Koda

by Patricia Hermes

  She gave me another one of her fierce hugs, then raced from the barn, almost tripping over her little dog, Honey. She stopped and picked him up, then twirled around with him in her arms, as if she was dancing.

  Well. Imagine galloping free with Jasmine for days and days and miles and miles! Later that morning, when we were set out to pasture, I told Mama about all that Jasmine had said and how happy I was. Mama already knew about it. She said that all the mares had been talking. Then Mama said she’d been on other trail rides, and they were sometimes hard.

  Well, I didn’t care if it was hard. Miles and miles of running free! So then I offered to race with Mama. She acted real impatient with me then and told me that I had gotten a big head even thinking that I could beat her in a race.

  You’re still a youngster, Mama said. You have a lot to learn. She even pretended to nip me some—though I knew she’d never hurt me.

  Well, then I’d just have to race the wind. And I did—I lit out across the pasture, the wind whipping up my tail and mane. Some of the colts came chasing me, and all of us ran hard.

  For the next few days, things went on this way—spring coming on, the wind freshening, the grass just beginning to green up. And then one morning, Jasmine and her papa arrived to lead us down to the river.

  When Jasmine put that halter and lead rope on me, I couldn’t stop prancing and tossing around, I was so happy. Jasmine was atop another horse, and I trotted alongside. Jasmine’s papa was astride my mama. All of us then went jogging along the riverbank to the place where the wagons were gathered.

  When we got there, Jasmine dismounted and tied her horse to a wagon. And then, just as she had when I had first come to the homestead, she began showing me things, pointing them out and explaining. The first things she showed me were some huge beasts, much, much bigger than horses, with large, curved horns. They were as wide as the widest tree trunks I had yet seen and looked to be sturdy like rocks or boulders. I didn’t get close enough to smell them good, but they seemed gentle enough.

  “Those are oxen, Koda,” Jasmine said. “They’ll pull our wagons. There are two or even four of them for each wagon. Sometimes horses pull wagons, too, and then the wagons can go faster. But Papa says that’s too hard on the horse. And there are the wagons. See? All stretched out in the line? There are almost a hundred wagons, Papa says!”

  I looked all about me. As far as I could see were those covered wagons, one after the other in a long line. They were tall and high off the ground, like fat white clouds that had dropped out of the sky.

  “All these wagons are going with us,” Jasmine said. “Papa says it will take six whole months. Two thousand miles, Koda! Papa showed it all to me on a map last night. Oh, Koda, I’m so excited. I’ve never seen or done anything big in my whole life, and now, I’m going to see the whole country! With you! And when we get there, you’ll be old enough for me to ride!”

  She fingered a string of pink beads around her neck then. “This is my mama’s,” she said. “I wear it always. I wish she was going with us.”

  That made me sad. I had liked her mama. I sure wouldn’t want my mama to die.

  Jasmine stroked my head as we walked on. “Now, this is our wagon,” she said. “It’s like a little house, all fixed up inside. We have supplies—flour and coffee and bacon and lots and lots of grain for you and your mama, because there may not be enough grass to eat along the trail. We have a table and a chair and bedding. We even have a bed for Honey! And the wagon next to us is for my aunt Agatha and uncle Henry and my cousins. My cousin Sam will take turns with Papa driving our wagon, so that Papa can ride with the scouts sometimes. Sam is sixteen, almost a man. They’re even taking a milk cow along!”

  She led me around the side of the wagon. “And now, see that?” she said, pointing. “That’s a water barrel. And that’s a cabinet for cooking pans and medicine. And you’re going to walk right along behind our wagon until you’re big enough for me to ride. And I’ll walk with you. Jed says it’s easier to walk than ride in the wagon because of how bumpy it is. And when we get to Oregon, Papa says you’ll be a great help clearing the land and you can even take me to school!”

  Jasmine stopped and leaned against me. “Oh, Koda, I’m just running on as though you understand about Mama and school and Oregon and clearing land, but I think you do. Don’t you?”

  She stroked my neck, and I rubbed my head up and down against her, letting her know that I did understand. At least, I understood some. What I understood was that the humans all around me were real busy. They were scurrying about the wagons, carrying all sorts of odd things that I had never seen before. Some male humans were on horses. The horses seemed well cared for, and they nickered at me, welcoming me, because horses are herd animals and we like to be together.

  “Those men on horseback, Koda?” Jasmine said. “They’re scouts. They’ll ride ahead and look out for danger. The scouts will also look for places to stop and rest. And see what the men are carrying? Those are guns. They’re for keeping away the wolves and cougars and bad things.”

  Those were scary words—wolves and cougars. I was older now and knew more about wolves and cougars and knew well how dangerous they were to horses. I shook my head, tossing it against the lead rope.

  “Don’t worry, Koda,” Jasmine said. “That’s why the men have guns. To protect us. They may even be able to shoot wild game for us to eat. And they’ll look for places to water the oxen and horses, too. This is going to be a real adventure!”

  Well, after having been cooped up in the corral and the barn all winter, I was real happy to be going on an adventure. Except just then I saw something that I didn’t much like.

  A human. A man. He was up on a horse, and the way he rode that horse, I knew right away the man was a bad one. His horse was all lathered up and had been ridden hard, and his sides were heaving and froth was coming out of his mouth. The man rode up in front of Jasmine and me and stopped the horse with a mean pull of the reins, jerking the horse’s head sideways.

  “That colt coming with us?” the man asked. “How old is he?”

  “Two,” Jasmine said, and I could feel the fear—or was it anger?—coming from her. “This is Koda. He’s Rosie’s colt.”

  “Is he broke to saddle? Can you ride him?” the man asked.

  “Not yet,” Jasmine said, and she moved closer to me and wrapped an arm around my neck. “Koda,” she said to me, “this is Jed. He’s the elected leader of the wagon train. He’s been on the trail before and knows the way.”

  “And I know other things, too,” Jed said. “I know what happens to horses on the trail, and it ain’t pretty. Not enough grass. They get picky about the water. They get sick. You think you can carry enough grain for him?” Jed moved his horse closer to me, so close that I could feel the sweat coming off of his horse. “What good is a horse that can’t be worked or ridden? Leave him behind. He’s not big and strong enough yet. If he gets sick and weak on the trail, he won’t last two hundred miles. He’ll get eaten by wolves or coyotes.”

  I shuddered, and Jed’s horse, who had been ridden so hard, shook his head, spraying foam from his mouth all around. He inched himself and his rider closer to me. Pay Jed no mind, he said. I been on the trail before. You’re young. You’ll do fine. Just keep your wits about you, that’s all. And keep on the lookout for wolves.

  Jed had just started to yank him around when Jasmine’s papa came riding up on top of my mama. He reined to a stop in front of us and turned to Jed. “Are you trying to scare my daughter?” he asked. He smiled at Jed, but his voice sounded stern.

  “Just telling her the truth, Mark,” Jed said. “Can’t believe how dumb you’re being. Why do you want to bring along a horse that’s no use to you? Sell the colt. He’ll bring good money. It’s going to be hard enough for that mare you’re sitting atop of.”

  “Jed, we been all over this,” Jasmine’s papa said. “I’ve sold the rest of my herd. Koda belongs to Jasmine. Jasmine’s had enough loss this year.
We’re not leaving her colt behind. We’re carrying plenty of grain. If there’s a problem, it’s my problem. Period.”

  “Fine with me, pardner,” Jed said. “Just remember, if that useless horse gets sick and slows you down, you’re on your own. The wagon train ain’t going to wait for you.”

  “I’ve been warned,” Jasmine’s papa said. “Now, let’s finish up our business here and get ready to move on out.”

  Jed pulled up on his reins real rough-like and went galloping away, and Jasmine’s papa went trotting along behind him—treating his horse much nicer.

  Leave me behind? Get eaten by wolves? Or coyotes? Not enough grass to eat?

  “Don’t worry, Koda,” Jasmine said, as if she was reading my mind. “We won’t leave you behind. And you won’t get eaten by any wild thing. Jed’s cross with everyone. Just because he led a wagon train to Oregon last year, he thinks he knows everything about the trail. Papa says he doesn’t mean any harm.”

  Well, I wasn’t so sure of that. There was plenty of harm in the way he rode his horse. And even though I didn’t know how far two thousand miles was, I knew this: they couldn’t leave me behind. I was a quarter horse, the fastest horse alive. I would run after my mama and Jasmine all the way to Oregon, even if I had to tangle with wolves and cougars and coyotes to do it.

  Heading Westward to Oregon

  The very next morning, before the sun was even up, the wagon train moved out. And we moved with it—Mama and me, Jasmine and her papa, other horses and hundreds of oxen and wagons and humans—a big, long train of us. We headed out, heading west to Oregon.

  For many weeks, we moved westward. And I have to say, I didn’t like it one little bit. Every day was the same. We got woken up before sunrise by Jed blowing on a bugle. The men rounded up the milk cows and cattle. They hitched up the horses and oxen. Everybody got breakfast, and we moved on out.

  And, like I told my mama, I was kept tethered to a wagon like I was just a human child who might wander off and get lost!

  I couldn’t trot or run or gallop or even crow-hop. The ground was hot and my feet got burned. The dust was so thick, my eyes and nostrils became coated with it. The humans put towels and handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths, and even though Jasmine wiped my face, there were times when I couldn’t so much as see the wagon in front of me. All around us was flat country, and alongside, tall grass—so tall that it sometimes came to the tops of the wagons. Hot. Dusty. Windy. Hot. Some days, hail. Then more heat and dust. And the hot wind set the dust to swirling.

  Each day, the positions of the wagons got changed so that the front wagons went to the back, and the back wagons went to the front, where it wasn’t so dusty. But even on the days when our wagon was near the front, it was almost impossible to see.

  Jasmine coughed and coughed. That string of beads she wore around her neck got as brown and dusty as the earth, and so did her clothing. Most humans walked, but some of the old ones rode in the wagons, and we went miles and miles every day. Twenty miles without a single minute to run free and explore. Yet Mama and the other horses were all free, galloping on ahead.

  I could feel myself becoming sulky and nervous and out of sorts. If I couldn’t run and play, I at least wanted to work, maybe even pull some wagons. Other horses were doing that, and they got to trot right smartly—though I did see how hard that work was. Still, I could do it if they’d let me.

  But all Jasmine said to me was, “Koda, I know you’re restless. But you’re too young to pull a wagon and not strong enough yet for me to ride you. I’m sorry to tether you, but you might run away and get caught by wolves. I can’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  Well, I wouldn’t get caught by wolves. I’m a quarter horse. I’m fast. Besides, her little dog, Honey, he ran alongside, and he didn’t run away. And so far, he hadn’t gotten eaten by wolves.

  I wondered how come she didn’t understand me anymore.

  Each day, when it neared sundown, the men pulled the wagons into circles, sometimes three or four different circles. They hooked the tongue of one wagon into the back of the other one and left a big open space in the middle, like a horseshoe. The humans settled down there and cooked their supper, and the little children frolicked and played inside that circle. After the evening meal, sometimes the men took out guitars and banjos, and men and women danced. Most horses were hobbled outside the circles so that they could graze, unless they were being ridden for guard duty against wolves and outlaws.

  But I was kept tethered to a wagon, still!

  Most evenings, Mama came to visit with me, and I told her about my hurt feelings. But she had no sympathy for me. We’re all hot and dusty, is all she ever said. Be glad you don’t have to pull a wagon.

  So that’s how it went, days and even weeks going by. And each day, I got more and more sulky. I began to buck and pull against that rope. Jasmine kept walking along with me, sweet-talking me, and sometimes she put Honey up on my back, just to give him a bit of a rest, because his paws were all blistered from the hot sand. I was almost mad enough to buck him off, but I knew he was little and a friend to Jasmine, so I didn’t.

  Then one day, when Jasmine had turned her head away, I nipped her side a little. She pulled away from me and looked mighty hurt, and I thought she’d sure get mad, maybe even give me a whack on my rump, but she didn’t. She just went in the wagon, came back, and gave me a dried-up old apple to chew. She didn’t say a word, just gave it to me. I felt bad after that, watching her blinking through that handkerchief she had wrapped around her dusty face, that poor little dog held up in her arms. And when we stopped for the noon hour, she took that handkerchief and dipped it in the water bucket, and she wiped my face. She got all the sand and grit out of my eyes and nose.

  ‘I’m sorry, Koda,” she whispered to me. “I know how hard it is on you.”

  I felt a little ashamed and not angry at her anymore, and I tried to tell her that by rubbing my head up and down against her.

  That night, when I saw Mama, it seemed she’d heard about what I’d done, perhaps from the humans, because she said, Maybe Jasmine thinks you’re too wild. Could be if you stopped bucking and acting like a wild colt, she’d turn you loose awhile.

  Oh, I said. She would?

  Might, Mama said.

  Well. So for the next couple of days, I got real docile. I walked nice and sweet, no bucking, no nothing, just turning my head every little while to look at Jasmine. And I walked real smooth when she put Honey on my back. Then one night, Jasmine called her papa to come and look at me.

  “Papa?” she said. “Papa, Koda’s acting strange. Do you think he’s sick? Does he have colic?”

  Her papa looked me over really good, in my mouth and at my gums, and I wanted to tell him what was wrong.

  But he already knew. “Not much wrong that I can see,” he said, and he went about scratching me on that nice bumpy place between my ears, and I leaned my head toward him. “I think this here colt needs to run free awhile,” he said.

  Ah! After that, each night when we stopped, I got to romp around inside the circle of wagons. It wasn’t like running on the plains or hills like I’d done with my mama those first days, but it was sure better than being tethered. And then, after a while, when Jasmine saw that I was not so wild and maybe wasn’t going to run off, I was let outside the circle for a short time each night. I romped with the older horses while the guards were setting up watch for the night, in case of wolves or Indians who might attack.

  One night, after many, many days of flat plains, with nothing but waving grass and scorching sun, we crossed into Nebraska and arrived at a walled fort on the Platte River called Fort Kearny. We stopped there so the wagons could get new supplies. Jasmine’s papa had new shoes made for Mama. I heard him tell Jasmine that they cost three dollars each. He also bought medicines and Epsom salts for soaking sore feet.

  For so very many more moons, we walked on, westward across the plains, hot and tired and dusty. As we got further west, the lan
d became hilly, rising up and up and up. Some hills were so steep that things slid backward out of the wagons. Once, a tiny girl and her baby brother tumbled from their wagon. Their mama quick grabbed them before they got run over by the wagon wheels. Finally, one night we came to a place called Ash Hollow. There the air was crisp and the water fresh and clean. Breezes blew soft and cool on us, and we rested there a day, our spirits lifted. We were halfway to Oregon. To a place where I could once again run free.

  And then one day, a little child became sick. She got sick in the morning and was dead by nighttime. Then more children sickened and died, and grown people, too, old ones and young ones, mamas and papas. They called it cholera, and it swept over us as fast as a lightning storm. Each day, a new person died, and each night, there was someone new to sorrow over. We stopped to bury the dead, but we didn’t stop for long. Jed said that we had to keep going to get over the mountain before the snows fell.

  There was so much wailing and crying, it seemed every wagon lost someone. In some wagons, the mama and papa both died, and the little children were left orphans. Then other mamas and papas took them in to care for them. Some of the older boys then helped out by driving the wagon.

  Jasmine got pale and tired. And she still coughed.

  It wasn’t just people who got sick, either. Horses and oxen sickened and died, too. Mama said it wasn’t cholera that killed the animals. Exhaustion and heat did the job just as well, she said. Sometimes the oxen dropped dead right where they stood, still in their harnesses. Even though I wasn’t working like other horses or oxen, I became weary, too. My hooves were caked with dirt and sores, and though the wounds closed up at night, they opened again the next day as soon as we started walking that hot earth.