Samirah's Ride

by Annie Wedekind

  Of course I did. It was humans who had difficulty with communication. I’m an Arabian. I understand more than most. Now I understood that Jasper was torn: torn between her love for her family and her love for me. We had to be together—that was obvious—and her family had to understand that. What if we went back . . . and Red went back on his word?

  Just then a light breeze picked up, eddying between the mountainside and the stream. I raised my head automatically to taste the air and to read whatever it had to say. I pricked my ears sharply: The breeze carried the scent of another horse. I breathed in again. Sunny! My welcoming neigh was so loud that I startled Jasper off my back. Oh dear, I hope we weren’t still being quiet.

  Jasper dusted her legs and seat and raised her hand to her eyes, squinting into the bright sunshine.

  “What, Sami? What is it?” She sounded a little nervous, so I stood calmly to let her know that there was nothing to fear. Still, she hastily bridled me and remounted. By that time I could hear Sunny making his way around the side of the hill that hid the outlaws’ cave. He was carrying someone—no doubt Mr. Sun. I neighed again and heard Sunny’s answering whinny. A few moments later, Jasper called out, “Mr. Sun?” and he waved to her, moving Sunny into a slow jog that was the fastest I’d ever seen the two old-timers go.

  “I thought you might be here.” Mr. Sun sounded winded. He smiled faintly as he caught his breath.

  Jasper didn’t reply, but sat very stiffly on my back.

  I greeted Sunny, who seemed in fine spirits, pleased to be out with his companion, and to see me. This was a place we’d visited often with our humans.

  “Everyone’s all right?” I asked him.

  “Seems so. Except for the people. Red and Miz M are having fits. And Buck. He’s having fits about the weather.”

  I looked about me at the cloudless blue sky and felt the freshening breeze. It was very hot and dry, but we were in the height of summer. At least the wind was lively.

  “I brought you some lunch,” Mr. Sun said. He swung his leg over Sunny’s back and carefully lowered himself to the ground. He took a few things out of the saddlebags, then tied Sunny’s reins and let him loose.

  I joined Sunny as he eased down to the stream to drink, and we stood and swished flies together while Jasper and Mr. Sun talked and ate. It didn’t seem like he was cheering her up. I had done a much better job with tag. Her voice and her body sagged, and I felt my own uneasiness return.

  “I don’t know,” Jasper was saying. “I guess I felt—it’s just so awful thinking about losing Cold Creek. I know running away doesn’t make a lot of sense. But I’ve got to keep Sami, no matter what happens.” Her voice trailed off again.

  Our companions ate in silence for a while. Then Jasper said, “They don’t tell me anything. It’s like I’m not really a part of things. I mean, do they think they can just sell the ranch without me noticing?” She gave a laugh that didn’t really sound like one.

  Mr. Sun made a noise between a grunt and a sigh.

  “They want to protect you,” he told her.

  “By keeping things from me—by lying to me?” Her voice was outraged.

  “I don’t think your father lied to you, Jasper,” Mr. Sun said mildly. “And I don’t think he’ll break his promise about Sami.”

  “If he does, I’ll run away for good,” Jasper promised haughtily.

  “So this isn’t ‘for good’?” Mr. Sun asked.

  Jasper was quiet for a while. Sunny stamped a hoof to shake off flies. I raised my muzzle to the gusty breeze, wondering why Buck was worried about the weather. The air smelled dry, saturated with late-summer heat, dry pine needles, dust from the bare patches of earth on the mountainside.

  “I’m going to stay here for a while,” Jasper finally said. “Would you tell Mom and Dad? That I’m okay and all? I just want to be alone—well, with Sami.”

  “You’re never really alone as long as you have her. Is that how you feel?” Mr. Sun’s voice was warm with affection and understanding.

  “That’s just how I feel,” Jasper said, and she started to cry again. Mr. Sun put his arm around her and she hid her face in his shoulder.

  “How long is ‘awhile,’ Jasper?” he asked her gently. “Your parents are very worried, you know.”

  I couldn’t hear her answer, muffled against Mr. Sun’s arm, but it seemed to satisfy him.

  “Let’s take a look at your supplies and make sure you have everything you need.” Jasper hugged him, took the bandanna off her head and blew her nose into it, and the two of them put away the lunch things and began to rummage through my saddlebags.

  I like campouts, Sunny commented. You get marshmallows and new flavors of grass. Your humans sleep near you. When I live with Mr. Sun we will camp out.

  Personally, I thought Mr. Sun seemed too old for such doings, but I refrained from mentioning it.

  “Well,” Sunny’s companion said, “you’ve got more food for Sami than you do for yourself. And you forgot a can opener for the beans. You got a pocketknife?” Jasper shook her head, and Mr. Sun reached into his jeans and handed her one.

  “You’re going to have to eat your dinner cold. Don’t start a fire in this weather. You should be warm enough with your sleeping bag in that cave. Now let’s see about where Sami can spend the night.”

  I watched Jasper and Mr. Sun make their way around what was now our campsite, inspecting trees and boulders. Finally, the old man helped Jasper rig up a picket line between two medium-sized pine trees. They spent a while fussing with the ropes until Mr. Sun seemed satisfied. It was getting on to late afternoon when he mounted Sunny and we said our good-byes.

  “Jasper, I can’t promise that your folks won’t come tearing out here to fetch you, but I’ll try to hold them off.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Sun. Thanks for everything.” Jasper’s voice was stronger now, clearer.

  “Well, I ran away myself once when I was about your age. Except I only got about a half mile away when I realized I forgot my paintbrushes, and there didn’t seem much use in leaving home without them. I was back in time for dinner. I think you’re going to have a better adventure than I did.”

  They laughed, and Sunny and I whickered to each other. Jasper and I watched the old man and the elderly gelding amble away until their figures disappeared into the glare of the strong summer sun. Jasper gave me a brisk pat.

  “Come on, Red Bandit,” she said, grinning. “Let’s go be outlaws.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Alert

  She leaps from danger’s path.

  Her round jet-hued hooves

  Ravish the earth

  That day—the remains of it—was one of the happiest Jasper and I had ever spent together. We cantered down the stream, my hooves sending sprays of water that made Jasper shout with laughter and cooled my flanks and chest. The stream was filled with flickering fish that scattered at our approach, slivers of rainbowed silver within the silver water. We circled the base of the mountain that hid the outlaws’ cave, and Jasper picked wildflowers for my forelock and tail, just as I’d wished. We stood in flower-dazzled meadows and watched the blue begin to dim from the sky. We listened to the evening song of bluebirds and buntings, and heard the whistles of osprey hunting fish. We were no longer the kept creatures of Cold Creek Ranch—there to work and to serve—we were wild creatures of the West itself!

  Of course we both loved Cold Creek, and I couldn’t imagine another home. But still—this freedom was intoxicating. I pictured days of nomadic wandering, just Jasper and me, perhaps to the beyond mountains . . . and beyond them. Arabians were meant for this sort of life. As I said, we carry our home with us, in our very blood. As Jasper and I watched the dark shapes of birds skylark across the crimsoning clouds, I felt as if this hour was a summation of us: horse and girl, free but encircled in our bond. Companions.

  It was growing dark by the time we made our way back to the campsite. The sky had clouded, and the night was coming on quickly. I wasn’t very sweaty
, especially since Jasper was riding bareback, but she still gave me a nice sponging off with water from the stream, then filled a travel water bucket and hauled it over to the picket line that she and Mr. Sun had strung. She fixed a long lead rope to the picket line, testing it with the weight of her body, then, satisfied that it would hold, she clipped the other end to my halter. There was no need for this, I felt. I was far too smart to wander off and get lost in the night. Besides, I would never leave Jasper alone out here. I lowered my neck and found that I could easily reach the water bucket, some grass, and had room to lie down if I wanted. Jasper then brought over a measure of oats in the improvised bucket of her cowboy hat. My muzzle is small, so I had no trouble eating from it. First she held the hat for me, stroking my neck and shoulder, then, as I got a little more energetic with my food, she put the hat next to the water bucket and went to fix her own dinner.

  We ate together in the gathering darkness. There were no stars, no moon visible above. Jasper sang a little, and I finished my oats.

  “You know, Sami, I think I’d rather sleep out here with you than in that cave. I mean—bats.” She sounded a little nervous.

  I was glad. I wanted her company, too. My ancestors slept in the same tent as their Bedouin families, and that was something Jasper and I hadn’t shared before.

  She fetched a flashlight from the saddlebags and spent some time tidying up the camp, then unrolled her sleeping bag under a pine tree a few yards away from me, clearing rocks from the ground and piling up pine needles. Then she came over to my picket line and did the same for my area, which was very thoughtful. She crawled into the sleeping bag, switched off the flashlight, and we looked out into the darkness together. It was very, very dark and the air was growing cooler. The breeze that had followed us all day was still around, ruffling the trees and making lonely noises from the mouth of the cave. I imagined the sands of the great desert, and the little oasis that a family made amid its vastness. We had our own protective circle here, in this American West, in the shadow of the mountain. The circle was horse and child and horse and child. . . . What other creatures can take care of each other so well? The circle was our campsite, our home under the hidden stars. The circle was Sami and Jasper.

  It took a long time for Jasper to fall asleep, but when she did, I finally did, too.

  . . .

  Wind. a strange wind. lights. strange lights. I woke up with a shudder, my flanks quivering, my head thrown back violently. Weather. Buck. I might not have his extraordinary instincts, but my senses screamed, Alarm, alarm! I could make out Jasper’s sleeping form, curled up in a little ball in her bag. She looked very small, like a foal sleeping under her mother’s legs. I stood stock-still, ears, eyes, and nostrils straining to gather information. This was not the playful breeze of the day, and the lights were not the sun, nor the moon and stars. And I knew I had to wake her. I had to warn her. I let out a trumpeting blast: Jasper! Storm! Storm!

  Just at that moment, the thunder exploded.

  I have never heard anything like it. The deafening crack seemed like it would break my body in two. I reared to my height, maddened by the noise. When I plunged to earth, my forelegs became tangled up in something, and the sensation of restraint, of anything preventing my flight, made me sick with terror. I reared again, screaming.

  A blinding light accompanied the horrific noise, and suddenly I could not see. It was like the world was ending. I plunged forward in a frenzy, only to smack my muzzle against a rope. I threw myself backward, pulling as hard as I could against the restraint. I tossed my head furiously, forelegs pawing at the sky, down and up, down and up, until I heard a frantic voice calling my name, heard the pounding of boots, and felt hands reaching for my muzzle, grasping at the halter.

  I quite literally couldn’t think. The noise had compressed all thoughts into one overwhelming imperative: Run. I was so consumed that the rest of the world seemed very far away . . . and it took a long, dangerous moment before Jasper could reach me, could get inside my fear to remind me of myself, of her. That there was a world outside that catastrophic sound. Finally, as the sky rumbled and the eerie lights continued to flicker in the low bellies of the clouds, something of Jasper’s smell penetrated my brain, and I felt her trembling hands on my muzzle, heard her shhhhhhhh, easy, easy, easy, Sami . . . and reason returned. Not a lot, I’m afraid: I was still petrified. But I wasn’t about to try to gallop off a cliff anymore.

  I stood shaking like the needles of the pine trees around our campsite while Jasper tried to pack, dropping things, cursing, then finally crying out:

  “What am I doing? I’ve got to get us away from the trees, Sami!”

  She was right. I now understood clearly that we were in some sort of strange storm—all wind and cloud and flickering fire with no rain—and needed shelter. Jasper shoved a few things in her backpack, threw it over her shoulders, and ran back to me. She put my bridle on over my halter and unclipped me from the picket line. For a moment she stood rooted by my shoulder, surveying the land around us, trying to decide what to do. The landscape came in and out of view as the bluish light danced in the clouds above.

  “The cave,” she said. “C’mon, Sami, let’s go!”

  I bounded forward, and she staggered to keep up, tripping over my saddle, which lay on the ground by the sleeping bag, her boots dragging as I pulled her ahead. I was desperate to get us both to a protected place. But when we reached the mouth of the cave, a narrow defile carved in rock, it took a great deal of convincing on Jasper’s part to get me inside. The air was stale and close and smelled of bats and the droppings of other animals, possibly big cats. I was stuck between the freakish weather and the dark, enclosed space: Not a choice any horse wants to make. But Jasper finally persuaded me to take a few steps, then another few, then another, until we had made it through the entrance and were inside.

  The cave was extraordinarily dark. Even after my eyes adjusted, I still could only perceive a very rough outline of the cavern. It was small and relatively shallow, but I could feel space above my head and sensed movement within that space: bats. As long as they didn’t fly into me, I wasn’t bothered by their presence. I smelled mammal droppings, but they were old, so Jasper, I, and the bats were probably the only current guests here. I turned around to face the entrance and found that I could only see the outside world indirectly. We had entered the cave at an angle, then had to step around a large boulder that formed a corner, so you couldn’t quite see the mouth itself from the body of the cave, which made it an excellent hiding place indeed. So I watched the flickering lights illuminate the boulder and flinched every time the thunder growled in the wild night outside. There were more lightning strikes, but the sound was muffled by the rocks of the mountain that enclosed us. We were birds, chased to earth by a storm.

  We didn’t have much room to move around, so Jasper hoisted herself up onto a ledge of rock and sat cross-legged, leaning against her backpack, one hand on my lead rope. I was still trembling a little, strung up to my highest pitch every time a crack sounded outside. I kept waiting for the rain to start, but it never did. Eventually, I felt the rope slacken and knew that Jasper was dozing on her roost. I also felt an unexpected whisper of calm, and I relaxed a fraction. We had done well, I thought. We were together. We were safe. Jasper had made the right decisions and I had trusted her. I flicked my tail and snorted and would have liked a carrot. I hoped that one was among the items Jasper had managed to pack up.

  . . .

  I thought that the storm was moving off. Its noise was fading, and the hair-tingling scent of lightning had lessened. But the wind still gusted past the cave’s mouth, sending eddies of strangely hot air about my knees and hocks. And then the wind brought a new smell—only traces of it at first—a harsh odor that irritated the lining of my nostrils. I snorted, then breathed in again. The smell was stronger. Smoke.

  The wind swept in another direction and the scent was gone. But I was positive I had smelled it, and knew what it was—
the same smell as the piles of leaves that Peach burned in late autumn, the smell that came from the chimneys of the ranch. Smoke. Fire.

  Just then Jasper awoke, and I heard her yawn and shift position, stretching her legs. I stamped my hoof and gave a low whinny.

  “It’s okay, Sami,” she said. “Sounds like the storm’s almost gone. I’m going to go look around.” I nickered anxiously to her, but she just patted my side and handed me a carrot from her backpack.

  “Be right back.” My companion felt her way along the rock until she reached the boulder, then followed it to the mouth of the cave, slipping out of my view. But not for long: I was right behind her.

  I peered over Jasper’s shoulder, and she automatically put her arm under my neck, her hand reaching up to stroke my cheek. We looked out into the wild night.

  Above us, the sky was as black as a bird’s wing, and as full of flight, wind whipping the storm clouds forward. What visibility we had came from the east, where streaks of lightning pulsed the sky, illuminating the landscape in sudden bursts and casting eerie shadows. Then the wind changed direction again, and I saw another source of light, a sort of glow coming down the side of the mountain, toward the path that Sunny and Mr. Sun had taken this morning. If it hadn’t been the wrong time, I might have thought the sun was rising. But with the glow came the acrid smell again: Smoke.

  “Smoke,” Jasper whispered. “Oh no, Sami.”

  A second later, a wall of flame rose from the mountainside.

  It happened so impossibly fast, neither of us had time to think. I immediately started forward, and in another instant Jasper was on my back. I bolted away from the flames, away from the smoke that threatened to engulf us. I felt Jasper slip off center, grab at my mane, then plant her knees firmly to my sides. Instinctively, I plunged down to the base of the mountain, toward the stream. I could just make out our former campsite; the pine trees that held my picket line were twin torches burning from roots to tip. I swerved hard, then stopped abruptly, spinning on my hind legs. The mountain was on fire. The east was on fire. North, toward home, was so choked with smoke that I couldn’t tell what lay ahead. I let out one panicked whinny, then threw myself and Jasper westward.