He stops talking. His eyes seem to drop by accident and land on Kaya’s face. He quickly looks up and starts talking again. “So I need to let you know that if anyone from this group were to be found harboring information about this behavior, we would have to cancel our contract with Mr. Coulter and not allow kids like yourself to train horses anymore. That would be sad, wouldn’t it?”
Nobody even cracks a joke about how stupid this question is.
“Okay, well, I much appreciate Mr. Coulter making time for me.”
“Don’t mention it,” says Coulter.
The man stares out into the group as if he’s looking at all of us, but I see where his eyes pause, and then he tips his shoulders toward where he came and disappears.
After he’s off the hill somebody finally talks. Ethan. “Was that dude for real?”
Coulter rubs his beard. “Our tax dollars at work.”
Darius pipes up from the back. “He’s a pain in the ass is what he is.”
Coulter shoots Darius a look of warning and then readjusts his hat so we can see his wrinkled face. Then he uses his booming voice. “Nobody here is to chase, harass, or have anything to do with loose mustangs. Is that clear? I’ll take you out to see them, but if you so much as try to sneak up on them, I’ll take it out on your hide personally. How does that sound?”
“Does he think we’re doing that?” I ask.
Coulter settles back down. “Officer Hanks is doing his job, which is notifying everyone in the county that there are rules around here and consequences for breaking them. He’s been making the rounds since he got here. Not making many friends on either side of the fence, I’m afraid. Which is what brings me to my Sunday Supposition.”
Runny-nose Danny asks, “What’s a supposition?”
“A supposition, my small, allergic friend, is a wonder. Something you suppose, or have a hunch about. And we are all full of them.”
“Like, I have a hunch you don’t like Officer Hanks,” says Danny.
Everyone laughs, and Danny looks pleased with himself.
“I like Officer Hanks just fine. But that is part of the reason we suppose things, because we don’t know the whole story.”
Coulter folds his arms across his chest and looks out into our band. Then instead of booming it out like he usually does, he drops his voice so we all have to listen. “In one of God’s books he says, ‘I have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking as servants upon the earth.’”
“Kill me now,” sighs Banner loudly.
Coulter doesn’t look at Banner.
“What does that ancient supposition mean?” Coulter asks. “I believe it means that whatever you did today, and yesterday, you can’t tell what greatness you have inside you. And you don’t know what other people have inside them either.” He pauses here. I look around. For a microsecond everybody is listening, even Banner. “So in essence, every relationship is a supposition.”
He continues. “All you know is what horse a person is riding today. What’s important is that this supposition goes for us, too. Sometimes we’re sitting on a horse we don’t much care for, but we get the idea that’s all we can do. That’s who we are. But we choose the horse we ride every day.”
Banner sighs again. Devri and the drones start whispering.
“Hey, don’t,” I say.
“Looks like somebody got saved after all,” says Banner.
Coulter says, “That’s all I got, kiddos. You have the rest of the afternoon to lollygag. Don’t kill each other when you’re throwing the axes, and don’t get more than a mile from the ranch without a counselor. You should be able to hear the dinner bell if I ring it, and you come a-runnin’. Other than that, it’s like every day: no drugs, no drinking, and no shenanigans.” He looks directly at Izzy and Andrew when he says this.
Everybody gets up and goes off to play horseshoes or go fishing or whatever they want to do. I lie on my blanket and close my eyes. The wind starts to blow, because Wyoming, and it feels good just to let it blow right over the top of me. I don’t want to do anything. I need a minute to remember why I came here in the first place, besides that my mom basically forced me to. I think about whipping around on the horses at my grandfather’s ranch. Happy. Fearless. The wind flying through my hair. And today I feel one step closer. At least I have the wind in my hair part.
When everyone is gone, I look up into the wide-open blue sky. I wonder what horse I’m on, like Coulter said, or if I’ll ever even get on a horse. Or if I’ll stay stranded on the ground, too scared to do anything different but too stubborn and ashamed to go home. Pathetic. That’s the horse I’m on today.
But somehow the sadness I normally have doesn’t stay. I don’t know why. Maybe because there’s no ceiling to hold it. Instead I wonder, If I could get on the right horse, where would it take me?
Chapter Nine
THERE’S A SURPRISE for me when I go to do my first job for the morning. In the middle of the night, someone has dumped horse manure on the floor of one of the outhouses. At first I just stand there looking at it. I try to imagine how a horse could accidently walk in a door that was left open and unload all over the floor. Then I realize how deliriously tired I am. This is a message, or a joke, meant for me. Either way, I wish I could return to sender.
I walk down to the barn and get a pitchfork and a wheelbarrow. Darius walks by.
“What you doing?” he asks.
“Someone left a horse pile in the outhouse.”
Darius looks at me. Then he laughs. Then he stops laughing. “Someone doesn’t like you all that much, Cassidy.”
Trust Darius to make something unpleasant even more so. I guess it’s like Banner says: everybody has to be good at something.
* * *
When I go back to the tent I don’t say anything. My hands are washed. Nobody died. It’s just horse manure. But I’m not happy either. I know how this goes. When you let jerkwads dump their garbage on you they just keep doing it.
I change my clothes without talking to Banner. Alice is already up and gone. Banner seems cheerful as a fed squirrel. All my happy chocolate love is gone. I look at my pants with the burn mark on them. Coulter said we can choose our horse. I think I’ll choose a horse that kicks back today.
I mean, I don’t know for sure it was Banner. But then, her gloating grin isn’t exactly subtle. Why she hates me I don’t know. I mean, I know my stomach growls, I don’t smoke, and I buy my clothes at stores where you can also buy groceries. But hate, that usually requires something sexier than just thinking another kid is a teacher’s pet.
When I’m done I reach up and take my grandfather’s hat off the hook over my bed. Its black rim feels enormous around my head, but my Irish skin is already screaming from sunburn, so it will have to do. I slide it onto my head and teeter it back and forth with my hands. I’m buried to my eyebrows in smoky felt. Since I have no mirror I have no idea how it looks.
Banner watches me tucking my hair in. She spurts out a laugh. “Nice hat, Cassidy.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Nice hair.”
She puts her hairbrush down and looks at me. “Somebody poop in your oatmeal this morning, half-pint?”
“Not in my oatmeal,” I say.
* * *
I don’t see Alice at breakfast. And thanks to Darius’s big mouth, everyone has to make poop puns while I’m trying to eat. I go looking for Alice with no luck. In fact, I don’t find her until I start my second job for the day. A group of us are supposed to help bring the mustangs in from the pasture. Alice is waiting by the fence post.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?” I don’t want to let on how much I’m dreading this. Banner’s in our group as well.
“Hey,” Alice says. She looks at my hat but doesn’t say anything. She’s wearing a pink San Francisco Giants baseball cap tipped to one side of her head. “I’m sorry about
the outhouse.”
“Nah. What have you been doing this morning?”
Her baseball cap droops forward.
“What’s wrong?” I say.
She leans on the post. Her hand shakes.
I say, “You should go back to the tent.”
“Coulter told me to stay out here.”
“Did you tell him you’re sick?” I say.
Alice stares without focusing. “He talks too loud.”
Just for a second, the way Alice looks off into space reminds me of my sister Oakley. She faints if she cries too hard. For real. Like one of those goats you see on YouTube. I hope Alice doesn’t faint. The turtle thing is enough of a health hazard up here.
I say, “Don’t laugh, but I’m worried I’m going to freak when I see those mustangs.”
Alice’s face cracks into a smile.
“I told you not to laugh.”
“What do you want me to do?” she says.
“I could follow you.” I say. This works with Oakley every time. She knows I’m doing it and it still works. But then, Oakley isn’t Alice, and I don’t really know how bad things are for Alice. “But no pressure.” Alice looks out from underneath her pink brim. She seems to be adding and dividing something.
Banner marches up with her ponytail swinging. She ignores me and stands next to Alice. “What’s up with you, turtle?”
Alice’s hat dips down.
“Don’t call her that,” I say.
Banner stops swinging her ponytail. “Who made you cruise director, poop maid?”
Justin rides up on his buckskin. Walking behind him are two guys I recognize from Ethan and Charlie’s tent, Granger and Andrew. Andrew, a husky kid with a baby face, seems lost without Izzy glued to his side. Granger is pale and skinny, with a near-beard that looks more like mold than facial hair.
Justin barks down at us. “The old man wants you to see how the herd works. We’re going to walk up and watch them, and then you’ll get up on the sides of the trail and we’ll run down.”
“With the horses?” I say.
“I said you walk up on the sides of the trail. You stand up there on the turns and make pressure that keeps them all together, then you fall in behind them and drive them down. I can do it myself, but if you all do your job it makes my job a little easier. Can you all do that?”
Banner narrows her puma eyes. “We’re not retarded. Well, most of us aren’t.”
It’s astounding just how much I don’t like Banner at this moment.
Justin turns to the boys. “You two help me with the gate when we get up there. Let’s move.”
The guys stand there with their hands in their armpits while Justin circles back behind us. Granger leans over to me and Alice. “Don’t worry, ladies, we got you covered.” He raises his narrow eyebrows at me and Alice.
Alice and I just look at each other and try to hold on to our laugh-to-death reflex.
Alice leans over to me. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Alice may not be strong, but she’s fast. We book it up the trail. The boys and Banner tag behind, with Justin at the back on the buckskin. I like hiking with Alice, especially when it gets me away from Banner. Every once in a while, Alice will turn and smile at me to make sure I’m keeping up. She doesn’t look nervous at all now. The girl’s got purpose.
When we get farther ahead of everyone else, Alice and I walk closer together. I don’t know what’s going on with Alice, but I wish I knew how to be a better friend. To distract us both, I tell Alice about Oakley fainting. “It’s like her brain just turns off.”
“Maybe she needs it to turn off,” says Alice.
I take off my grandpa’s hat and fan my face. It’s getting warm. “Sometimes I wish I could turn things off.”
“No you don’t,” says Alice.
* * *
When we get to the meadow and I see all those manes and tails and hooves swirling around, my back starts to sweat. I’m not even close to them. You’d think they were dragons or something. But my head can’t talk my body into making sense. In fact, the more I worry about worrying, the more cumulative worry happens.
“This way,” says Alice.
“Right behind you,” I say.
When Banner gets up the hill she walks up to Alice. “You walk pretty fast for a turtle.”
Alice looks off in the other direction.
“Her name is Alice.” I can feel the heat in my face.
Justin rides past us. We’re just one more herd to him. “Let’s make this quick.” He jumps down from his horse and walks to the fence. The horses back away. They’re definitely still wild. They want nothing to do with people, even Justin. He pulls a handful of something out of his pocket and shakes it in his hand, then throws it to the ground. “Horses get two things. Fear and connection. Fear comes naturally. Our job is to make the connection.”
“What are those tattoos on their necks?” asks Alice, touching her own.
Each horse has a set of white angular symbols stamped just below their manes.
Justin says, “Freezemarks. If you know how to read them, they tell the year and place the horse was born and a registration number.”
“Does it hurt them?” I ask.
Justin spits on the ground. “The BLM says it doesn’t. But that doesn’t make it true.”
The stout gray horse lifts his massive head and steps to the front of the herd. His ears and tail point up. He swings his imprinted neck side to side. And then he whinnies. Low to high, just like the one I hear at night. But how? We must be over a mile from my tent here.
Justin says, “Every band has a leader. In this band, everybody stays out of the gray’s way. We don’t have a boss mare like a real herd would, because we only have one horse that isn’t a yearling.” The black mare I saw the other day stands blowing air out of her nose but doesn’t come closer to the food littered on the ground. No one crosses in front of the gray. “In an actual herd, mares are boss. Stallions are muscle. But that’s enough horse psychology for one day.”
“So the gray’s a stallion?” I ask.
“No.” Justin sticks a blade of wheat grass in his teeth and looks at the angry horse. “He just thinks he is. Sometimes that happens with geldings when they cut them too late. They call it proud cut. It just means he doesn’t know the fix is in.”
“What does that mean? The fix is in?”
Granger and Andrew laugh.
Alice says, “It means he’s been castrated, but he still tries to mate mares.”
Justin walks to the generator that powers the electric fence. He nods to Andrew. “When I give you the signal, open the gate. You others get clear on the edges of the trail. Stay high. I don’t want anyone going mental on me today.”
“Got that, Cassidy?” says Banner.
I’m still thinking about the gray. No wonder he’s mad all the time. I mean, he’s scary, but in an epic way.
Alice taps my arm. “This way.”
“Does he have a name?” I ask.
Justin scowls. “They aren’t pets. Would it be possible for us to start now?”
“If he were my horse, I’d call him Goliath.”
“He’s not your horse,” Justin says. “Get going.”
He hits the switch and gives the sign. Andrew reaches for the wire gate. The horses back away, raising dust. As soon as the gate drops they pour onto the plateau. Horses’ hooves beat the ground. My stomach flip-flops. I stand back as far as I can and try to stay calm.
And just for an instant, when I stop being scared, they’re beautiful. Their heads rise and their long, tangled manes fly along their necks. They move in and out of one another, lifting their legs and heads but not touching each other. There’s a liquid energy in their dancing that’s terrifying but, dang, it’s sort of beautiful, too.
“Cassidy.” The blare of my name startles me. I see Justin waving his hat. His face is twisted in frustration. “Cassidy. Get moving.”
I jog to catch Alice. She’s running parallel to the trail above the horses. The other kids are far ahead. Alice moves full tilt along the sandy incline, shadowing the animals five or six feet closer in than I am. The pounding of the horses’ feet fills the draw as we start to descend the hill. Dust swirls everywhere. Alice turns to me, still running full speed.
It’s when she’s looking back for me that she trips. One minute she’s light and fast. The next she seems to catch on something and torque sideways, so instead of just sprawling to the ground, she launches like a slingshot toward the oncoming stream of horses. Her pink hat sails off her head onto the trail.
Justin’s behind us, on the other side of the horses, and everyone else is below us, already farther down the draw.
I shout at Alice. “Hey. Hey! You have to get up.”
The horses are roaring.
I take off at full speed. “Get up! Get up!”
Alice is moving around in the dust but not fast. The horses are mostly running inside the main trail, but if they veer off to the perimeter, Alice is in trouble. I pull off my grandfather’s hat. I wave it as big as I can. I yell, “Hee-yaw, hee-yaw,” like I’ve heard Coulter do. I put it way above my head and go straight at them, yelling. I don’t even look at Alice because after a few strides she’s behind me.
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