by Terri Farley
He kept at it while she gazed across the range. It was bleak and empty. There wasn’t a road or car in sight. Still, if Mr. Fairchild’s horse van came near, the pale expanse of winter desert might show it, or she might hear its engine.
He’d promised to come today, but she didn’t know what the weather was like out in Mineral.
More than once, she’d heard that the desert’s basin and range surface led to “microclimates.” So, although the sky overhead was blue and clear with just a few snowflakes sprinkling down, there could be a blizzard forty miles away in Mineral.
As if to prove the notion, a gust of wind screamed across the range and struck them full force. Sam staggered a step at its impact. Then she wrapped her arms around herself.
“Pretty soon, it’ll be your turn,” Pepper said, as he hefted the axe again. “That’ll warm you up.”
Sam looked at the glittering axe head. In a blurry silver swathe, it crashed down once more. She was strong, but not tall enough to get the right angle to crack the surface of the ice. Pepper stopped, placed the axe back in the truck bed, and shucked off his coat. “Now,” he said, using his shirt-sleeve to wipe his perspiring forehead. “I’ll move down to the next tank while you clear this one.”
Sam stood on tiptoe. Big gray chunks of ice floated like icebergs in the water. Her gloved hands closed in fists. He couldn’t mean what she thought he did.
“Clear it?” she asked.
“A deicer would be better, but we don’t have one. For now, you and me are it.”
For ten minutes, Sam concentrated on picking out the ice chunks and throwing them on the ground. When she looked up, she was surrounded by cattle.
They looked like prehistoric beasts, only redder and curlier. Pink-rimmed and watchful, their eyes looked weak. Their white faces ended in ice beards formed by drool. The poor things were wishing she’d hurry.
“You are thirsty, aren’t you?” she asked.
Range-wild, the cattle rolled their eyes and swayed, but they stayed put. Usually, they’d make a run for a place beyond the sound of her voice.
“All done,” she said, then followed after Pepper.
She continued throwing the chunks onto the frozen ground until she heard him grunt. When Sam looked up, Pepper stood there, axe dangling from one hand, eyes on the range.
“Freeloaders,” he said.
Mustangs clustered in a cleft between two gray hills. They stood only two or three abreast, so it was hard to see all of them, but Sam recognized them from the Phantom’s herd, and she was pretty sure he stood in the back, glowing silver.
The wild horses weren’t grazing. Heads up, they stared as if they’d been hypnotized. They were hungry and thirsty, too. Only the tantalizing scents of hay and water held them near the humans they feared.
“They’re not freeloaders,” Sam tried to shout, but her teeth chattered. “I d-did some of the w-work. And I s-say they can drink from our t-t-tanks.”
Pepper stared at her. Sam glared back, feeling her father’s stubbornness dancing along her nerves. Pepper had better not laugh, because she was serious.
“You’re not workin’ hard enough if you’re still so sassy,” Pepper said. Then, before he turned back to his work, he pointed. “That a new one?”
A young bay stallion with a mane that stuck up like a Mohawk haircut shuffled restlessly on the fringes of the Phantom’s herd.
“It’s Spike,” Sam said in surprise. “He was in a bachelor band with Moon and Yellow Tail. He’s never been with them before.”
“Must be four years old, at least,” Pepper said. “I’m surprised Phantom’s letting him hang around.”
In his woolly winter coat Spike didn’t look like much of a threat. He looked awkward and gawky.
Bellies rounded with foals, the mares moved slowly, ears twisting toward the cattle. The adolescent horses stayed close to their mothers, heads bobbing against the mares’ lean flanks, tails swishing as if the snowflakes were flies.
“They’re just killing time ’til we’re out of here, then they’ll come down to the hayracks.” Pepper sounded disgusted.
“Wouldn’t you? There’s not much to eat in the mountains and most of the grass has been killed off by the cold.”
“Just the same,” Pepper said.
Sam knew what he meant.
River Bend Ranch couldn’t afford to let the horses devour the hay that had been carefully bred to have thin stems and lots of leafy green nutrition. They’d worked hard to get that hay matured in the heat, harvested, baled, and into the barn before it was ruined by thunderstorms.
“Don’t tell Dad you saw them,” Sam said.
“’Course I’ll tell him,” Pepper snapped as if she’d insulted him. “He’s my boss. This ranch is my responsibility, too. Got no job if it goes under.”
Although the highway was miles away, the sudden racket of tire chains carried to them, just as Sam had hoped.
The herd huddled closer together and the Phantom crowded forward, placing himself between the noise and his family. But he didn’t urge them to run.
Sam felt a stab of guilt. The horses should be scared. For their own safety, they should bolt into a terrified gallop. It was partly her fault they didn’t, but excitement kept her from brooding.
“That’s the van!”
“We’re ’bout done, anyway,” Pepper said.
Sam slipped once running back to the truck, but she didn’t complain when Pepper hauled her to her feet by one arm. She could only think of Tinkerbell.
“You’re gonna love him, Pepper. He is the neatest horse!”
“Uh-huh,” Pepper said. He revved the truck’s engine and they were about to go when he cast one backward look toward the mustangs.
“Hurry,” Sam said, and though she felt a little worried, she told herself the mustangs could take care of themselves.
Chapter Eight
“Go fast,” Sam urged Pepper.
Pepper frowned and held up his hand as if listening to the hay truck’s engine.
“Hmm,” he said then, shrugged, and looked to see if she’d continue.
“We’ve got to beat him across the bridge so that I have time to call Jake.”
She hadn’t seen Jake at school today. She rarely did once he started track season. During lunch, there were team meetings with the coach. After school, there were long training runs. It was Jake’s only school sport and the only time all year his dad not only excused him from a few chores, but let him spend money on expensive running shoes. She knew Jake was busy, but all at once she felt she had to share Tinkerbell’s arrival with him.
Pepper laughed. “You think he’ll want to see your rescuee?”
Sam realized she was leaning forward, as if she could make the truck go faster. She sat back and crossed her arms. “I know he will,” she said.
She didn’t give Jake a choice. Before Pepper had stopped the truck, she leaped out. Glad her father wasn’t there to see her flying dismount, she bolted into the house and dialed.
“Jake,” she blurted, before he’d finished saying hello. “You’ve got to come over here.”
“What’s wrong?” Jake’s voice was level, but forceful. Anyone would have felt compelled to answer.
“Nothing’s wrong. Something’s right.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Really right, Jake,” she insisted. “I’ve got a new horse.”
Sam hung up without listening to another word. She knew Jake Ely well. He’d been her friend so long, she could predict what he’d do next. He’d ask questions and make excuses using so few words, she wouldn’t be able to tell what he was really thinking.
He was sixteen, three years older than her, and he pretended to be mature. First, he’d say something like, “Didn’t know money grew on trees over at River Bend.” Then, he’d complain he never had time to run.
Next, he’d tell her how much work he had to do and ask if she expected him to rush over on such short notice.
By hanging up,
she figured they could skip the first two annoying steps. Maybe, eventually, she’d break him of the habit of lecturing her.
The squeal of brakes and the sound of big doors opening brought Sam running outside. Tinkerbell was here.
The big bay was still inside the horse van. Head cocked to one side, he surveyed River Bend Ranch from the safety of the van. He wanted to study his new home before he came down that ramp.
Mr. Fairchild had apparently decided to deliver the horse himself. He stood behind the open truck, holding the lead rope attached to the big horse’s halter.
Moving with the dignity of a knight’s charger, Tinkerbell considered the ramp slanting down from the back of the horse van. With one ear turned forward and one back, he sniffed. Then, his heavy black mane shifted forward on his neck and he marched down the carpeted ramp as if he’d done it every day for years.
Mr. Fairchild smiled as Gram, Ross, and Pepper joined Sam’s gasp of admiration. He was sort of a showman, Sam realized. He was proud of his role in saving Tinkerbell and glad the horse was a magnet for so many eyes.
But Sam only cared for Tinkerbell.
“Hey, good boy. We met at the auction, okay?” Sam approached slowly, holding her hand out.
Tinkerbell must have recalled her scent or shape. As before, he gave her palm a lick. It tickled and Sam laughed, but quietly.
She didn’t rush to take his lead rope from Mr. Fairchild, either. She only had a few weeks to forge the gelding’s trust in her. She had to do everything right the first time. Now, that meant giving Tinkerbell time to check out his new home.
“Oh, what a beauty.” Gram sighed.
He was mud-caked, in need of a bath and brushing, but Tinkerbell’s thick mane and forelock, his muscular shoulders and sheer size, made him magnificent.
Gram sidled up to the horse. “I remember you.”
“You do?” Sam kept her voice low, but she was startled by Gram’s affectionate claim.
“Almost.” Gram let the big horse sniff her hand before stroking his shoulder. “He’s just like the horses my grandfather had.”
Sam tried to do quick calculations, but the math was too much for her. Gram must have known those horses at least forty years ago.
“They cleared land of brush and pulled out boulders, helping him turn forest into farmland. They plowed before seed was planted and they pulled the wagon that took the harvest to town.”
Gram stared into Tinkerbell’s eyes, and Sam remembered how she’d done the same thing at the auction yard. There was something hypnotic and human about the gelding’s big brown eyes.
“They were stout, sweet horses who’d break their hearts pulling for you,” Gram finished, then she gave an embarrassed shrug in Mr. Fairchild’s direction and Sam realized she should have introduced him to everyone.
But Mr. Fairchild beat her to the duty.
“Duke Fairchild,” he said, holding his hand out to Gram. He wore a navy-blue Western shirt with pearl snaps that glinted the same silver-gray of his hair. “And I agree. He’s a fine-looking animal. I couldn’t let him go to the dogs.”
Sam felt chills as if she were hearing that expression for the first time. Now, she understood what it really meant. If he’d been sold to Baldy Harris from the Dagdown Packing Company, Tinkerbell could have been slaughtered for dog food by now.
“Since I’m the steadiest driver I know—snow chains not withstanding—I decided to bring him myself.”
“Did you find out anything else about him?” Sam asked.
“Just that he’s a mustang. I was hoping Wyatt’s new wife—”
“Brynna,” Gram supplied.
“Could read his brand and tell us where he came from. He’s got cold blood, obviously. I’d bet there’s a Percheron in the family.”
“He’s not the right color for a Percheron. They’re mostly grays and blacks,” Pepper mused. “But my Daddy says there’s no bad color for a good horse.”
“He’s a gentleman of a horse,” Mr. Fairchild agreed. “But not perfect. Oh, he’s got no runny eyes or nose, no lumps, bumps, or scars other than the freeze brand. But, just for a lark I tried to get a bridle on him, and he won’t have it. Backs away politely, of course, but there’s no convincing him to lower his head. And when you pull it down and he pulls up, you’d better get out of the way. Then his nose tilts way up as if he was trying to chin himself on the moon.”
Sam stifled the urge to shush Mr. Fairchild. A head-shy horse wasn’t incurable, but there was rampant paranoia over her safety on this ranch. She didn’t want Mr. Fairchild cautioning her in front of Gram and the cowboys. At least Dad wasn’t here to listen. He’d remember the time he’d seen her right after the Phantom had accidentally given her a nose-bleed.
Unfortunately, Mr. Fairchild wasn’t receiving the shut up brain waves she was sending.
“Now part of that reluctance to be bridled,” Mr. Fairchild went on, “could be because of the injury those two yahoos inflicted on him—”
“He was bleeding from the poll,” Sam explained to the group. “They had him crammed into a trailer that was too small for him.”
The others made sounds of disgust.
“But it’s possible he hasn’t been ridden. Speaking of that, you’ll want to measure him carefully before you do try to put a bridle and saddle on him.”
Sam stared at the gelding’s head. It was surely as long as her arm, from shoulder to wrist. Maybe longer.
Tinkerbell dipped his head as if her staring embarrassed him, and Sam recalled how Mike or Ike had called him a “big oaf.” The poor horse had a right to feel self-conscious.
“We’ll take our time, won’t we, boy?” Sam asked him. “And we’ll figure out what to do.” Jake had braided a leather headstall for his Dad’s horse. There was no reason she couldn’t do the same thing for Tinkerbell. Maybe out of horsehair.
Where was Jake? She felt a dip of disappointment, realizing he hadn’t obeyed her orders. Maybe bossing him wasn’t the way to get him to move more quickly. Maybe if she hadn’t put her plea in the form of an order, he’d be here by now.
Sam glanced toward the bridge and noticed something strange. All ten horses were lined up along the fence in the big pasture. Buddy, her half-grown Hereford orphan, bucked and mooed, jockeying for a position along the rails, but the horses didn’t seem to mind if they blocked the calf’s view. Not one of them had greeted or warned off the big gelding, but they all watched, fascinated.
Down in the barn corrals, Sweetheart, in her new turquoise and purple blanket, stared with pinto ears tilted his way. But even Ace, never shy about neighing his jealousy, was silent.
Sam recalled how the horses over at the Gold Dust Ranch had reacted to a herd of ponies. They’d been half afraid, uncertain whether the little creatures were equine. Maybe the River Bend horses felt the same way about Tinkerbell.
“Oh, lands,” Gram said, gripping the edges of the apron she wore tied over her denim skirt. “My beef stew should’ve been stirred ages ago. It’ll be stuck to the pot for sure.” She turned toward the house, then stopped. “Not that it sounds too appetizing put that way, but will you stay for dinner, Mr. Fairchild?” She glanced toward the mountains, telling time by the sun, which had vanished behind them. “Wyatt and Brynna should be along soon.”
Mr. Fairchild declined. “Homemade stew sounds like heaven, but no ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t stay. I don’t trust the look of those clouds.”
Ross and Pepper nodded in agreement.
“I’ll just drive on out of here,” Mr. Fairchild continued, “soon as Samantha’s had a chance to lead the horse to his new place.”
Dad had given her permission to use Buddy’s big box stall in the barn, so Sam started walking. With most horses, she held one hand at the end of the lead rope and the other just below his chin. That was impossible with Tinkerbell. She couldn’t reach that high, even on tiptoe. But it didn’t seem to matter to Tinkerbell. He showed no inclination to trot off in the other direction, although he
could have done it effortlessly if he’d wanted.
As Sam walked, she felt strange. Not afraid, but humbled. Who was she to be leading this giant of an animal? Why did he listen to her voice and follow her directions?
The gelding’s looming presence cast her in shadow. She was alone with him, although she could almost feel the others’ eyes upon her.
He only has me to depend on, she realized. He could live or die depending on my efforts to prove he’s worth something. The weight of responsibility settled over her shoulders like a heavy blanket.
They were almost to the barn when the sound of the departing van clunking over the bridge made the horse turn and stare with longing.
She should have said a more formal thank you, Sam thought. She should have at least said good-bye.
Tinkerbell’s nostrils vibrated in a silent farewell to the last person who’d been kind to him. Sam wished she knew the big horse well enough to give him a reassuring hug, but she didn’t. For now, words would have to do.
“Hey, big boy, do you know the story of the lion and the mouse?”
The gelding’s giant head turned to face her. He lowered his muzzle level with Sam’s chin. His ears flicked forward, recognizing a question in her tone. As much as she liked him, she felt a little intimidated. Still, she held her ground.
“No?” she asked gently. “It goes like this. A big strong lion catches a little teeny mouse. The mouse promises that if the lion sets him free, he’ll do him a favor someday.” Sam continued walking toward the barn, talking, telling the horse the story so that he’d come to know the sound of her voice as comfort.
“Of course the lion thinks it’s a riot, but while he’s laughing, he lets the mouse go. Then, one day long after that—and this is where it gets to be like you and me—the lion is captured in a net. He can’t get free, no matter how strong he is, and hunters are coming to kill him.”
Sam winced a little. The story came a little too close to real life. It was lucky the big horse couldn’t understand.
“Suddenly,” Sam went on, “the little mouse shows up and starts gnawing for all he’s worth on the net. Pretty soon, the fibers break apart and the lion is free.” Sam took a breath. “And the moral of the story is…Gee, I don’t know, boy. Help can come from unlikely places? Or unlikely people, I guess. Even someone half—or a quarter—your size. Hey!”