Dawn Runner

by Terri Farley

  Hotspot splashed back a step, shaking her mane.

  “Is she going to bite her?” Pam asked.

  “She will if she doesn’t back off,” Sam said. “See how the others are keeping their distance from the lead mare? At least a couple yards? I guess Hotspot never learned herd manners.”

  “But she was trying to be friends,” Pam protested.

  “I know, but the mare’s on guard. It’s sort of like…” Sam searched her mind for an example. “I don’t know, like, if your teacher was grading papers and you ran up and gave her a hug.”

  The lead mare’s ears stayed flat and her eyes narrowed, but Hotspot didn’t move off. With a dripping muzzle, she watched Sam and Pam.

  She just didn’t have wild instincts, Sam thought. Instead of being wary or at least paying attention to the lead mare’s tension, Hotspot radiated curiosity as she flicked her ears toward the riders. Raising her head for a better view, she bumped the lead mare and didn’t seem to notice when the gold horse turned away and raised one of her hind legs.

  “She’s going to get kicked,” Sam said, but just then Hotspot spotted the lead mare’s lashing flaxen tail. “She’s still not taking the hint.”

  Instead of showing her respect by getting out of the lead mare’s space, Hotspot snorted and her own ears flicked flat.

  “Uh-oh,” Pam gasped as the lead mare struck out, kicking the Appaloosa.

  Hotspot lunged with teeth exposed, but the lead mare didn’t let her bite. Instead, she used both hind hooves to kick out at the younger mare.

  Hotspot squealed, swapped ends, and launched a double-hooved kick at the lead mare. It struck with a meaty thump.

  “No,” Sam moaned. “Wild horses don’t just attack each other. Mostly they just warn and threaten. They know a real fight could hurt a herd member and she could fall behind and get eaten. Even stallions don’t—”

  Shocked by Hotspot’s violence, the lead mare waited a few disbelieving seconds before returning the kick, and Hotspot was able to sidestep it. But the lead mare kept backing, threshing hooves turning the water white. Hotspot bolted for the shore.

  Once she had her on the run, the honey-colored mare made sure Hotspot understood the lesson. She lunged after her, gave her a quick slashing bite on the rump, and chased her. When Hotspot tried to stop, the mare lowered her head in a herding motion and Hotspot kept moving. When she’d chased her half the distance to the girls, the lead mare stopped, circled back to the other mares, and herded them from the water.

  “She’s taking everybody home,” Sam said.

  Banking like a flock of birds, the wild horses swooped around the riders, but when Hotspot tried to follow, the lead mare charged her, driving her back.

  “She’s not allowed to go with them?” Pam asked.

  “That’s what it looks like,” Sam said as the lead mare galloped after the others.

  Alone, Hotspot circled at an uneasy trot. She was afraid to follow, but after a few seconds, she decided to chance it anyway, and swerved in the direction they’d gone.

  The lead mare skidded to a stop.

  “She must have eyes in the back of her head!” Pam said.

  The mare swung her honey-brown head in a swirl of mane. She glared back over her shoulder. Hotspot halted and the herd moved on without her.

  “Is she just, like, in ‘time out’ for misbehaving?” Pam asked.

  Sam sighed as the Appaloosa wandered to the shoreline, sniffing the ground, and then, every few steps, raised her head to look after the others.

  “I don’t know, but if Ryan was here right now—” Sam stopped.

  Was it the perfect time to recapture the mare, while she was feeling downcast and beaten? Or would she feel vulnerable without the herd and respond to any approach as danger?

  “Let’s catch her for him!” Pam crowed. “You’ve got a rope, right? Let’s go!”

  Pam’s enthusiasm was contagious. Popcorn caught it before Sam did, and when he whirled toward the Appaloosa, Pam lost her balance. Her foot slipped from her left stirrup and her weight shifted. She was falling.

  Ace bolted forward to block Popcorn. The albino squealed in surprise when Pam clung to the reins as if they were her lifeline. She dragged Popcorn’s head down for a few seconds before throwing her weight back toward the saddle. She grabbed onto the saddle horn.

  “Ease up on the reins,” Sam said. She tried to sound calm, since Pam looked pretty scared.

  “I almost fell.” Pam panted, then seemed to hear herself and stopped. Finally, Sam’s instructions sunk in and she loosened the reins. “Did I hurt him?”

  “He’s okay,” Sam said, “but he was pretty surprised.”

  “That makes two of us,” Pam said, and when Sam turned Ace toward Lost Canyon and the O’Malleys’ camp, Pam only spared one glance back at the deserted lake.

  “Mom, you won’t believe what we saw!” Pam’s eyes flashed excitement, worry, and disbelief. “These two mares—right? Mares?” Pam waited for Sam’s nod. “Anyway, one’s the lead mare and the other is Ryan’s tame horse, you remember Ryan? Except she sure wasn’t acting tame, and they fought.”

  “Are you both all right?” Dr. Mora asked as Pam dismounted carefully, then held Popcorn’s reins in a tight fist.

  “Sure,” Pam said, meeting Sam’s eyes. “It was just an adventure. A real Western adventure.”

  “That sounds exciting, and I’m glad you got to see it,” Dr. Mora said. Then, as if the account reminded her of something else, she looked up at Sam, who was still astride Ace. “Do you want to get down for a minute, Sam? I’d like to talk with you about something.”

  “I need to get back, but I’ve got to put a lead line on Popcorn, and that’ll take a minute,” Sam said, dismounting and taking down the rope she’d brought for ponying Popcorn home. “So, uh, what did you need to talk about?”

  If by some chance Dr. Mora had been watching the lake with binoculars, it was pretty obvious who she’d blame for Pam’s slip.

  “Nothing bad,” Dr. Mora said as if Sam sounded like she had a guilty conscience, but then she asked, “Do you think your Phantom Stallion fits the Dawn Runner legend?”

  Sam had just clipped the rope to the halter Popcorn wore under his bridle. Her hands went still at the question and her mind glowed with an imagined Phantom, haloed with morning’s first light.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said, stroking Popcorn’s neck as she thought about the question. “He’s real, and sometimes he still acts like my horse, but lately he’s been wilder than ever.” Sam paused and Dr. Mora gave an encouraging nod. “When he comes and goes in the shadows, especially by moonlight, he seems magical, and my dad says he comes from a line of fast, light-colored horses that have lived on this range for a long time. So…” Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. He could be part of the legend. Still, I’ve seen him more often at night.”

  Dr. Mora nodded. “You know, I’ve read that horses’—real horses’—eyesight is no different in darkness than it is in light. Something about the flexibility of their retina, I think. Their night vision is so perfect, they just carry on their normal lives—courting, mating, fighting, and eating.”

  “I believe that,” Sam said, and a sudden sense of peace flowed through her as she remembered the dark hours she’d spent in the Phantom’s secret valley. All through the night she’d heard the grinding of teeth, the gentle whinny of mares whose foals wandered out of reach, and the swish of water in a horse’s belly as it walked away from the stream.

  “I had my talk with MacArthur Ely today,” Dr. Mora began.

  “That’s Jake’s grandfather!” Sam said.

  “He had lots of nice things to say about you,” Dr. Mora admitted, but she was eager to discuss the legend. “It seems the Dawn Runner appears as a sign of good fortune. Capturing the Dawn Runner isn’t the point at all. It’s not an initiation like winning over a wild horse in manhood rituals and so on.” Dr. Mora paused and pushed her glasses up her nose. “So, she’ll probably only be a foo
tnote in my paper. At least this paper.”

  Pam had remained quiet while her mother talked to Sam, but now she crossed her arms and said, “You’re not getting ready to say it’s time to go.”

  “Well yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” Dr. Mora said with an understanding smile. “Since I have the information I came for and you girls have had your visit—”

  “Mom, no. I can’t go yet. I have to see what happens with Ryan and his horse,” Pam insisted.

  “But she’s had enough of me,” Sam joked.

  “Sam!” Pam moaned. “I wish you could come home with me!”

  “Next time,” Sam promised, and something told her it really might happen. She hadn’t forced this friendship to bloom again, but it had.

  “Mom,” Pam begged, “please.”

  “Tomorrow’s Friday, and I could stay until…” Dr. Mora sucked in a breath and half closed her eyes, thinking. “Saturday afternoon. Yes, I could drive into Reno or Carson City and see what kind of horse artifacts they might have in the museums. But no longer.”

  “I guess that will do,” Pam said, dragging her feet in mock misery as she handed Popcorn’s lead rope up to Sam.

  “I guess it will have to do,” Dr. Mora replied in a tone that said she’d already been too lenient.

  “See you at school tomorrow!” Pam yelled as Sam rode away. “And don’t have any adventures without me!”

  Because Popcorn was still skittish and unwilling to follow the shoreline of the desert lake, Sam took the long way home. She rode north over the foothills, following one of the trails that had given Mrs. Allen’s property its original name of Deerpath Ranch.

  “If anyone complains about me being late for dinner,” Sam told Popcorn, “I’ll just say it took less time than it would have if you had pulled loose and I’d had to chase all over the range trying to catch you.”

  When she finally came to a place where she could ride downhill safely, it meant threading through a maze of wind-twisted pinion pine that snagged at her bare arms.

  “It’s only like this for a few minutes,” Sam told the horses.

  There was a scuttling sound, probably quail, but the horses gave inquisitive snorts, because they couldn’t see beyond the branches.

  Sam heard the soft babble of water running over rocks. They weren’t far from a small stream that forked off the La Charla River and ran behind the Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary. The waters’ whisper reminded her of something.

  Sam concentrated, wondering what memory seemed important and just out of reach.

  “Do you speak river?” Sam joked as she patted Ace’s neck, but the gelding wasn’t amused. His muscles gathered and he pulled at the bit as branches rustled nearby. “We’re not running home,” she scolded. Then she looked toward the sounds. “It’s only the wind.”

  That would have made perfect sense, Sam thought, except that the evening was still. There wasn’t a breath of wind, and something was moving closer.

  “Let’s go,” Sam said.

  She tightened her legs against the saddle, but when Ace stepped out, the lead rope snapped tight between her hand and Popcorn’s halter.

  “You can’t both spook,” Sam told the horses.

  A twig broke with a pop so loud, it seemed to reverberate through her left elbow and Sam twisted to look.

  Don’t have any adventures without me, Pam had told her, and she’d planned to do as her friend had asked.

  She’d really been more interested in Gram’s front porch picnic dinner than anything else.

  Until now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Phantom’s eyes looked black and playful as he peered past the frost-white ripples of his forelock. He stood close enough that Sam breathed the sweet grassy smell of him and saw the faint tinge of pink beneath the silver skin over his nose. She could have touched him, and her heart leaped up at the possibility.

  She released her reins and was reaching her left hand toward the stallion, when Popcorn could no longer contain his terror.

  Backing away from the stallion, Popcorn’s hind quarters slammed into the thicket of pinion pine on the far side of the trail. Feeling attacked from all sides, Popcorn skittered forward. He lowered his muzzle and brushed an appeal for comfort against Sam’s hand.

  It was a mistake. Before, the stallion had ignored the albino gelding. Now he squealed in jealousy and half reared.

  With lowered heads and clapping jaws, both Ace and Popcorn gave the stallion the respect he demanded, but the Phantom struck off downhill through the brush.

  No! Sam wanted to cry out, to call him back, to yell in frustration, but she only whispered, “Zanzibar.”

  She didn’t take her eyes from the shaking brush or the branches dragging over his silver hide, so she saw him stop.

  “Zanzibar,” she murmured once more, and the stallion looked back at her.

  He whinnied and Sam caught her breath. That simply wasn’t part of the Phantom’s vocabulary. Like other stallions, he snorted questions and blew challenging jets of air through his nostrils at rivals to prove how tough he was. If that didn’t work, he squealed in rage. And a few times, when he’d been totally content, she’d heard her horse whuffle a sigh through his lips.

  But this whinny was reserved for young members of his herd who’d strayed and needed to be summoned back. She only remembered hearing it once. Now, though, it was for her.

  Sam knew she shouldn’t dismount in a desolate place so far from home. She shouldn’t leave Ace and Popcorn tied to pinion pines at the side of the deer path. She shouldn’t follow a wild stallion wherever he wanted to lead her, but she did.

  The brush on both sides of the path narrowed. On each side, reaching branches clutched at her, and when she looked up, the gray-green leaves blended with the twilight. But the Phantom was just ahead of her, leading her on.

  If this were a labyrinth in one of Dr. Mora’s stories, she’d be afraid. She thought of Pegasus, born from Medusa’s blood. And Kelpies, Poseidon’s beautiful horses, crafty creatures that gladly carried any greedy man who leaped onto their backs, then galloped back into the sea and drowned them.

  But the Phantom was no myth, and all at once, Sam knew where he was leading her. The lush scent of water twined with that of charred vegetation.

  Suddenly, the hillside slanted beneath her boots. Sam walked sideways down the steep ground to keep from falling. An old barbed wire fence sagged before them. The stallion hopped over it and Sam lifted the latch, a loop of wire over a slumping fence post, and followed him.

  When she looked past the stallion, Sam knew where she was.

  The Phantom had led her to the stream at the foot of the drop-off on the boundary of Mrs. Allen’s land. During some ancient flood, the river had carved off a piece of land and left a steep plummet down to the riverbank.

  As she watched, swallows stitched through the air, then slanted down from the plateau across the stream, dropping through the air to hover over the stream.

  Sam remembered hoofprints in the sandy soil. She remembered thinking that by late summer, this arm of the river would dwindle into a stream. She remembered thinking Hotspot, who’d hesitated when she followed the Phantom’s herd as they left the mustang sanctuary after the fire in June, would be able to cross it with ease by September.

  The Phantom drank at the stream. Did he know he’d led her to the last place she’d seen Hotspot, until this week?

  Eagerly, she looked around for the Appaloosa. She wasn’t here, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t come back.

  Exiled from the herd, she might remember this place. The memory of food, water, and other horses could beckon her back.

  For now, though, Sam was alone with the silver stallion. He stood in the shallows. Sunlight danced through the willow trees, reflected up in wavering patterns to paint him blue.

  “Zanzibar,” Sam said. It was the third time. She’d read that three was the number of times you had to repeat a magic spell to make it work.

  The stall
ion came to her.

  She held her breath as he nosed the scratches from the thickets she’d rushed through as she followed him. First he sniffed the cuts on her arms, and then his whiskers tickled her neck. She felt the stallion’s teeth touch her hair and Sam flinched. She stayed still, though, when she realized he was grooming her like he would another horse.

  The fresh, leathery smell of the stallion surrounded her. Sam closed her eyes.

  This was magic, but it wasn’t the bracelet on her wrist or a chanted spell that had drawn the stallion to her. It was friendship.

  Friendship with a wild stallion meant happiness didn’t last very long. For the hundredth time, Sam wondered if the Phantom could read her mind. The very instant she thought of grabbing a handful of mane and jumping onto his bare back, the stallion sidled away from her.

  “C’mere, boy,” she coaxed. “You know I won’t hurt you.”

  The stallion’s head tilted to one side. His forelock fell free and his eyes widened with a look that said she must be kidding. Clearly, the Phantom wasn’t afraid of her. He simply wasn’t going to stand around and wait for her attempt to ride him.

  The Phantom trotted up the hillside, made a seesaw jump over the barbed wire fence, and then turned toward the pinion pines. Sam heard his shoulder graze dry twigs and crack them. Then, with a flick of his silver tail, the stallion vanished.

  It took Sam a lot longer to trudge back up the hill and hike the path that returned her to Ace and Popcorn.

  Sam wondered what kind of mood the geldings would be in. After all, she’d deserted them to follow the Phantom. If she’d been either one of them, she would’ve been mad.

  Horses, it turned out, were different from people. If Popcorn was traumatized by the Phantom’s charge, he was making a fine recovery. If Ace resented her disappearance with his old leader, he hid his jealousy well.

  Left standing in the shade, the horses had contented themselves with munching dry grass and dozing. Neither of them had missed her. They proved it with their sluggish reluctance to leave the hillside and head for home.