Desert Dancer

by Terri Farley

  “Hi. I’m Samantha’s aunt. I guess that sort of makes me Brynna Olson—oops—Brynna Forster’s sister-in-law. Almost.” Aunt Sue shook Mr. White’s unresisting hand. “I certainly didn’t mean to barge into your conversation. Actually, it’s the first time I’ve seen so many horses. I’ve encountered a few in Golden Gate Park, when I jog.”

  Aunt Sue flashed Sam a glance that said she was doing her best to stall. But Sam didn’t know what to do next.

  She needed the truth about the mare’s hoof. Would it heal? How well?

  There was a big difference between captivity and the wild. A caring rider could tend a hoof and keep a horse on good footing. Once she was free, the mare would lead her band where food and water were plentiful, regardless of the conditions.

  Sam had ridden in mustang country and she knew the wild horses crossed ground that was dangerous. She’d ridden the hard-baked playa and stretches of terrain littered with sharp black volcanic rock. She’d traversed shale layered on a hillside like china plates and been scared silly. One misstep in a place like that could send a horse sliding to its death.

  The images flashed through her mind in an instant, making things even more complicated. Sam scanned the acres of wild horses and hay bales, looking for help. She found it when she spotted a big man with a full black beard.

  The first day she’d seen him, he’d been throwing hay to the corralled horses and she’d nicknamed him Bale-Tosser in her mind. The last time Mr. White had substituted for Brynna, Bale-Tosser had helped block the destruction of the group of mustangs Mr. White called “unadoptable.”

  Now, he walked toward Sam and gave her a quick wink. He looked like a buckaroo, not a bureaucrat.

  “Ready to load the princess?” he asked.

  “Queen,” Callie corrected. “Not Princess.”

  “All I know’s she acts like royalty. Scared and hurtin’ like she was, she still tried to boss around those other mares we put her in with.”

  “Adoption may not be an option, if she’s badly injured,” Mr. White said.

  “Shoot, we have special adoptions all the time,” Bale-Tosser said. His tone was easy, not like he was correcting Mr. White, just telling him about the normal events at Willow Springs Wild Horse Center. “Some horses have accidents that render ’em blind, for instance. And, long as they have some other horse to guide on, they do fine in the wild. In pastures, too, for that matter.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Just last month we had that beautiful little filly with the twisted legs and she got adopted.”

  Sam recognized the description of a flaxen-maned filly that Mrs. Allen had rescued along with twelve other horses before Mr. White could have them destroyed. By the twitch of his mustache, Mr. White clearly didn’t appreciate the reminder.

  “What is the prognosis on this animal?” he snapped.

  “She’s doin’ okay. Dr. Scott, that’s our veterinarian—”

  “Oh, I recall Dr. Scott,” Mr. White said.

  “—says, she’ll need expert farrier care soon as Silas Lake can touch her feet.” Bale-Tosser paused to reach for the folder Mr. White was holding. “Mind if I see that?”

  In the seconds Mr. White hesitated, Sam remembered Silas Lake. Though Dad and Dallas did the shoeing for River Bend’s horses, Mrs. Allen had used Silas Lake for hers.

  That was no simple chore, especially when it came to Calico. Mrs. Allen treated her big paint mare like a pet, but the farrier had left swearing that the horse was a naturally born carnivore.

  “Thanks,” Bale-Tosser said as Mr. White surrendered the folder. “Yeah, see right here?” Bale-Tosser tapped a note clipped inside the folder. “Dr. Scott recommended Silas by name.”

  Mr. White looked toward the horizon, but Sam could see in his eyes that he thought Dr. Scott was too soft. Sam had heard him say those very words to the blond, bespectacled vet when he refused to put down a blind foal.

  For that and his gentle, expert handling of the Phantom in the rodeo arena, Dr. Scott was Sam’s hero.

  “Are you willing to give Queen lots of extra handling, sorta speed up the gentling process so Silas can take care of those hooves?” Bale-Tosser asked Callie.

  “Of course,” Callie said. “I’d keep her in my bedroom if I could.”

  “Which brings us back to the problem at hand,” said Mr. White. He leaned toward Callie in a way that was supposed to look friendly. “You don’t know where you’ll keep her.”

  “I’ve taken every extra job I can,” Callie said, flashing a thankful smile at Aunt Sue. “And I’ve been living on noodles so that I could buy all the right food for Queen, but I was hoping…”

  Don’t say it, Sam begged silently.

  “…maybe…”

  Please don’t say it.

  “Queen could stay at River Bend Ranch until I get my own place.”

  An icy gust of wind cooled Sam’s forehead and she realized she was sweating.

  What’s the big deal? she asked herself. The only promise she’d made had been to a horse.

  But she loved that horse.

  If the Phantom had no lead mare by spring, he’d be beset by other stallions trying to steal his band. Doing battle, he could be hurt. He could be killed.

  A small plane passed overhead. As it did, the red dun bolted, stumbling as her sore hoof hit the ground. Just before she collided with a fence, she swung around and ran back in the opposite direction.

  It was then Sam saw the white freeze brand on her neck.

  Of course. Why hadn’t she realized this before?

  The mare wouldn’t be released. That brand meant she was now the property of the United States government. The only question was whether she’d be adopted by Callie Thurston or someone else.

  Better Callie, Sam decided.

  If she waited for another adopter, she’d have to stay at Willow Springs, under Mr. White’s supervision during the week Brynna was gone.

  Sam didn’t trust Mr. White. She wanted to get the mare out of his reach.

  “Ma’am?” Bale-Tosser turned to Aunt Sue.

  Sam guessed it was only fair. Aunt Sue was the adult in charge, even if she didn’t know a palomino from a blond.

  Aunt Sue put the fingers of both hands together, then flexed her knuckles. The gesture reminded Sam of a spider doing push-ups on a mirror, but she knew from the time they’d lived together, this meant Aunt Sue was thinking. Hard.

  “Samantha?” Aunt Sue asked.

  “We just finished a round pen to BLM specifications, and we’re already cleared as adopters because of the HARP horses,” Sam said.

  The echo of her own voice sounded as official and cold as Mr. White’s, but she didn’t want to get excited about Queen. After all, they were stealing her from the Phantom.

  “Very well,” Aunt Sue said in her teacher voice. “I agree, if she’s kept locked in her cage until Brynna gets home. And no one goes into that—all right,” she put in, remembering Sam’s earlier correction, “—pen, with her.”

  Sam’s eyes met Callie’s. They both knew Queen needed human contact to start forming a new herd, a family that included humans. Isolating her was the last thing they should do.

  Sam shrugged and gestured toward Callie.

  All at once Sam felt really irritated by Callie’s constant fiddling with her necklace, and her pierced nose and her Dracula cloak.

  This wasn’t what Sam had planned. Not even close. She wanted to fling the gate wide, make a whoop so loud people would think it was a fire engine, and watch the red dun mare run. Sam wanted to see her gallop through Thread the Needle, down the hill. She wanted to see her splash through the shallows of La Charla, and emerge on the wild side of the river.

  The red dun mare ran a lap around her corral in a lopsided gait, then stopped. She held one hoof clear of the dirt. She shook her mane and nearly fell. Then, she uttered a long, sad neigh in the direction of the Calico Mountains.

  How awful if she can read my mind, Sam thought.

  How
awful if she knows she’ll never be free again. Ever.

  Chapter Nine

  It took three men and two hours to load the red dun into the trailer.

  Sam had known the delicate, doelike mustang would fight confinement, but she hadn’t guessed the battle would be so sad.

  When escape proved impossible, the mare squealed in fury, trying to back down the men she saw as tormenters. When that didn’t work, she used her strength against them. The men were patient, working with her instincts instead of forcing her, but the mare stood firm.

  Once the plunging mare was loaded, they gave her no chance to back out. The trailer door was latched behind her when she snagged the cheek piece of her new black halter and began jerking back and scrambling to stay upright.

  “Aw, shoot,” Bale-Tosser moaned as the mare’s neck wrenched at an unnatural angle.

  Instantly, he clambered over the chute fence, leaned against the trailer, and his arm darted out, trying to release the metal slide that held the halter in place.

  The commotion was brief. He fell back to the ground, stood, and stamped the dust from his boots.

  “Worked just like it was supposed to,” he said. He examined the bones in the back of his hand and gently flexed his fingers. “Instead of fussing with knots and buckles, the thing fell right off.”

  “I can take her without a halter,” Callie offered.

  “No you can’t,” Bale-Tosser insisted. “She leaves here with a halter and that ten-foot lead rope you brought.”

  Sam sighed. Haltering the mare had taken forever. She must have thought they were predators, going for her vulnerable eyes.

  Now they’d have to do it again.

  Bale-Tosser read Sam’s expression and shook his head. “Lots more fun to get it on her again than get your fingers outta a knot that has hundreds of pounds of horse jerking it tighter and tighter. Fingers can be sorta useful to those of us workin’ with mustangs.”

  For a few minutes, Willow Springs was silent, except for the breathing of the tired horse and confounded men.

  The mare faced away from them, but she made the mouthing movements of a foal.

  Sam knew the red dun was promising the men could rule her, if only they’d leave her alone.

  “Let’s take a coffee break before we try haltering her again. It will give her a chance to get used to her surroundings,” said Bale-Tosser, glancing at his hand again. “I can get some ice on this.”

  Everyone nodded. Mr. White, of course, had long since returned to his warm office. The perfect blue-and-white day had turned gray. Sam hoped it wouldn’t rain.

  Hooves thudded inside the trailer as the mare looked for a way out.

  Now Sam realized why the BLM required a big horse trailer, non-skid footing, and a halter with panic snaps for adopted mustangs. So far, the mare was tired and frightened, but she hadn’t injured herself.

  A heavy sigh reminded Sam that Aunt Sue stood beside her.

  “I’m going to get some of that coffee,” she said.

  “I’ll stay here,” Sam replied.

  “Me too,” Callie said, and though she sounded wearied from watching, she still sounded hopeful.

  When she moved closer to the trailer, Sam felt angry. Couldn’t Callie see the horse was already frightened? Pressing close and staring at her like she was a zoo animal would only bring on more panic.

  “What do you think you’re—?” Sam began, but then she broke off.

  Queen belonged to Callie. It would do no good to interfere. Even if the red dun lived at River Bend, it would be temporary.

  At least Callie moved slowly. Wind caught the hem of her cloak, pulling it out behind her.

  A snort made Sam glance back at the mare. In snatches, she watched Callie come. Her lathered neck curved, and she fastened her eyes on the strange figure. Then she looked away. Seconds later, the mare turned to watch Callie again. The horse didn’t look suspicious; merely interested.

  A bond, Callie had said. Sam didn’t really believe that, but the girl was doing something right. Sam remembered when she’d first started working with Dark Sunshine and the abused mustang mare had stared at the barn, listening to Buddy.

  Queen was giving Callie that same attention, and Jake—or had it been Dallas?—had said, “That’s how you want her looking at you.”

  Callie’s luck seemed to be holding, today.

  Her fingers moved from her brass pendant to another necklace. The charm on this one looked like a tiny bamboo tube. As Sam watched, Callie slowly turned the tube end for end, causing a faint rushing sound, like water over rocks.

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  “A rain stick,” Callie whispered, then nodded at the mare.

  Sam looked. The dun’s ears tipped forward, flicked back, then stayed forward, testing the sound for familiarity.

  The spell lasted until the door to the office opened and the men and Aunt Sue came back into the blustery day. Bale-Tosser was carrying a long stick of some sort. Sam felt a jolt of alarm.

  “This next part’s gonna seem a little rough,” Bale-Tosser warned Callie.

  She took a deep breath, but didn’t protest. “You’re the experts,” she said finally.

  Bale-Tosser nodded. “Thanks. What we’re gonna do is get a rope on her and reel her to the side while I use this.” He paused, holding up the stick. Now Sam could see it had a hook at one end. “To get that halter out of the trailer. That’ll keep me at a distance, which will make her happier. Besides, it’s not going to do anyone any good for me to get my brains kicked out. Then, we’ll keep her in position to get the halter back on.”

  Five minutes later, it was done.

  Callie stood where the mare could watch her and listen to the fall of whatever was inside the bamboo tube.

  Queen kept watching and listening, and this time, when the halter went over her head, she seemed more annoyed than scared.

  “Whatever you’re doin’ worked like a charm,” Bale-Tosser said to Callie.

  “It’s probably my talisman,” Callie said, touching the brass circle she’d been fooling with before. “The engraving’s of Rhiannon the horse goddess.”

  Sam had never heard of Rhiannon the horse goddess and she couldn’t believe the way Callie gave the credit to her necklace.

  As far as Sam knew, a talisman was like a good luck charm. Believing in one was pure superstition, but Callie had spoken as if it was as common as a horse being attracted by a fresh red apple.

  And now Bale-Tosser and another BLM employee were making a fuss over Callie because she could drive the truck pulling the horse trailer. She was experienced, it seemed, because she’d driven the big truck her parents had used for their health food store.

  “I think I know where I’m going,” Callie said to Aunt Sue. “But I’ll follow you to River Bend, okay?”

  “That’s fine, but how are we going to get this horse out when we arrive?” Aunt Sue asked.

  It was a good question. One look at Aunt Sue’s tight lips and raised eyebrow told Sam to not even think of doing it alone.

  “That’s right,” Bale-Tosser said. “Wyatt’s on his honeymoon.” He smiled and glanced briefly at Sam.

  She shrugged and nodded toward Aunt Sue.

  “I think the two of us can do it,” Callie suggested.

  “Not while I’m the reigning adult,” Aunt Sue said.

  Sam didn’t argue. She didn’t have a pinch of faith in Callie and her talisman. If they couldn’t handle the mare, she could be further injured coming out of the trailer.

  “How ’bout I call Jed Kenworthy and tell him to swing by in a half hour or so,” Bale-Tosser suggested.

  Aunt Sue glanced at her for approval and Sam hesitated. Jed was like Dad. A mustang had to prove its worth to them, and even then they doubted their own eyes.

  “Or Jake Ely? He’s a good hand with horses and I bet you girls know him from school.”

  “Jake’s busy,” Sam said quickly. “I bet Jed would help us out.”

&nb
sp; The last thing she wanted was Jake protecting her from a horse. If he and Aunt Sue swapped even two sentences on the subject of Sam’s riding, she might as well donate her saddle to the state museum.

  Aunt Sue wore her teacher face on the way back to River Bend Ranch.

  “It was quite impressive the way Callie held that wild horse’s attention, wasn’t it?” she asked, then added, “she was getting a lot of attention herself.”

  Aunt Sue kept her eyes on the road, but Sam looked at her just the same. She knew what her aunt was suggesting.

  “I’m not jealous, Aunt Sue.”

  “I didn’t say you were, but Callie does seem to have a rather unconventional approach to horsemanship.”

  “Horsemanship?” Sam squeaked. “It’s more like snake charming. With a horse.” Lousy comparison, Sam told herself.

  “You mean the necklace?” Aunt Sue asked.

  “Yeah, of course. It’s like pure superstition.”

  “Nothing like that bracelet you told me about, I suppose.”

  Sam caught her breath. Aunt Sue might as well have said gotcha.

  She’d written Aunt Sue a letter about the silvery circlet she’d braided with hair from the Phantom’s mane.

  “It’s not the same,” Sam said. “I think my bracelet works—if it does—because he smells it.”

  She was lucky Aunt Sue couldn’t read minds. Sam remembered how she’d decided to leave the bracelet in the pocket of her jeans when she was at the church, dressing for the wedding. She’d left it, not just because it wouldn’t go with the formal pine-green gown she wore as maid of honor, but because she’d known she wouldn’t need it.

  Of course it wasn’t essential to bond the Phantom to her. It wasn’t magic.

  Still, Sam was glad she’d remembered to slip it out before she put her jeans in the laundry last night. But she wished she hadn’t left it on her desk.

  When she thought of how the Phantom had challenged her yesterday, she decided she’d better put it back on.

  They were approaching War Drum Flats when Sam noticed bales of hay stacked along the roadside. They were all on the right side, as if someone was feeding cattle. That was unlikely, since most ranchers had enough sense to feed farther away from the highway.