arrived at the north entrance. There were no fresh signs of the men from town today so the Mustangs were safe, at least for the time being. The trio rode back to the truck and trailer, satisfied the day was a success.

  During the long, bumpy ride to the ranch, Shane, again, broke the silence. “With Naatea being as smart as he is, how do you catch the horses every year to brand the weanlings?”

  Hawk hesitated to answer. After a brief pause, in a reluctant voice, he said, “We pen the herd early in the winter, before the roads become deep with snow. This is the only way in here that time of year. The north accesses that the white men use are impassable then. On this side of the canyon, there is a place that only we know about. It’s the lowest area in the valley and is well hidden, even from an airplane. This protected area keeps its grass and other foliage longer than anywhere else in the valley. It is unlikely that the white men could find this place on their own, and Naatea is too clever to lead them to it.

  “When it’s branding time, everyone on the ranch comes out to help. JB and I will go out weeks earlier and set up feeders with grain and hay, so that the herd will get comfortable coming in. When we organize the branding, we do it Shoshone-style. Unlike the white men who would try to chase the mustangs into a trap, we are very patient. Sometimes it takes us two or three days to quietly move them into the meadow. When the horses do get into our secret valley, they are calm and settled.

  “Once we have the pass closed off, we will go in quietly and set up sorting pens with portable stock panels. Only a few of us will do the actual branding. We take our time, so we don’t upset the mustangs any more than we have to. When we are finished we take down the pens and leave the herd in the meadow with the pass still closed. We keep them there, so
they can feed and put on weight to help get them through the winter.

  “After a couple of weeks, we reopen the pass. We don’t feed them any more after this. If we did, it might make them soft and spoil them, and they could lose their wild state. Then they’d be an easy catch for the wrong people.”

  When they got back to the ranch, Shane offered a handshake to each of them, but only Hawk reached out for Shane’s hand. JB just turned to open the trailer. As soon as Tory was out, Shane started toward the barn.

  He was almost there when he heard JB call, “Hey, white man!” Shane looked back and saw Tigee standing at the trailer with the other two. JB yelled out, “He wants you to go back out with us next week.” Shane could tell the two Indians weren’t happy about this, but they would do as the old man wanted.

  Shane hollered back, “Just let me know when.”

  It had been a long day, and Shane was ready to eat a good meal and get some rest. As he started walking to his cabin from the barn, he looked at the mountains in the distance. He paused at the sight, and took in a long, deep breath. A heartfelt sense of satisfaction slowly overcame him. He had finally located the herd. This was a big step toward finally fulfilling Jacob’s wish.

  As he walked to his porch, he was startled to hear a voice, “Hello, mister.” Tommy had watched him unload and was patiently sitting on the porch, waiting.

  “Hey, bud, I didn’t see you sitting there.”

  The young boy smiled, “You know how Indians are, if you don’t watch out, we’ll sneak right up on you.”

  Shane laughed at the joke and invited him inside. “What can I do for you?” he asked while he scrounged around the kitchen looking for his coffee cup.

  Tommy wasted no time answering. “Mister, I was wondering if I could do some work for you. I asked you before about trading for more help with some horses I’m breaking. You make it look so easy. I’d really like to learn how you do it. Like I told you, I don’t have any money, but I can clean, feed your horses, or do whatever you want.”

  Shane appreciated the kid’s willingness to earn his way. “You meet me at the barn at seven sharp. I’ll show you how to do the morning feedings. After that, I have some tack that needs cleaning. When you’re done, we’ll play with your horses.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be there.” With that said, the boy bounded out the door.

  That night, Shane fell asleep early. He slept soundly until two a.m. when he was awakened by a dream. He guessed it was the crisp mountain air coming in through the open window that had him dreaming so vividly. He often dreamed about his family. The dreams were usually about familiar things that had actually happened in the past. Things like playing with the kids or reliving a conversation with Jen. He’d learned over time not to let them bother him. However, this one was different.

  This time the images surrounding him were shockingly more three-dimensional. Jen stood in front of him, just as if in real life, pointing up to a high cliff. On the top of this cliff were at least twenty Indians mounted on horses. They were all wearing long headdresses and their horses were painted with bright war paint. One of the warriors galloped his horse to the edge of the drop off, sliding to a stop at the last possible moment. He held a spear high over his head and shook it while he yelled out some native-sounding words. Then Shane looked back over at Jen and heard her say very clearly, “They’re asking for your help.” Never before, in his many dreams of Jennifer had her presence seemed so real, so absolutely physical. Shane inhaled deeply as her familiar, appealing scent filled the air around him. He slowly lifted his hand to touch her face, but she was standing just out of reach. Before he could ask her what the Indians wanted him to do, he abruptly woke up. Shane laid there in an almost panicked state of confusion for quite some time.

  The dream jogged a long-forgotten memory of a similar one he had a few years ago, when his family was alive. He recalled the despair he’d felt during the dream, along with the odd message an Indian had spoken. “Stay on your path, and you’ll find what you have lost.”

  Looking back now, he wondered if he’d had some kind of premonition of the terrible tragedy that changed his life.

  If another person told him they were having these strange dreams and interpreting them this way, he would probably think they were off their rocker. But, this wasn’t someone else, and he could not shake the feeling that there was some kind of an eerie connection between the two dreams. It took him a while to put this all out of his mind and finally fall back asleep.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Tommy was in the barn waiting. He already had one of Shane’s saddles sitting on a rail and was cleaning it as Shane walked in. “Mornin’ bud, follow me and I’ll show you what else I want you to do.” After Shane gave Tommy his instructions, he told the boy he’d be back in a couple of hours to help him with his horses.

  Just as Shane started to leave, the boy pointed to something lurking near the barn. It was still dark outside, and all Shane could see was some movement in the early morning mist. “What are you pointing at, Tommy?”

  “They were following you over to your porch last night, too.”

  “What the hell is it?” Shane asked quizzically.

  Tommy laughed, “I think they may want to eat you. I guess they never tasted a white man.”

  Then Shane saw in the dim morning light what was stalking him. It was the two wolf pups he had seen Tigee trying to hand-feed.

  Shane turned back to Tommy, “They wouldn’t really attack me, would they?”

  Tommy grinned, “No sir. They’re not like that, but they sure are curious about you.”

  Shane hadn’t noticed the animals following him. He decided he would keep an eye out for these two from now on.

  While walking home he saw Tigee putting food out for the dogs, but, as usual, they kept their distance. Shane watched as Tara’s grandfather sat down on his porch steps in hopes the animals would come close. The pups continued to maintain their cautious space and waited patiently until he went inside before they approached the bowls and scarfed down the scraps.

  Shane sat down on his own steps to watch the dogs. They kept looking over in his direction while holding their noses high and sniffing the air. Shane gazed down at the ground so he would not be looking directly at them. Soon he could feel the wolf-dogs moving closer. The two carefully edged their way toward him until they were only five yards away.

  Tigee came back outside and watched from his porch. The two then laid down a few feet in front of him, still sniffing the air. Shane slowly raised his head and looked into their yellow wolf eyes. This made them nervous enough to quickly stand and trot away. The old Indian clapped his hands, gave Shane a thumbs-up, and yelled, “You got them close, hey!” Shane smiled and waved back, then he went inside.

  After a quick cup of coffee, he jumped into his truck and drove to the nearby reservation town of Crowheart. He had seen a pay phone there the other day, and since his cell phone didn’t have any signal out here, this would be his main line of communication with the outside world. There was a phone at Tara’s and her grandfather’s house, but Shane felt awkward asking to use it. Besides, the smallness of their house created a privacy problem.

  He had two calls to make this morning. The first was to Terry. He had not checked in for some time now and wanted to make sure everything was okay at the farm.

  “Things are going well,” Terry assured him, “The business is doing fine, and I have everything under control.” The old friends chatted for a few minutes, and Shane thanked him again for all he was doing.

  His next call was to Mr. Jensen. “How are you, Shane? Are you staying out of trouble out there?”

  Shane replied with a laugh, “Yes, sir, so far I am, but it’s still pretty early in the day.” The two kidded around a minute more before the sound of Shane’s voice changed into a more serious tone. “I’m telling you sir, there has to be more going on in the valley than just some white men chasing mustangs to tick off the Shoshone. I’m begi
nning to wonder if someone could be trying to get rid of the herd for some other purpose. I may be grasping at straws, but someone sure as hell wants these horses gone, and they’re going to an awful lot of trouble to make it happen.”

  “It sounds like living on the reservation is making you a little paranoid.”

  “You might be right, but I want to make sure my mare is going to be okay when I set her free. From what I’ve seen so far, I’m not too sure she will. I know you have a lot of friends in the area, and I’d really appreciate it if you could, discreetly, check around town and see what you can find out.”

  Mr. Jensen remained quiet for a moment and then replied, “I’ll start by talking to my cousin who works at City Hall. If there is anything happening concerning that land out there, he’ll know about it. I’ll get back in touch with you if I come up with anything.”

  Shane then gave him Tigee’s phone number. “He’ll let me know if you call. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” When Shane returned to the ranch, Tommy was just finishing up his chores. The two spent the rest of the morning working with the three young horses that Tommy was training. One of the horses was, of course, the big roan gelding. He was doing well. By the end of the session, Tommy was able to ride him around the corral without Shane’s help.

  The second horse was also a gelding. This one had a naturally good mind and was a good, safe horse for the boy.

  The third horse was an Appaloosa mare. She would be more of a challenge. She was very sensitive, and, if you even blinked your eye wrong, it seemed to scare her. This one would need a ton of preparation before she could be saddled for the first time.

  Tommy watched intensely as Shane skillfully worked with the mare in the corral. In about an hour Shane took the filly out of the pen and gave her to Tommy. “That’s about all she can take for the day,” he told the boy. “I want you to turn her out, then come to the barn.”