Gradually Kirstie tuned in to Lisa’s story. Mention of her grandfather, Chuck Glassner, made her recall the endless summer days when, as little kids, she and Matt had visited Half Moon Ranch. They would leave the choked, dusty streets of Denver where they used to live and drive out here for the summer with their mom and dad. That was before their dad had left them to start a new family with another woman, before their mom had sold the Denver house and moved them out to the ranch for good. “What did this Red Mitchell do about his sick horse?” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the darting, hovering hummingbirds.
“He took Bandit west, deep into the Rockies, to see some special horse doctor. Red was part Native American. The horse doctor he knew out there had connections with an ancient tribe. He used cures dreamed up by the old medicine men, herbs and stuff.” Lisa hesitated as she saw Matt’s tall figure appear in the barn doorway and she felt Kirstie suddenly sit forward. But she went on trying to distract her friend as he walked slowly toward them.
“The point is, Red Mitchell cared enough about his old ranch horse to take two weeks out of work to drive Bandit hundreds of miles looking for a cure …”
Kirstie stood up with a jerk of the swing. She took a couple of hollow steps across the porch, raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Matt’s face was in shadow, the brim of his Stetson pulled well down. But she knew without him having to say a word what had happened.
He crossed the yard at snail’s pace, put one foot on the porch step, then stopped. Unable to meet Kirstie’s burning gaze, he grasped the handrail and let his head sink forward.
“Moonshine,” Kirstie whispered. Not a question, a terrible statement of fact. “He didn’t make it.”
There were a few things people always said when an animal you loved died.
“Never mind, honey. It’s something you have to get used to.”
“You did everything you could. He wouldn’t have suffered.”
“Remember, it’s not the same as when a person dies.”
“You’ll soon get over it.”
It was the last one that Kirstie hated the most. She would yell at any person dumb enough to say that. In fact, after Lisa had left for Lone Elm, Kirstie had avoided going out of the house all day, just so no one could try it. Come evening, as it grew dark and there was less risk of bumping in to anyone, she grabbed her hat and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Sandy asked. She’d driven back from Denver with a bunch of new guests to be greeted by the sad news about Moonshine. It had upset her almost as much as Kirstie and Matt, but she’d had to press on. There were cabins to allocate, late arrivals to check in, a hundred and one tasks to make changeover day run as smoothly as it ought. But now at last she had time to talk.
“Out to Red Fox Meadow,” Kirstie told her.
“It’s too late to ride.” Her mom followed her to the door and looked out at the bands of dark clouds gathering over Eagle’s Peak. The rest of the sky was indigo tinged in the west with pink.
“I know.” Kirstie made out a group of new guests walking down the track from Apache Hill. Their flashlight gave off a weak yellow beam as they found their way toward the barbecue set out on the grass by Five Mile Creek. “I don’t plan to ride,” she told Sandy hastily. If she ran to the meadow, she would avoid the suppertime mob. “I just want to say hi to Lucky.”
“Don’t stay out too long!”
“OK, I won’t.” She swung out through the door, just catching her mom’s last request.
“If you see Matt, tell him I’d like to talk with him!”
But Matt was one of the people Kirstie would rather avoid. She hadn’t seen her brother all afternoon, knew only that he’d volunteered to drive Lisa to her grandpa’s and that he hadn’t been back to the ranch since. He was probably driving the back roads or hanging out in San Luis, trying not to think too hard about Moonshine.
In any case, she succeeded in skirting around the corral, then crossed the footbridge and slipped past the barbecue without being noticed. She could see the meadow fence up ahead and the dark outlines of horses quietly grazing.
As she approached and leaned on the fence, she picked out Yukon, the brown and white paint, with her black colt, Pepper. A little further off, pulling hay out of the sides of the metal feeder, were Matt’s big gray horse, classy Cadillac and ugly old Crazy Horse. The two geldings went everywhere together and were recognizable at a glance.
More horses milled around in the dusk light by the edge of the creek, wandering between willow bushes or nudging each other aside. Yeah, there was Jitterbug, dancing about as usual. And Johnny Mohawk, setting off to lope the length of the field.
But where was Lucky? It was odd for him not to be here by the fence. Usually he would hear and smell her even before she came into sight. His beautiful golden head would be stretching out to greet her, making her feel she was the most important thing in his world.
Yep, there he was, standing under an oak tree at the far end of the meadow. Kirstie spotted his pale mane, and recognized his trot as he set off toward her, the way he picked his feet high off the ground and arched his neck like an Arab, instead of the plain old quarter horse that he was. She smiled as she watched him approach. After this awful day, all she wanted to do was stand with him and talk.
“Hey!” she said quietly as he made his way past Cadillac and Crazy Horse.
He tossed his head and swished his tail, slowing to a walk. Then he plodded the last few yards, head down.
“Hey!” Kirstie said again. She climbed the fence and dropped into the meadow, feeling a few drops of rain in the cool breeze blowing down the valley. “Are you feeling like me, Lucky? All washed up.”
Coming right up to her, he thrust his nose against her shoulder, licking her shirt and pulling at the pocket with his lips.
“I know!” she sighed. “We didn’t get to go out together today, did we? You missed me, huh?”
More rubbing and licking, a sideways nudge as if to tell her off for neglecting him.
“I couldn’t help it!” she grinned. “I was busy in the barn. We had a big problem which didn’t work out too good. Tough, eh?”
Lucky snorted and pressed for more affection, almost making Kirstie overbalance in his eagerness.
“Listen, you got a day off, didn’t you?” Hooking both arms around his neck, she laid her head against him. “And tomorrow’s Monday, but I don’t have to leave the ranch. It’s vacation. School’s out for summer!”
The palomino turned his head to look up at the black horizon, his nostrils flared, ears pricked.
“Yeah, you got it! We can ride all day, go where we want. What do you think? Should we try Eden Lake or Miners’ Ridge? If we go to the lake you can take a swim!”
Giving another toss of his head, Lucky nickered.
“Yeah, I know; you like swimming. Me, too. But maybe Eden Lake’s too far. You looked a little slow coming across the meadow just now, like you could do with taking things easy for a day or two.”
Taking a step back from her horse, Kirstie cast a critical eye over him. She noticed he wasn’t standing square on all four feet, but resting his left hind leg off the ground. Maybe he had a stone in his foot that was giving him a problem. So she went to lift and inspect the hoof in what was by now almost total darkness. “Nope, it looks fine!” she muttered, easing it back down. She went back around to his head and took hold of his head collar. “Hey, you’re not kidding me, are you?”
Lucky shook himself, sending his whole body quivering. Then he gave a short, sharp cough.
It’s nothing, Kirstie told herself. Nothing! Lucky’s fooling around, that’s all. She patted him and told him to quit, said she would go straight back to the ranch for her chicken and fries if he didn’t behave. But that was on the surface. Deep down, she was growing afraid.
Take a proper look, an inner voice insisted. It’s not like Lucky to stand uneven. And he’s low in energy. When did he last trot across the meadow to see you instead of
lope?
Take a look tomorrow! Another, high-pitched voice inside her head argued. Leave it for tonight.
Tomorrow could be too late. If there’s something wrong with the horse, he needs proper attention now!
What could be wrong? Lucky’s a strong, healthy horse. The whining voice wanted to be right.
Caught between the two, Kirstie couldn’t move. She stood in Red Fox Meadow in the dark, with the rain coming down hard. Lucky had hung his head and was waiting quietly, but still the battle inside her head continued.
If it hadn’t been for Matt coming up to the fence and seeing her there, she might have stayed all night. He stood silently for a few seconds, hat pulled down, jacket collar turned up, hands in pockets. “You OK?” he said at last.
“Fine.” She shivered as the rain soaked through her shirt. The hand clutching the head collar shook with cold.
“How about Lucky?”
“Fine, too. Why shouldn’t he be?” That was the whining, practically hysterical voice taking over.
“No, he’s not.” Matt climbed the fence to join them. He put his hand on the horse’s shivering shoulder and looked him over from head to foot. “The horse is sick. C’mon, Kirstie, let’s get him out of here!”
5
“Try not to let it get to you,” Sandy told Kirstie, holding her hand hard. “I can see in your face you’re thinking the worst already. But don’t, honey. Think positive for Lucky’s sake!”
Kirstie had walked her palomino out of the meadow to the barn. Cold rain and hot tears had trickled down her face as she led him slowly across the footbridge over Five Mile Creek, and she’d met her mom clearing up the rapidly removed remains of the Sunday evening barbecue. Reluctantly she’d handed Lucky over to Matt, who was bedding him down in a clean stall right this minute.
Sandy made her go into the house to dry off. She gave her a towel for her hair and fresh clothes from the closet. Kirstie went through the motions without saying a word.
“Hey, listen!” her mom insisted gently. “You know what we say when things get a little tough around here?”
She nodded, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t let her speak.
“You gotta cowboy-up!” Sandy chanted the Half Moon Ranch mantra. “When the weather turns real cold and we get snow on the trail three feet deep, we keep right on trucking. A horse loses a shoe at nine thousand feet up on Eagle’s Peak Trail, what do we do?”
“We cowboy-up,” Kirstie answered faintly. For once, she was glad to be treated like a little kid. She liked the comfort of her mom’s arm around her shoulder and the soft look in her kind gray eyes.
“Sure we do. And it’s no different now that Lucky’s sick. Look, you’ve known this guy for how many years?”
“Five.” Sandy, together with Kirstie’s grandpa, had bought the palomino as a one-year-old, soon after Sandy, Kirstie, and Matt had come to live at the ranch. Kirstie had been watching from her bedroom window when they’d brought him over from San Luis Sale Barn and opened up the back of the trailer. The youngster had practically tumbled down the ramp on his skinny legs, looking dazed and confused after the rough journey. He had been real cute as he kicked out and bucked, then took in his new surroundings. And the thing that had hit Kirstie between the eyes, that had set Lucky apart from any other colt she’d ever seen, was his amazing color.
Bright as new gold. They always said that about palominos, but with Lucky it was true. He shone, he glowed, he gleamed. He was like a lucky dollar. Her own lucky charm. Lucky.
“Five years,” Sandy repeated. “And would you say he’s weak or strong?”
“Strong.” There was no trail he couldn’t climb, no river he couldn’t swim. They’d survived floods and landslides, gone everywhere together.
“Yeah. And what about willpower? Would you say he had a little or a lot?” Kirstie’s mom finished drying her hair for her, then put a mug of chocolate in her cold hands.
“A lot.” Kirstie didn’t call it willpower; she called it courage. Lucky was the bravest horse she knew.
“Good. And he’s smart, yeah?”
She nodded. Strong, brave, and clever. It was a great combination. It was what made her love him.
“So, trust him to get through this, whatever it is,” Sandy advised, allowing Kirstie to take just one gulp of her hot drink then head for the door.
Halfway across the porch, Kirstie paused and turned. “Thanks, Mom!” She managed a brave half-smile before she rushed on across the dark, wet yard toward the barn.
“Take a look in his eyes.” Matt showed Kirstie the telltale signs that her horse was sick. “Pull back the lid. You see the lining membrane? It should be a good, deep pink color.”
Lucky’s was pale, almost white. “So?” she asked.
“He’s anemic. His temperature’s over a hundred, and his resting pulse is forty-five.”
“OK, he’s sick,” Kirstie agreed. “But it can’t be equine flu; he had his shots last month.”
“Yeah, that’s what’s so weird.” Matt ran his hands over Lucky, feeling for swellings in the abdomen. “The symptoms are the same as Moonshine’s, but the diagnosis has to be different. I’m thinking along the lines of a fever brought on by poisoning of some kind. Has Lucky been eating anything he shouldn’t?”
“No way!” Kirstie was always on her guard. She never let him near any painted fences that might contain creosote or lead. And Red Fox Meadow was clear of plants that were dangerous to horses.
Matt frowned and stood up. “So maybe it’s a worm infestation. They get parasites in the gut: red worm larvae, lungworm, whatever…”
More long words. She turned sharply and walked up to him, eyeball to eyeball. “How would that happen? Come on, how?”
“Hey!” Matt backed off, hands raised in surrender. “Don’t shoot!”
“Sorry.” Kirstie shook her head. “It bugs me, that’s all, not knowing what’s making him sick.”
“OK, me, too. Let’s think this thing through: a horse can ingest—eat—the larvae via grass. They damage the gut lining and cause infection. They can even get into the blood vessels and cut off the blood flow. That gives a horse bad colic. He gets a potbelly, anemia. But that’s not the problem here, I guess …” Matt’s frown deepened, then he dug into his kit for a stethoscope. “Did you notice Lucky coughing at all?”
Kirstie took a sharp breath. “Once or twice maybe.” Why hadn’t she paid any attention at the time, she wondered. Why had she been so busy worrying about Moonshine and neglecting her own horse? She waited while Matt listened to Lucky’s chest.
And as she stood anxiously in the pool of yellow light cast by the overhead bulb, she heard footsteps and saw her mom and Hadley come into the barn. Their wet jackets and hats showed that it was still raining outside, and their quiet voices told Kirstie that they, too, were concerned.
“What’s new?” Hadley asked as he drew near Lucky’s stall.
Matt straightened up and let the stethoscope dangle from his neck. “Lungs don’t sound too good,” he told them. “There’s a mucous discharge from the nose, too.”
The wrangler nodded abruptly, leaning over the stall door for a closer look at the patient. “Listen, I heard Glen Woodford’s out of town for a day or two, so how about you giving him penicillin to clear up the discharge?”
Under the circumstances, Matt agreed to use the ranch’s own antibiotics. “We can give him 30ccs of procaine twice a day to see if it helps. Plus a shot or two of benzathine into the muscle.”
“And how long do we rest him?”
“Seven days minimum.”
Kirstie listened without taking in the details. It bothered her that Hadley, with a lifetime of dealing with horses behind him, had only needed one quick look to decide that the situation was serious.
Perhaps it was Lucky’s body language that sent a strong message. He’d backed off into a dark corner of the stall, head hanging, so unlike his usual inquisitive self that he hardly looked like the same horse.
/> “Let’s leave him to get some rest,” Sandy suggested after the men had stopped talking and a tense silence had developed. She led the way toward the barn door, while overhead the rain fell steadily on the corrugated tin roof.
For a while, Kirstie held back. She checked the bedding, the water feeder, reluctant to turn off the light and leave Lucky in darkness.
“Kirstie?” Sandy called.
One last look, trying to convince herself that he wasn’t as sick as they were making out, that his coat wasn’t so dull, his eyes not so lifeless as they might think. It was the way the shadows fell, a trick of the light.
From the far corner Lucky stared back at her. His pale mane hung lank over his face; he made no effort to move.
“Kirstie!” A more insistent call from her mom.
“Coming!” Quickly she switched off the light above the stall and plunged the barn into total darkness.
Monday, the first day of June, dawned bright and clear, with little sign of the rain of the night before. When Kirstie looked out of her window, Eagle’s Peak basked in early morning sunlight, and the sky was a delicate bird’s egg blue.
It was a day when she would normally call Lisa and say, “Come ride up to Eden Lake with me. You take Rodeo Rocky. (No need to say that she, Kirstie, would be riding Lucky.) We’ll make a sack lunch, take swimming stuff, and stay out the whole day!”
Lisa would answer in a sleepy voice from her bedroom above the End of Trail Diner in San Luis. “Jeez, Kirstie, do you know what time it is? It’s six thirty, for heaven’s sakes! This is a vacation. Just give me a break!”
But she would put down the phone, pull a comb through her wavy hair, stick on a T-shirt and jeans, then grab a lift from a truck driver friend of her mom’s taking breakfast in the diner. She would show up at Half Moon Ranch still grumbling about a girl needing her beauty sleep. It would be 8 a.m., time for a ranch breakfast of blueberry pancake and maple syrup. “Too many calories!” Lisa would protest, stuffing Hershey bars and marshmallows in with her sack lunch. “Say, these are new jeans. Do they make me look fat?”
Third-Time Lucky Page 4