by Holly Hughes
With Davy stumbling behind her like a sleepwalker, Annie led the way across the yard to the barn, holding their lantern high. As they slopped through the mud, she heard with a pang Magpie’s fretful snorting and wheezing. She cast her eyes toward the corral and saw a dull gleam of white haunches in the murky night. Her whole body strained with yearning to go to Magpie. But she didn’t dare go against her father’s orders right now—it’d put him on his guard for sure. Glancing past the barn, she saw a red glow in the forge. Pa would be in there, working, for at least another hour.
As they entered the barn, Annie stepped over to pat Surefoot, a wiry roan stabled nearest the door. “You sleep in the tack room, Davy—I’ll stay in Magpie’s stall,” Annie said, trying to sound casual.
“Magpie’s stall?” Davy sounded confused. “But she ain’t there.”
Annie flinched at the thought, but she steeled herself to face it. “All the same, that’s where I’m sleeping,” she declared, stepping away from Surefoot and handing Davy his blanket. “You can keep the lantern.”
Leaving a bewildered Davy in the tack room, she marched in the dark to Magpie’s stall. She felt her way in, trying not to think about the heartbreaking stillness there. She knelt to pat the straw into a bedlike heap. She heard a faint sigh from the hayloft as one of the hands, Billy or Jeremiah, turned over in his sleep.
She sat down, unlaced her stout brown shoes, and set them by the stall door where she could find them later, when it was time to slip outside. She tossed her father’s coat over the manger, then spread her blanket on the straw. As she curled up on her makeshift bed, she saw the gleam of Davy’s lantern snuffed out. Silence settled over the barn.
Annie lay rigid in the dark. If she fell asleep now, she might not wake until morning—and that would ruin everything. She had to wait until everyone at the station was asleep. No one must know where she was going. The very idea of a girl her age going up the mountain alone in the dead of night! Anyone who saw her would try to stop her.
Annie rubbed the tip of her braid anxiously against her cheek. Time was running out; on foot, she’d never make it up the mountain by dawn. The only answer was to go on horseback. But on what horse? The Dawsons had none of their own. When their old mule Jesse had died in California, Pa couldn’t afford to buy another. The Overland had loaned them a team of oxen to haul their wagonload of belongings to Red Buttes.
She held her breath, listening to the steady breathing of the horses in the stalls nearby all of them the property of the Overland Express company. She’d ridden them all at one time or another, but only near the station, to exercise them between Express runs. To take one of them on a dangerous nighttime ride without permission—she knew it would be looked on as stealing.
But what other choice did she have?
Finally she heard her father closing up the forge; he must have finished repairing the stagecoach’s wheel. She lay tensely, waiting until she heard the quiet thump of the station-house door closing behind him.
The wind had died down, and the rainfall had dwindled to a soft, steady patter. Beneath it all, Annie picked out the sound of the North Platte at the foot of the bluff. She was so used to that soothing, rushing noise that she barely noticed it anymore. But the river sounded louder than usual tonight—swollen by the rainstorm, Annie judged.
Shifting her weight cautiously, Annie sat up in the stillness. Her eyes, though accustomed now to the dark, could barely see the entrance of the stall. On her hands and knees, she groped over to her shoes and, fumbling, pulled them on. Then, feeling along the wall, she found the wool coat and shrugged it on.
Annie tiptoed to the tack room, fervently hoping Davy was asleep. After years of sharing the trundle bed with him, she recognized his ragged snores as she eased open the thin wooden door. She slipped inside, guessing from the snoring where Davy had spread his blanket. She surely didn’t want to run the risk of stepping on him.
She knew the tack room’s layout by heart, knew exactly where the bridle she needed was hung. Though Annie could easily ride a horse with just a halter, she’d feel better having a bridle for tonight’s ride. Once she reached the upland trails, her life might depend on having the horse under firm control.
Edging along the rough wooden wall, she held one hand in front of her. In the blackness, she misjudged the distance and bumped into the next wall. She froze, listening tensely to make sure Davy hadn’t awaked.
Reassured, she thrust out a hand again. Her fingers brushed against a pair of reins and she grasped them, the leather squeaking slightly under her touch. She lifted the bridle from its peg and slipped back out of the tack room, holding the metal bit to make sure it didn’t jangle.
Stealthily, Annie headed for Surefoot’s stall. She felt lucky that the wiry roan was at Red Buttes tonight, and in the stall nearest the barn door. Surefoot had earned his name for his skill at picking over difficult terrain. For the ride she had ahead of her, no horse could be better.
Surefoot, dozing on his feet, nickered in surprise as Annie entered his stall. But the pony knew Annie’s scent and quieted at once. Her fingers felt clumsy as she slid his bridle over his head. She crooned to him softly to keep him calm.
Sliding her fingers inside the bridle’s cheek strap, she led the horse toward the stall door. As Surefoot’s hooves clopped softly on the straw-littered barn floor, Annie held her breath, praying that everyone at the station was asleep.
CHAPTER 6
THE MIDNIGHT RIDE
Annie froze, trembling. A dark figure blocked the barn doorway. She’d been caught!
“It’s only me—Annie,” she said in a small voice. “Who’s there?”
“Annie, what are you doing?” The figure stepped out of the shadows. She saw, to her great relief, Billy’s skinny figure, dressed in long red underwear.
Annie patted Surefoot’s neck to steady him. She whispered, “I’m going up the mountain, Billy—to ask Redbird Wilson to help.”
“At night? In this weather?” Billy whispered in alarm. “That mountain trail will be nothing but mud slides. You could break your neck—or Surefoot’s.”
Annie gripped the horse’s reins. “I can’t let Pa shoot Magpie. If I wait until morning, it’ll be too late.”
“Annie, I know how you feel. I couldn’t sleep myself for worry over Magpie. But it’s crazy to go out tonight.” Billy reached for Surefoot’s bridle. “At least let me go instead.”
“No, Billy,” Annie said. Even she was surprised at the calm strength she felt now. “You’d lose your job if Pa caught you. Besides, you don’t know the way.” She led Surefoot past Billy and out into the station yard.
Billy followed. “You’ll get your pa fired if Nate Slocum learns you’ve taken this horse without permission, Annie,” he whispered urgently. “And Slocum flat out said you couldn’t bring in an Indian healer.”
Annie set her jaw. She’d reasoned through all this already. None of it mattered as much as saving Magpie. “He can’t blame Pa if Pa doesn’t know I’m doing it. And by the time Slocum finds out, Magpie will be cured. He won’t complain then.” She turned to go.
A fretful wheezing from the corral made both of them pause and listen unhappily. “I halfway think your pa suspects I did something to her,” Billy muttered. “He was asking me all sorts of questions this evening. I felt so offended, I could hardly answer.”
“Be patient with Pa,” she replied softly. “He’s afraid the Overland’s fixing to fire him.”
“Well, if someone’s sabotaging the horses, it ain’t me,” Billy insisted.
Annie frowned as the meaning of Billy’s words sank in. “Are you saying that someone deliberately hurt Magpie?”
Billy raised his eyebrows. “That horse wouldn’t just go loco, Annie. You and I both know that. Something else must have happened to her. Poison might’ve made her scream and kick and tremble like that.”
“But who would do such an awful thing, Billy?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Could be the Bla
ckfeet, trying to stir up trouble. They’d do anything to drive us whites off their hunting grounds. Or what about the Butterfield Mail? They hate the fact that the Pony Express gets mail to California twice as fast as their service does.”
Hearing an agitated whinny from Magpie, Annie drew in a sharp breath. “Well, right now all I know is that Magpie’s suffering—and I’ve got to stop it. I’m going to fetch Redbird.” She vaulted onto Surefoot’s bare back. “You’ll keep an eye on Magpie while I’m gone?”
“I promise. Good luck.”
She rode Surefoot out of the yard, guiding him onto the grassy fringe where the sound of his hooves would be muffled. Once they had reached the trail heading west down the bluff, she gave him his head and urged him to pick up speed.
The rain had stopped falling, but a thick cover of clouds still hid the moon and stars. Annie tried to spot the buttes in the distance, but even they were obscured. She had to guess where the track lay by sensing where the grass stopped. She concentrated hard, relying on her memory of each curve and boulder that disrupted the westward trail.
The farther she got from the station, the less familiar the terrain became. She kept her ears tuned to the constant rumble of the river to her left, using the sound to guide her.
Though the wind had died down, the tall grass still swayed and hissed. Annie could hear small animals skittering about in the sagebrush—deer mice, gophers, jackrabbits. Surefoot shuddered with tension as he picked his way over the muddy, uneven ground. His legs jolted as his hooves struck unseen rocks.
As they pushed ahead through the darkness, Annie’s thoughts turned back to her conversation with Billy. Could it be that someone had intentionally hurt Magpie? Annie hated the very idea, but she was running out of other explanations.
One thing Annie felt sure of—Magpie had been her old self when she’d galloped into the station yesterday. If anyone had poisoned her, it must have happened after Magpie was stabled in the barn. Annie considered Billy’s remark that either the Blackfoot Indians or the Butterfield Mail folks might have a reason to sabotage an Overland Express horse. But Indians wouldn’t have risked entering the station’s barn only to poison a single horse. And no one from the Butterfield company was nearby—the Butterfield line crossed the country hundreds of miles to the south, through the old Spanish territories.
With a shiver of dread, she realized that it must have been someone who was at the station that evening. Who’d had an opportunity to meddle with Magpie before she went loco?
Annie felt sure that none of the stagecoach passengers could have harmed Magpie. They’d all run straight from the coach into the station house, hadn’t they? Then Annie stiffened, remembering the blond man—Goldilocks. He’d come in the house several minutes later. Where had he been? Maybe he’d only gone to the outhouse. But he could have slipped into the barn with no one seeing him, couldn’t he?
Suddenly, Annie jolted wildly as Surefoot’s left hind foot slid off the muddy trail and slipped toward the riverbank. Yanking her attention back to riding, she clung desperately with her knees as Surefoot made a sickening lurch toward the rushing river. Then the pony scrambled and caught his balance. She gasped with relief. She was lucky that neither she nor the horse had fallen.
Annie took a deep breath and urged Surefoot on. As he settled back into a steady trot, her thoughts returned to the early evening. What about Nate Slocum? a nagging voice inside her asked. He hadn’t been in the station house at first—he’d been out in the barn, unhitching the horses. And so was that new guard. Jeremiah and her father had been there too, but they’d have been hard at work themselves. Could either the driver or the guard have approached Magpie unnoticed? Maybe.
Annie fidgeted, uneasily twisting the reins around her fingers. Was Nate Slocum beyond suspicion? He was one of the company’s top drivers; surely he could be trusted. He might not like Mr. Dawson—might even hope to get him fired—but he wouldn’t hurt one of the company’s horses, would he? And if the guard was a company spy, as her father suspected, he’d hardly want to damage company property either.
All at once, Annie’s thoughts were interrupted by a furious rustling right at her shoulder. Startled, she jerked on Surefoot’s reins. With a fierce beating of wings, a marauding nighthawk flew past to land on a nearby bush. Annie saw its yellow eyes gleam through the darkness.
Annie looked around her with a creeping sense of dread. How long had she been riding? An hour? Two hours? With no moon to judge by, it was hard to tell how much time had passed. Halfway to the Wilsons’, the route branched off on a side trail, winding up the steep face of Wilson’s Mountain. Had she missed the pile of rocks that marked the turnoff?
She peered harder than ever at the low scrub on the right-hand side as Surefoot pressed on. A few paces farther, she spotted a pale gleam—the pyramid of white stones that Jake Wilson had set out years ago. Relieved, Annie pulled on Surefoot’s reins, pointing his head up the rocky slope. The mustang snorted uneasily and balked. Annie slipped to the ground and went on foot, pulling the horse behind her, remounting only when the slope became more gradual.
The roar of the river soon faded away as pinewoods closed in around them. The darkness of the plains seemed nothing compared to the darkness of the woods. And though the scraggly trees blocked the wind, the damp mountain air made her feel the cold even more than she had felt it in the valley. A shiver ran through her, and her teeth began to chatter. A low-hanging pine bough, heavy with raindrops, smacked her full in the face. Annie ducked and raised one arm to ward off other branches as Surefoot plodded forward. Annie told herself not to hurry him. She had to trust the sturdy mountain pony. Magpie’s life depended on it.
Her mind flew back to Magpie. Who else might have sabotaged her? Annie’s heart sank as she realized she had to consider each of the people who lived at the station—her own family and Jeremiah and Billy.
She knew she could rule out Davy and her mother straightaway. Davy was too young for such evil deeds, and Mrs. Dawson had barely left the house all afternoon and evening.
She refused to suspect her father, too, she thought, pushing aside another drooping bough. He could be gruff, but he wasn’t cruel. And he stood to lose the most if anything happened to one of the horses in his care.
Jeremiah? He might be a quiet loner, but he was loyal and honest—and he truly loved horses. That left only Billy Cody, she realized. But Billy, mischievous as he was, would never hurt Magpie—would he?
Annie rubbed her face wearily with one hand. She simply couldn’t make sense of things. Maybe Redbird could help her figure it out.
Annie leaned forward to peer through the pine branches overhead. In the gaps, she spied the dark clouds breaking apart, rimmed with moonlight.
A few minutes later, the pony splashed across a shallow creek that Annie recognized. She felt a flush of triumph. The Wilsons’ small, rough log cabin was only a few yards off, standing dark and silent among the gnarled pines.
Annie pulled Surefoot to a halt. Until now, she hadn’t thought about how the Wilsons would react to her arrival in the dead of night. Her heart skipped a beat as she imagined Jake Wilson answering the door. She was more than a little afraid of the crusty, grizzled fur trapper, who’d lived off this bleak landscape for years.
CHAPTER 7
THE DARK BEFORE DAWN
Annie paused, listening nervously at the cabin door. She swallowed her fear and pounded a second time. Her muscles tightened, ready to dash away.
The door creaked open. Annie relaxed gratefully. It was Redbird, rubbing her eyes and looking confused. She clasped a shawl around her coarse linen night shift. Wisps of her raven black hair hung around her face. “Annie?” she said in amazement.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” Annie said in a rush. “But something terrible took place tonight.” Quickly, she explained to her friend what had happened to Magpie. “They’re planning to shoot her this morning,” she finished. “Please, we’ve got to cure her before they get out th
eir guns. I know you can do it, Redbird. If anything happens to her—” Annie’s voice broke. Now that she’d finally found Redbird, all the fear and grief she’d been holding at bay came surging back.
Redbird put an arm around Annie. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to save Magpie, Annie,” she said softly. “I have no idea what could be ailing her. But I’ll try my best. Wait here a minute.” She slipped back inside the cabin. Annie heard a sleepy murmur of voices inside. Waiting, she hugged her arms around herself, feeling the cold pierce her damp clothes now that she wasn’t moving.
Redbird reappeared, pulling a buckskin dress over her shift. “I’ve got my pouch of remedies.” She held up a small leather bag. “I’d best not take our horse—my pa might need it tomorrow. I’ll ride behind you.”
As Redbird pulled the cabin door shut, Annie asked, “Your ma didn’t mind you coming out like this?”
Redbird shook her head. “My mother is the daughter of a healer. She knows we have to come when called, even in the middle of the night.” The girl grimaced. “My father, on the other hand … well, I didn’t wake him to tell him I was going.”
Annie laughed ruefully as she swung up onto Surefoot. “I know. My pa’s like that too.”
With the moon out, the ride down the mountain went more quickly. Redbird sat behind Annie on Surefoot’s back, her arms tight around Annie’s waist. Their bodies warmed each other against the chilly night.
Redbird asked Annie many questions about Magpie’s condition. Then she fell silent, mulling over the facts. “Reminds me of how horses act when they eat locoweed, but that plant doesn’t grow much around here. It does sound like some kind of poisoning. If it wasn’t something she ate by accident …”
Annie sighed. “I fed her myself. She got hay straight from our meadow, and her oats came from the same bin as all our other horses’ oats.” She paused as a thought struck her. “She did get a new horseshoe this afternoon. Could there have been something on the nails?” The nails my own father drove into her hoof? she added silently.