Sandy nodded. “I know. I warned you all that we’d have to move Rocky.”
For the first time since she’d crept out of her warm bed to watch the birth, a feeling of unease came over Kirstie. Sure, she’d known about the deadline, but she’d been pushing it to the back of her mind. She turned away nervously and pictured Rocky out there in his safe pen under the silver moon.
“That’s OK,” Charlie encouraged. “You can move him into the meadow, no problem.”
“You think so?”
“Sure. He’s wearing a head collar. He’ll let you fix the rope and lead him out.”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded.
“Let Hadley do it,” Sandy suggested, picking up Kirstie’s nervousness.
“No, that’s OK.” Bad idea! There was only one person that Rocky had learned to trust. Kirstie knew it had to be her and no one else.
“Before breakfast,” her mom insisted. Satisfied that all had gone well for Yukon and her foal, she led the way through the dark barn out into the yard. They walked in the moon- and starlight, by the round pen.
For a moment, Kirstie paused to glance over the fence. There was Rocky, awake and alert to the sound of their footsteps, keeping his distance, listening, looking. The copper gleam of his coat under the moon was weird, the black of his mane like a moving shadow, and the glint of his eye wary as his gaze followed their journey from barn to house.
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Red Fox Meadow,” Kirstie murmured to him through the darkness. “It’ll be fine, you wait and see!”
6
Rocky had to want to do it. Kirstie recognized the first rule about working with horses. If he wasn’t willing to go into the meadow, nothing short of the extreme violence used by the wranglers at the San Luis Rodeo could make him.
“This is going to be OK,” she told him gently, choosing the first light of Monday morning when the sun peeped over the hills behind the guest cabins to go out into the round pen. With everyone except Hadley and Charlie still fast asleep, she knew there would be no distractions.
But she still had to convince the horse that she herself was calm and easy about the move. She had to enter the pen with halter and lead rope as if there was nothing unusual, nothing threatening about to happen. There must be a smile on her face, the same casual, indirect approach as ever. As she drew near and looked up at his intelligent, sensitive face, she stroked his neck and murmured encouraging words. “OK, you’re doing great. I’m gonna slip this head collar on and we’re gonna walk right out of here into Red Fox Meadow.”
Slowly, with the shadow of suspicion gradually melting from his eyes, Rocky let her ease the collar over his nose and strap it behind his ears. He dipped his head and nuzzled her arm.
“Let’s walk.” Giving the gentlest of tugs on the lead rope, she set off for the gate.
The big bay stallion followed quietly, his coat gleaming, his dark mane blowing in the breeze. He scarcely looked at the gate as they stepped outside the pen into the yard, his ears forward, then twitching this way and that.
“Goo-ood boy!” Kirstie headed for the wooden bridge across Five Mile Creek. Beyond that lay the meadow, where Hadley and Charlie were already cutting out from the herd the horses that would be needed for the day’s rides. “This is gonna feel kind of strange,” she told Rocky, as their footsteps echoed on the thick pine planks that formed the bridge. “You’re gonna meet Cadillac and Crazy Horse out here. Cadillac’s the big, creamy-white mustang and he knows he’s beautiful, but don’t let that bother you. Then there’s Crazy Horse. Crazy Horse has to be the ugliest horse around, but he thinks he’s a good-looking guy, just like Cadillac. You can’t come between those two; they go every place together …”
As she chatted on about other horses in the remuda, Kirstie led Rodeo Rocky along the side of the creek toward the long stretch of high fence that formed one side of the field where they kept the Half Moon horses at grass. The field began broad and flat, then sloped upward, away from the creek, and narrowed so that the whole shape was a 600-foot-long, sloping triangle laid out at the foot of Hummingbird Rock. At the far end, she spotted Charlie on Moose, working to cut Johnny Mohawk out of the herd and head him toward the ranch.
She paused with Rocky at the wide gate into the meadow, beside a big clump of tall blue irises. The mustang sniffed at the flowers, ignored them, and craned his neck to reach golden marsh marigolds growing closer to the banks of the fast-flowing creek. As he chomped on the juicy dark green leaves, Kirstie saw Lucky trot across the meadow to greet her. The palomino’s pale mane and tail swung as he came, his head was up, the sun shone on his golden coat.
Rocky turned at the sound of approaching hooves. For a moment, as his lip curled back and he bared his teeth, Kirstie feared a problem. Up till now, since he’d been kept alone in the round pen, she’d given Rocky her undivided attention. But Lucky was her special horse and no way was she going to ignore him for Rocky’s sake. She wondered if it was possible for a horse to be jealous; if her talking to the palomino and making a fuss of him would throw Rocky into a mean mood.
She decided to tether his lead rope to the fence post just in case. He watched her carefully as she tied the slipknot, then he eyed the palomino.
“Hey.” Kirstie stood clear of the bay horse and leaned over to say hello to Lucky. She rubbed his neck, then laid her cheek against his cheek. Then she stroked his nose and stepped back.
How had Rocky taken it, she wondered?
The bay stallion had his head up, his eye fixed on Lucky. He tugged at the rope, found he had nowhere to go, and stamped his feet. Kirstie went back to him more warily than before. “This is Lucky,” she told him, as the palomino approached them calmly from the other side of the fence. He was as tall and strong as the wild horse; a match if the two decided to fight.
Rocky flared his nostrils and whinnied loudly. He turned his head quizzically to Kirstie.
This is like being a new kid in school, she thought suddenly. New kid doesn’t know anyone, feels awkward and left out. Teacher details a confident, friendly kid from the class to help the newcomer settle in. The comparison made her smile and relax. She went back to Lucky. “Rocky’s new here,” she explained, half-laughing now. It was crazy to talk to a horse like this, and yet she knew somehow that both Lucky and Rocky were getting the picture. “He needs some help. I’m gonna lead him into the field to join the remuda. You have to show him how, OK?”
Lucky leaned over the fence and snorted.
Quickly Kirstie went to untie Rocky’s lead rope. “And we know you’re a big, tough guy,” she told him briskly. “But we don’t want you throwing your weight around just to prove it.” She led him firmly to the gate, opened it, and took him into the field. The horse looked at the small herd of fifteen ranch horses in the distance, glanced sideways at Lucky, and dipped his head.
It was the moment for Kirstie to unclip the lead rope. One smooth movement and Rocky was loose. She held her breath, watching every sign: the head, the ears, the eyes.
It was Lucky who made the first move. He came right on up to the powerful newcomer, wiggling his ears and blinking. For a split-second Rocky held back, switching his tail, staring, telling him, “Keep your distance.”
But Lucky ignored the message. He thrust his nose toward the bay horse, his sensitive nostrils sniffing, then breathing out noisily. Then he walked right around the back of him, saying, You could kick me if you had a mind to, but I don’t think you’re gonna do that.
Quietly Kirstie watched and smiled. Lucky came full circle, back to Rocky’s face. He trotted away, came back, danced a bit, trotted again.
“Go!” Kirstie urged the new horse.
He waited a few more seconds, trying to decide. Should he stay? Should he go? At last, he crouched back onto his haunches and launched himself across the meadow after Lucky. His hooves sank into the soft turf, his tail streamed behind him. Soon the two horses were thundering the length of Red Fox Meadow, matching each other stride for str
ide as the rest of the herd stood quietly by.
“Neat!” Charlie said as he rode by with Johnny Mohawk, heading for the ranch.
Kirstie nodded with a satisfied grin. She slung the rope over her shoulder, shut the gate after Charlie, and went to tell her mom: No problem, Rodeo Rocky was doing fine.
“Here’s how I see it.” Kirstie helped at the cookout by serving barbecued chicken to the guests and explaining her theory about Rodeo Rocky to anyone who would listen.
It was one week after the ex-rodeo horse had joined the Half Moon remuda, and as far as Kirstie was concerned he’d been behaving like an angel. Now Sandy Scott, Lennie Goodman, Lisa, and Matt were considering the transformation that had come over the big bay horse.
Kirstie spooned barbecue sauce over the plates, then waved the ladle around. “No horse is born mean. He only gets mean if someone treats him rough. So, with Rocky, he had one bad experience and it scared him real bad. For two days he went crazy.”
“Hey!” Lisa protested as a splatter of barbecue sauce narrowly missed her clean blue T-shirt.
Kirstie ignored her friend. “You’d be crazy if you’d been kidnapped and forced into some dark truck that roared you away from the beautiful place you’d lived in all your life!”
“Sshh, honey!” Sandy took the sauce ladle from her and made her serve salads instead, hoping she could do less harm.
“… So!” Kirstie didn’t even notice that she’d changed jobs, she was so excited about Rocky’s progress. “With Rocky, it was like all men are the enemy!”
“Sure.” Matt conceded this much. “But you’re saying you’ve worked with him and got rid of this crazy streak?” All week he’d remained doubtful, and it seemed he wasn’t about to change his mind.
Kirstie nodded. “He’s smart; real smart. It only takes him twenty-four hours in the round pen to know all men aren’t the enemy after all. He checks me out and decides I’m OK, for a start. I’m talking to him, I’m feeding him, I’m taking him out to the meadow and showing him where to find the best grass.”
“He knows you’re with him, not against him!” Out of range of Kirstie’s waving arms, Lisa gave her friend some warm support. “Have you been out to the meadow to see him with the other horses?” she asked Matt and Sandy. “The herd gives him respect because he’s big and strong …”
“… Except for Silver Flash,” Kirstie put in. The big sorrel with the white blaze down her nose hadn’t exactly given Rocky a warm welcome.
“OK, and poor Jitterbug wasn’t too happy either,” Lisa admitted. “But there’s been no real trouble. Lucky made sure of that. He took to Rocky, showed him around real good.”
“Lucky’s been great,” Kirstie agreed, drowning Lennie Goodman’s salad in dressing. “He stuck with Rocky. Now it’s Cadillac and Crazy Horse; Lucky and Rocky. No one can get between those two anymore!”
“Well, that’s great.” Kirstie’s mom was genuinely pleased. “I’ve been checking Rocky out all week, and I agree with you, you wouldn’t know him as the same horse as the one we drove up from San Luis.”
“So when does he start earning back what we paid for him?” Matt stacked used plates on a nearby table. “Meaning, when do we put someone on his back and let him ride out on the trails?”
There was a pause. Kirstie cocked her head to one side and looked at her mother.
“Hmm.” Sandy set off indoors with the heavy stack of plates. “One step at a time,” she insisted. “We haven’t even got a saddle on him yet.”
Kirstie and Lisa glowered at Matt for spoiling the mood. Kirstie knew her mom was still worried about the two thousand dollars they’d paid for Rodeo Rocky and was still having to consider the possibility of selling Yukon and her tiny foal to make up for the money she’d spent.
“So?” Matt widened his eyes and shrugged.
“Soon!” Kirstie answered back. She turned around and walked away, down the green bank to the edge of the creek, where she gazed across at the horses in the meadow. She could easily pick out Cadillac’s white form from the rest in the twilight, and shadowing him was ugly-beautiful, faithful Crazy Horse. Then beyond them was pretty, dainty Johnny Mohawk, and beyond him the golden coat and pale blond mane of her precious Lucky. Sure enough, at his side she made out Rocky. He was turned away from the herd, head up, staring at the wild slopes of Eagle’s Peak, as if his mind was soaring up there, away from the ranch to the pine-tree wilderness in the quiet evening air.
Kirstie saw him and sighed.
“When?” Matt had followed her to the river’s edge and spoke quietly from behind. “It’s time to saddle and ride him,” he told her. “So when will it be?”
A saddle on the wild mustang’s back. A metal bit in his mouth. Reins to hold him back. It was the big, big step.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered. “I’ll give it a try.”
Yukon looked over the fence of the round pen as Kirstie chose a saddle and carried it out of the tack room. The mare’s eight-day-old, black foal skipped and bucked across the sandy ground on her spindly legs. Her large head with its white star wobbled up and down as she scampered across. Each day she grew a little bigger, a little steadier on her feet. And Yukon was a good mother, protecting her from the too-curious gaze of some of the ranch guests, standing over her when, tired out by playing and feeding, she folded her legs and took a nap in the sun.
Kirstie smiled at the mother and foal, hooked the heavy saddle over the corral fence, then walked onto fetch Rocky.
“We have to sell something!” Matt had insisted over breakfast. He said he’d been working on some figures late the previous night, and he couldn’t make them add up to show a profit unless they took the tough decision to sell at least one horse.
“I hear you,” Sandy had said with a worried frown. “And I know it’s not looking good right now. But maybe we’ll get lucky with a late booking. If we got in some extra guests, that would solve the cash-flow problem.”
“Yeah, and it would solve the problem if we sold the rodeo horse,” Matt had said, looking pointedly at Kirstie. “We’d get our two thousand dollars back; end of story!”
Kirstie had deliberately turned her back on him, put on her fleece jacket to keep off the chill of the morning dew, and come out for Rocky’s saddle.
Saddle equals rodeo. Rodeo equals ropes, loss of freedom, pain. She predicted the train of thought inside Rocky’s head as she approached Red Fox Meadow. He would hate the sight of the polished leather and metal stirrups the moment he saw them. It would take all of Kirstie’s calmness and courage to help him through this.
“Excuse me, ma’am, can I get your horse for you?” Charlie’s joking voice broke into her thoughts with the phrase he and Hadley used for the lady ranch guests. He was riding across the meadow toward her with Cadillac and Crazy Horse in tow.
“Oh, hey Charlie!” She gave him a small grin. “Do you have time to watch me tack Rocky up?”
“When?” From his saddle, the wrangler watched the ex-rodeo stallion trot willingly to greet her.
She slipped a head collar onto the bay horse and led him toward the gate, squinting into the sun that sat on the rim of the hills behind the cabins. “Right now?”
“Sure thing.” Charlie said he would ask Hadley for a ten-minute break, then join her at the round pen.
So Kirstie had Rocky inside the ring and was lunging him on a fifteen-foot rein when Charlie joined her. “He noticed the saddle slung over the fence,” she told him quietly. “I let him sniff at it for a while. He seemed OK about it, but I don’t know how he’ll be when I put it on his back.”
“He’ll be great,” Charlie told her. “I’ll take the rein while you fix his saddle.”
She took a deep breath. It was now or never. As Charlie slowed the horse from a trot to a walk, then reined him to a standstill, she approached with the saddle.
“That’s right, nice and easy,” Charlie said softly, as Rocky’s ears flicked and he bowed his head.
Kirstie lifted the heavy w
eight level with Rocky’s shoulders. Her arms ached with the effort, but she didn’t let the saddle drop straight down on the horse’s back. Instead, she let him turn his head to look, waited until he’d agreed that it was OK to go ahead, then eased it onto the curve of his back. Gently, gently, she lowered it until it rested comfortably in position.
“Easy, boy!” Charlie whispered. The lunge rein stayed relaxed in his hands.
“You’re doing great!” Kirstie soothed. She didn’t let Rocky see how keyed up she was as she lowered the cinch, took the strap under his belly, and brought it up the other side. Before the horse knew it, the buckles were fastened and stirrups lowered.
Rocky shifted under the new weight and the feel of the tight cinch. But he didn’t seem to seriously object.
“Good boy!” Now she praised him and patted him, rubbed his neck and shoulders, made a great fuss. “Trot him around the ring while I fetch the bridle,” she told Charlie, dashing to the tack room once more. As she unhooked a bridle from its peg, she saw Hadley and said he should come and watch. Then they bumped into Matt and Sandy in the yard. “Everyone come and see this!” Kirstie insisted, running back into the pen.
And now she was confident that Rocky would trust her with the rest of the tack. She might even be able to ride him. But she mustn’t be too eager. Slow and easy, she told herself. Charlie grinned at her and she grinned back as she approached the horse.
“Now this bridle is just like a head collar,” she explained. “There’s a metal bar that slides inside your mouth, and a few straps around your face. I fasten it real simple, and the reins go over your head, like so.” Kirstie talked as she worked, conscious of her small audience standing at the gate.
Rocky shook his head and snorted. He felt the cold metal in his mouth; a strange sensation for the horse from the flat Wyoming plains. He turned to look at Kirstie with a big question mark in his eyes.
“This is so I can get up on your back,” she told him, keeping her voice calm and cheerful. “Sure, I know it’s a whole lot of fancy stuff and you’d let me on without it, but it helps me stay up there, believe me!”
Rodeo Rocky Page 5