“She’s alive. I’m sure of it.” That simple thought kept her sane, kept her going. She caught and held the bounty hunter’s blue gaze. “Please, Mr. Woodroffe. She’s all I have left. Dead or alive … I need to bring her home. Diablo is yours after that. I promise.”
Walker pursed his lips, wiped a hand across his mouth. “I can’t be right in the head to even consider this suicide mission.” Hesitantly, he spat into his hand and held it out. “All right. We have a deal.”
She spat into her own, and they shook. A fizzling sensation streaked up her arm—the bounty hunter had enacted a contract spell to seal the pact.
Walker grimaced. “May God have mercy on us all.”
The three travelers set off the following day, pointed south toward Barney’s Rock, the closest town with grounded Zoom tunnel access. If they didn’t travel by Zoom or train, they’d be on horseback for weeks before they arrived at the Arizona-Mexico border. Hettie kept Jezebel at a brisk trot for much of the journey, spurred on by a lingering sense of urgency. Her mind ran circles around the horrific abuses Abby might be facing. But she refused to allow herself to think it was too late.
The faithful mare was strong, but because she was carrying both Ling and Hettie, she complained loudly after a short while. To keep Jezebel from going lame, Hettie switched off and rode with Walker on Lilith. Hettie had changed back into trousers and a shirt, so at least some of her modesty was preserved. She couldn’t settle in the saddle, though, pressed up against the sweltering Walker, who smelled like sour unwashed man and horse.
“You keep fidgeting like that and Lilith is going to throw you,” Walker told her sharply. She grumbled an apology and tried to relax. She was tired and sore and hungry, on top of being worried about Abby. Walker sighed. “I know you’re anxious. But we can’t go much faster than this.”
Every night, Walker would erect protective spells around their campsite while she and Ling rubbed the exhausted horses down. They’d eat more of the bounty hunter’s hard, flavorless biscuits while massaging saddlesore muscles. Hettie missed hot meals and soft beds, and wondered whether the unnaturally added years were making her feel the lumpy ground more keenly. She refused to complain, though. Her empty stomach did that loudly enough for all three of them.
On their third night, Ling came back from a nearby stream with a pair of fat trout. He cooked them over the fire and insisted Hettie eat the better portion. She tried to resist, but then Ling threatened to give his entire portion to her if she refused. It seemed he was bent on taking care of her the way her parents would, and it both irked and comforted her to know he cared. Walker watched him with suspicion. She was becoming aware of a strange tension between the two men. They didn’t speak much, and certainly not to each other. She caught them studying each other through narrowed eyes more than once.
The tall, dry grasses of Montana became greener pastures to the south as they moved into Wyoming. The horses stayed well-fed on the sweet field grass. Cymon was having a grand old time, bounding alongside the riders and scaring game hens out of their nests. He proved a useful companion, bringing her the occasional mangled gopher for supper and providing warmth and comfort when he slept cuddled next to her. The men tolerated him, too, because he seemed to be self-sufficient and never begged for scraps, though he did have the terrible habit of marking his territory too close to the campsite.
Hettie had never ridden so far south. The rolling hills and distant mountains spread beneath the vast blue sky would have been pretty had she not been weighed down with worry for her sister. In her mind’s eye, they felt like sentinels keeping vigil, waiting with bated breath for Hettie’s first glimpse of Abby since that terrible night on the ranch.
Guilt ate at her for leaving Jeremiah behind, too. Neither Walker nor Ling mentioned him, but it seemed a foregone conclusion that the Pinks had caught the old man. Or possibly killed him. She’d never been terribly attached to the codger, but Pa and Ma had treated him like kin—barely tolerated at times, but a member of their household nonetheless. A space in the family plot had even been saved for him.
One day, in the late afternoon, Hettie spotted movement along the plains—a mottling of color and shadow against the verdant land. She recognized the shapes instantly and grew excited. A herd of wild mustangs grazed in the tall grasses near the bottom of the hill. A big black stallion strolled among them, tossing his head almost haughtily, his jet-black coat rippling over sinewy muscles. Hettie had never seen such a magnificent creature in all her life.
“We need to stop.” She pointed. “I want to catch me one of those horses. The big black, there.”
“Are you crazy? We don’t have time for this. Breaking a horse takes days, if not weeks.”
“Then you’re doing it wrong. I need a horse. We’ll make better time once all three of us are on horseback.”
“Except that you don’t have a saddle. What are you going to do? Ride bareback all the way to the border?”
She lifted her chin. “If I have to.”
“You sure you can catch him without any charms?” Ling asked skeptically. Most people who wanted to rope and break mustangs would use a talisman to lure the beasts and quiet them enough to slip a lasso around their neck. The smarter ones—the ones worth their weight in silver dollars—never fell for the charms. Hettie could already tell the stallion was going to be one of them.
“All I need is some rope and your help.” At their hesitation, she glanced up. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this before with Pa.”
“You might catch him, but I don’t see how you plan to break that monster. He’s got to be upwards of fifteen hands.”
Hettie gave him a confident smile. “I may not have any magical gifts, but I can break a horse. I broke the last three, in fact.”
“In a pen, maybe. Out here, he’s more likely to bolt and run until you fall off.”
“I know a calming spell,” Ling volunteered. “Your father taught it to me to help with the cattle. I’m not sure it’ll work on horses, though.”
“This is crazy,” Walker muttered. “We should be spending this time hunting or resting. Our supplies are running low, and I don’t fancy going to bed hungry after chasing a wild stallion all over hell’s half acre.”
“You’re a sorcerer,” Hettie said. “You must know a simple barrier spell to pen them in.”
Walker pursed his lips. “I can put up a barrier, sure. But you’ll never be able to break that mustang without him breaking you first. Why not pick one of the other horses? How about that little filly over there?”
“I want the black,” Hettie said firmly. Pa would have picked him, too. She knew she could do it. She didn’t have the gift, but she was good with horses. “We need strong horses. If I can’t break him…” She trailed off. She’d almost said, Then how will I face Butch Crowe?
Walker huffed out a breath. He detached the lariat from his saddle and passed his palms over it, muttering. The air tingled briefly. When he handed the rope to her, it felt heavy, as if it were chains instead of good hemp. “This’ll help some, assuming you actually rope him.”
She stuck her tongue out. “I lived on a cattle ranch. I learned to rope before I could walk.”
He wasn’t impressed. “If you do manage to rope him, I can erect a barrier to keep him contained. But if you can’t get him to calm down after an hour, I’m taking it down. We shouldn’t be wasting daylight on this.” He tossed her his leather gloves and spurred Lilith into position.
“Cymon, go with him. Keep the horses together, okay?” The big dog trotted after the bounty hunter. She tugged on Walker’s well-worn gloves. They were far too big but would keep her from getting rope burn.
The two men slowly walked their mounts on either side of the herd. The big black watched warily, ears twitching. Hettie prepared her lasso as she walked in a slow half crouch toward the stallion. A few of the animals looked up balefully but conti
nued munching on grass as she crept past. At first the big black didn’t pay her any attention, but the scrape of the lasso against the leather gloves made his ears prick toward her.
His nostrils flared, and his ears flattened. He let out a disdainful snort, turned, and trotted away from her.
Jezebel intercepted him, whinnying. The stallion paused, taken aback. The other horses looked up, startled by the intruder among them. Ling sprawled low against the mare’s body, almost becoming a part of the saddle he clung to, one hand extended as he muttered an incantation.
The big black let out an angry cry and rushed at Jezebel. She faltered and canted back. Ling fought to stay seated, but the stallion crashed into the horse’s side and sent him sprawling into the dirt. He quickly rolled away from the deadly stomp of head-sized hooves.
Hettie worked fast. She could see Walker and Cymon trying to keep the herd contained. If they stampeded, she’d be caught in the rush.
She prepared her lasso hurriedly as the stallion advanced on Jezebel, ears back, head lowered. She danced away when he reared, pawing at the air. Then he turned to glare at the man on the ground.
Ling was once again trying his spell, facing the horse head-on in an attempt to placate the furious beast. The big black stomped the ground and snorted.
Hettie snuck up behind the stallion, staying to the side of his flank just out of reach of a powerful hind kick. He was a lot bigger than she’d first thought, but what a magnificent creature. She twirled the lasso into a good-sized loop, sent up a prayer, and tossed the rope.
The lariat cinched around the beast’s head. It took him a moment to realize he was caught, and he let out such a cry of outrage that the herd panicked and bolted.
Hettie danced around to the stallion’s side, grabbed his mane, and climbed up, practically scaling the mountain of sleek muscle. The spelled lariat held him in place, keeping the creature from bucking immediately. Walker opened a bag of sand and rode in a wide circle around the mustang as he spoke an incantation. The moment the circle was complete, Hettie felt a tingle, and the air seemed closer.
The stallion must have felt it, too, because his flesh bunched beneath her. In the moment before he started bucking, Hettie thought to herself, This was a terrible idea.
She gripped the stallion’s mane and squeezed her knees as he burst into motion. He thrashed, head down, hindquarters leaping, jouncing her hard. He caromed into the edge of the invisible barrier, the impact giving the horse a sizzling sting that sent him shying in the opposite direction. He hit the barrier several times more, and when he realized he was trapped, he let out another outraged scream.
The rest of the herd reacted to his cry. They’d been scattered, panicked and directionless, but then, as if roused by their leader’s call, they gathered into an arrowlike stream and stampeded as one in a wide crescent that circled back toward the barrier.
Ling remounted and put himself and Jezebel between the magic pen and the column racing toward him. Jezebel stood her ground nervously as he tried to recast the calming spell, but when it became apparent the herd wasn’t going to slow, she pivoted and pulled them out of the path of the stampede.
The stallion kept bucking, trying to throw Hettie. She saw the first wild horses crash into the barrier, glancing off its surface like snowballs and continuing on. The wall of the magical pen shimmered, and the stallion gave another unearthly cry.
“Hettie!” Walker shouted. “I can’t hold the barrier—”
The magical containing wall collapsed like a window bursting inward, a shower of energy raining in sparks over her. Hettie clung hard as the horse took off. He sped to the front of the column effortlessly, throwing Hettie left and right in spine-jarring zigzags as he gathered speed. If she tried to jump off now, she’d break her neck or get trampled to death.
Cymon raced alongside the herd, barking and gleefully snapping at hooves. Walker and Lilith rode on the left with Ling and Jezebel lagging behind, but they were both outpaced by the brawny stallion. The big black dashed across the plains, the green-gold grasses blurring in Hettie’s vision. His gait was smooth even over the pitted terrain, as if he knew every rock, hummock, and divot in the earth. Hettie’s fear was momentarily replaced by wild exhilaration. If Pa were here, he’d be whooping—a horse like this, if broken, would have earned them a lot of money. She could only dream of a ride like this, and as much as she loved Jezebel, the old mare would never be able to match the stallion’s strength and speed.
Of course, she’d have to gain control of him first.
The air shook with hoofbeats and smelled of grass and musky wet horse hair. The stallion turned a sharp left, circling back, and the herd followed, bending the stream into a U shape.
“You need to slow him down!” Walker yelled as Lilith angled away from the onrush.
As if she didn’t know that already? Hettie grabbed hold of the lasso and yanked with all her might. The stallion gave a sharp cry, and he veered right. His gait changed, bouncing Hettie hard. He peeled away from the herd, trapping her companions within the throng of horses as he raced toward a rocky outcropping.
Hettie pulled at the rope as the horse climbed a hill and leaped recklessly into a narrow gully. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he knew exactly what he was doing. He skidded and reared, nearly throwing her off. He could’ve dashed her brains out against the bedrock rising from the soil. Her elbows and shoulder scraped the wall of the chasm several times—thankfully, the leather duster protected her from the worst injuries.
Hettie squeezed her thighs tight and dug in her heels as the horse thrashed, then took off once more. The gully opened into a rocky outcrop. There, the real fight began. The stallion bucked hard, his mane lashing her cheeks with each whiplike jolt. Every muscle in Hettie’s body ached as she clung for dear life, but she’d come this far—there was no way she was giving him up. She needed this horse. He bashed his side against a boulder, barely missing Hettie’s leg as she drew it up tight.
Angered by his reckless behavior, she yanked on the lasso hard. “Enough!” she shouted. “You stop this right now before you hurt yourself!”
The horse faltered, stepping nervously. He threw his head left and right, trying to escape the enchanted lasso. Steam rose from his massive body, and he snorted hotly.
“I need you,” she said staunchly. The horse shied, and she yanked on the rope again. “I need a ride, y’hear? I need to save my sister. She’s barely ten and all alone with some very bad people. I promised my parents I’d take good care of her.”
The stallion stilled, ears twitching. “You look like a good, strong horse. I promise, I’ll turn you loose after I get Abby home. But right now, we gotta head south and find her before the Crowe gang does something terrible to her. Will you help me?”
The stallion sniffed the air and neighed. His eyes had gone huge, the whites showing clearly. Something strange tinged the air here. Goose bumps rose over her neck, and Hettie glanced around.
He reared suddenly, dumping Hettie from her seat. Stars exploded in her eyes as the back of her head hit the ground. The big black jerked away but faltered when he met another rock face. As he wheeled again, the end of the rope whipped through the air and corded tightly around a tree branch. He yanked and thrashed, but it wouldn’t come loose.
Hettie sat up slowly. Then she saw the cougar. The big, mangy cat crouched above them, hackles up, teeth bared. It was a monster of a cat with an ugly, battle-scarred face. Hettie scrambled back, automatically reaching for a rifle that wasn’t there…
The weight of Devil’s Revolver appeared in her hand. Conjured, she realized, and primed and ready to fire. A dozen warnings popped into her head as she trained the muzzle on the creature.
Hettie backed away slowly. The cat’s eye stayed on the stallion. Behind her came another low growl, and she spun around. A second cougar stalked her, this one smaller and leaner but no less mean
-looking. The stallion shrieked and pulled at the tangled rope. The first cougar crouched, readying to pounce.
“Get outta here! Go away!” She picked up a rock and threw it at the beastly cougar, who only flinched, tail flicking like a question mark. The smaller cat circled to the far left out of her peripheral vision. It was almost as if they were cooperating.
“Get going! Shoo!” She waved Diablo at them, her chest tightening as fear threatened to overtake her. The cougars’ ears flattened, and they hissed, lips drawn back to display long, sharp teeth.
The first cougar leaped. With a cry, the horse spun and struck out with his massive hind legs, and the cat slammed against the rock with a sick snap and crumpled to the ground. The second cougar lunged for the horse. Hettie closed her grip around the gun and pulled the trigger.
A flash of green, and the smaller cat’s head exploded in a cloud of red mist. Its body hit the ground wetly and slid a few feet before coming to rest.
Despite her racing heart and blurry vision, Hettie knew she didn’t have a second to spare. She cut the rope free of the branch. The stallion watched her warily, heaving terrified, labored breaths. “We have to go. Bad men are coming.”
The big black slowly bent one knee and lowered his head. He waited expectantly. Hettie knew then this was no ordinary horse. She grabbed his mane and climbed on. “Back to my friends fast as you can.”
They took off like a shot, hoofbeats like thunder. She shouldn’t have been so surprised—this creature was obviously magicked, as smart if not smarter than Jezebel. But she didn’t have time to wonder where he’d come from or who had owned him previously.
Within a minute, they’d rejoined Ling and Walker, who stared wide-eyed as she artfully reined the wild beast in. Her thighs burned from the mad gallop. She was going to have some terrible saddle sores by the end of the day. “I fired Diablo. We have to get moving.”
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