“How are you feeling?” she said.
He gave her a weary but triumphant grin. “Rich,” he said, and patted his jacket pocket. “I won the bareback riding and it was a good purse. Got dumped by the bull, but what the hell. You need to borrow some money? I’ll give you a good interest rate.”
The other boys had heard the truck, too, and appeared as Caleb and Guthrie walked into sight from the path leading to the cabin. Pete eased himself out of the cab, pulled down his black hat and fished a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, handing it to Caleb when he drew near. “It’s the bill of sale,” he said. “And a receipt for the check.”
Caleb glanced at it, nodded, and put the paper in his own pocket. “Roon,” he said, “maybe Absa shouldn’t be near when we unload this horse. We don’t want her getting kicked. And you boys keep back. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” They all nodded. Caleb glanced at Pony. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.” She dropped her eyes and hoped he didn’t notice the flush of color that warmed her face. Pete walked behind the trailer and undid the latches, lowering the ramp to the ground. He climbed into the empty stall beside the bay mustang. Speaking quietly, he untied the halter rope. Still on the other side of the stall partition, he slowly backed the mustang out.
They watched the tortuous process—Twister was unable to put weight on his left foreleg. Finally the colt was standing three-legged on the packed dirt of the ranch yard. The little mustang had lost all of his wild spirit. Nothing remained but a shrunken ghost of his former self, a shell filled with pain and fear. His knee was grossly swollen, and below the knee the edema was so severe that no definition of a fetlock remained. The colt tried to keep the limb off the ground, but without being able to bend the knee, the hoof scraped in the dirt as he hobbled. Pony lowered her eyes, unable to watch. She heard Guthrie swear softly.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Caleb said to Guthrie.
“Yessir. But I’m not swearin’ about the knee.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know as I’ve ever seen a more classic face,” Guthrie said. “Look at that chest, those withers, the set of his tail. But how come he’s not gelded? I thought the BLM made that mandatory on wild horses when they were sold off or adopted out.”
“They do,” Pete said. “But the rodeo boss was dragging his heels. Figured he’d get around to it when they served him with legal papers, and in the meantime he’d take full advantage of that extra shot of energy and pure stallion meanness.”
“And the vet said the leg ain’t broke?”
“That’s what he told us last night,” Caleb said. “But it looks pretty bad to me. A lot worse than it did yesterday.”
Guthrie nodded. “Injuries often look worse the day after. Pete, have you tried hosing the leg down?”
Pete shook his head. “Hell, I tried to get someone to hose me down this morning, but no takers.”
“Roon, why don’t you go in the barn and get the hose hanging on the wall by door. We’ll connect it to the drain faucet of that stock tank in the corral and try some cold water on that knee. See if he stands still for it.”
Roon went to get the hose while Pete led the colt into the corral and up to the stock tank, but the moment Roon reappeared carrying the hose the mustang threw its head back with a snort of alarm. Roon immediately backed away.
“Okay,” Guthrie said. “It looks like that plan’s a no-go.”
“Might’ve been hit with a hose once,” Pete said. “Some wranglers will use sections of a hose to move horses through chutes, load them into stock trailers. Whatever.”
“Yeah,” Guthrie said, rubbing the back of his neck with a look of disgust. “Whatever.”
“Well, what can we try next?” Caleb asked.
They all stared at Twister. “What do you think, Roon?” Guthrie asked. “If we can’t bring water to the horse, maybe we can bring the horse to water. I never met a mustang yet that didn’t like to splash around in the water.”
“Yeah,” Pete said. “Good idea. I could trailer him back down to the creek.”
“There’s a deep sandy pool just below the cabin,” Guthrie said. He glanced at Roon. “Put a hackamore on old Sparky. You can ride him and lead the mustang into the swimming hole.”
Roon nodded and turned toward the barn with the hose. By the time Pete had reloaded the injured horse into the trailer, Roon was already riding Sparky down to the creek with Absa hobbling alongside. Pony couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Roon was in his element. It was as if he’d found a calling in tending to these animals. The little buffalo calf and the injured mustang had given his life a purpose, and he took that purpose very seriously.
Pony saw Caleb and Guthrie turn away from the corral and start down the path toward the cabin, followed by the boys. Caleb’s expression was solemn. She wanted to reassure him that he had done the right thing but she remained where she was, following him only with her eyes. Pete climbed back into his truck. “Roon’s doing okay,” he said. “And that little buffalo calf is looking real good.”
She nodded and turned down the path the others had taken.
“You look good, too, Pony. Happier than you have in a long time.” She stopped, and his next words caused a surge of dread. “We need to talk later, about some things.”
She nodded slowly. Then continued toward the creek.
She walked so quickly that she stumbled on a root and fell to her knees, skinning her hands and knocking the breath from her. She knelt on the ground and felt tears fill her eyes. When she stood, she heard Pete’s truck driving slowly. She hesitated for a moment before turning back toward the barn, walking at first, then breaking into a run.
“TORTILLAS,” Caleb mused aloud as he watched the mustang being unloaded for the second time from the trailer that was now parked beside the creek.
Guthrie eyed him from beneath his hat brim. “You got something up your sleeve, boss?”
“Ramalda’s fresh corn tortillas. There isn’t a horse on the face of this planet that could resist one. I’m going to beg a handful from her. Maybe Roon can start making friends with that wild demon while it’s standing in the creek soaking its leg.”
“Maybe,” Guthrie said. “Just don’t expect too much too quick.”
Caleb walked back up the path feeling more optimistic. Guthrie and Pete were both good horsemen. They weren’t giving up on Twister, and neither was Roon. Maybe a few of Ramalda’s corn tortillas would help.
He reached the barn and skidded to a stop when he spotted Pony leading the gray mustang, Dobey, out of the corral, all saddled and bridled and ready to ride.
“Hey?” he said, and she wheeled, startled, and stood looking like a child caught doing something naughty. “What’s up?” he said as he approached.
“I thought I’d better check on the contractors and see how the corrals are coming…and the pens, and the chute…and…”
He put his hand on Dobey’s neck to smooth the thick tangle of mane but his eyes never left hers. “Did Pete say something to upset you?” he asked.
Her dark eyes were stricken. She shook her head and her voice was a fierce denial. “No!”
“But you’re running away from him, aren’t you?” She didn’t answer, or couldn’t. He let his hand drop from Dobey’s neck and then raised it in a futile gesture. “I’m sorry. You can do anything you want to do, Pony, you know that. I just want you to be happy. Do you need some food to take with you? I can get Ramalda to fix you something.”
She shook her head again, and this time her voice was a whisper. “No.”
He nodded. “All right. Can we expect you back for the noon meal?” Long silence. He narrowed his eyes and nodded again. “You be back in time for supper, or I swear I’ll have half of Park County out looking for you. And Pony? If there’s anything at all that I can do to help…”
She turned away from him and stepped into the saddle with smooth grace, looked down at him briefly then reined Dobey around and
lifted him in to a lope, heading for the trail that led up toward the pass.
Heading for the high country, and the place where the buffalo roamed.
Caleb walked to the ranch house, but his heart followed the slender girl on the gray mustang. He asked Ramalda for the tortillas, and the old Mexican woman, guessing his intent, gave him her heated opinion in Spanish about feeding her good cooking to the likes of a useless mustang. Then she stopped abruptly and gave Caleb a searching stare. She reached out and grasped his arm.
“Tu cabeza y tu corazon son dos vocas que hablan como una!” She paused and then translated haltingly. “Your head and your heart are two voices that need to speak as one.”
He felt his shoulders slump and nodded dejectedly. “I’m in love with her, Ramalda,” he said. “I know it’s wrong. It’s wrong in so many ways, but it feels so right.”
Ramalda sighed. She gave him a big stack of fresh, soft corn tortillas. She squeezed his arm again, and he walked back to the creek.
“He’s liking it,” Guthrie said as Caleb reached the bank. “The cold water feels good to him.”
Pete looked around questioningly. “Where’s Pony? She started down here a while ago.”
“She went up to check on the contractors who are building the buffalo pens,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the bay mustang to avoid having to look at Pete.
Pete said nothing, but his silence was disconcerting. It was as if he knew why Pony hadn’t come.
“Ramalda’s expecting you up at the house,” Guthrie said. “I told her you’d been trampled by a horse and gored by a Brahman bull, and that you’re hungry and hurting.”
Pete struggled to his feet and nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “I haven’t had breakfast yet. Got anything stronger than aspirin up there?”
“Badger might. He’s due back any moment. He made an early-mornin’ grocery run for Ramalda and must’ve stopped at the Longhorn to visit with Charlie and Bernie. C’mon. I’ll walk up with you.” Guthrie glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, you boys watch that calf! She might try to swim out to Roon but that’s not a good idea with her cast.”
“Okay,” Martin said. He got up and ambled over to where Absa stood on the creek bank, looking as if she might jump in at any moment. He laced his arms around the little calf’s neck and sat down, effectively anchoring her.
“How long should they stay in the water?” Caleb asked as Pete and Guthrie started off.
“As long as the colt can stand it,” Guthrie said. “Then we’ll load him back in the trailer and haul him back up to the corral.”
Caleb nodded and sat down between Jimmy and Dan, balancing the stack of Ramalda’s soft tortillas on his knee. “We’ll give these to Roon when he brings the colt ashore. He can use them to make friends with Twister.”
“You think he’s going to make it?” Jimmy asked him.
They looked out into the middle of the shade dappled pool. The mustang stood quietly, all vestiges of aggression, pain and fear being drawn from him by the cool soothing creek water. His eyes were half closed in a state of semicomatose relaxation despite the nearness of Roon and Sparky.
“I don’t know,” Caleb said bluntly. “Hell, boys, I don’t know if any of us is going to make it. All I know is we have to try the best we can.”
PONY RODE as if pursued. She let Dobey have his head and he flattened out and ran, his hooves making the sound of sharp, rapid-fire thunder on the ground. The wind blew through her. It was July, and it was hot, yet up here in the high country, the wind was wonderfully cool.
As the trail steepened, they slowed to a walk. Pony paused to look down over the rugged country they had traveled in the past two hours. The land that spread out below them was wild and beautiful and empty. She and Dobey were alone.
Alone.
The word might have a sweet and welcome ring to it, except for the memory of Caleb McCutcheon and the way he had looked at her before she’d left. Pony dropped her head and drew a shaky breath. She felt Dobey’s flanks heaving and was overcome by a rush of remorse. She swung out of the saddle and loosened the girth. She rubbed the horse’s sweaty neck and led him slowly along the trail, wishing she had the courage to confront her past, because she knew that until she did, it would always block her path to happiness.
AFTER LUNCH, Pete Two Shirts departed the ranch, and Guthrie and Badger rounded up the boys to “work on the fence and earn our supper.” Caleb watched them pile into Guthrie’s truck, Absa riding in back amidst the kids. He declined the offer to join them.
“I’ll saddle Billy and catch up with you,” he said. The fence wasn’t more than a mile from the ranch buildings, and it had been a few days since he’d last ridden the gelding. The screen door banged behind him, and he heard the heavy shuffling steps of Ramalda as she came up behind him. She was holding an old flour sack, the top of it goosenecked and tied with a stout piece of twine. He raised an eyebrow when she thrust it toward him.
“Food,” she said.
“Ramalda, I’m only riding out to the first cross fence, and you just fed me.”
“Not for you, for her.”
Caleb lifted the sack out of Ramalda’s hand. It was heavy. “For Pony?”
“Ella tiene muchas problemas,” Ramalda said. “Her heart is troubled.”
Caleb was taken aback. “She said she wanted to be alone.”
Ramalda shook her head. “Sometimes it is not good to be alone.”
“But…” Caleb looked down at the sack. Confusion mired his thoughts. Ramalda firmly believed that her food would solve all the problems of the world. “How can I be sure that this is a bad time for her to be alone?”
“Because I says so!”
Caleb wasn’t going to argue. He nodded, then turned and descended the porch steps, pausing at the bottom to look back at her. She pointed toward the corrals and he obediently set off. Ramalda obviously expected him to ride up into the high country after Pony, find her in the midst of a five-thousand-acre wilderness, feed her and comfort her with his company. It was pointless to argue that his chances of finding her were poor, and that the last person she probably wanted to see right now was her meddling boss. He saddled Billy with a level of anxiety that the gelding picked up on, and by the time Caleb pulled himself into the saddle, the horse was bunched up beneath him like a bronc about to explode out of the chute. Caleb ran a calming hand down the animal’s neck as he headed Billy up the valley, but it did no good.
It may have been a hot afternoon, but a little heat never stopped a good horse from scorching the trail, and for the first mile it was all Caleb could do to stay in the saddle. “Easy, easy,” he soothed into Billy’s flattened ears, but the words seemed to have the opposite effect, and pulling on the reins proved equally futile.
By the time Billy had run the edge off, Caleb was exhausted. The gelding dropped into a brisk single-foot, tossing his head and snorting with exuberance, sweat lathering his powerful shoulders. “Damn you, Billy,” Caleb muttered as he fumbled with the sack of food, trying to tighten the lashing that held it to the saddle horn. “And damn that old Mexican woman! I know this isn’t right. Pony wants to be alone. Why else would she have ridden off by herself if she didn’t want to be alone.”
What had Pete done to her, to make her act this way? What awful thing had happened between them? She had denied that Pete had physically hurt her, but she could be covering up for him. Maybe she was afraid of him. Maybe he drank and got mean. Caleb shook his head, puzzled. He didn’t read Pete that way at all. No, it was something else, and it was none of Caleb’s business…except that he cared about her.
Maybe Pony would never feel toward him the way he felt about her, but that didn’t change the fact that she mattered a great deal to him, and that if anyone ever tried to hurt her, or lay a hand on her like that drunk did last night…
Was it only last night that they had been together, and life had been so good?
Caleb touched his heels to Billy’s flanks. “Okay, old boy. I’m r
ested. Let’s burn some more trail. I’d like to deliver Pony’s lunch before suppertime.”
SHE FOUND THE BUFFALO grazing in a high mountain park threaded by a clear swift shallow stream. The wind was in her face as Dobey came out of the woods at the edge of the vast, sun-swept meadow. She saw his ears twitch at some distant movement and followed the swing of his head. And there they were, maybe half a mile away. The cows, their spring calves and the big bull, too. They hadn’t spotted Dobey, and she held him still, transfixed by the sight of the buffalo. She swung out of the saddle and tied Dobey in the shade at the edge of the meadow, loosening the girth and giving his damp shoulder an appreciative rub.
It was hot, but the strong breeze and deep shade made it comfortable. She sat at the foot of a tree and rested against it, drawing a deep breath. The rigor of the ride had tired her but left her feeling better. She watched the buffalo, small at this distance, yet close enough that she could observe the antics of the calves as they played amongst themselves for short periods before returning to their mothers. One calf returned to its mother at a full gallop and butted her in the side, but the mother paid no attention whatsoever and continued her placid grazing.
She drew her knees up to her chest and felt a sharp pang of hunger. Breakfast had been served at dawn. Now it was midafternoon and she wondered what Ramalda had prepared for the noon meal. She wondered how the injured mustang was doing, wondered if Pete had left the ranch yet, and if Caleb would really organize a search party if she wasn’t back in time for supper. Probably. He had seemed quite determined.
Being up high like this made the ranch seem remote. Looking down on the herd of bison, grazing in such a setting, made her feel as if she had entered another time, and that when she rode back down the mountain she might find a village of tepees where the ranch house stood.
Buffalo Summer Page 15