Koda

by Patricia Hermes

  HORSE DIARIES

  #1: Elska

  #2: Bell’s Star

  #3: Koda

  For Logan Matthew Hermes,

  the bravest boy ever

  —P.H.

  To my daughter Whitney

  and her beautiful quarter horse, Gabriel,

  my Koda model

  —R.S.

  CONTENTS

  1

  Independence, Missouri, Early Spring, 1846

  2

  Going Home

  3

  Meeting the Herd

  4

  Two Thousand Miles to Go

  5

  Heading Westward to Oregon

  6

  South Pass

  7

  Rescue

  8

  Late October, 1848

  Appendix

  “Oh! if people knew what a comfort to horses a light hand is …”

  —from Black Beauty, by Anna Sewell

  Independence, Missouri,

  Early Spring, 1846

  On that quiet spring morning, there was nothing but green grass and sun and the smell of my mama. I nuzzled her and she moved closer so I could have more of her warm, sweet milk. There was so much I didn’t know yet, so much she promised to show me. But I had already found out scores of things on my own. I was just three days old, but I bet I knew more than lots of older horses. I knew that the small white furballs on the hillside that Mama called sheep didn’t care at all about playing. They didn’t care even if I pranced up to them and said, Come on, let’s play. And they sure didn’t want to race. There were other things on that hillside that looked kind of like sheep. But they didn’t move at all, and that’s how I learned they were rocks.

  Rocks just sit in one place all day long, year after year, my mama said, just soaking up sun and snow, which comes later.

  Rocks didn’t move even when I nudged one with my nose. I was awful glad that I wasn’t born a rock.

  My mama told me, and then told me again, that I was much too curious. She said I had to watch out and not get too bold. But she was gentle when she said these things. I knew she liked my spirit, and I told her that I liked my spirit, too. My mama whinnied when I said that. Then she told me to lie down and rest because we had a long day before us. We were heading back to the herd, she said. She’d gone off alone for a time, away from the herd, once she knew that I was about to be born. She wanted me all to herself for a while, and I understood that. Like I told my mama, I was learning a whole lot of things already.

  Still, why rest when the sun was up and shining, and the wind was blowing like anything? So just for fun, I went zooming around the hillside, my mane flying in the wind. I felt the sun, warm on my back. My legs had been all wobbly for the first day or so, but not now. Now they felt like they were attached to me real good. They moved me along so fast I was even leaping around at times. And then I saw something new.

  It was small, sort of round, with prickly things on it. And it wasn’t moving. Well, how could anything not move on a day like this?

  I nosed up to it.

  No, it wasn’t a rock. Then why hold so still? It had pointing kinds of things sticking out all over its body. It seemed to be looking at me. Even now, young as I was, I knew that rocks didn’t look at you. I placed my nose down close.

  And then, like the wind itself had roared up to my side, suddenly my mama was there. Her body seemed to swell, filling the air beside me. I could feel the heat of her nearness. Her eyes were wild, her ears laid back.

  Foolish colt! she said. Come away! Now.

  She shoved her shoulder into me, almost making me fall to the ground. I backed away.

  Follow me. Come! she said.

  And she turned tail, flying back up the hillside toward the trees where we had been. I liked this race, and I ran on ahead. But my mama caught up and passed me. She stopped short, so short that I couldn’t stop. I bumped her big side. Then I tumbled back a bit. I stumbled over a rock, and then I was lying on the ground. I looked up at her, surprised. I got my long legs back under me and untangled myself and stood up. But one leg ached. When I looked down, I saw a thin stream of blood running down my flank.

  Was this some kind of game? I didn’t like it.

  No, it wasn’t a game. I had not seen my mama like this before, but I knew what it was. She was very angry.

  She lowered her head and looked in my eyes. That was a porcupine. It could prick those quills right into your face. They would hurt worse than that fall you just took.

  Oh.

  My pride was wounded, so I looked away. It doesn’t hurt much, I said.

  Never mind hurt! my mama said, still angry-like. Those quills get in your face and you would swell all up. You wouldn’t be able to eat. To nurse. You’d starve to death.

  Well, I had learned enough by now to know that I had just been born, and I sure liked it here. And I knew that death wouldn’t be what I’d want for a real long time.

  I hung my head, ashamed-like. I guess I did have a lot to learn.

  Curious is good, my mama said, and now she sounded not as angry. Foolish is not!

  Yes, Mama.

  She seemed to relent some, because she whinnied at me, telling me to look up. I did, and looked high in the sky. There were birds flying all about, wild black ones, and one that soared and swooped low. Mama said the soaring one was an eagle. I wondered what it would be like to be born an eagle, to have wings instead of legs and hooves. Then we saw an ugly-faced one that kept swooping down to look at something on the hillside.

  My mama got quiet when that big bird flew by, and she didn’t say anything about it, but I could tell that she didn’t like it much. I nudged myself closer, and Mama nudged me back.

  What, Mama? I asked her.

  A buzzard, my mama answered. They’re mean old birds. Come only when something is dead or dying.

  And then, because my mama was a little quiet, and I knew I had frightened her with that porcupine, and maybe she was thinking that buzzard would come for me if I was dead, well, I decided maybe she needed me to rest right close by her side for a while.

  I closed my eyes and lay down, my legs stretched out. The sun was warm, and so many things whirled around inside my head. My mama was nearby. She liked my spirit. And soon we would go back and meet the herd. Mama said most of the herd horses were like us, quarter horses. That meant we could run very, very fast, the fastest quarter mile that any horse on earth could run. Well, I knew that. I knew I was the fastest horse already. I flicked my ears a little bit when I was half-asleep, just to let Mama know I was still there with her, maybe dreaming some. And then she was nudging me.

  Time to get up, my little colt.

  Well, she didn’t have to tell me twice.

  I was up and ready to go, wanting so much to go back to those other horses Mama had told me about. She told me then what the others would call me. I had been given a name already. Koda, it was. She said that it had a special meaning, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. She said I would find out, but not yet.

  Of course that set me to wondering, but everything set me to wondering. Still, wondering didn’t stop me from moving. And moving was all I wanted to do.

  We started off then, the two of us, ranging over that hillside, my mama in the lead, seeming to know just where she was going, straight and true. I kept running on ahead, and my mama kept whinnying me back to her. Always I came back, because she sure knew where she was going, and I sure did not. But with the sun high and that wind blowing right by me, ruffling my mane and tickling at my nose, it was mighty hard to hold back.

  You’ll tire yourself out, my little colt, my mama said more than one time. You’re wasting that fine energy.

  But it took more energy to hold back, so at times I went zooming pas
t Mama, my tail flying right out behind me. Once, I scared myself some, because I couldn’t see her any longer. But then I heard her whinnying, and I came back. I was so happy thinking about what awaited us, wondering what the other horses would be like. I knew that we would also be meeting creatures Mama called humans. She said there was one small human who was waiting for me, the girl who had given me my name.

  Why did she name me, Mama? I asked. Why didn’t you give me my name?

  You’ll see, Mama answered. You’ll learn about humans.

  She sounded a bit worried-like when she said “humans,” but she wouldn’t tell me more about them. She said we needn’t be worrying over them for a while yet. But I thought she did seem happy when she told me about the small human who had named me.

  Well, if my mama wasn’t worrying, then I wasn’t, either. We ran a long way, over meadows, over the hillside, the wind swooping by every now and then, like its job was just for us, to cool us off. After a while, though, it was really hot—even with the wind helping us out—and Mama found some shade under a tree. She ate some of the young spring grass, and then she spent a long time drinking from a stream nearby. I had no interest in that water stuff. I had her milk, all that I wanted.

  We rested awhile then, and I have to say, I needed that rest. The day was hot and I had been running hard. But just when I was ready to say it was time for some sleep, what did my mama do? She upped and started meandering away.

  I didn’t budge. Not me. Time for sleep. My mama kept going, and never even looked back to see me. So I knew there was nothing to do but follow. I was mighty slow, though, barely able to keep my head high. But then my curiosity came back, and before I knew it, I was in the lead. Maybe just that little bit of rest did it, or maybe my mama’s milk, but all the energy I’d had that morning came rushing back. I took off over flats and up hills. I found, too, that I could see lots more than I had been able to see just the day before. I bet I could see now almost as good as my mama could see. I knew I could see better than I saw that first day, right after I was born. And now, way off in the distance, I saw something interesting. It moved, so I knew it wasn’t a rock.

  It was also way too big to be a porcupine. It just sat atop a boulder real quiet-like, seeming almost the same color as the rock, just its tail moving a bit at the tip. A stump? I had scared a bunch of stumps this morning. Maybe this would be another fine stump to get after. But I had already figured out that stumps didn’t move and they didn’t have tails, though sometimes from a distance they looked like they did. So this was something new, something to nose out and see what it was up to.

  This time when I came near, I was a bit more cautious. I had learned something from that porcupine, and I wasn’t about to be tricked again. So I ambled up close, but not so close that my nose could get pricked.

  I was still a good distance away, but even so, I could tell that this thing did not smell nice. Also, my instincts were maybe working better than they had this morning and were telling me to beware. I pranced backward, looking over my shoulder for my mama.

  Mama! Where was my mama?

  And then, when my head was turned, this thing that was not a stump or a porcupine, this thing leaped off the top of that rock. It came at me. It was all fur and twitching ears and claws that stretched out toward me. And it had a foul smell.

  I leaped backward.

  Mama!

  There was no Mama! There was no time to wait. And this was no time to play. This creature didn’t like horses, or maybe liked us too well, maybe for dinner, and I had a feeling I would be dead if it caught up with me. So I lit out. I had new, strong legs to carry me, and they carried me away like the wind. I leaped over the range, my heart thundering in time to the beat of my legs pounding the ground. I leaped over streams, then scrambled up a knoll, scattering rocks. I was slipping and sliding, but I went on. I darted side to side, knowing somehow that was better than a straight line. After a long while, a long, long while, my heaving sides were begging me to stop, and I did. I looked behind me. I listened. I sniffed the air.

  My breath came all raggedy, and my heart was beating and thundering in my chest. No creature with claws and twitching ears and tail was chasing me. Nothing.

  Mama. I needed to tell my mama. I was safe. And I had learned something else. I had learned from the porcupine. I’d learned to be smart. I didn’t know what that creature was, but it was gone. And I was still here.

  I looked around. Mama. Where was my mama?

  Mama?

  Only the wind answered me. Mama was nowhere to be seen.

  Going Home

  Then I was even more scared than I had been by that wild thing. Where was my mama? I needed her. I knew so many things already, and that was one thing I knew, that I needed a mama. I was thirsty, too, aching for some of her milk.

  Mama? I called again. I held still, listening. Mama?

  Nothing answered me, nothing but the wind moving through the trees. Darkness was setting in, too, the sun sliding behind those rocks that didn’t move. Everything turned pink, and then a little purple, and I got to say, it was mighty pretty. I even stood there awhile, just breathing it all in, before the fear came back again.

  Where was my mama? Where was that herd of horses she’d told me about? I didn’t know how to find my way home. I didn’t even know where home was. Why did Mama leave me this way?

  And then I realized—she hadn’t left me. I’d left her. That nasty-smelling thing had scared me and I ran. She wouldn’t leave me. I knew that all right.

  So my job was to find her. But first, rest. My legs were good and strong. I wasn’t wobbly anymore. But I surely was worn-out. I’d rest, just a little bit.

  I lay down, my long legs stretched out, aching for some milk, my stomach so empty. But even hungry as I was, sleep came over me, and when I slept, I dreamed. I dreamed of my mama, that she was nosing against my side, pushing herself against me, whispering, There, there, little colt, all is well. Rest. In the morning, we’ll return to the herd.

  But, Mama, I told her in my sleep, I don’t know where the herd is.

  And then she nudged me real hard, and it wasn’t a dream mama but a real live one, my mama, my very own!

  I scrambled to my feet, as unsteady as if I’d just been born, and I pushed my nose into her side and drank her milk, and drank and drank. I didn’t say a thing till I’d had my fill.

  I lifted my head and Mama nudged me, playful-like. Foolish colt, she said. She didn’t sound angry, though. She sounded somewhat proud. Foolish colt to get so close.

  I didn’t get close, Mama! I said. I learned from that porcupine. And I was tricky, too. I ran zigzag, not in a straight line. Wasn’t I smart, Mama?

  Mama didn’t answer that. She just said, You learned how fast a cougar can run.

  He smelled horrid, Mama, I said.

  You learned that, too, my mama said. To trust your nose. If it smells bad, stay away. Cougars and coyotes and wolves and bears, they all smell nasty. Now, let’s rest a bit. As soon as it’s light, we’ll be on our way.

  Well, that suited me just fine. But I had to know one last thing before I slept. Where were you, Mama? When that cougar was chasing me, where were you? Why didn’t you whinny me back to you?

  Mama nudged me close. I led him away from you, little wild colt, she said. I ran slow. I even limped some. He wanted you, a soft, newborn colt. But he didn’t know how fast a quarter horse can run. He saw me lame and thought I’d be easy to catch. I wasn’t.

  Oh, Mama, I said. I’m so glad he didn’t catch you. Or me!

  And for the second time that day, I felt ashamed of myself. I thought I knew so much. I had so much to learn.

  Darkness settled around us then, and a nighttime sun came up—Mama called it moon. Moon climbed high over the treetops and glimmered down on us, and it was so pretty that I thought I’d watch it awhile. But I guess I was just too tuckered out, because I slept. And next thing I knew, moon was gone, the sun was up warming the treetops, and Mama and
I had breakfasted and were on our way. My legs felt stronger even than the day before. And so I started out running fast and hard, my mane whipping in the wind. But that whole morning, I never got so far away that I couldn’t see my mama. I had learned my lesson!

  We loped along fine and steady till the sun was high and hot, and then we rested in the shade of some cottonwoods. It felt mighty good, but after I was rested, I meandered out into the sun, and I found something new to interest me. It was a long brown speckled thing, coiled up atop a rock. It had eyes, so I could tell it was a live creature, but I had learned a lot about creatures already, so I didn’t nose it out or get too close. I just pranced around it a little bit, wondering if it wanted to play.

  A snake, my mama said, seeing me prancing around like that. Don’t get close. Snakes are like cougars. Not your friends, my little colt.

  Well, the snake had not much of a smell, and he didn’t seem too friendly anyway, so I backed off to let him sleep in the sun, if that’s what he wanted.

  And then Mama began wandering off again. We traveled a long way after that, a really long way, not stopping at all but for Mama to drink at a stream, and for me to nurse awhile.

  All day we loped, till the sun was low in the sky. I didn’t want to say it to Mama, but I was tired. I didn’t think I could go on anymore. But just when my legs were about to buckle, Mama stopped atop a small hill. Beside us, a wild river rushed along, bubbling and gurgling. A soft mist rose off it, and grass grew lush and green all around.

  Before us was a wide open plain, and beyond that, another sloping hillside, and strung out on that plain—well, what I saw, I’ll just never forget. My first sight of the herd, horses just like Mama and me. So many of them! But when I looked closer, I saw that they weren’t exactly like us. Some were bigger, and some of them smaller. Colts! I said.

  Fillies, too, Mama said.

  Then one of those big horses whinnied up at us, and Mama whinnied back. I didn’t know what they were saying to one another, but I couldn’t help myself, and I decided to chime right in. I raised up my head and did my own whinnying, my first ever. It seemed to me I’d done it right fine, if I do say so myself.