“A Stone Dreamer,” he agreed. Thomas nodded. The men rode slowly in silence for some time.
“Did she help you?”
“She helped Midnight.”
“Mmmm.” Thomas touched his chin thoughtfully. “She will need a horse of power, a horse as wise as she is. One that will take her anywhere, in winter as well as in summer.”
“Yes.”
“You wait here,” he commanded. Shane halted Midnight. The gelding dipped his head and rubbed his nose on his knee, shook his head until his bridle rattled, then sighed, rested a hind hoof, and stood patiently, eyes half closed. Thomas disappeared over the crest of a rolling hill while Shane looked around, taking in the beauty of the wild back country. This was his world. He loved the area, the secretive woods and the clear river he followed on his rounds. The smooth, orderly wheeling of the sky and the turning of the seasons resonated peace inside his soul. He was just considering all the Elk Gap area meant to him when Thomas came back over the hill. He still rode the red gelding, but this time he led a gold mare by a rope war bridle. She was almost as tall as Midnight, but she had a very Arab look about her. Shane had heard some people refer to these Arab-looking mustangs as Mountain Lilies. Her color was deep burnished gold, her face marked by a straight blaze, and she had a delicately tapered muzzle. A generous blanket of white spots covering her rump trailed over her hips to drip down her hocks, and she had four white socks. Her short mane and tail made streaks of white cloud against the gold of her coat. She had the classic Appaloosa striped hooves and white sclerae that gave her eyes a bright alertness.
“Your Medicine Horse!” Shane exclaimed aloud as Thomas pulled both animals to a stop.
“You know this one. She is very wise, very fearless. In the old days she would have been a warrior’s first mount.”
“Has she a name?”
“New life, new name. Let the Stone Dreamer call her as she will. She will learn. Would you ride her?”
“Of course I trust you, Uncle, but yes. I will ride her.” Shane dismounted and took a bridle from his saddlebags. He had taken it from Richard’s barn. It matched the light saddle the former owner of the ranch had left there. He wanted to make sure Thomas had trained the mare to rein; when he acquired Midnight, he had been trained only to the war bridle. Thomas took Midnight’s reins while Shane dropped the loop off the mare’s muzzle. He warmed the light snaffle bit in his palms for a moment, then pressed it gently against her lips. She took it politely, licking at it and settling it behind her front teeth. It took a bit of adjustment before he could drop the headstall over her ears and buckle the throatlatch. The last animal the bridle had been fitted to had evidently been smaller. He swung up, waited for a moment to ascertain that she would stand to be mounted, and touched her flanks. The mare moved out with liquid smoothness. He ran her through all her gaits, making her change leads at the canter, turning her repeatedly, and pulling her up short. She performed flawlessly, and to his surprise, she was even newly shod. He returned to Thomas.
“You have done well with this one. How much?” Up to this point, their conversation had been in Iroquois.
“Ten dollars,” he replied in English. Shane was stunned. That was fully twice as much as he ever demanded for a horse.
“Done. I will bring it to you. I normally don’t carry that much cash.”
“You will return, Walker Between Water and Sky. You are a man of honor.” He dropped back into Iroquois. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Uncle.” It did not get past Shane that Thomas had addressed him by his ceremonial name, rather than his childhood name, Grey Eyes. He gave Thomas back his rope, took the mare’s bridle, mounted Midnight, and started back down the trail toward North Village.
Chapter Five
The clicking of Mavis’s Singer Sphinx filled the farmhouse. It had taken only an hour to rough out the riding skirt, although Mavis had yet to decide what to do with her striped broadcloth. She considered a skirt and a shirtwaist but had changed her mind five or six times.
“Jenny, would you mind stirring the chicken?” she asked, looking up from the sewing machine. “It should be almost ready to bone by now.”
“If it is, I’m sure I can handle it. How difficult can it be, after all?” And even if I can’t cook I know bones, she added to herself. She went into the kitchen, tied a flour sack towel around herself by way of an apron, and picked up the big slotted spoon Mavis had left on the far edge of the stove. She fished up a drumstick and the meat fell off in two pieces. It took a little delicate fiddling to lift out the splinter bone. Jenny wondered if veterinarians called it a fibula or if it was something else. Humming, she took out a bowl and started dipping the chicken out and picking off the meat with a fork. It was hot; she had to go very carefully.
“How’s the chicken coming?” Mavis called from her bedroom behind the living room.
“It’s done, but it’s so hot yet that boning is slow work.”
“I’ll help you.” The sewing machine stopped, and Mavis came into the assembly room. “Well, well, I think you’re about to have a visitor.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Come to the window and look.” Jenny came to stand next to Mavis, stretched up and peered out the window above the sink, to see Shane riding down the lane, posting to an easy trot. He led a golden vision of a mare that moved with such ethereal grace her hooves scarcely seemed to touched the ground.
“What on earth…”
“Wash up. I’ll take over the chicken. I know Shane isn’t coming to see me.” Jenny did as she was told and was drying her hands on her towel apron as he tethered both horses to the rail and stepped up onto the porch. He started to knock, but she beat him to it and opened the door.
“Come in, Sergeant.”
“Miss Weston,” he acknowledged, politely removing his hat. “Yesterday Richard asked me to go to our local horse breaker, Thomas Wise Hand, and get a saddle horse for you. There’s one outside for your approval, if you’d like to try her.” Instead of going all the way up to her room for a wrap, she took Richard’s black-and-red chopper jacket from its peg and thrust her arms into the sleeves. Shane opened the door for her, but she had eyes only for the palomino Appaloosa mare tethered next to Midnight. She walked around the horse, talking to her and touching her shoulder. The animal turned her head and regarded Jenny, blinking thoughtfully.
“Oh, she’s beautiful! She… Look at that Arab head, and that round rump and deep chest. She’d have stamina to keep going all day. She’s…she’s incredible. I haven’t words! What’s her name?”
“Thomas wouldn’t tell me. He said ‘new life, new name.’ You have to name her. I’ve heard these Arab-looking mustangs referred to as Mountain Lilies, but she’s technically only part mustang. She and Midnight both have the same sire—a Kentucky thoroughbred.” Jenny was overwhelmed and, for the moment, speechless.
“I could call her Ma Petite Fleur de Lis des Montaignes. My Little Mountain Lily. Do you know your name?” At the sound of the words, the mare looked around and her fathomless gaze met Jenny’s.
“I think she understands it already.”
“Do you, Fleur? Do you know your name already? Huh, sweetheart?” Jenny held out her hand and Fleur lipped it gently, taking in Jenny’s scent. Then Jenny cupped the mare’s nose in her palms and exhaled into the soft, gold-rimmed nostrils. In response, Fleur blew hay-scented horse breath across Jenny’s face. Shane had seen that done before; it was the way horses greeted each other. Fleur had just accepted Jenny into her herd.
“There’s a saddle in the barn. If it fits her, would you like to ride with me a while? I’ll take you up to the top of the ridge north of here; there’s an exceptional view. Or if you’d prefer to try her alone, that’s fine with me, but please stay on the North Village Road. It’s easy to get lost around here until you know the area.” Shane’s invitation was shyly given, as if he expected a smart rejection.
“I do need a guide, except…” She gestured to her skirt. “You woul
dn’t mind if I wear jodhpurs?”
“What’s the matter with jodhpurs? I’m wearing them myself.”
“My jodhpurs are the kind meant to go with Pinks. However, my Pinks were fitted to me when I was fifteen and the jacket is too short now, so I didn’t bother to bring it.”
“Miss Weston, I couldn’t care any less what you wear,” he said, perhaps a little too abruptly. “We probably won’t see anyone else. I’ll check the saddle fit.” She left him to it and returned to the house. Upstairs in her room, she dug around until she found her black jodhpurs. When she put them on, they felt a bit snug—and a bit daring, which suited her just fine, thank you. She tucked the tail of her plain white shirtwaist down into the waistband and sucked in her stomach to do up the last button. Then she dropped a black cardigan over the blouse and took up her tweed jacket. On the way out she snagged Richard’s black watch cap from the pegs by the front door. Knowing that the outfit made her look like a tomboyish gamine, she plastered a satisfied grin on her face and closed the front door behind her.
Shane led Fleur out of the barn just as Jenny came skipping down the steps. “I’m ready. And thank you for responding to Uncle Richard’s request so quickly. Now I can go into town without having to use that awful buckboard and those poor tired old mares.”
“I’m glad to be of service,” he responded stiffly, obviously wary of her.
Toby crouched to give her a leg up. She settled into the saddle and sat the mare easily, even though Fleur was perhaps a little larger than was ideal for her. When she was comfortable, she kicked her feet back out of the stirrups so Toby could correct the length of the leathers. Shane mounted a moment later. He heeled Midnight and turned him down the lane toward the road.
By the time they were at the end of the lane, she could tell her demonstration of horsemanship had left him more than a little impressed. She took extra pains to move properly with the horse, keeping her posture correct in every line. She knew she had good hands, and by the time they turned left onto the North Village Road, she read Fleur with precision.
“You really do know how to ride,” he ventured at length. She felt a rush of smug satisfaction, having wrung even grudging praise from the aloof Mountie.
“Thank you. Maybe all those years of dressage lessons with Aunt Eleanor actually paid off.” He asked Midnight for a trot and Fleur matched it, with Jenny posting with unconscious grace.
“I’m taking you up past the trailhead to North Village. It’s maybe half an hour up to a view point where we can see way out across the valley. You’ll be able to look down and see Richard’s farm. Want to canter? That mare is as smooth as silk.” Though it was proper to demand a canter from either a walk or a trot, Jenny had been taught that it was more formal to slow the horse first. She twitched the reins and Fleur dropped to a walk, then a mere brush of her heels brought the mare into a canter that was as fluid as the surface of a summer lake. She stubbornly set the pace for both of them. Though Fleur stood perhaps a scant half-hand shorter than Midnight, the strength of an intact mare might easily give a gelding a run for his money. After a reasonable time Shane reined Midnight in, and he dropped reluctantly to a walk.
“That’s enough for now. Midnight seems to be going well, but I don’t want to press him.”
“That’s wise. After all, you still have to ride back to town. But then, if he does show any lameness we can trade horses and Midnight can rest up in Uncle Richard’s barn for a few days. Fleur is a big horse, and I’m certain she’s more than strong enough to carry you.” Jenny did not know whether the few exchanges that passed between them were getting less strained or more uncomfortable.
Then Shane guided them off on a side trail. She watched as he leaned down to make sure his powerful rifle was clear in its scabbard. It was a huge Model 1895 .303 Winchester Center Fire, similar to Teddy Roosevelt’s favorite “Big Medicine.” To Jenny it looked as huge as a field artillery piece.
“Do you always ride around armed like you’re expecting war to break out at any moment?” she asked.
“What? This?” He gestured to the rifle.
“Yes. That and the huge revolver, both.”
“The revolver is part of the uniform. It’s fine for sobering up rowdy drunks and stopping fights, but you always carry a rifle in the woods. You never know when you’re going to encounter one of Mother Nature’s less friendly critters, and personally if I do I’d much rather have that rifle on my side. It’s much more powerful and accurate than a pistol. Bears don’t hibernate continuously, as you found out yesterday. They get up now and then, and they’re always out of sorts when they do. And though it’s not the season for it right now, we’ve all shot mad wolves from time to time.” Her idea of wolves came from the Brothers Grimm, and the mere mention of rabies gave her chills. It was the only communicable disease known to man that was one hundred percent fatal.
They came to a place where the trail had washed out down to exposed rocks. Fleur lowered her head and picked her way through, scarcely slowing. Thomas Wise Hand must have spent years training her to render her such a good hill horse.
After a long climb they broke out onto the top of a ridge. For a while they had to ride single file, and then they came to a bare peak. The whole valley back toward Elk Gap was spread out before them like a snowy cloak, and on the other side, a whitewater river tumbled down a canyon. To the north, the horizon was hemmed in by high hills. Jenny had never seen anything like that panorama before.
“Oh, my,” she breathed. “And you’re right. I can see Uncle Richard’s house, and there’s the barn.”
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never seen anything like this. Is that the Elk River?”
“No. It’s a tributary called the White Fork. It empties into the Elk River down by the railroad bridge.” She tore her eyes from the incredible scenery to look at him. She had never seen hair so black on a Caucasian before. Black European hair was always some shade of very dark brown, but his was Oriental black, the highlights glassy and colorless as obsidian. She also noted that his beard was spare and fine and his sideburns ended of their own accord without the clear delineation of a razor. It all pointed to Indian blood. Mixed-blood people were often handsome in the extreme, she knew; the observation certainly fit him. His face seemed a study in contrasts: square-jawed, heavy cheekbones that lent a slight concavity to his cheeks, and a very straight and vaguely Irish nose; yet it was saved from harshness by large eyes, slightly full lips, and the long, doubly thick lashes of a child. She turned her gaze back to the panorama before he realized she was staring.
It was not long before the cold wind on the ridge forced them to start back. He led down the narrow part until they could double up along the trail.
“I think Fleur passed the test,” he said at length.
“Test?”
“I was watching how she acted during the rough parts of that trail. I didn’t want you on a horse that could panic and strand you way out in the back woods. I know you’re an excellent horsewoman, but out here in this rough country you need a mount that will take care of you as well as Midnight takes care of me.”
“I only intend to ride her around Elk Gap.”
He shrugged. “One never knows,” he said remotely.
They had another brief canter on the way back, and then he rode with her to the barn. Toby turned to them, ready to take their horses.
“Well, did you find the mare satisfactory?” Shane asked.
“Quite satisfactory. Thank you very much.”
“Then I’ll take my leave. Au’voir, Miss Weston.” He touched his hat brim and turned Midnight back down the lane. This was the fourth or fifth time she had been subjected to his abrupt leave-taking and had been forced to say some sort of goodbye to his back. This time she did not bother. Instead, as soon as he was past the first curve in the road back to Elk Gap, she heeled Fleur and went for a joyous canter in the opposite direction.
Chapter Six
By Tuesday
the respite in the weather ended decisively in a blustery arctic cold front. Shane, who had postponed his visit to North Village as long as he could, started out Wednesday morning in the tail end of a storm that had dumped more than two feet of new snow over Elk Gap and dropped the temperature at least twenty degrees. Fortunately someone with a wagon and a team had driven through around dawn, so Midnight did not have a struggle until they started up the North Village trail. With equanimity he stepped into the unbroken drifts under the winter-bare trees, picking up his hooves as they climbed. Shane’s stomach tightened as he approached the first ford that crossed the creek, doubly treacherous now that the trail was obscured. But he knew he would never look at that crossing the same way again if he lived to be a hundred, because only a short while ago in that selfsame spot he had come perilously close to dying. He stopped Midnight at the bank and scanned the trees for danger, real or imaginary, then touched the horse’s flanks again and let him pick his own way between the stones that lined the creek bed.
The next stretch of trail was the worst. The creek went through a series of riffles that narrowed into a steep-banked waterfall, so for perhaps a quarter mile the path veered eastward onto smoother terrain. It picked up the creek upslope, crossed one more ford, and eventually culminated at North Village. They had almost made it back to the creek when Midnight’s ears flicked as though he heard something that did not belong to the familiar woods. Reflexively Shane reached for his rifle and had it half way out of the scabbard when an overpowering weight abruptly slammed into him from behind. A choking arm snaked around his neck and he saw the flash of a huge Bowie knife. He kicked his feet from his stirrups and threw himself backward against his assailant. Then Midnight, who did not like carrying double under the best of circumstances, rebelled against the burden. He reared straight up, and the weight of two large, struggling men on his back, as he stood on the layer of ice under the new snow, pulled him over backward. Shane twisted as they fell, driving his elbow into his adversary’s gut. The horse’s weight landed across his left leg as the combined force knocked the wind out of his assailant. Midnight rolled away and leaped to his feet. Shane only had time to turn over and face the knife wielder before he gathered himself and slashed at Shane’s face, missing only as the latter ducked backward.
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