by Patsey Gray
Stars had dimmed when the caravan started, leaving only Manuel, with his radio music. As the van lumbered out over the ranch road, Sis stood inside it between two pairs of horses riding head to tail. She liked the rumbling and creaking, and the flash of horses’ eyes when the lights of the Junction, then of other towns, beamed in through the vents. Two of the horses were eating, those with mangers. The other two pawed now and then, and their stomachs growled. They’d eat on arrival, not being in early classes.
Sis felt the van begin the climb to Windy Hill, and presently turn in to the grounds and lurch to a stop. When Lee let her out, the first sun rays greeted her. Friends waved to “the Tanbark bunch,” but didn’t take time to visit. All hurried to unload, to unzip leg and tail wraps, to saddle, to exercise in the ring before the show would start. The ring was not enclosed but open, comfortable for most horses. The weather, too, was comfortable so far, with the expected breeze.
It was the first time Sis had ridden Gull in such a crowd, and both were a bit nervous. But so were other horses and riders, she saw; even trainers. Lee, standing at the rail, was scolding Bethie Nelson for taking the wrong lead. Anita Pickett had collided with another girl. And a heavy man on a pinto was trying without success to jump a practice fence. When Sis passed him a second time and heard him curse his horse, she recognized Karl Kramer. Gull shied from them as if the sight and sound repelled him as much as it did her.
After that, Gull’s tension increased, especially when the loudspeaker came on strong. “Clear the ring,” it bellowed, and plainly Gull was eager to obey. Sis made him exit slowly and walk back to the van. At least he’d been exercised. Now he could relax while she watered and groomed him. Then she’d go help her English riders; she’d change; and maybe, she’d eat something.
As time for the Ladies’ Jumpers approached, she kept busy coaching. She was rather glad that for once Bobby Nelson wasn’t likely to win high point junior. A bulldog-faced rider from another stable had drawn ahead. Mrs. Ashby showed and didn’t place, but claimed she was having fun anyway. She looked tired, but surely, Sis thought, this was better therapy for her than anything else. Surprisingly, Melissa, far from falling off, won her first blue ribbon and wept with joy.
“What’s that lady doing?” a student asked Sis. The woman she pointed out carried a sort of broom handle with a cup at one end.
“She’s been hired to test horses for drugs,” Sis explained. “She’ll pick any horse among the winners, and when it leaves the ring, she’ll have its rider take it to an empty stall. They’ll wait there till the horse goes to the bathroom, and she’ll catch some of its urine in the cup. She’ll seal the sample and send it to a lab for analyzing.”
Wide-eyed, the student asked, “And the sample might show that the horse was doped? Then what?”
“Then the owner’s in big trouble,” Sis answered. “He’s fined and grounded and so on.” Her mind was not on this conversation. It was a relief to see Lee arrive. He handed her her number, checked his watch, and said, “Jocks up.”
Before she even reached the warm-up area, she knew Gull was still on edge. He mouthed his bit, shaking back flecks of foam. He humped his back. He twitched his ears. Willing herself to unwind him, she loosened every part of her body. She hummed. She gave and took with the snaffle. But she too started when the loudspeaker shouted, “Jumpers next, ladies to ride.” Shortly, as if everyone were deaf, it repeated, “Ladies’ Jumpers, you’re next.”
At the ring gate, Karl Kramer was helping a girl onto his pinto. Sis looked away, but not quickly enough to avoid seeing bloody streaks on the pinto’s sides. She whispered to Gull, “You’ll never belong to that man!”
With Lee at her stirrup, she studied the performance of each rival ahead of her. None so far had gone clean, though a young woman who rode with superb timing scored only one half fault. Yet the course wasn’t tricky. No stone wall, thank goodness. Although Sis was ready, the announcer’s call surprised her: “Number seventy-one, Sea Gull, owned by the Tanbark Ranch, ridden by Sis Reynolds.”
“In you go,” said Lee.
Sis collected Gull and walked him through the open gate. The buzz of voices dropped. As she trotted a circle before the first jump, she vaguely saw faces along the rail and smelled tanbark. Then she was headed for the brush, holding Gull to a canter instead of the gallop he wanted.
Over the brush. Picket fence next—those points like teeth! Slow down, that’s better. All right! We’re over that one too with no faults. Hear his good pounding strides and his blowing. The pump of his shoulders and thrust of hindquarters say he could gallop ten miles cross-country, and laugh at my weight on his back!
Now, ready for the crossed bars—okay, still clean. Now turn—hey, are you trying to buck or what? Here comes the panel—beautiful, but no need to jump it that big! A voice shouts “Keep it up!” Reverse now, change leads, and back over the same fences.
Sis felt a great glow as she glimpsed unexpected victory, or at worst a jump-off.
But past the far turn, Gull grabbed the bit and put on speed. Hold back, hold back! She slowed him, not enough. As if in fun, he charged the remaining fences. A front rap, a pole down, a whole fence down! Somebody guffawed, “Timber!” And going out, to complete the shambles, a real buck!
Outside, Lee said, “I’ve seen better.”
Sis lacked the breath to answer. She nodded, fighting tears. She’d worked so hard with Gull, hoped for so much! Oh, gosh, why hadn’t she held him?
“Get down,” Lee ordered. “Cool him and tie him at the van. And don’t be a sore loser. Your horse enjoyed himself at any rate. Look at him.”
Gull was wearing the funniest expression, nearly sheepish.
After a moment, Lee asked sharply, “Have you been graining him?”
“A little bit,” Sis mumbled toward her boots.
When she looked up, Lee was frowning. “I see,” he said.
But what he saw seemed to be not all bad. He went on, “Well, I didn’t bring him here to play. Of course, we can take that out of him, but not in time for the Open class. I’ll go scratch.”
“But your entry fee!”
He shrugged. “Better to lose a few bucks than to ruin a good prospect.”
On her way to the van, Sis saw Bud with a group of pals. He grinned at her. So the creep had won his bet against Gull. “Thanks, sweetheart!” he yelled.
Not caring who heard, she yelled back, “Drop dead!”
SIX
“HOWDY,” SIS BEGAN her second letter to Marion and Eve. It was Monday evening, a week after Windy Hill. “I should have answered you both sooner, but I’ve been busy. Also having fun. Also learning. There’s a million things to learn in a place like this when you plan to make horses your career.”
She paused to think about Gull. Her sisters wouldn’t understand, but she had to try. On her cot, she shifted position and continued.
“Gull listens for my step in the morning, and nickers under his breath at me, and lips my hands. For such a big horse to be so loving is kind of sweet. Of course, he knows I’ll feed him. No more grain though, it sends him! It made him so high at Windy Hill that he acted like a two-year-old. Physically, too, he’s improved with regular work. And his jumping is getting consistent.”
But it was silly to go on about Gull.
“Marion, you asked me about Lee. Well, I’ve grown to really respect him. He’s not exactly cuddly, but he’s fair, and a terrific worker. It bothers him that the barn boys don’t work harder, but he says these two are better than others he’s hired. Manuel’s shy, and seems to need Bud’s help. He’s an illegal alien, Bud says, scared the police will deport him home to Mexico.
“Back to Lee. He plans to build a home here, and to add more box stalls and a hot walker. He must be lonely sometimes, being single, but I think he’s happy. He acts happiest when he drives the rent horses down every morning when the sun just touches the hilltops, not yet the valley. Then he rides bareback, and he whistles. I see him because I’m
out early too, on my way to Gull. I like that time, cool and all still before the new day.
“Lee wasn’t mad at me when I clobbered the course at Windy Hill. After the class I acted like a brat, and chewed my nails all the way home. I must have looked terrible, because Lee gave me the next day off. What was fabulous, he said I should ride this next weekend at the Sequoia County fair. Boy, did that boost my morale! He said Gull was a good prospect. Naturally, he knows darn well I’ll work twice as hard now.
“Did I tell you he had an awful row with Laurie over her smoking? He ordered her to quit it ‘for the last time.’ I have no idea what’ll happen, but I’d sure miss her if she left.”
Sis contemplated another subject, then tackled it.
“You wrote that Jeff sounded nice. He is nice—that’s all. I mean, he’s practically middle-aged, and most likely has thousands of dates. The more the merrier.
“Guess I’ve rambled on enough. It’s getting late, and I still want to finish a super mystery story. How’s Mimi? Say ‘Hi’ from me.” Sis considered sending a message to her dad, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Next morning, Lee took the letter to mail when he drove Bud to Berkeley. Bud always got a ride out on his day off; at night a friend brought him back. Manuel preferred to spend his free Mondays at the ranch. Now, as on most Mondays, Lee planned to do some business in town. Meantime, Sis was to substitute for Bud, to teach two classes, and to turn half the rent horses back on the hill. They’d had a full day yesterday and wouldn’t all be needed today.
Her second class was at eleven, and she had to resist the urge to cut it short. The ring was stuffy, hotter than outside. It was good to step into her cabin at noon. She’d take a break until Lee’s pickup rattled past, getting home. Collapsed on her cot, she daydreamed about the coming county fair.
But an odd sound kept interrupting her dream. Ordinarily she ignored the horses’ voices, but with Lee and Bud both away—
She sat up, conscious that the sound had been going on for some time. Darn, what was wrong with Fury? The pony’d been all right when she’d turned him out earlier.
Next second his frantic neighing electrified her. At the same time, a child’s shriek split the quiet noon.
Sis snatched open her door. For a moment an appalling sight paralyzed her. “No—they’ll kill him!” she screamed. “Keep out! Keep out!”
Flying, she made for the lowest pasture corner. Three dogs surrounded Fury there—a large shepherd, a smaller one, and a yellow dog nearly Fury’s size. Together and in turn they were attacking, darting at his head, his belly, his hindquarters. The noise was ghastly. Snarls mingled with the pony’s neighs and with the shrieks of the little girl about to crawl through the fence to Fury.
Sis flung herself on the child, who fought her desperately while sobbing, “Save the pony, they’re hurting it! They’re hurting it!”
“Shut up!” Sis yelled at her, but didn’t dare let her go. Holding her, she couldn’t climb the fence herself. Both were gasping with horror at the shambles a few feet away. Tears gushed down Sis’s face as a voice, maybe hers, screamed “Lee! Manuel! Somebody!”
Backed into the corner, Fury was weakening. Blood smeared his coat and reddened his long white tail, and stained the sweat running off him. His little stick legs twisted and tripped in the dirt and manure, ready to snap. His foretop was no longer a white cloud, but a thick red mass that rose and fell as he went to his knees and up again, over and over. He seemed to be bowing and bowing, in a nightmare that must soon have an end too gruesome to watch.
The dogs lunged and snarled, bit flesh and hung on, and fell back to lunge again. They too were splashed with blood, but not their own. All three were thin, shaggy brutes. The yellow one seemed the leader, his growls deep and savage. The big shepherd worked methodically to hamstring Fury. The small one attacked with agile springs, her barks as vicious as her teeth that snapped shining in the sunlight.
Fury was silent now, except to pant. Still he struggled, rolling in the dust and the noise and the stench. The other horses watched from the hillside, but none came to his help.
Sis couldn’t stand it any longer. Loosing the child, she shouted at her, “Don’t move, you hear?” She looked about wildly, saw a stick and seized it and was halfway up the fence.
At that moment Lee’s voice thundered, “Get off that fence!” His pickup skidded to a stop beside her. In one jump he jerked her down. Then he raced towards his storeroom. Speed blurred his long legs and brought him back in seconds—with a gun.
Sis covered her eyes and dragged the little girl backwards.
The shot cracked out. There was a gurgling grunt and the thump of a falling body. When she looked, the yellow dog lay dead next to Fury. The other dogs were streaking away. Lee fired again, but they were out of range.
Lee’s eyes on Fury were grim. “Looks about finished,” he said. He set the loaded gun down through the fence, then climbed in after it.
“Are you—are you—” Sis couldn’t manage, Are you going to shoot Fury? She didn’t want to look at Fury, and when she did look, she had to turn away. Things began to go around and around. She sat down fast because the ground was tilting. Then she heard Lee unload his gun.
Without looking at her, he began, “Watch Fury while I—” He glanced over. “Oh. Well, I’ll watch him. You run and call Doctor Emory. In my office. The number’s on the phone. If you can’t reach Doc, call the other number, Doctor Nesbit. Tell ’em they may have to put a horse down. You know what I mean?”
“Yes. Kill him,” Sis said faintly.
“And take that kid, whoever she is.” Lee bent over Fury again, and Sis fled, pulling the little girl along.
Her heart continued to pound while she called both vets, then the child’s home. A brother said he’d be right over. “Stay here, your brother’s coming,” she told the child, and turned to leave. But she stopped and dragged a tissue from her pocket. “Here, dry your face.” Her own face was salted stiff with tears and sweat. Seeing the child still sobbing, she said, “I’ll wait with you.”
It was a short wait before they heard the approach of the boy on a bicycle. Sis left. Not running this time, she headed back to Fury. “Coward,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t—when you see him—no matter what—don’t you pass out.”
“He’s in shock,” Lee told her, “but the vet’ll want him moved. I’m going to open the pasture gate and drive in. Several together, we can lift him onto the pickup bed. Which vet’s coming?”
“Doctor Nesbit.”
“Darn. That’s the woman.” Lee scowled, looking more like himself—but not much more.
His lunch break over, Manuel showed up. He appeared to take the disaster without surprise. Most likely he’d seen death more than once. He looked at the fallen pony and in his gentle way said only, “Se muere.”
“Get a shovel and bury the dog,” Lee ordered him, with motions. And he said harshly, maybe to himself, “It’s the bums who turn dogs loose that oughtta be shot.”
The vet arrived next, an assured young person, trim in her white coveralls. She requested a blanket and helped slide it under Fury. Sis didn’t look at him. One at each corner, they carried it, taut, to the pickup.
“Let’s get him to a box stall without jarring,” Doctor Nesbit directed. “Then I’ll need hot water. When I’ve cleaned those wounds—we’ll see.”
Sis listened, her eyes stretched wide. What did “we’ll see” mean?
“If you want to save him,” the vet went on—
“Do what you can.” Lee spoke as if it didn’t matter, but his next words gave him away. “I raised him myself from birth when the mother died. He turned fifteen last March…”
Evidently Doctor Nesbit got the message. She said briskly, “I’ll sedate him first. Then he’ll need a shot of penicillin, and a tetanus shot. When I sew him up, I’ll want a flashlight and someone to hold it. Let’s go.”
Any other time Sis would have grinned at the sight of Lee bos
sed by this slight, cool young woman. Now she was half relieved when he sent her to cope with the clients arriving. Before moving off, she watched the pickup inch its way toward Manuel’s barn. Like an ambulance, she thought. Manuel and Doctor Nesbit walked beside it. No, it was like a hearse.
That afternoon was unreal to Sis. At her chores, which included Bud’s, she spoke as little as possible, evading people and their questions. Her head ached, she guessed, from the strain of trying to determine what was going on in Manuel’s barn. He and Lee had stayed inside it, as far as she knew, and Doctor Nesbit’s car was still by the pasture fence.
“Are you sick, Sis?” a youngster asked.
“Just tired.”
“You look funny. How come?”
Sis longed to be alone, to take some aspirin and a shower. Even more, she longed for news of Fury, but hadn’t the courage to go ask. Only in the late afternoon, when she saw the vet’s car still there, did she decide that the worst hadn’t happened. If Doctor Nesbit had given the fatal injection—euthanasia, they called it—she would have left.
Sis had fed all the indoor horses and cleaned box stalls when she heard Lee’s pickup start. That meant he was going to feed those turned out. Now another motor started. The vet’s! Sis stepped outside, and cringed from the still-bright glare.
Lee was gray-faced. “Got ’em all fed?” he asked.
“Yes.” Pause. “Fury—?”
“He’ll need luck. We’ll know in a couple of days. Manuel’s going to take care of him. But it wouldn’t hurt you to lend a hand. You won’t break, you know, just by looking at a sick horse.” Lee raised his hat to wipe his forehead.
Sis felt her face redden. He was right, of course. What good would she be around a stable if sights like today’s made her sick?
“Have you mucked out?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ve done everything except ride Gull.”
“Then don’t. The shape you’re in, you’d do him more harm than good. He’d take advantage of you. Longe him instead. But first, help me feed in pasture. Manuel has to be with Fury when he comes to, so he don’t fight and bust his stitches. I doubt there’s any fight left in the little guy, but I’ll go along with what Doctor Nesbit wants. I’ve got to say she did a fine job.”