Johnny Mohawk

by Jenny Oldfield

  Skunk cabbage growing in the boggy ground at the water’s edge, delicate calypso orchids in the shade of the aspens, marsh marigolds, crimson paintbrushes, wild roses, and carpets of blue columbine, the Colorado state flower: Kirstie was busy making a mental list of all the flowers she’d seen on the trail so far.

  “Yee-hah!” Brad and Troy broke into her thoughts by charging into the water together.

  Yukon and Silver Flash plunged shoulder deep into the cold current, churning up spray as they went.

  “Hey!” Linda Holgate protested at the sudden soaking.

  Troy stood in his saddle, took off his Stetson, and whooped and yelled some more. Yukon braved the swirling water and plunged on ahead of Silver Flash. The plucky appaloosa climbed the far bank with water streaming from her brown and white flanks.

  “Easy does it!” Sandy coaxed on the two worried Holgate girls, watching their cautious progress and waiting for the other guests to follow. “C’mon, Stevie, you gotta let Johnny Mohawk know who’s boss here!” she called to the Irish boy who was still hovering on the bank. “He’s a horse who doesn’t like to get wet!”

  “Aww, it spoils his movie-star image!” Troy Jensen jeered. “Where’s his stuntman? It ain’t written nowhere in this horse’s contract to swim a river; no, sir!”

  Ignoring the raucous yells, Stevie clicked and urged Johnny forward. The black horse drew back his head and shuffled sideways, sending loose stones sliding down the bank. Stevie clicked again and gave a smart kick with his heels. This time, Johnny Mohawk did respond. He deigned to put one hoof in the water, then lifted it and backed off.

  “Go on, make him do it!” Paddy Kane broke from position beside Lisa, his face set in a bad-tempered frown. Ignoring Sandy Scott’s protest, he took Cadillac down the bank and leaned sideways to grab Johnny’s rein, ready to haul him forward. But the black horse resisted harder than ever. He pulled away, lost his footing on the rocks, and began to slide.

  “Whoa, easy!” Stevie flung out his free arm in the struggle to keep his balance. He went with the skid, trusting Johnny to find his feet and leaning well back in the saddle. The horse hit the water, steadied himself, and plunged on. The rapid current buffeted him, swirling and foaming at shoulder height as Stevie gave him a loose rein and let him make his own way across.

  “Nice riding!” Sandy turned her back on the boy’s father and encouraged horse and rider up the far bank. Then, in another show of displeasure, she rode ahead of Paddy Kane and into the river with Jitterbug. “Kirstie, watch out for Mr. Kane!” she yelled over her shoulder as she trotted to the head of the line once more.

  Kirstie knew there would be no problem about Cadillac crossing the creek, and sure enough, the strong white horse had soon made it to the opposite bank. Being the last rider to cross, along with Lisa, Kirstie raised her eyebrows.

  “Huh!” Lisa shook her head and gave a shudder. “Fathers!”

  Kirstie laughed. “C’mon, you can’t say that about all of them!”

  “I can about mine!” Lisa rode on out of the river. Her dad had left her and her mom, Bonnie, when Lisa was eight years old.

  This time there was no smile on Kirstie’s wide mouth but a guarded look in her gray eyes. She and Lisa had a lot in common; her father had split up the family, too, which was the reason her mom had shut up the Denver home and brought her and her brother, Matt, out to Half Moon Ranch in the first place. But she wasn’t ready to brand all fathers as no-good bullies and bores.

  Only Paddy Kane.

  “… Of course, Stevie is used to Connemara ponies and Thoroughbreds,” he was telling Lisa as the trek continued toward the shore of Deer Lake. “It’s the big racehorses he prefers to ride these days, but Connemaras are great little jumpers. I’m training young Stevie to be a steeplechaser over the hurdles. He should be ready to begin racing in a couple of seasons. He already has cups and ribbons from local competitions for young lads, you know …”

  “Hum…yeah…yeah?” Lisa punctuated the drone of the man’s voice, while at the head of the line, Sandy gave permission for Troy and Brad to leave the trail and lope up through the pine trees.

  “Y’all see that pink rock up the hill?” Sandy pointed to a granite boulder jutting out on the horizon half a mile away. “That’s Whiskey Rock. We can bushwhack away from the creek and meet up there in ten minutes, OK?”

  “Great!” Lisa jumped at the chance to split off from Paddy Kane. She reined Crazy Horse up the slope and set him off from a walk straight into a lope, ducking low branches and weaving her way up the hill.

  “… Stevie’s riding ability has always been way ahead of other kids of his age.” Mr. Kane didn’t seem to mind that no one was listening. He went on and on as Kirstie and Lucky trotted past. “A great rider, and he’s going to make a big success of his career as a jockey, just as he promised his mother he would …”

  With a slight squeeze of her legs, Kirstie urged Lucky into a lope. The palomino’s hooves thundered over the soft bed of pine needles; saddle leather and stirrups creaked, the wind caught her fair hair and told her she was free. Free to ride like the wind, with the wind, on the wind. Lucky’s feet pounded, Kirstie ducked and swayed as branches loomed ahead. As they raced past Carole Holgate and made ground fast on Stevie Kane and Johnny Mohawk, the last thing Mr. Kane had said sank in: “Stevie’s way ahead … great rider … a big success … promised his mother …”

  Lucky came up alongside Johnny Mohawk, matching him stride for stride. Kirstie saw Stevie Kane’s face grow tense as Johnny decided to take on the palomino in a race to Whiskey Rock. The half-Arab didn’t like to be beaten, so he lengthened his stride to a full gallop, tearing up the soft ground, weaving recklessly between trees.

  “Go on, Stevie!” his father called from the trail below. “You can do it!”

  “Ride him, Kirstie!” Troy and Brad chorused. “Yee-hah!”

  As the two horses raced neck and neck for the horizon, those words from Mr. Kane stuck with her. What had happened to Stevie’s mother? Why had the boy sworn to succeed as a jockey when, as far as Kirstie could make out, he was only an average horseman?

  Lucky surged forward and overtook Johnny Mohawk in the final strides of the race. Kirstie reined him back as his hooves hit solid granite and wheeled him around to face the horse and rider who had come second.

  The kid had given everything; she could see it in the set of his jaw, the concentration in his brown eyes. He’d tried his best and lost. Stevie Kane; good, but not that good. A great rider? Never!

  Maybe it was to cover up his defeat in the race that, for the rest of the morning’s ride, Stevie Kane seemed to turn into a younger version of his dad.

  “Riding English gives you much better control of your horse!” he told Linda Holgate, showing her how to post a trot. He rose in and out of the saddle, his back straight, his legs flexing to the rhythm of Johnny Mohawk’s springy step.

  “How come you don’t stay put in the saddle?” the small, pretty, round-faced girl wanted to know. She was having enough difficulty with the Western style sitting-trot as it was, bouncing up and down and from side to side as she tried to keep up.

  “Posting a trot makes it easier on the horse,” Stevie explained. “Of course, you need better balance to begin with.”

  “Oh, sure!” Brad Jensen rode by, feet out of the stirrups.

  “Yeah!” Troy followed, dropping Yukon’s reins, folding his arms, and letting the mare choose her own route down from Whiskey Rock.

  “Ignore them!” Lisa advised, deciding to try Stevie’s upright style of trot. She soon picked up the rhythm and began to rise and fall in the saddle. “Hey, how am I doing?”

  “Don’t come up so high,” Stevie told her. “Think of pushing forward with your hips each time.”

  “Ooo-ooh!” Brad and Troy exaggerated the movement, then almost fell out of their saddles with laughter.

  Coloring deep red, Stevie urged Johnny Mohawk ahead to demonstrate. He executed a perfect posting trot along
the flat stretch of meadow that led to Half Moon Ranch.

  “Watch out for elk!” Brad yelled.

  “And moose!” Troy echoed. “Moose are real mean!”

  Stevie went ahead; up-down, up-down: the model English-style trot.

  “Or bear!” Brad warned with a hooting laugh.

  “Bear?” Linda gasped. She looked in alarm to the left and right.

  “Sure. There are black bears in the Meltwater Range. Didn’t you know?” Troy enjoyed the reaction. He swung one leg over the saddle and sat back to front, arms folded, studying Linda’s face. “Fifteen at the last count; one female and two cubs over on Eagle’s Peak, if you want to know.”

  Brad let Silver Flash head butt Yukon out of the way and came up alongside the scared girl. “Hey, no problem. Black bears are at least 95 percent vegetarian! They won’t eat you—not unless you’re crazy enough to get between them and their cubs. And then you’re history!”

  “And then you’re breakfast!” Troy insisted, coming from behind to sandwich Linda tight between him and his brother.

  Her eyes wide, breath coming short, Linda nodded. “Thanks. I’ll try to remember that!”

  “Troy Jensen, hand on your heart, have you ever seen a bear on Half Moon territory?” Lisa challenged. She’d given up the attempt to follow Stevie Kane’s fancy trot and rejoined the main group. Meanwhile, the Irish boy and Johnny Mohawk continued to show off as they reached the bridge that led to the ranch.

  “So?” Troy swung around to face the right way. He bounced in the saddle in an overdone imitation of Stevie; up-down, up-down, shoulders back, nose in the air.

  “So take no notice,” Kirstie advised Linda. She backed up Lisa’s advice, feeling cranky and out of sorts.

  True, they’d got through the morning ride without a crisis, yet she felt it hadn’t gone well. The group hadn’t got along, and Stevie Kane was still putting Johnny Mohawk through his fancy paces, getting him to sidestep and prance, sending a Look at me! message loud and clear to the beginners in the party.

  Naturally, Johnny didn’t need any encouragement to enjoy being the star of the show. His head was high, his neck arched; he was telling them all how beautiful he was with his dished profile and deep, dark eyes.

  “… Kirstie?” Lisa broke into her disgruntled daze. “I said, can I please call my mom when we get back to the ranch and ask if I can stay over tonight?”

  “Sure.” She and Lucky had picked up speed to get to the corral and help Charlie and Hadley to unsaddle the horses. “Any particular reason?”

  “Loretta and Wayne Stewart are coming out from San Luis,” Lisa reminded her. “It’s Sunday, remember? Square-dance night!”

  “Red rock!” Wayne Stewart cried.

  The music stopped on the prearranged cue, and everyone on the dance floor grabbed the nearest person to inflict a hug. Lisa grabbed Stevie Kane and flung both arms around him.

  “That’s the real reason you wanted to stay over!” Kirstie hissed as the music started up again, Stevie moved on to a new partner, and the girls met in the middle of the square.

  “So?” Lisa didn’t try to deny it. She did a neat do-si-do without letting the Irish boy out of her sight. “I’ll take Stevie, thanks, and leave Troy Jensen all for little you!”

  Kirstie let her mouth fall open as Charlie took her by the waist and swung her around. “Yeah, thanks!”

  “What? Troy’s a hunk!” Forming an arch with Matt Scott, Lisa let Kirstie and Charlie sidestep underneath. The banjo players tapped their pointed, cowboy-booted toes and quickened the tempo.

  “Right!” Kirstie let go of Charlie’s hand. The girls moved on to the next set. Soon, they would have to meet up with the Jensen boys.

  “Anyway, Stevie Kane’s cool,” Lisa insisted; four steps to the right, four to the left, do-si-do and spin on the spot.

  “You think so?” Kirstie couldn’t see it herself. As far as she was concerned, there was something—she didn’t know what—not quite right about the Kane father and son.

  “He’s got nice blue eyes.”

  “Gray!” Kirstie corrected.

  Lisa dodged past Troy Jensen’s set, one eye on the musicians, trying to time things just right. “Gray, blue; whatever. Anyway, he’s got fabulous long lashes!”

  “Lashes?” Kirstie had lost her position, floundered, and come face to face with the awful Troy. She had to admit that she’d never noticed the length of a boy’s eyelashes in her entire life.

  “Red rock!” Wayne cried as the music suddenly stopped.

  An eager Lisa lunged at Stevie before Carole Holgate could grab him, while, to Kirstie’s horror, the worst thing came to pass: she found herself lost in the tentacle grasp of Troy Jensen’s dread embrace.

  3

  Monday morning meant serious riding. Guests were split up into beginner, intermediate, and advanced riders, then taken off by the wranglers on trails to suit their abilities.

  “Make sure you’re with the advanced group, Stevie!” Paddy Kane was striding around the corral giving orders. “Watch out, girlie!” he called to Carole Holgate as Charlie untied Johnny Mohawk and handed him over to the Irish boy. “Check that girth strap, someone. It looks loose to me!”

  “Cinch,” Kirstie said quietly, looking down from the saddle. Didn’t this man ever mind his own business? “Over here in America, we call the girth strap the cinch.”

  Mr. Kane took no notice. He watched Charlie check the strap and say that it was OK. Then Stevie mounted and rode Johnny to the gate.

  “You’re not riding this morning?” Sandy Scott asked. She was gathering her intermediate group, ready to set off for Hummingbird Rock.

  Paddy Kane shook his head. “I have phone calls to make, work to do,” he said in his self-important way.

  “Jeez, that’s a real shame!” Lisa muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Shh!” Kirstie hid a smile by guiding Lucky around the edge of the corral, taking care to steer well clear of a grinning Troy Jensen. She could still hear Kane droning on as she and Lisa reached the gate.

  “… This isn’t a holiday for me. I’m here to develop my international business interests.”

  “Hey, Stevie!” As a bright and breezy Lisa edged Crazy Horse close to her favorite dude, Kirstie deliberately dropped back.

  “Hi.” He ducked his head and pretended to adjust the cinch buckle, evidently glad when Charlie rode by to head the small group of experienced riders out through Red Fox Meadow and up the forested slopes of Eagle’s Peak.

  “You folks ready for a tough ride?” the young wrangler asked, glancing around at Troy and Brad, Lisa, Kirstie, and Stevie Kane. “We climb up into the snow. You all got gloves and thick jackets? The wind’s pretty cold at ten thousand feet.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The Jensens were eager to leave.

  “This is an all-day ride. You need to pace it nice and slow. Don’t tire your horses, and don’t try any fancy bushwhacking shortcuts off the main trail.” Not to be hurried, Charlie steered his horse Rodeo Rocky out onto the trail, pulled the brim of his white Stetson well down to shade his eyes, and gave the order to begin.

  They were off, through the meadow, up into the shade of the aspens and pines. Today, seeing that Lisa was busy with Stevie, Kirstie chose to keep Lucky up at the front of the line, tucked in behind Charlie. She breathed in the sharp sap of the ponderosa pines, where animal claws had scratched at the bark, kept a lookout for beaver dams across the cascading mountain streams, and drifted off into her silent world.

  “Lisa found a new friend?” Charlie broke in once or twice as they climbed higher and he glanced over his shoulder to see the red-haired girl deep in conversation with the Irish visitor.

  “Hmm.” Kirstie resisted the urge to turn and look.

  “Hey, how about you and Troy at the square dance last night?” The wrangler gave a grin and a knowing look.

  “Puh-lease!” Kirstie sighed and clicked Lucky on up a rocky stretch of trail, glad of the distraction when t
hey crossed a track and saw the forest ranger’s pickup truck parked close by.

  “Hey, Smilie!” Charlie greeted the ranger from Red Eagle Lodge. Smilie Gilpin was a stocky man in his forties with thinning, fair hair and the look of a permanent outdoors life in his weather-beaten, ruddy complexion. “What’s new?”

  “Not a lot.” The ranger walked along the track, nodding to each of the riders, ready to exchange news. “I got a couple of recreational vehicles parked up at the lodge. Nice people; a family from New England, and one from Washington. They had a scare last night, though.”

  “What kind of scare?” Kirstie asked.

  “A bear scare!” Smilie made light of the incident. At the same time, it was obvious he wanted to pass on a warning. “You hear about the black bear and her two cubs? Well, they took a liking to the contents of the trash cans outside the RVs.”

  “They raided the garbage?” Kirstie’s eyes widened. It was the first time for ages that she’d heard of bears bothering visitors.

  “You can’t blame them. Untidy trash is a treat for a hungry bear; apple cores, leftover chicken, you name it.”

  “What happened?” Charlie wanted the details.

  “It was the middle of the night. One of the kids wakes up, looks out of the window, and comes face to face with Mama Bear! Kid starts to yell, Mama Bear opens her mouth and shows her teeth, gives a couple of snorts.”

  “Wow!” Brad Jensen pictured the scene.

  “What then?” Troy, too, had enjoyed the description.

  “Big mistake!” Smilie explained. “Instead of letting the bears finish their supper, brave dad inside the RV decides to go out and scare them off. The next thing he knows, Mama’s on her hind legs, swatting the air with her giant claws, making sure he keeps away from her cubs. I hear the guy yelling and shouting, rush out of my cabin just in time to see him step right back inside and slam the door in her face.”