The Challenger

by Terri Farley

  “Is that his son?” Brynna asked.

  Sam nodded. “That’s New Moon.”

  Down by the turquoise river, the dun lead mare lunged with bared teeth. It was only a warning, and Moon knew it. Glittering like black satin, he slipped past and insulted her with a swivel of his heels.

  Moon didn’t pause to see her reaction. He shoved into the herd of mustangs, scattering bays and sorrels, mares and foals. The tiniest of the lot, a roan filly whose red coat looked like it had been covered with a sifting of sugar, raced to get out of Moon’s way.

  “He’s sure not trying to be sneaky about it,” Brynna said. “Every horse down there can see he’s trying to cut out that blood bay mare.”

  Hooves clattered on rock. Ace and Jeep shifted uneasily at the Phantom’s warning neigh.

  Sam turned toward Brynna, who looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  “Stallions do a lot of pretending,” Brynna said. “I’ve always heard they don’t fight unless they must.”

  “I don’t know,” Sam said. “I think Moon’s pushed his father too far.”

  Chapter Five

  As if Moon heard Sam’s worry, he let the blood bay return to the other mares. He whirled to face his sire.

  Sam and Brynna rode a little closer, drawing rein at a relatively flat spot where bare aspen stood tall and white. Here, Jeep and Ace could stand together, and they could all watch.

  Sam felt a little sick. If she were observing this on television, she wouldn’t hear hooves pounding bone and teeth tearing skin. Or if she did, it would all be pretend.

  The Phantom stopped about ten feet from his son and laid his ears back. Any horse could read the stallion’s irritation, but Moon didn’t move away.

  The Phantom stamped a front hoof. He looked impatient, but Moon switched his tail as if he didn’t care.

  He’s asking for it, Sam thought.

  Still, the stallion didn’t treat Moon like a challenger. Lowering his silvery head, the Phantom bared his teeth and snaked his neck in the scolding, herding move he’d use on any mare or foal that disobeyed.

  For a second, Moon hesitated. His head turned slightly. His lips moved, as if chewing over the problem of his father’s strength. His tail drooped and he glanced at the mares.

  All at once, wind raced through the canyon. Its scent carried reminders of the days Moon had ruled these mares.

  Inky torrents of mane flew around Moon’s head and neck. He bobbed his head, higher every time, refusing to be scolded. Neck arched, tail flung high, he defied his father by refusing to retreat.

  Moon didn’t know what he was getting into. Even though he stood taller than his sire, the Phantom had the broad chest and thick muscles of a mature stallion.

  “This is all play-acting,” Brynna reassured Sam. “Stallions don’t want to draw blood. Even if he’s a sure winner—like the Phantom—he could be hurt. He knows even a small injury might make him slower. And that would be bad for the herd.”

  “You didn’t see him fight Hammer,” Sam said. “When Hammer didn’t back down, the Phantom was all over him.”

  Sam would never forget the loud and brutal fight. Both stallions had been streaked with blood.

  The Phantom gave Moon time to size him up while Sam and Brynna watched in silence.

  The horses stood still for so long, Sam noticed the shiny rocks around them. They must have worn a skim of ice earlier, but now it had melted off. The smell of wet earth wasn’t flowery like it was in spring. Autumn was ending and winter was nearly here.

  Sam took turns holding her reins with one hand while she tucked the other under the warmth of her jacket.

  Time’s up. With a jerk of his head, the Phantom signaled his son to fight or flee.

  The silver stallion approached like a king. Moon fidgeted, but he held his ground until the Phantom stood in front of him. The horses stood eye-to-eye, then the Phantom moved forward, giving his son’s forehead a shove.

  Moon retreated a step and the Phantom came after him, jostling his head again.

  All at once, Moon reacted like a teenager who’d been pushed too far. With a high-pitched squeal, the black rose up on his hind legs. The silver stallion must have known what would happen, because he reared at exactly the same instant.

  For a moment, they stood like mirrored reflections, one dark and one light.

  The Phantom dodged past the black’s threshing forelegs, ducking to grab his mane. He tugged, pulling the black off balance, then dodging out of the way.

  Moon fell, but he bolted up at once. Looking anxious, he trotted a circle around his father, but Sam could see he’d skinned his knees.

  “He sparred with Yellowtail and Spike and he always won,” Sam said.

  “Who?”

  “A bay and a chestnut in his bachelor band. Mrs. Coley named them. We saw them play-fighting once, and Moon was clearly the best. I think he’s confused because the Phantom’s not such an easy opponent.”

  “Look at the mares,” Brynna said.

  The Phantom’s herd grazed, unconcerned. When Moon gave a series of short snorts, the mares looked up, but they knew the outcome of the fight. They were indifferent about how the Phantom won.

  All but the blood bay. The mare Moon had tried to steal seemed interested. Searching for a better view, she stepped away from the herd.

  Sudden hoofbeats made Sam look back to the stallions.

  “He’s giving it another try,” Sam said.

  Suddenly, Moon darted toward the Phantom. Ears pinned, head flat, he grabbed for the gray. The Phantom swerved, but the smear of foam on his neck showed how close Moon had come to biting him.

  “Too close,” Brynna said. “Now the Phantom’s getting mad.”

  Sam heard Brynna swallow, and there was something about her nervousness that made Sam glad. They both knew battles like this had been acted out for centuries, but neither could accept this one as no big deal.

  The fight turned loud as the stallions changed tactics. Hooves skittered, then hammered on hide as they launched powerful kicks with their hind legs. Guttural neighs were wrenched from both horses.

  The blood bay mare trotted closer, but she didn’t get far. The lead mare drove her back with the others.

  Distracted by the skirmish between the lead mare and the blood bay, Moon’s head swung away from the Phantom.

  The silver stallion charged.

  Surprised, Moon broke into a reluctant run. From above, it looked to Sam like there was only one way out of the canyon. Scored with red scratches and gouges, Moon galloped toward it.

  When the tiger dun lead mare joined in the pursuit, the Phantom stopped, letting her take over.

  As he returned to his herd, the little roan filly raced out to greet him. The Phantom shook his head, and she sprinted back to her mother.

  The stallion trotted around his herd, circling again and again.

  “He’s counting to make sure they’re all there,” Brynna joked, but her words were breathy, as if she was unsettled by what might have happened.

  A low, angry squeal made Sam look toward Moon. “It’s not over.” She gasped.

  Moon refused to be driven out by the dun mare. He wheeled at a run and came charging back.

  “Why doesn’t he just quit?” Sam demanded.

  “He’s braver than he is smart,” Brynna said.

  Around them, the wind picked up again. The aspens’ bare white branches clacked together like bones.

  The Phantom must have expected Moon’s stubbornness, because he ran toward him at full speed. Sam drew a shaky breath.

  The Phantom was terrifying and beautiful. His dished head, large eyes, and wind-drinking nostrils had always shown his Arabian ancestry, but now he looked primitive, like a throwback to some fierce desert warhorse.

  Sam could imagine him galloping over searing sands, facing flapping white robes and knife-edged swords. She longed for a camera. One flick of the shutter could capture his ivory power. She’d call the photo “Rage.”

&
nbsp; The Phantom rammed into Moon’s shoulder. Thousands of pounds of muscle and bone collided, and both horses staggered.

  “If he goes down, it’s all over, isn’t it.” Brynna’s words weren’t really a question.

  Sam knew Brynna was right. If Moon fell and the Phantom attacked, the younger stallion could be killed.

  Instead, he staggered toward the mouth of the canyon, burst into a clumsy run, then hit his stride. Like spokes on a black wheel, Moon’s legs moved in a smooth pattern as they carried him away from his family. Then he disappeared.

  The Phantom didn’t celebrate. He strode back to his herd, shaking his mane and uttering small nickers to the mares.

  “‘All in a day’s work, ladies,’” Brynna said, pretending to speak for him.

  Sam laughed. Brynna’s humor helped wipe away the melancholy of seeing the young horse lose. Of course, he had to, and given a choice, Sam would have wanted him to. The Phantom was the best protector for this herd, and he would always be her favorite.

  Still, she felt sorry for Moon. “I wish we could ride after him and make sure he’s all right,” Sam said.

  “We could, if we knew where that trail led.” Brynna pointed to the exit from the canyon.

  “Maybe you could see it on the map. I’ve only been up here a few times, and it’s like a maze,” Sam said.

  Across the canyon, the Phantom returned to his perch. His battle won, his herd safe, he flowed up the switchbacks and through the clumps of brush to the place where he kept watch.

  “Ready to head back?” Brynna asked.

  “Sure,” Sam said. Although she would gladly sit and watch the Phantom all day, Ace shifted restlessly beneath her. “I think Ace is getting cold and I don’t want his legs to stiffen up.”

  The horses tackled the path back up with leaps that made Sam worry about falling backward out of the saddle. She lowered her chest against Ace’s neck and felt relieved when they reached the even footing of the main trail through Lost Canyon.

  The trip out of the canyon seemed quick, and Sam’s mind was racing on ahead, thinking of the algebra homework she still had to do, and the timeline she needed to make for history.

  Someday she might learn not to leave her homework for Sunday afternoon, but someday wasn’t now. Besides that, she hadn’t folded laundry like Gram had asked her to the other day. Gram had said she could either wear her clothes wrinkled or get out the ironing board.

  She’d just about given up on having any fun for the last hours of the weekend when she spotted Moon.

  “Look who’s here,” Brynna said.

  The young black stallion had waded into the center of the lake on War Drum Flats.

  “He is a beauty.” Sam sighed.

  Moon stood about fifteen hands tall, but the smooth line of his back and the gentle slope of his shoulder and his long graceful neck made him appear even taller.

  Without leaving the water, he turned his face toward Ace and Jeep. He sighed and tossed his head, but the gesture was no challenge.

  His heavy black mane was ragged where the Phantom had ripped it. His neck and hindquarters showed slashes. When he stamped, the knee he raised was scuffed pink. He looked altogether crestfallen and confused.

  Sam rubbed Ace’s neck as she talked to Brynna. “Moon doesn’t know whether to welcome these guys or try to run them off.”

  “I think he’d welcome his bachelor band about now,” Brynna said. “Have you seen any sign of them lately?”

  “No,” Sam said. “We can ask Mrs. Coley, but how would that help? I can’t tell Moon how to find them.”

  Ace started forward, but Sam tightened her reins. “No, you can drink at home. Leave him alone to figure out what happened.”

  As they headed past the lake toward River Bend, Sam couldn’t help looking back.

  Moon gazed after them, but he still stood in the muddy little lake.

  Driven out of his family, unable to find his friends, the lone mustang would have to figure out where he belonged. Sam felt a tug of sympathy.

  Then she looked ahead, watching for the familiar silhouette of River Bend Ranch to appear on the horizon.

  She felt sorry for Moon, all right, but he wasn’t the only one whose world was about to change.

  Chapter Six

  Sam smelled apple pie baking as soon as she and Brynna rode into the ranch yard. The aromas of cinnamon and pastry made her instantly hungry.

  “Oh, my gosh. I hope that’s for us,” Sam said.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Brynna asked, laughing.

  “Because Gram has a habit of baking delicious treats, then giving them away.” Sam’s stomach growled.

  Gram came out on the porch just as Sam finished speaking.

  “One of them’s for us,” Gram assured her. She wiped her hands on her apron. “The other is for Brynna to take home.”

  “Why can’t she stay for dinner?” Sam asked, surprised to realize she really wanted Brynna to stay.

  “I wish she would,” Gram said. “Before you two even left, she told me she had to get home and do paperwork.” Gram turned toward Brynna. “Couldn’t you change your mind?”

  Brynna rubbed Jeep’s shoulder as she shook her head. “I’d really like to, but the report’s due tomorrow. I’ve been working on it for weeks.” Brynna’s expression turned self-mocking as Sam’s dad walked toward them from the barn. “It seems like something keeps distracting me.”

  “Can’t imagine what that could be,” Dad said. His smile was white in his darkly tanned face.

  Sam searched her feelings for jealousy and found only a tiny crumb. She was starting to like Brynna.

  Dad stood at Jeep’s head, preparing to steady Brynna as she swung down from the saddle, then he kissed her.

  “You guys are embarrassing me,” Sam said. Dismounting from Ace, she felt her cheeks heat in a blush.

  Dad and Brynna laughed.

  “Spare yourself by moseyin’ down to the barn and putting up Ace and Jeep,” Dad said.

  Sam didn’t protest, just took the reins Brynna held out to her.

  “Thanks.” Brynna gave Sam a quick hug. “I really do have to work on that report. It wouldn’t be a good idea to lose my job before we’re even married.”

  “That wouldn’t bother me much,” Dad said.

  Sam bit her lip to keep from asking what the heck Dad meant. Between drought and flood, River Bend Ranch was often short of money. Dad had even sold his horse, Banjo, to help make up losses. Brynna’s income from the Bureau of Land Management would be a big help.

  Brynna tucked a wisp of hair back toward her braid, then stood a little straighter. She drew a breath as if she were about to say something, then didn’t.

  “No dating service would match up a cattle rancher and a lady from BLM, I bet,” Sam said. She was joking, but she knew Dad’s and Brynna’s differences would spark some lively arguments.

  “We’re working on that,” Brynna said.

  “Lucky we met the old-fashioned way,” Dad said at the same time.

  Sam remembered how irritated she’d been the day Dad and Brynna had met up at Willow Springs. From the first, Dad’s scorn for the BLM hadn’t tainted his attraction to Brynna. He’d been amused by her attempts to talk him into adopting a wild horse.

  “She may not be working forever,” Gram said. “For the BLM or anyone else.”

  Gram’s tone was sly. Could she be hinting that Dad and Brynna might have a baby?

  Sam’s stomach flipped over. Having Brynna move into the house was one thing, but becoming a big sister while she was in high school was something else.

  “I wish,” Brynna said, as Sam braced herself, “that the HARP program would be approved and I’d be hired to manage it.”

  “That would be kind of cool,” Sam said.

  The Horse and Rider Protection program matched abused mustangs with at-risk girls. Mikki Small, the first to try out the program in Nevada, had worked with the albino mustang Popcorn at River Bend.

  Mikk
i had started out as a rude, destructive kid with a record of breaking the law. Popcorn had been “shown who’s boss” far too often before he was taken away from his adoptive family. But anyone who’d seen Mikki bid farewell to the shy albino would know the program had worked miracles.

  “When will we know if the program’s approved?” Sam asked.

  “We’re supposed to know before Christmas,” Brynna said.

  “My report went in months ago and they’ve interviewed Mikki and her social worker.”

  Dad gave a satisfied nod. “Both of them had good things to say, I figure.”

  “That’s what I hear,” Brynna said. She held up both hands with fingers crossed, then prepared to go. “Thanks again, Sam, for riding out with me. I’ll keep watch for Moon.”

  Half an hour later, Sam had cooled out the two geldings, curried them, and checked their feet for pebbles. Ace was in his corral rubbing necks with Sweetheart, and Sam was leading Jeep to the ten-acre pasture, when a battered green camper pulled into the ranch yard.

  Jeep’s steps skittered nervously at the barks coming from the camper, and Blaze dashed growling across the yard. He’d allowed the truck to pull in, unannounced, because he recognized it.

  So did Sam.

  Jen Kenworthy, her best friend, sat in the truck’s cab next to her father, Jed. Two years ago, the Kenworthys had been forced to sell their ranch to Linc Slocum, but Jed had stayed on as foreman. In that time, Jed had done a lot of unusual stuff for Slocum, but Sam couldn’t imagine why he’d be hauling a load of dogs.

  Sam hurried Jeep through the pasture gate. As soon as she released him, he joined the other saddle horses, who stood snorting their interest from a safe distance.

  Blaze wasn’t as cautious. The black-and-white Border collie jumped up, trying to see through the camper windows.

  Toenails scrabbled on metal and furry bodies rocked the camper. The barking never stopped. Inside the cab, Sam could see Jen pressing her palms over her ears.

  “Blaze, you’ve got no sense at all,” Dad said as he strode toward the dog. “You can’t take on a whole pack.”

  He grabbed Blaze’s collar and led the protesting dog to the kitchen door.