Koda

by Patricia Hermes

  It seemed each day got harder than the last. Even my mama grew weaker. She barely spoke to me, as if she was too weary to talk. It began to seem that Oregon was just a dream. And that things could not get worse.

  And then one night, the Indians came.

  South Pass

  The men were just setting up watch for the night when the alarm bell clanged. “Indians!” they began shouting to one another.

  Out against the horizon, horses appeared, and atop the horses, Indians. We had seen Indians at a distance before, and Jasmine had pointed them out to me. But they had never come close. Now they were thundering up to us, the horses snorting and tossing their heads as they were reined in. The Indians had shaved heads, some with little tufts of hair on top. Some of them had painted faces. They stopped in front of us.

  I was still outside the circle of wagons, and Jasmine had just come with my lead rope. Now she held herself close to my side and I could feel her tremble.

  Behind us, inside the circle of wagons, everyone became still. Even the children didn’t cry or speak.

  “Oh, Koda!” Jasmine whispered, fingering the beaded string around her neck. “I’m afraid.”

  I was afraid, too. I had heard stories of how Indians sometimes killed settlers and robbed them of their horses.

  Jed was atop his horse, and Jasmine’s papa was mounted on my mama. They trotted up beside us. Mama rolled her eyes and snorted and stamped.

  One of the Indians said, “Howdy.”

  Jasmine’s papa said “howdy” back.

  For a long time, the Indian looked at us. And then he pointed. “Trade!” he said. “That one. Young. Strong.” He was pointing—at me!

  He held out a buffalo robe. “Koda?” Jasmine said. “Trade for Koda? No.”

  “Hush!” Jed said.

  “No!” Jasmine said. “I won’t hush. No! You can’t have Koda.”

  “Koda,” the Indian man said.

  Jasmine nodded. “Koda. It’s Sioux. It means ‘friend.’“

  The Indian looked hard at Jasmine. “Your friend?” he asked.

  Jasmine nodded. “Yes!” she said.

  I was her friend! The Indian man wouldn’t take me away. From her. From my mama. Would he?

  He was quiet for a time. A long time. The only thing I heard was the snorting and stamping of the horses, the switching of tails. Finally the Indian man nodded. “You keep Koda,” he said. “Here.” And he held out the buffalo robe to her. “A gift.”

  Jasmine said nothing.

  “A gift,” the Indian said again.

  “Don’t trust him,” Jed muttered. “He’ll put an arrow in your back.”

  Jasmine left my side. Her papa trotted beside her. She stepped close to the Indian man. She reached up and took the buffalo robe. “Thank you,” she said. And then she unlatched the beaded string from around her neck. She held it out to him. “A gift,” she said.

  The Indian nodded. Then he said something quietly to the others. The tribe whirled their horses around and disappeared into the night.

  After that, some folks said that Jasmine and the Indians had brought us good luck. Because Indians never approached us again. And the cholera seemed to fade away as fast as it had come. Jasmine didn’t sicken with cholera, but she kept coughing and coughing, and I could see that she was growing mighty weary, too. She also looked different, thin and lean and as brown as the earth. She worked hard at keeping up my spirits, however, even though I knew she was feeling mighty low herself.

  “Home,” she whispered to me each morning. “Not much further, Koda. A mountain home. You can run free. Soon. I promise. You can run and play and even crow-hop again!”

  And then one morning, just after we had started out, a huge cry went up from the men on horseback up ahead. The Cascades! The mountains! We could see the mountains. Once we were up and over the mountains, we’d be home. Home in Oregon.

  And I’d be free!

  Well, it seemed everyone’s spirits were as high as the mountains when we stopped for the noon meal, though Jed warned that the hardest part was ahead, taking those wagons and oxen over the mountains. Still, folks felt easier, and later, when we stopped for the night, they even brought out the guitars and banjos, and there was music for the first time in a long while. I looked for Jasmine, knowing how happy she would be. I wanted her to rub that spot between my ears and tell me again, “Home, Koda. You’ll be home and free.” But I didn’t see her anywhere, so I figured she was off dancing with the guitar-playing folks. Though I remembered then that she hadn’t walked with me since the noon meal. And when we stopped for the night, it was her uncle Henry who had loosed me from my tether.

  Even the horses were friskier that night, heads up, sniffing that mountain air. I was running free with them, but after a while, I didn’t feel so free and happy. Something was worrying me. Wolves? Coyotes? I turned my head up and sniffed the air. No.

  Indians? No, the Indians had been friendly, hadn’t bothered us at all. Was it bears? Folks had talked of bears, but we’d not seen any. Still, something was wrong. Jasmine? I needed her. Where was she? I lifted my head and whinnied for her.

  Nothing. I whinnied again. And again.

  No answer.

  Mama heard, though, and came trotting up to me.

  Mama? I said. Jasmine. Something’s wrong.

  The sickness? Mama asked.

  No, I said. She’s gone.

  Mama tossed her head and rolled her eyes, nervous-like. And just as we were worrying, Jasmine’s papa and Jed came hurrying up, Jasmine’s papa on foot, Jed atop his horse. I could tell that they were worrying, too.

  “Koda!” her papa said. “Where’s Jasmine? I was hoping she was with you. Or with Rosie! Have you seen her? Nobody’s seen her for hours. We’ve looked and looked.”

  Of course he didn’t expect us to answer, but he knew that we would if we could.

  “We’ll keep on looking,” Jed said. “But I got to tell you, Mark, if she’s not found by morning, we’re moving on out. We can’t wait for no one. There’s already snow in the mountains.”

  Jasmine’s papa didn’t answer, just ran ahead to some wagons while Jed wheeled his horse around and away from us.

  And then I saw something that scared me more than anything had scared me in my whole entire life—even more than that foul-smelling cougar. What I saw was a bunch of those buzzards Mama had told me about way back when I’d just been born. They’re mean old birds. Come only when something is dead or dying, she’d said. Now a crowd of them was circling high, high in the sky, far away, back the way we had come, high above the grassy hillside, circling around and around.

  Mama! I said. Mama! Buzzards!

  My mama pawed the ground for a bit. Might not be Jasmine, she said at last. Lots of dead and dying things in this desert. Could be an ox or two.

  But it might be Jasmine, I said. And Mama, she’ll die of thirst. I haven’t seen her since the noon meal.

  All around us then, folks were hurrying from wagon to wagon, calling her name. More men on horseback came thundering by.

  Mama? I said again.

  She didn’t answer.

  My mind was racing: Buzzards. Move on out? Leave Jasmine behind?

  I knew Mama was thinking those things, too.

  I can find her, Mama, I said. I have a good nose. I can find my way back here, too. My eyes are good and strong. All I have to do is head toward the mountains. I’m strong, Mama.

  Still, my mama hesitated. I knew what she was thinking. That I could get lost, too. That I could get eaten up by wolves. Or coyotes or cougars or even bears.

  I’m fast, Mama, I said. I’m a quarter horse. I’m fast. And young.

  Yes, Mama said, you are. Go! Go find her.

  I’ll come back, I said. I will. I turned my head once more up to the sky and looked where those buzzards were circling.

  Run! my mama said. Run hard, my little one.

  Rescue

  I gathered my legs under me and lit out back the wa
y we’d come, running like I hadn’t run since we’d left on this journey. All that stored-up energy just flowed into my legs, and I took in huge gulps of air. I kept looking toward the sky, to the place where the buzzards circled, but I didn’t slow or break stride.

  Rocks and pebbles slid beneath my hooves as I surged forward, but I never lost my footing. I could feel my heart thundering in my chest, bringing blood to my legs, my bones, carrying me along.

  Faster and faster I ran. Further and further I went, sand and dust almost choking me. The sky was darkening, but I could still see those buzzards circling.

  And then, suddenly, the buzzards disappeared, and only one still circled. Where were the others? Had they settled their horrid bodies and beaks and talons already onto the ground—onto Jasmine?

  No! I saw them again—two, then three of them, lifting their heavy bodies back into the sky. Was she alive? Had she been able to chase them away? Was it even Jasmine out there—or some other dying critter? And if it wasn’t Jasmine, where was she?

  I ran harder, feeling my sides heaving, my breath coming in gasps. But there was young strength in me, and my hooves pounded the dirt. On and on I flew. And then I looked up and the buzzards were almost directly overhead, but not above the path. They circled over the high grass. Waiting. Their caws and cries echoed over the empty land as I abandoned the path and thundered off into the tall grass.

  I slowed. Nothing. No Jasmine. Nothing stirring. Just the buzzards overhead.

  And then I saw something—two somethings. A buzzard. It crouched on the ground, its ugly bare head bent forward, its eyes glittering at me. And a short way from the buzzard, a small heap lay on the ground.

  I roared up to the buzzard, rearing up on my hind legs, boxing furiously with my front hooves. The creature just hopped backward, out of my reach, flapping its nasty wings.

  I turned then to the heap on the ground. Jasmine. And beside her, her dog, Honey. Neither of them moved. Their eyes were shut.

  Wake up, wake up, I shouted inside me. I drummed my hooves hard on the ground, close to Jasmine’s head, so hard that the ground trembled.

  Don’t be dead, don’t be dead! I told her. I nudged her head hard with mine. Get up, get up!

  I nudged her harder. Her mouth and lips were cracked and swollen. But her eyelids fluttered. Get up, get up!

  She opened her eyes a moment and then closed them again. I nudged her even harder. Harder. This was no time to be gentle. And then her eyes opened again, really opened, and I knew that she had seen me. She reached for Honey and dragged his limp body close to her.

  “Koda?” she whispered.

  Up, I told her. Up. On my back. Hurry. It will be dark soon.

  Could I make her understand? How could I get her up on my back? Stand up, I told her. Stand. I was ordering her inside my head. Did she understand? She must!

  Up! I told her again. Stand. I drummed my hooves against the ground.

  She gathered herself to her feet, swaying. She wrapped Honey in her petticoat. I inched closer to her. If she could just grasp my mane.

  She did. She pulled herself toward me. She tried to climb up. But she slid off sideways. “Koda!” she whispered. “Can’t. Water. Can’t.”

  Well, she could. I wouldn’t leave her here. But I pretended to. I meandered away, the way my mama did when I was just a colt, and I’d had to follow.

  “Koda!” she whispered.

  I came back. I came close. I tried to fold my front legs the way I did when I was about to crow-hop. I attempted to get close to the ground, close.

  Jasmine tried again, holding tight to my mane. And then she was on my back—wobbly and off center, but she was up there. I could feel her. And I could feel that she was holding tight to Honey, too. I had never taken anyone on my back, and she felt strange, her body hot against mine, hot the way noon sun felt against my back. She wasn’t heavy, though, and I knew I could take her weight.

  I turned back to the path. I had to light out toward the mountains before it was dark, before the wolves and coyotes came out. Before Jasmine died of thirst. I had to be careful, too—be smooth. If Jasmine fell off again, she might not have the strength to climb back up.

  I broke into a smooth trot, then a gallop, fast but steady … steady….

  And so on into the night we went, Jasmine clinging to my mane, her head now slumped against my neck. On toward the mountain, toward camp, and toward home.

  Late October, 1848

  And now we are home.

  We climbed into the Cascades, and nights became cold, but even after all the heat, folks did not rejoice much. They were just too tired. Fights even broke out as men had to take apart the wagons to haul them over the mountain, then put them together again. Some wagons got away coming down the mountain, tumbled and split into pieces. Two oxen drowned while crossing the river.

  But finally they did it. We all did it. We are now in the valley. It’s fertile and green, just the way Jasmine said it would be. The humans are picking out plots of land and marking them off. Jasmine’s papa chose land with a rolling hillside that he says is perfect for horses.

  “Just for Koda,” he says. And he rubs that spot between my ears and talks to me, and sometimes, I think he even weeps. But I know they are happy tears. He says he’s getting a new herd of horses to help him clear the land, and I’ll have company. And he says that I can run and gallop and play.

  He’s building the most perfect house for him and Jasmine, he says, and he tells me thank you, thank you, thank you, over and over again.

  I told Mama that he was so grateful he might even build me my very own house if I wanted.

  Mama says I shouldn’t get a big head.

  When I had galloped back into camp that night, Jasmine had tumbled from my back into her papa’s arms, and someone had lifted the little dog, too. Folks had poured water over Jasmine and Honey. They gave them both ladles full of water to drink, and of course I got water, too, buckets and buckets of water to drink, and rubdowns and blankets. And after a while, Jasmine sat herself up and talked to us and cradled that little dog in her arms. And there was such rejoicing.

  She said how Honey had wandered away during the noon meal and she’d gone after him. She found him just a little ways away, in the high grass, happily resting his feet, which were so sore from the hot sand. And so she rested, too, in that grassy spot. And fell asleep. When she woke and looked around, the wagons were all gone. She stood up, the grass waving all about her, and could see nothing. Not even dust.

  And then later—much later—when she was sure that she would die of thirst and heat—I had come for her.

  Jasmine and her papa, and even Jed, make me out to be a hero. I don’t feel like a hero, but maybe I don’t know what heroes feel like. But my mama is very proud of me, too, I can tell.

  Now I’ve become accustomed to wearing a saddle, and in the early mornings, Jasmine comes out and saddles me up, and her papa comes and saddles Mama, and we ride together. We ride all over this huge green place, and at night, when the stars come out, I’m free to roam and run, just as Jasmine promised I could.

  Sometimes I go flying all over, racing the wind, and other times, I just stop and think. I look up at the stars, at the trees waving their branches in the moonlight, and I think:

  I’m here, and it’s beautiful, just as Jasmine said it would be. I’m young, and I’ve learned so much, and there’s so much more to learn and see. And I think, too, of all that I’ve done. We’ve done. Jasmine promised, and she was right. We made it. We’re home.

  APPENDIX

  MORE ABOUT

  THE QUARTER HORSE

  History

  The first horses in America were of mostly Spanish descent, brought here by Columbus on his second journey in 1493. Later, in the 1600s, other colonists arrived, bringing horses from Ireland and England. When these breeds were mixed, the amazing quarter horse developed. The resulting horses were well muscled and strong, and the characteristic they were best known for, besides t
heir strength and sweet nature, was speed.

  Colonists enjoyed horse racing, and at the end of a long day’s work on the farm or ranch, men took their horses into town for races. Betting on horses was common in those days, and it was said that many fortunes were won and lost on those races. It is likely that even children raced their horses, though if there were bets, they were not for money. Rather, prestige and bragging rights were what was on the line.

  The simple race usually took place along the only available flat, well-traveled span—the main street. Since in the 1600s most main streets were a quarter mile long, the horses that excelled came to be called quarter milers, or eventually, quarter horses. The first recorded quarter horse race is believed to have taken place in Henrico County, Virginia, in 1674.

  Outside of the races, the quarter horse was most useful when it came to doing heavy chores, such as farmwork that involved pulling wagons and plows and clearing trees and rocks from the land. This horse also earned a reputation as a spectacular “cow horse.” It had a unique ability to head off a cow or calf that needed to be roped or singled out. As the 1800s came along, ranchers drove their herds many miles cross-country to market, and the quarter horse kept the animals from escaping, easily moving a drifting cow back into the herd.

  The country continued to expand west in the 1800s, and the pioneers moved their horses with them. Sometimes these horses were used to pull wagons along the Oregon Trail because horses could cover distance far more rapidly than oxen. Most ox-drawn wagons could go at best twenty miles a day, whereas the horse-pulled wagons might move twice that distance. However, good feed is essential for a healthy horse, and grass along the trail was spotty at best. To offset that, some settlers carried their own grain for the horses, but this added dramatically to the weight of the wagon, and therefore meant more stress on the horses. It also cost a lot more, so only the wealthiest travelers were able to afford it. Also, many horses sickened and died on the trail, despite the best care that could be given, and so oxen became the preferred animal for this undertaking.