by Will Hobbs
But she wanted to know more and more and more. By the time they reached the end of the valley, he’d told her all about his search for Uncle Clay. He’d even told her that the horse he was riding was born in the Escalante Mountains, that his uncle was in the Escalante jail.
“Clay Jenkins, the rodeo star!”
“That’s him.”
“Lots of people think he’s right to try to save those horses—I sure do! So he’s your uncle.”
When Clay saw the ranch nestled in that green valley under those red walls, with its fenced pastures, orchard, barn, and the creek running right by a two-story log house, he said, “Sarah, you live in heaven.”
“My dad built our house,” she said fondly. “He brought the logs out of the mountains. That’s him coming this way.”
Her father came riding up on a sorrel horse, his eyes asking unspoken questions about what his daughter had dragged home, this muddy fellow with the unusual entourage. “Sarah, you found those steers!”
“Dad, this is Clay Lancaster. He’s from Seattle, and he walked and rode all the way from Monument Valley. He came to find his uncle, who’s Clay Jenkins.”
The smile playing in the tall man’s eyes spread to the rest of his face. He said, “Well, I’ll be.”
“I think he could use a place to stay for a little while.”
“He’s got it,” her father said, reaching over to shake Clay’s hand. “Bud Darling.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Darling.”
“Please,” he said with a laugh that his daughter echoed, “anything but that. If you had my name, you’d much prefer people just left it at ‘Bud.’”
“Thanks for the hospitality, Bud.” Still, Clay thought, it doesn’t feel right to call him by his first name.
“My wife likes ‘Mrs. Darling’ just fine. Somehow it suits her better than me. Yours must be quite a story and she’ll want to hear it. Libby and Nora will too, and I haven’t even heard it yet myself. You’re quite welcome here, Clay. You take care of him Sarah, I’ll look after these steers.”
As they rode in, two girls flew out of the house onto the porch all excited and big-eyed at the sight of Clay, the packed burro with the little dog nestled on top, and especially the baby burro frisking alongside. Unlike their sister Sarah in jeans, both of these girls wore long dresses. Like homemade, Clay thought. The older of the two had a long ponytail that swung from side to side as she ran.
“Libby’s ten and Nora’s five,” Sarah said.
Mrs. Darling, also in a long dress, appeared right behind them as Nora made a beeline for Burrito and hugged him around the neck. The little girl in pigtails looked up at Clay and said, “This boy sure is muddy.”
“Where’d you find him, Sarah?” asked her sister Libby.
“She fished me out of the creek,” Clay explained.
Sarah laughed. “Biggest fish I ever caught.”
As Clay soaked in the tub, he could see Mrs. Darling down by the creek rinsing the mud off his jeans and his shirt. He’d tried to save that chore for himself and thought he’d won, but there she was. She had all of his clothes, and she’d slipped him some of Mr. Darling’s through the bathroom door. It was embarrassing. He hadn’t exactly been looking after clothes washing on his travels. Now and again he’d rinsed his clothes and lay them out on the rocks to dry, but he’d never picked up any laundry soap and he hadn’t thought to use his bar soap on his clothes.
Libby and Nora were playing outside. Nora was shrieking with joy and Libby was yelling “Look at him go! Look at him go!”
The little spot in the window he could see through showed Burrito galloping across the yard with Curly in ear-flapping pursuit. The little burro suddenly snorted and leaped into the air, pirouetted, and raced off around the house.
For the first time, Clay tried out her first name with her last. Sarah Darling. Sarah Darling. Sarah Darling. Her name shook him up so badly when he heard himself repeating it, he thought he’d better not think about it for a while.
Suppertime. He felt so grateful and so … clean. He’d scrubbed himself raw to try to present himself suitably.
Sarah’s father was saying the grace, and he was having a lot to say. Dark-haired like Sarah, he had a bit of gray showing in his sideburns. The roast beef was steaming on the platter and it sure looked good. They’d raised everything on the table themselves: the beef, the potatoes, the carrots, the salad greens. He felt a little funny in her father’s clothes. The shirt felt like it was starched. He sneaked a glimpse of Sarah. She’d changed from her jeans into a long homemade dress like her mother’s and her sisters’. Sarah Darling, Sarah Darling, Sarah Darling … Libby was watching him take that glance at Sarah, and then she was watching her big sister. Libby had a curious little smile on her face. “Amen,” Mr. Darling concluded, and Clay whispered “Amen” along with the rest of the family.
“Did you get through to your brother Mike?” Mrs. Darling asked as she passed him the gravy.
“Yes, Ma’am, he was pretty excited about me finding Uncle Clay. Awful surprised to find out he was in jail. And he read me a letter from my mother. It’s the first one that’s gotten through since she was actually in Guatemala.”
“And how’s she doing?”
“Perfect. The people are really poor I guess, but really nice. She likes being down there as much as she thought she would.”
“It’s quite brave,” Mrs. Darling commented, though she looked a little skeptical. “Did you and Mike talk about how you’ll get home?”
“Yes, Ma’am…with Uncle Clay on the train, closest we can catch one.”
Libby said wistfully, “I’d like to ride on a train one day.”
“Come out and see us sometime!” Clay proposed. “You could stay with us while you’re there. Uncle Clay and I are going to go out on a salmon boat. He might take up fishing for a living. Do you like fishing, Mr.—Bud?”
“Mr. Bud!” little Nora giggled.
At the mention of fishing, a profound look of happiness had come over Mr. Darling’s face.
“Does he ever,” Mrs. Darling explained. “Sarah too.”
“Fishing for a living …” Mr. Darling rhapsodized. His deep green eyes reminded Clay of the depths of his favorite mountain lake in the Cascades. “That wouldn’t bother me one bit.”
“It’s different out there,” Clay said. “I hope you’ll like it. It’s pretty and everything, but where we live, it’s not like this. We live on a regular street, you know, with houses close together on both sides.”
Clay could see Sarah and her sisters trying to imagine it.
“Like in town in Escalante?” Libby suggested.
“Oh, they’re a lot closer than that. Uncle Clay probably wouldn’t live with us or anything—he’d feel too cooped up. He’ll probably live in one of the little fishing towns. Or maybe he’ll live on a boat.”
“Your uncle is much admired around here, by some, that is,” Mrs. Darling observed. “Some people even think of him as a sort of Robin Hood for the wild horses. I know Sarah does.”
A serious expression came over Mr. Darling’s face. “It’s really pretty extraordinary, Clay, what’s happened here since your uncle came along. People are starting to wonder if it’s right, what’s happening to these horses. You see, this is cattle country, and it’s hard enough making a living around here as it is. Most of the cattle grazing is on government land that the ranchers lease. It’s true that the wild horses forage for the same graze that we need for our cattle. Except for the mountains, people call this land around here ‘ten-thirty country.’ You explain it, Sarah,” he asked with a wink in her direction.
“Sarah’s as good a cowboy as Daddy,” volunteered little Nora, eager to get in on the conversation.
Sarah blushed. “‘Ten-thirty country’ means your cow has to have a mouth ten feet across, and has to be able to run thirty miles an hour to find enough grass around here to stay alive. You’ve seen the country around here, Clay, not much for a cow or a hors
e to eat.”
“The country won’t be so big or beautiful without the wild horses,” Mr. Darling said. “But there’s nothing to protect them—in fact, the law’s all on the other side. Barlow has a legal contract with the government to take out every last one, and people here do believe in obeying the law.”
“The horses should come before a piece of paper,” Sarah said with emotion. “No one asked the horses.”
Nora whispered, “They’re making them into chicken food.”
“We hope they won’t deal with your uncle too severely,” Mrs. Darling said. “We hope he can just get on that train with you, wherever you’re going to catch it, and that’ll be the end of it. It’s not like he hurt anybody.”
Libby said importantly, “Daddy’s brother’s the sheriff.”
Clay’s eyes found Mr. Darling’s. “How soon does he think Uncle Clay will get out?”
“The sheriff is hoping your uncle will be able to pay a fine and agree not to come back around here again.”
“Let’s not talk about that anymore,” said Mrs. Darling. “Let’s have some peach pie and ice cream and think about what you kids are going to do tomorrow.”
“There’s a John Wayne movie that just came to town,” Libby said.
Clay almost jumped. “What is it? I like John Wayne movies.”
Libby ran into the living room for the newspaper. “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,” she called.
“That’s the one I’ve been looking for!” Clay declared. “I’d give anything to see that movie.”
Mr. Darling laughed. “Fifty cents ought to do it. Sarah likes John Wayne too. Sarah, your mother and I were going into town tomorrow night anyway, to meet with the other people planning the county fair—why don’t we drop the four of you off at the movies on the way?”
Clay and Sarah nodded in agreement.
“Let’s get these dishes done,” Mrs. Darling said. “It’s getting late, and we’ve all had a big day, especially Clay here.”
Everyone got up from the table. Clay helped Sarah with the dishes. Her sisters went off giggling to their room upstairs. Sarah’s mother was finding some bedding for Clay to take out to the bunkhouse.
Sarah disappeared as he was drying the last few pans. When she came back a few minutes later she said, “I’ve been talking to my father. If you and I got up really early tomorrow morning, I could take you fishing up at Cyclone Lake—we could ride our horses. We’d still be back in time for the movie. Do you think you’d like that?”
19
They climbed all morning into the big pines and firs, until it started to feel almost like the Northwest, Clay thought. Starbuck seemed to be enjoying the work more than in the lower country, and as the air cooled and thinned and they entered groves of aspen and spruce, the formerly wild horse became more animated than Clay had ever seen him. “Look at him, Sarah, he’s acting like a colt.”
“He’s back in his summer range.”
“How high is Cyclone Lake?”
“It’s over ten thousand feet. I’m glad we brought the dogs with us—they’re having a great time. And look at Curly! Look at those little feet go! He isn’t having any trouble keeping up with my dogs.”
They paused on an outcrop that gave them a view of the lower country below them: the town of Escalante at the foot of the mountains, marked by the smoking tepee burner at the sawmill, and beyond the town, a world of slickrock and canyons as far as the eye could see.
“That long, narrow canyon between us and the Colorado River,” Sarah said pointing, “that’s Escalante Canyon, where your uncle ran the horses down. It was such a beautiful idea. It’s so narrow the horses had nowhere to go but straight ahead. It’s so great to think one man was able to do that by himself.”
“The side canyon I climbed out of? What’s it called?”
“I’m sure it was Davis Canyon. Third one up from the river, and it has a horse ladder.”
“You know all this country.”
“Look how much there is! Some of those canyons are so narrow you can touch both walls with your hands, and they’re hundreds and hundreds of feet deep. There are so many out there, probably no one’s seen them all. Sometimes the cows get down in those canyons and it takes a lot of searching to find them out.”
I’d help you search for those cows, Clay thought. I wouldn’t care if we never found them.
“Between us and the beginning of Escalante Canyon there’s a box canyon called Death Hollow. That’s where your uncle had the horses stashed before he started them down the Escalante.”
“Look, Sarah—there’s Navajo Mountain, all by itself over there across the Colorado. I was right up close to it.”
They spread out a checkered tablecloth on the grassy bank of Cyclone Lake, and brought out their sandwiches. Nothing could be more perfect than this green grass and the music of her voice, watching the clouds go by and sharing a picnic lunch. There could never be another day like this one. There could never be another girl like this one.
Curly showed up and licked him on the face. He wished it were so easy to kiss Sarah, just like that. Well, not just like that.
Clay looked at her long, and she looked back at him, and his heart was beating like thunder. He felt like he was about to kiss her, but it felt like being about to step over a cliff. It was the scariest moment he’d faced in his life.
“The dogs,” Sarah said suddenly. Her dogs were standing frozen like Border collie statues, and even Curly was standing still like a statue.
Clay looked in the direction the dogs were looking. Way down near the end of the lake and on the other side, horses were coming down to the water.
“Wild horses,” Sarah whispered. “Keep low!”
The dogs knew not to bark. Even Curly kept quiet.
“Look,” Sarah whispered. “That’s the lead mare bringing them down to the lake. She looks blue even from here.”
“‘Blue as a mountain bluebird,’” Clay said thoughtfully. “Sarah, these must be the ones Uncle Clay had his eye on. This must be that last band he told me about. The stallion’s a buckskin with … lemme think … a black stripe down his back and rings on his legs. A dozen or so mares with their colts, he said.”
“That’s about what I count. Look, there’s the stallion standing guard. With markings like those, he’d be a real throwback. You know, there’s only about twenty thousand mustangs left in the whole country. The lead mare’s drinking now, then the next in rank and so on. If the stallion tries to drink before all the rest are finished, the mares will run him off. I saw it once.”
“I count eighteen.”
“They’ll be dead soon, and Barlow will make his five cents a pound. Aren’t they beautiful? They probably are the last ones. Let’s see how close we can get to them, Clay.”
Silently they crept back into the trees, where they had left their horses, and circled the lake in the spruce. The dogs understood the need for stealth. Though Curly didn’t understand Sarah’s hand signals, he was taking his cues from the other dogs and he was learning fast.
Clay watched her give the hand signals too, watched how quietly her palomino moved in the woods, careful not to break a stick.
At the edge of the woods, Sarah let Clay draw alongside, and they watched the wild horses at lakeside through an opening in the woods. The stallion was drinking now. Most of the mares and colts were rolling in the mud at the edge of the lake.
“Look at that,” Clay whispered.
“To protect themselves from the flies. The mud dries and gives them a thicker skin.”
Suddenly a new horse galloped up, all black with a white blaze on his forehead and white stockings, and before Clay could even see how he’d done it the black had cut out the two mares and their colts who weren’t in the mud, and he was herding them away as fast as he could.
The big buckskin took off in hot pursuit, and before the black could herd his prizes into the woods, the buckskin cut him off and the two stood in full display, their necks arched a
nd their front legs pawing the ground and then pawing the air.
“I’ve always wanted to see this,” Sarah whispered.
Clay strained to get a better look, expecting to see a big battle. Yet with no blood drawn, it wasn’t but half a minute until the buckskin was racing back to the rest behind the four that had been kidnapped, nipping the trailing colt to make him go faster. “What happened?” Clay asked. “I didn’t even see what happened.”
“The black’s probably a much younger stallion,” Sarah explained. “He knew he wasn’t the buckskin’s match yet, so he backed down. You know what I’m thinking, Clay….”
She had the most wonderful grin on her face.
“If we could possibly do it, we could hide them away and no one would ever suspect that they’ve been stashed away because your uncle is in jail! And then, as soon as he gets out, he can run them down the Escalante! They’d be across the Colorado and so would he, before anyone could say Jack Robinson!”
Clay’s mouth dropped. “Could we do it?”
For no apparent reason, a couple of the mares nickered, and there was a distinct note of alarm in their voices.
“Maybe they smell us,” Sarah whispered. “We have to make our move fast. Follow me, and hang on to your hat!”
With that she exploded out of the woods, giving signals to the dogs, and the wild horses exploded into flight as well.
“Death Hollow!” Sarah shouted.
With a grin spreading across his own face, Clay galloped to catch up as she raced to keep the stampeding horses between her and the lake. What a sight Sarah was! The mustangs tried to make a break out and toward the woods. They ran at full speed with their manes and tails flying, but her dogs headed them around the end of the lake and down into the beginning of a draw that fed off the mountain.
And then it was all pleasure, just trying to keep up with Sarah, with his heart in his throat and his legs slapping Starbuck’s side and his eyes on that long dark braid that seemed to have a life of its own. Down the mountain he flew through the tall spruce and into the aspen breaks and down into the pines, enjoying an occasional glimpse over his shoulder of a small blur of white and hearing Curly’s high-pitched battle cry.