Scarecrow on Horseback

by C. S. Adler

  “It looks great, Mom. It cheers up the room, all that bright green and blue.”

  Suddenly she couldn't bear staying inside that confining space another minute. Mel went to the door. “I'll be back in an hour or so, Mom. I'm just going to see how Cheyenne's doing.”

  Dawn nodded, still frowning at the pillow cover.

  Cheyenne was alone in the small arena, and her familiar cluck called him to her at once. She ducked under the railing and slung her arm around Cheyenne's neck. He bumped his head gently against her chest, nickering in satisfaction.

  “So what am I going to do?” she asked him. “Do you think that big jerk really means to get rid of you?” She stroked Cheyenne's neck while he muttered softly. “I could ask Sally to ride you maybe. If he rode you, nothing bad would happen. And I suspect you wouldn't mind being ridden, especially if it got you out of this corral, huh? What do you say?”

  He tossed his head. “Yes, huh?” she said. “You're willing to try it? You're wonderful,” she told him. “You're absolutely the most wonderful horse on this ranch, maybe in all of Colorado, maybe in the world. Okay, we'll see. Maybe if Sally rides you, that'll do it.”

  The moon lit Mel's way back over the bridge above the gurgling stream and across the road up the dark path to the cabin where tree limbs shut out the moonlight.

  It was late when Mel got back to the cabin. “I was just about to go out looking for you,” her mother said.

  “I think I've figured out a way to satisfy Jeb,” Mel said. The quiver in her voice was the only sign she gave of her struggle to accept a compromise.

  “That's good, dear,” Dawn said on auto-pilot, obviously too sleepy to understand what Mel was telling her. But Sally would understand, Mel knew, and tomorrow she'd tell him what she wanted him to do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She didn't have a chance to get Sally alone the next day. Too much else happened, and none of it good.

  Most of the dude ranch guests had been families with children. Generally, they were pleasant people who gave the staff little trouble. But now that the summer season was ending, Mr. Davis had booked a group of three men who knew each other from a singles' group they belonged to. One had never been married. One was a widower, and the third had just gotten divorced. They laughed too loudly and kept the bar open, drinking on the self-serve honor system, until late at night. Although they had claimed on their personal information forms to be expert horsemen, Jeb said only one even came close. That one, Grant Hague, was a broad, stocky man with a fleshy face and a grating laugh. He flirted openly with Joy, and by mid-week he was pursuing her so insistently that she complained to Jeb at breakfast. “I'm having a hard time keeping him off me, Jeb.”

  “I'll talk to him,” Jeb said.

  “Well, but he's a guest,” Joy said. “What can you say?”

  “That you're my girl, and he should leave you alone.”

  “I don't know,” Joy said doubtfully. “I've handled other guys like him, and he's only here a week. Maybe you should keep out of it.”

  “Suit yourself,” Mel heard Jeb say as she walked away.

  Some gentleman he is, Mel thought in disgust.

  * * * *

  At sunset that evening, while the sky behind the western mountain peaks blushed pink, Mel discovered Mr. Hague alone at the small corral. Beer in hand, he was studying Cheyenne, who was playing with a knotted rope she'd given him to keep him from being bored. The horse took the rope in his teeth and tossed it in the air, then reared to try and catch it before it fell. He was acting more like a playful puppy than a horse, and Mr. Hague was laughing at him.

  “You know why that horse's here by itself?” he asked Mel.

  “He's a mustang. He hasn't been broken yet,” she told him.

  “Oh, yeah? How about that, a wild mustang.”

  His enthusiasm made Mel uneasy. Sure enough, the next morning, Jeb stopped her on her way into the tack room to say Grant Hague was willing to pay a hundred dollars to be allowed to ride Cheyenne.

  “No!” Mel said.

  “Hey, it's easy money. The horse'll buck him right off, and you'll be a hundred closer to owning him.”

  “No,” Mel said. “I don't like that man.”

  “I don't either. That's why I want to see him try and ride the mustang.”

  “It'll upset Cheyenne,” Mel said.

  “Listen, I don't really need your approval. The horse still belongs to the ranch.”

  “I've paid off more than half of the loan.”

  “Yeah? Not if you figure on doubling what Jeffries wants for him. You got to pay for your horse's board, remember? And winter feed don't come cheap, not to mention shoeing and worming and whatever.”

  “You never told me I'd have to pay extra. You never said I'd have to pay for board here.”

  Jeb looked embarrassed. “Listen, I can see how good you're doing with that horse, and I'd hate to take him away from you. Why don't you try talking to Mr. Davis. See what he says.”

  Mel ran to do just that. She found Mr. Davis in the game room setting up a projector for the movie that was to be shown that night. To her question about whether she'd have to pay for Cheyenne's board and keep over the winter, Mr. Davis said, “Well, tell you what. You get him trained to be used for trail riding next spring, and we can make a trade off. I'll rent him from you against the cost of his winter board here. How's that sound?”

  It sounded terrible to Mel, but she could tell by the smile that emerged from Mr. Davis's clipped red beard that he thought his offer was generous. “Uh, well,” she said. “I'll think about it.” And she took off for the little corral to confer with Cheyenne about the deal.

  A hundred dollars for the privilege of riding her horse began to tempt Mel after she'd brooded about it for a while. What could happen? Either Cheyenne accepted the dude on his back or he threw him off on the soft dirt of the arena. Either way, she'd be a hundred dollars closer to owning him. “Okay, he can try it,” Mel told Jeb. The minute she said it, she began worrying that she'd set her horse up for another disaster.

  * * * *

  Grant Hague's mastering of Cheyenne became a special event. It was scheduled for late in the afternoon when most of the staff would be available to watch his performance. He had invited everyone to come see him ride, apparently eager to show off for as big an audience as possible. By four o'clock, a fair number of people were sitting on the tiers of benches outside the little arena.

  “So anyone want to bet me how long I can stay on the mustang?” Hague boomed loud enough for everyone within a mile to hear him.

  “I'll bet you a dollar you can't stay on at all,” one of his friends said.

  Everyone laughed.

  “Anybody got ten bucks says I can't stay on for a minute?”

  “Me,” said his other friend, and that too brought a laugh.

  Grimly, Mel got Cheyenne tacked up. She was churning with worry about subjecting her horse to this ordeal for the sake of money. She hated money, she told herself. Not having it caused trouble, and having it probably did, too.

  Hague got the bidding up to a hundred dollars. It wouldn't cost him anything to ride Cheyenne if he could manage to stay on the animal's back for three minutes.

  “I'm sorry,” Mel told her horse. “I'm so sorry to do this to you.” She kissed Cheyenne's nose and whispered to him, “Do your worst. Buck him off fast.” Then she left him.

  She climbed all the way to the top of the stands to sit and watch with her fists clenched under her chin and tears blurring her eyes.

  “Hey, isn't anybody going to hold this horse while I mount?” Hague asked. And he called on Jeb, who was standing there with his arms folded and his Stetson cocked on the back of his head. “Come on, play fair. Someone's got to hold him till I get my feet in the stirrups, at least.”

  As if he didn't really want to, Jeb swung under the fence and slowly walked to Cheyenne's head. The horse danced sideways, his eyes widening in apprehension. Grant Hague was agile and stro
ng enough to swing himself into the saddle, but the instant Jeb let go of the bridle, Cheyenne reared. He reared, snorted and came down hard on his front hooves. Then he took off at a mad gallop. The audience gasped because it seemed certain that he was going to bash himself and his rider into the fence at the other side of the corral. Inches short of doing just that, Cheyenne swerved and galloped back. The swerve knocked Grant Hague off against the fence. He screamed and, when Jeb and Sally rushed out to help him up, there was no question from the angle of his arm that it was broken.

  Mel jumped down the steps of the rickety stands and ran to her horse. His hide rippled as he shuddered. His eyes looked bewildered. “It's all right now, Cheyenne. He won't bother you anymore,” she told him and stroked his neck until his breathing became normal.

  “Did that man win the bet?” Mel asked Sally the next morning.

  “Grant? No. He was a minute short. Didn't pay up either. Told Jeb we'd be lucky if he didn't sue. Davis argued with him. He'd had Grant sign a paper before the ride saying he was taking on a wild horse at his own risk, but Grant kept threatening to sue and Davis knows the owner would purely hate that.”

  So much for her hundred dollars, Mel thought. Typical of her luck. “And those guys left?” she asked.

  “Yeah, the three of them checked out early this morning. Good riddance.”

  Mel nodded. She'd wait a while before asking Sally to ride Cheyenne. Give the horse time to get over his nasty experience.

  The next day when Mel passed the barn, another batch of late season guests, a family who were friends of the Davises, were getting the usual demonstration of horsemanship. Not by the usual demonstrator though. Joy was showing off Sally's horse. She made Rover smile, the way Sally always did. She petted Rover and mounted him and put him through his paces while Jeb stood in the middle of the barn describing what she was doing and reciting the rules.

  Mel dashed off in search of Sally. She found him working on a horse's split hoof.

  “How come Joy's riding your horse?”

  “She asked for Rover, and Jeb gave him to her.”

  “But Rover's yours.”

  “No, Mel. I don't own Rover. He belongs to the ranch. I've ridden him ever since I started working here because he was kind of unpredictable for a while and nobody else wanted him. But I don't own him. I don't own anything. I travel light.” He tried to smile, but no light went on in his eyes.

  “That's awful, Sally. That's so unfair. I'm going to tell Jeb off. He's got no right to be so mean to you just because Joy—”

  “No!” Sally interrupted her. “I don't want you sticking up for me and getting Jeb mad at you again. He's not a good enemy, Mel.”

  “But Sally, you and Rover—”

  “Joy's a good rider. She'll treat Rover right, and the fact is I'm going to have to leave him to someone.”

  “Huh?”

  “I wasn't going to tell you until the last minute, but I'm leaving the ranch, Mel.”

  “Oh, no! Sally, you can't do that to me. I need you.”

  “No, you don't. You got your mother and Denise, and you got Cheyenne. That horse has bonded with you, and if you don't mess up too bad, you'll own him one of these days.”

  “But why are you leaving? Did Jeb—”

  “No. Jeb don't want me to go. That's why he's taking Rover away from me, to punish me for quitting. See, Clara called me. Clara, my wife?”

  “She decided to leave her father for you?”

  “No. She needs me on the ranch. Her dad had a stroke. He's incapacitated, can't even talk. Clara's got someone taking care of him, but she can't handle the ranch on her own.”

  “So you're going back to her, just like that?”

  “She's my wife, Mel, the only woman I've ever loved.” He touched her cheek, “Although there's a little girl I know that's come in a close second.”

  “Oh, Sally!” Mel said, and then she burst into tears and ran for her cabin.

  * * * *

  The final week of August the weather turned stormy again. Thunder rolled and clanked around the mountains. Dark gray brooms of rain fell from bulbous clouds here and there even as most of the sky stayed blue and clear. Joy and Jeb had a yelling match one night that Mel witnessed, although not close enough to hear what it was about. She was communing with Cheyenne, as had become her custom, leaning against him and talking, telling him how she wished summer would come back. School was about to start and she'd be shut in all day taking in a gray mush of boring information too dull to remember for tests. In the dark where the trees hid them by the stream, Joy called Jeb something nasty. That word rang clear over the buzz and click of insects and the soughing of the wind. Boot heels clattered over the bridge. No doubt Joy had ended the fight by running off and leaving Jeb beside the stream, Mel thought.

  “Those two deserve each other,” she told Cheyenne.

  But the next evening she went looking for her mother and found her downstairs in the main building at the bar with Jeb who was saying, “That a new outfit? It sure looks great on you, Dawn. Brings out the blue of your eyes.”

  “My eyes are green.”

  “Whatever, they're beautiful.”

  “Mom!” Mel snapped. “I need you.”

  Dawn frowned at her. “What's wrong?”

  “Could you just come upstairs so I can talk to you?”

  “You can talk to me here, Mel.”

  Mel couldn't help herself. It was out of her mouth before caution held her tongue.

  “Not with him around.”

  “Woo, listen to the little firecracker!” Jeb said.

  “Mel, apologize to Jeb. Whatever you're in a temper about, it can't be his fault.”

  Mel opened her mouth to tell her mother she was a blind fool when it came to judging men. She checked herself before saying anything and ran out of the dining hall back upstairs to the cabin. There she stayed, skipping dinner, until her mother came in later that evening.

  “He had a fight with Joy. That's why he was making up to you,” Mel said.

  “I know, Mel, I know. Joy's taken off again, and Jeb needs someone to talk to.”

  “Mom, can't you see past how cute he looks? He's not a nice man.”

  “Jeb's immature but basically good hearted. He loves Joy, and he's heartbroken that she's left again.”

  “Fine. Be a fool and be his friend. You'll see, Mom.”

  “I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,” Dawn said. “And in the morning when you've calmed down, I expect an apology. And one to Jeb for being rude to him, too.” She closed the door.

  Mel rolled around in bed unable to sleep. She was wide awake at midnight, listening to the wind howl and the trees thrash outside, when her mother returned to sit on her bed beside her.

  “Mel, I know you're upset about what happened with that mustang. And maybe Jeb could have refused to let that man ride him, but— Anyway, I want you to know I'm on your side. I love you. I just want you to be happy. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Mel said. As her mother got up to leave, she reached out a hand to grab hers and said, “I'm sorry, Mom. I do love you, too—a lot.”

  “Good.” The moonlight shone on her mother’s unshed tears, and with a quick kiss on Mel's cheek, she left.

  Early the next morning, Mel was feeding Cheyenne when Jeb appeared. He leaned on the fence and said, “So, you in a better mood this morning?”

  “Umm. I'm sorry I was rude,” she said mechanically.

  “Yeah, okay then,” he said. “So what do you say to letting your pal Sally break Cheyenne?”

  “Sally's leaving.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but Sally's good at breaking horses. It wouldn't take him long. I'm trying to help you, Mel. Davis says he promised to rent the horse from you if we can use him on trail rides next spring. But someone's got to break that horse first.”

  She almost blurted out that she had already decided that Sally should do it. Instead she said, “And then what after Sally breaks him? No way am I going to let Cheyen
ne be used for hackwork. He deserves better than that.”

  “You can ride him yourself next spring if you want to sign on as a wrangler.”

  “I can't,” she said, unwilling to tempt fate that far.

  “Still too scared to ride, huh?” Jeb said. “Well, I'll tell you what I'll do for you, even though you treat me so mean. If Sally gets the horse broke good, I'll let you pick which wrangler rides him next spring. How's that sound?” He grinned as if he'd handed her a gift.

  Mel sighed. One way or another, she and Cheyenne were going to have to earn their keep. “I guess that sounds okay.”

  “Okay!” he said indignantly. “Don't I even get a thank you?”

  “Thank you, Jeb,” she said without enthusiasm.

  He groaned and walked off shaking his head as if he couldn't understand her grudging acceptance of his offer. What she didn't understand was how he could expect her to be glad to let someone else, anyone else, ride her horse.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The news that Sally was going to try to break Cheyenne was all the staff talked about at meals. A college boy, who didn't much like Jeb, wondered if his boss had set Sally up to make a public fool of himself. Mrs. Davis worried out loud that Sally might break some of his own bones in the process of breaking Mel's horse. Some of the younger staff considered the trial exciting enough to delay going to town, their usual destination on their day off.

  Mel had told Denise why she couldn't see her that Saturday, and Denise had said she'd try to get to the ranch to watch with Mel. “I'll hold your hand,” Denise had offered. She knew without being told how anxious Mel was about Sally's task. It was to take place after the last guests of the week had departed. By Saturday afternoon their cabins would have been cleaned, bed linens changed. The staff would be free for the rest of the day, except for the cook who dished up leftovers for anyone remaining on the ranch Saturday evenings.

  The gossip disturbed Mel. She had faith in Sally's expertise. He'd be gentle and firm and Cheyenne would accept his weight pretty easily probably, but then again, when Grant Hogue tried to ride Cheyenne, look what had happened. Catching up with Sally on his way to the barn on a cold, windy morning late in the week, she asked, “How come Jeb doesn't show off what a hotshot rider he is by riding Cheyenne himself?”