Wild Horses

by Jenny Oldfield

  “Yeah…Nope!” Quickly she worked over the last corner of the arena and flung the rake into one corner of the barn. Then she made sure Lucky was still hitched to his post in the corral before she went running into the tack-room to fetch his saddle.

  Charlie stood to one side and watched. “Looks like you changed your mind about riding this afternoon.”

  “Yep.” She’d been so dumb. Sure, her mom had said to stay away from the backwoods men. And that made sense, if they were as tough as Sandy said they were. Kirstie had agreed that she wouldn’t go riding up the mountain looking for their beaten-up old trailers, trying to convince them not to sell her beautiful wild stallion to some ruthless rodeo organizer.

  That had been the exact promise: “OK, I’ll stay clear of Bob Tyson.”

  “And Art Fischer, and Baxter Black, and any other drifter who happens to be passing through.” Sandy Scott had made the situation absolutely plain.

  And, though it had felt as bad as teeth being pulled, Kirstie had promised.

  But she hadn’t promised her mom not to go back to Dead Man’s Canyon.

  “Can’t say I blame you.” Unsuspecting, Charlie looked up at the blue sky and offered to help her saddle Lucky. “I’d take a ride myself if I didn’t have this exhibition tonight.”

  “Tell Mom I’ll be back before sundown.” Her fingers felt clumsy as she rushed to fasten the cinch and pull down the stirrups. She mounted quickly and took the reins.

  “Sure thing.” Charlie stood and watched her set off, then called after her. “Hey, your mom’s gonna ask me where you went!”

  Kirstie reined Lucky back. “Tell her Meltwater Trail,” she yelled, turning again and riding off into the sun without looking back.

  Meltwater Trail and Dead Man’s Canyon. That was how dumb she’d been! It had taken her since lunch to realize that her promise to her mom didn’t cover riding back to the hidden clearing, finding the stallion, and setting him free.

  Now it was all she could think about as she urged Lucky into a trot and then a smooth lope up the hill.

  Again and again she went over each step of the new plan, almost forgetting to duck the branches of the pine trees and guide the palomino over fallen trunks as they sped on. The black stallion would still be there in his clearing behind the waterfall. Perhaps the rest of the herd would be gathered nearby. Kirstie would dismount and leave Lucky on the ridge. She would take a head collar and rope with her, and climb down into the canyon. Then she would crawl along the ledge into the meadow. Then …

  Kirstie lurched forward as Lucky came to a sudden stop. They’d covered more ground than she’d realized and reached fast-flowing Horseshoe Creek. Now they would have to wade across before they reached the canyon. Lucky had been heading for his usual crossing place when a figure standing on a rock in the middle of the stream brought him to a halt.

  It was a man with a fishing rod and canvas bag slung across his shoulder, obviously making his way down toward Five Mile Creek in the valley below. Nothing about him looked unusual or scary; he was medium height, with fair, short hair, wearing a padded jacket, jeans, and boots. But Sandy’s recent warning was fresh in Kirstie’s mind. What if this man, whom she’d never seen before, was one of the drifters they’d been talking about? Maybe he was Baxter or Art? Or maybe even the notorious Bob Tyson?

  The thought made Kirstie rein Lucky to the right and head off across country without waiting to greet the stranger. She felt her horse begin to blow as the hill grew steeper and they passed under the shadow of Hummingbird Rock, but she pushed him on until they were out of sight.

  Then she slowed. The detour was heading them toward Miners’ Ridge; she recognized the weird humps of grassed-over mine waste on the horizon. Knowing that the ridge would give her a good view down into the canyon, and finding that Lucky had soon got his second wind, she decided to carry on.

  They came onto the ridge as the sun began to turn the sky pink. The dark pines lined up in silhouette, tall and straight. And beneath the trees stood the horses.

  “Easy!” Kirstie breathed. Lucky gently slowed and stopped. The breeze lifted her hair and cooled her hot face as they stood gazing at the herd.

  They seemed like dream horses, still as statues under the trees. But the breeze reached them and swayed their long tails. One sorrel stamped and turned her head toward the onlookers, then turned to gaze again into the seemingly empty canyon.

  How long had they been waiting there, Kirstie wondered. Maybe hours. While shadows lengthened and the light drained from the hillsides, they’d been watching. She noticed a dappled gray mare standing apart from the rest, nearer to the sheer drop into Dead Man’s Canyon, her head forward, long ears pricked. The mare ignored Kirstie and Lucky, and gave a low snicker that rippled through the quiet air and was swallowed by the deep sides of the ravine.

  The still, silent horses listened for a reply.

  Kirstie shook her head. The mare had signalled to the black stallion below, but there had been no answer.

  Restless now, the herd broke up and began to mill around. Two foals cut away from their mothers and skittered on long, ungainly legs toward a stream that ran into a gully at a blocked entrance to an old mine. A young, strong blue roan stallion trotted a hundred yards along the ridge, and with a flick of his tail and a toss of his head, wheeled and came back.

  But the gray mare hadn’t given up. Standing at the brink, she gave another high whinny.

  It sent a shiver down Kirstie’s spine. The mare was demanding an answer from her injured mate.

  And this time it came. A loud, piercing cry broke from the depths of the canyon, echoing against the rocks, rising to where the herd had gathered. The black stallion had given his reply.

  Kirstie tied Lucky to a tree branch and climbed down the difficult but by now familiar route into the canyon. She carried a rope slung crossways across her shoulder, her mind fixed on carrying out her plan to set the stallion free.

  But she knew she must be quick if she hoped to crawl along the ledge behind the waterfall and into the clearing, because the light was fading. There was time to do it if everything went well. But the stallion might prove difficult to catch and lead out. In that case, she would have to leave him there for one more night and come back early tomorrow.

  What she hadn’t expected was to find him still in pain from his injury. But when she stood upright after her wet crawl behind the waterfall and stepped onto the grass, and discovered the stallion standing at the farthest point beside the copse of young aspens, she saw that he couldn’t yet take his weight on his left leg. The knee was bent, the hoof raised from the ground.

  But maybe … Kirstie went slowly forward. Maybe with her help he would be able to limp across the meadow, through the narrow chasm and along the ledge to freedom.

  The stallion tossed his head and whinnied loudly. He shifted awkwardly, almost collapsing onto the left leg, then backing away.

  Kirstie paused. The horse was more lame than she’d thought. The knee joint was swollen, the covering of white grease over the wound beginning to turn brown and dirty. He staggered again in an effort to keep her at a distance.

  It was no good then. Her plan depended on him being well enough to follow her out of the clearing and up the difficult track onto the ridge. But it would have to wait. Kirstie sighed and turned away. Then she stopped. But what if the drifter came back for the stallion before her? The drifter—not the healer, not the mystery horse doctor, since Kirstie’s talk with her mom—might force him out of the canyon, bad leg or not. He wouldn’t care if the wild horse was in pain, not if he could make money out of him at the sale barn.

  But what could she do? Nothing. Except keep watch. Kirstie took a deep breath and tilted her head to the darkening sky. One thing was for sure; no one in their right mind would come along after nightfall to move the stallion. They were safe at least until morning.

  Encouraged, she made up her mind to leave the horse where he was.

  “Until daylight,” sh
e told him, as if he could understand. And in a way, he did.

  Her gentle voice, her soft movements seemed to calm him. He no longer tried to back away, stumbling on his injured leg, but stood quite still. Head up, mane ruffled by a warm breeze that whispered through the aspens and up the steep cliffs onto the ridge above, he watched her go.

  “I must be crazy,” Lisa complained. She yawned and slumped in the saddle. “It’s the first day of my vacation and I get up before dawn!”

  Kirstie grinned. “You know what we say at Half Moon Ranch; you just gotta …”

  “… Cowboy-up!” Lisa groaned. “Yeah, yeah.”

  She’d driven out to the ranch with her mother in answer to Kirstie’s secretive phone call of the night before. Kirstie had asked her to ride back to Dead Man’s Canyon with her to look out for the stallion, but she’d warned her not to say anything to her mom. As far as the adults were concerned, Lisa and Kirstie had simply organized a breakfast ride to celebrate the beginning of the school vacation.

  The two women had been surprised that the girls wanted to ride out so early, but they’d shrugged, seen them off on Lucky and Cadillac, and settled down to an early morning cup of coffee over the ranch house kitchen table.

  “Better to be crazy than mean,” Kirstie said now, thinking all the time of how they must beat the drifter and his plan to sell the stallion.

  “Huh.” Lisa piled on the groans. “Just don’t tell anyone I did this, OK?”

  Her good-tempered complaints passed the time until Miners’ Ridge came into view against a clear morning sky.

  “Sun’s gonna be hot today,” Kirstie predicted. “It’s gonna melt the snow off the peaks and send a whole lot more water down.”

  As if to prove her point, Horseshoe Creek seemed even deeper and faster than it had the night before. Lucky went down the bank and stepped sturdily in, swaying slightly as the water rose round his flanks and soaked Kirstie’s jeans. She urged him on and he surged through, then they turned to wait for a reluctant Cadillac.

  “C-c-cold!” Lisa gasped, as she too felt the water dash against her legs.

  But by the time the girls made it to the ridge, the first rays of sun had dried off their jeans and they were both feeling good about the plan to take another look at the stallion.

  “Even if his leg’s not good enough to come out of the clearing with us, we’ll try to get near and talk to him,” Kirstie said as she dismounted and tied Lucky up. “The more he gets to know us, the easier it’s gonna be in the long run.”

  “We can always come back later today and try again if need be.” Lisa had been the first off her horse and was ready to take the track down into the canyon.

  “Or stay out here the whole day and keep watch,” Kirstie said. She was on the lookout for the herd, expecting to see the gray mare at their head. The fact that they weren’t here on the ridge surprised her slightly.

  “You can’t be serious!” Lisa retorted, thinking of her stomach as usual. “Stay here the whole day without a sack lunch?”

  She went on ahead, grumbling and kidding, but Kirstie stayed on the ridge, still looking out for the wild horses. She thought she heard the faint sound of hooves drumming down the hillside toward her, and then she caught sight of the young sorrel, quickly followed by a piebald. They galloped through the trees, kicking up dirt, swerving past boulders. “Hey!” she said softly. These horses weren’t playing a game of chase. Their flattened ears and reckless speed told her they were fleeing from an unseen pursuer.

  Two young foals came next, skidding down the slope, their stick-like legs folding under them as they crashed down. They jerked back up onto their feet and ran on. Then more fully grown horses came hard on their heels. Kirstie saw the fear running through their bodies, making them toss their heads and rear up. What was it? Who was chasing them?

  “Say, what’s happening?” Lisa had heard the noise and climbed back onto the ridge. She stopped and stared.

  Kirstie took a step forward, then another. Here came the gray mare at the back of the herd, half-hidden by a cloud of dust. The horse ran more slowly, hindered by something that she couldn’t quite make out.

  “What’s that around her neck?” Lisa cried. “See—she’s dragging a length of rope!”

  Kirstie broke into a run. She saw it now; the rough slipknot, the trailing rope that caught in the bushes as the horse ran.

  The other wild horses had reached the ridge and galloped along its length. But the gray mare was winded. She saw the girls, slowed, and wheeled away. Up on her hind legs, front hooves flailing, she whirled back the way she’d come.

  But her path was blocked. There was a man scrambling down the mountain toward her; a dark figure in a black hat, the brim pulled well down. He spread his arms wide to threaten the mare, paused to unhitch another rope from his shoulder, then raised it over his head to launch a second lasso.

  “Don’t do that!” Kirstie yelled the first words that came into her head. She ran faster, straight at the gray horse.

  Caught between them, the mare reared up.

  The second rope snaked through the air. Kirstie leaped forward, jumped, and caught it. The man’s harsh voice swore. He jerked at the rope and heaved Kirstie off her feet.

  “Let go of the damn rope!” he cried.

  She hung on. Her arms felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets as the stranger dragged her over the rough ground.

  “Get out of my way!” he yelled again. “I plan to rope that mare in, and no fool kid’s gonna stop me!”

  9

  “Kirstie, let go of the rope!” Lisa begged.

  Kirstie was cut and bruised, covered in dirt. But she’d hung on long enough to give the gray horse a chance to get away. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the mare turn on the spot and race along the ridge after the other wild horses. Her white mane and tail streamed in the wind. OK; now Kirstie would loosen her grip!

  “Damn fool kid!” the man shouted, falling back as the tension on the rope suddenly slackened. He jerked it and began to coil it toward him.

  Quickly Lisa helped Kirstie to her feet. She pointed at the scratches on her arms. “You’re bleeding!”

  “I’m OK.” Breathing hard, her shoulders and hands hurting, she brushed herself down. “No way was I gonna stand by and watch that!”

  “But listen!” Lisa was pulling her urgently away from the angry man. “You know who that is? It’s Bob Tyson!”

  Kirstie sniffed then breathed out rapidly, as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “You sure?”

  Lisa nodded. “I’ve seen him in the diner.”

  Glancing across, Kirstie took in the frowning features under the wide brim of the black hat. The man was unshaven and thickset, wearing a dark gray shirt and old jeans. The large silver buckle of his belt glinted in the light as he finished coiling his lasso and strode toward them.

  “I could have roped that horse in if you hadn’t gotten in the way!” he snarled at Kirstie. “You know how long I’d been on her tail? Since sunup. I had her real tired and cut off from the herd. And you had to mess it up!”

  Kirstie drew herself up, tall as she could. Her gray eyes flashed as she spoke. “I’m glad.”

  “Me too.” Lisa stood alongside. Together they could defy the horse rustler.

  “No way does that mare belong in a sale barn!” Kirstie went on angrily. “Her place is here on the mountain. This is where she belongs.”

  “Along with the stallion,” Lisa added. She glared at Tyson to let him know they knew what he was up to.

  But the man’s face switched at the mention of another horse. His eyes narrowed, he became suspicious. “Stallion?” he repeated.

  “Quit pretending you don’t know what I’m saying,” Lisa raced on. “One black stallion in one hidden clearing!”

  Kirstie watched Tyson’s frown deepen. His eyes flicked shrewdly from Lisa to herself and back again.

  “Oh, that black stallion,” he sneered.

  “The one you�
��re gonna take to the sale barn when his leg’s good!” Lisa challenged. “Only you’d better know, we’re not gonna let you!”

  “Shh!” Kirstie snatched at her friend’s arm and began to pull her away. “Let’s get out of here!”

  “I’m gonna take a stallion to the sale barn when his leg’s good?” Tyson echoed. He glanced thoughtfully up and down the hillside, then along Miners’ Ridge. His gaze rested on the cliff edge and the steep drop into Dead Man’s Canyon. “A stallion in a hidden clearing?”

  “Let’s go!” Kirstie insisted.

  “Quit pulling me!” Lisa protested. But she gave in when she saw the look of panic on Kirstie’s face. She glanced again at Tyson’s sneering features with a dawning realization of what she’d done.

  They left the drifter standing on the ridge, grinning after them. Running for their horses, they mounted and rode away. Away from the old mine entrance and the grassy mounds, away from the stream swollen by meltwater from Eagle’s Peak. Away from Dead Man’s Canyon and the horse in the hidden clearing.

  “He didn’t know!” Kirstie gasped at Lisa as they found the trail and pushed Lucky and Cadillac on in any direction as long as it was away from the horse rustler. “I was watching his face all the time you stood up to him, and it hit me right between the eyes. That was the first Tyson ever heard of the black stallion!”

  And now Lisa and Kirstie had to pray that the drifter didn’t know the mountain well enough to discover the clearing behind the waterfall.

  “After all, even the Forest Guard doesn’t know about it,” Kirstie reminded her friend as they reached level ground and carried on along Five Mile Creek Trail. They tried to convince themselves that Tyson had no chance of finding the stallion. “And no more does Charlie, and he’s been riding these trails with the intermediates since winter.”

  “Whereas this guy’s a loner, a drifter. He moves on before he gets to know a place real well.” Lisa nodded hard. “He shoots a few deer, catches a few fish …”