The Long Trail Home (Quartz Creek Ranch)

by Amber J. Keyser

  “Look at you,” said Fletch, pushing back his cowboy hat. “Thanks for feeding everyone.”

  “Sure! I’m excited to get going.”

  He scratched Sawbones between the ears. “Me too. I love a good, long ride. How ’bout we give the horses that we’re taking an extra flake of alfalfa, and then go grab breakfast for us?”

  Rivka did as he asked and snuck a few pumpkin treats to Rowdy and Chickpea. Little Peanut was bounding around the double-size stall, poking his mother with his nose while she tried to eat. If a horse could look exasperated, Chickpea sure did.

  Back at the house, Madison and Álvaro, who had been staying at the ranch, were already at the table digging into a stack of pancakes.

  “Do you seriously think you can eat all of that?” Cat asked Madison.

  Madison gave her belly an exaggerated rub. “I’m carbo-loading for our trip.”

  “Me too,” said Sam, slathering butter on his pancakes.

  Ma Etty was still at the griddle. “How many more do I need to make?”

  “Lots,” said Paul, slipping off his boots by the front door. “I’m not sure I can manage an entire week without your banana pancakes.”

  She chuckled and poured batter in neat circles on the sizzling pan. “I sure wish I was coming with all of you.”

  Rivka filled her plate and sat next to Madison.

  “All ready for our ride?” the trainer asked.

  Rivka stole a glance at Álvaro, remembering the trouble in town, and the tightness in her stomach returned. “More than you know,” she said.

  “It’ll be awesome,” Madison agreed. “I love getting into the backcountry.”

  Rivka looked down at her plate. “Getting away will be good.”

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  They set off in a long line, with Fletch in the lead. Cat insisted on being next with Bucky. “I’m the oldest,” she announced, as if that were a good justification.

  Rivka wondered if it had more to do with a certain good-looking cowboy, but she was wise enough not to mention it as she rode behind Cat. She and Rowdy were next, followed by Sam, Lauren, and Madison, who led one of the pack horses. Paul brought up the rear with the other two.

  The horses seemed as eager as the kids.

  Rowdy was happy to point his nose toward the mountains and follow along. Madison had explained how it was easier to ride horses like this. They followed each other instead of needing constant guidance from their riders. Not that the riders were allowed to slack off or anything. Madison had been super serious about that.

  Rivka made sure her posture was correct and that she was keeping the right tension on the reins, and then she let herself slide into the rhythm of Rowdy’s walk. For a long while, the trail followed the creek, and they were shaded by the tall cottonwoods. The horses’ hooves beat out a steady rhythm on the dirt trail, and the stream burbled and sang. The sun climbed overhead, and Rivka swayed sleepily in the rising heat.

  Occasionally, Fletch pointed out a landmark—Fool’s Butte off to their right, a mountain pass used by the pioneers to the left, and the spot where Mr. Bridle had once caught two men trying to steal some of their cattle. Other than that, they rode mostly in silence. Sam had borrowed a pair of binoculars and a bird identification guidebook from Mr. Bridle, which he had tucked in the front pocket of his flannel shirt. “I think that’s a hairy woodpecker. Or maybe it’s a downy one,” he said, fumbling his reins while he tried to look in the guidebook.

  “Downy,” said Madison. “They’re smaller.”

  Sam ignored her and kept flipping pages.

  “You can’t just put your horse on autopilot, Sam,” she said, when his horse stopped altogether and caused a pileup.

  Rivka looked back to see what was going on, and Rowdy took that opportunity to sidestep toward a particularly tasty clump of grass. “Don’t let him do that,” Madison called, and Rivka pulled on the reins and nudged Rowdy back into a walk.

  “None of that,” Rivka said to the pony, and he huffed at her. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  By midday, Rivka’s stomach was rumbling, and she was sore from the saddle. She hoped they would be stopping soon. The trail, which rose steadily away from the creek, had narrowed, and the horses plodded along single file. The smell of pine tickled her nose, and she had to pay attention so she didn’t get whacked in the face by low-hanging branches.

  Up ahead, Fletch’s horse navigated a rocky section of trail and then disappeared over a ridge of rock. Rivka forgot her hunger. It was as if he had flown off the edge of the world. A moment later, Cat did the same, and then it was Rowdy carrying her out of the trees and straight into the sky.

  Blue as far as a Rivka could see—it felt like flying.

  The trail had taken them up and over the shoulder of the mountain. On this side, the land sloped down toward a much larger river that twisted and turned far below. Rivka could make out the frothy sections of churning whitewater, but it was too far away to hear the rushing current.

  The trees were sparser here. The broad meadow stretching before her was splatter-painted with orange and purple and red wildflowers. Little brown birds—chipping sparrows, according to Sam—hopped and zoomed above the waving grass. The breeze dried the sweat from her face.

  “Lunchtime,” Fletch announced, dismounting.

  Madison did the same, groaning. “I thought you’d never stop!”

  The trainers held the horses for Rivka and the other kids so they could clamber down and stretch their stiff legs. The rest of them looked as tired as Rivka felt.

  “My butt hurts,” said Cat.

  “You’ve got to shake it out,” said Paul, doing a wacky, booty-shaking jitterbug.

  Everyone burst out laughing.

  “Dance party,” said Madison, joining in but with a tad more grace.

  Still two-stepping, she helped Paul tie the pack horses in the shade where they could nibble on flowers.

  “Are we camping here?” Sam asked.

  Fletch shook his head. “We’ll stay by the river,” he said, pointing to the silver squiggle below them.

  Sam squinted against the bright sun. “That looks like miles away.”

  The cowboy shrugged. “Eat now. Complain later.”

  Rivka unbuckled one of her saddlebags, retrieved her water bottle, and made sure that Rowdy was near plenty of tasty-looking grass before flopping down next to Cat.

  Fletch retrieved the bag that held lunch for their first day and began handing out sandwiches, only a little squashed from a morning in saddlebags. Ravenous, they devoured their lunches and washed the dust out of their throats with long swigs of well water. Rivka swirled the contents of her one-liter bottle. It was only about a quarter full. They’d need to refill from the river soon. She peered into the river valley below. Sam was right. It seemed a long way off.

  “Can I see your binoculars?” she asked Sam as he pored over his bird guidebook. He unlooped them from his neck and passed them to her with a grunt. She adjusted the eye cups to fit her face and then fingered the focus knob until her view of the river below was clear. In the smooth parts, it was a deep blackish green. The rapids were white and frothy, with a hint of pale green.

  Rivka moved her head slowly to the left so she could scan the river upstream. “Are there any swimming holes?”

  Madison, who was sitting next to her, said, “I don’t know. I haven’t been down this way before, but it would be awesome to rinse off this trail dust.” She tugged on her long ponytail. “I think I’ve got dirt between my teeth.”

  Through the binoculars, Rivka could make out a thin trail threading alongside the rushing water. In a section where the river widened she could see what looked like a pebbly beach on the closer shore. At the very least they could wade. She wiggled her sweaty toes inside her cowboy boots. That would be awesome.

  She scanned a little farther upstream to a tumble of boulders and flood-swept logs and br
anches. It looked like there would be lots of cool places to explore. On the opposite side of the river, she caught sight of a pile of wood that seemed strangely regular. She examined it more closely. The logs were too evenly shaped to be natural. “Hey,” she said, tapping Paul on his shoulder. “What’s that?”

  The cowboy took the binoculars. It took a minute for Rivka to explain where to look, but once he’d found the landmarks she indicated, Paul said, “It looks like an old homestead. Lots of places like that scattered in these mountains. Mr. Bridle knows a ton about them. He’s the history buff around here.”

  He handed the binoculars back, and Rivka looked at the ruined cabin again. She thought of her city—her loud, rushing, brightly colored city. There were people everywhere. The pianist who lived upstairs. The woman next door with an African gray parrot named Chuck. The sidewalks that were never empty. The restaurants that bustled all night. No matter how late it was, if she woke in the night she could hear horns and sirens and the never-ending sounds of traffic.

  They’d ridden for over three hours to get this far and the homestead was still a long way away. She couldn’t imagine living way out here in the middle of nowhere.

  “Can I have those back?” Sam asked.

  Rivka lowered the binoculars. He was holding out one hand, eyes glued on a brown bird with a fat bill perched at the top of a nearby tree. She handed them over and began to pack up her lunch things. After observing and consulting his book, Sam declared it was a female blue grosbeak.

  Lauren argued for some kind of sparrow and swiped the guidebook out of his hands.

  The two of them argued about it until the brown bird was joined by a bright blue bird with an equally large bill.

  “Ha!” Sam crowed. “I told you so. Blue grosbeak. The male proves it.”

  Lauren stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine. You win.”

  The descent into the valley was exhilarating. The grass rippled in the wind like waves, and even the horses seemed to perk up as the river rose to meet them. This would be Rivka’s first night camping out.

  She couldn’t wait!

  Chapter Eighteen

  They set up camp near the river in a grove of trees with silvery-greenish bark and heart-shaped leaves that rustled like tissue paper in the breeze. Paul called them aspens. In an open patch of grass along the shore, there was already a fire pit made of river rocks. Sam, Fletch, and Madison took a handsaw and went off to find some dry, dead limbs for firewood. Paul put the girls to work unpacking the panniers and setting up camp.

  “It’s going to be a gorgeous night,” he crowed, stretching his arms wide to take in the cloudless sky. “Let’s sleep under the stars.”

  “Can we do that?” asked Rivka. “Just sleep out in the big wild everything?”

  “Of course,” Paul laughed.

  “What about ants,” said Lauren, “and mosquitos?”

  “Snakes?” added Cat. “Wolves?”

  The three girls circled the camp, looking up at trees and around rocks.

  Paul piled the cook kit and bags of food near the fire pit. “Have any of you been camping before?”

  Rivka shook her head. “I went to summer camp, but there were cabins.”

  “My grandparents took me in their RV,” Cat offered.

  Lauren drooped against a nearby rock. “This is the first time I’ve even been away from home.”

  “I’ll give you the lowdown,” he said, lining the girls up so they could pass the gear from person to person as he unloaded more panniers. “Too late in the season for mosquitos. Ants are no problem as long as you don’t sleep on an ant hill.”

  “Duh,” said Cat.

  Paul tipped his hat to her. “Well, Ms. Smarty Pants, yours truly here once put his bedroll smack on a regular mountain of red ants. It was dark. That’s my excuse, but in the morning when those little suckers woke up . . . Yee-howdy! That was terrible.”

  “Okay. Got it,” said Cat, trying not to laugh. “No ant hills.”

  “As for snakes,” Paul continued to add to their list of freaky nature stuff. “Gopher snakes, bull snakes . . . you might see some of them, but they’re not venomous. Rattlers are mainly in the rocks. And they announce their presence like gentlemen.”

  “Gentlemen?” Rivka looked dubious.

  “What about the wolves?” asked Lauren in a tiny voice.

  Paul’s face fell. “The last Colorado wolves were shot out of these mountains in the thirties. Sad story.”

  While they talked, they unloaded the water filter, tarp, rope, camp stove, fuel bottles, sleeping pads, tents, and everything else. By the time their gear was stacked in neat piles near the fire pit, Madison, Sam, and Fletch were back with armloads of wood. Rivka untacked Rowdy and gave him a good brush-down. He was sweaty where the saddle had been and apparently itchy, since as soon as he drank his fill from the river, he found a tree to scratch against, twisting his body this way and that to get all the spots.

  Fletch helped Paul rig what they called a high line so that the horses could be tethered safely and still have plenty of access to grass. Rowdy seemed perfectly content with this solution. When Rivka saw him with a bouquet of wildflowers hanging out of his mouth, she made sure that Madison took a picture with the camera Ma Etty had sent along.

  “Last thing to do,” said Paul, “is figure out the sleeping arrangements. I’m going to put a ground cloth over there and put my sleeping bag on it and call it good. If any of you are still worried about ants and ghost wolves and the like . . .” He gave the girls a pointed look. “Then you should put up a tent.” Lauren insisted on putting up a tent and Sam helped her, but everyone else decided to sleep out.

  “Now commences my favorite part of camping,” Madison announced when all the chores were done.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” said Fletch, shaking his head.

  “The napping part!” She unfurled a nylon backpacking hammock and hung it between two trees. “Wake me up when dinner’s ready,” she called, settling in with a sigh.

  “I thought you were the cook tonight,” he teased.

  She plugged him with finger guns. “You’re it.”

  To the kids he said, “Free time. Until we cook dinner for the queen. If you are going to explore around camp, you need to take a partner. Ma Etty insists on the buddy system out here.”

  The reminder made Cat flinch, but she didn’t argue.

  Fletch settled himself against a rock in the sun to read. Lauren and Sam took off downstream to go bird-watching. Paul pulled out a plastic cylinder about the length of Rivka’s arm, unscrewed the top, and pulled out a fishing rod in four parts. As she and Cat watched, he assembled the rod and threaded the line through a series of small metal loops down its length.

  “Have either of you done any fly fishing?” he asked, holding the end of the line in one corner of his mouth.

  “Nope,” said Rivka. “Nobody in my family fishes.”

  Cat shook her head. “I’ve gone out spin casting a few times, but never fly fishing. Can I try?”

  “Absolutely.” Paul put on a fishing vest and pulled a small box out of one pocket. Inside were rows of imitation flies tied on hooks. “How about this one?” he asked, pointing to a tiny brown fly with flecks of gold in its fluffy middle.

  Cat shrugged. “Looks buggy to me.”

  Paul tied on the fly and and gestured for them to follow him upstream. About a half mile from camp, Paul stopped. “This is good water. See the way there’s a patch of calm behind those big submerged rocks? There’s probably a big, fat trout down there hanging out and eating caddis.”

  “What’s a caddis?” Rivka asked.

  Paul’s face lit up. “Check this out.” He propped the fly rod against a tree, knelt at the river’s edge, and reached into the cold water. He picked a smooth, palm-sized rock and flipped it over. Rivka and Cat leaned in close to see what he was pointing at. They looked like inch-long sticks . . . until they started moving!

  “Whaaaat?” Cat said, drawing out the quest
ion.

  The sticks were really small tubes. Inside each one was some kind of insect that poked its head and legs out of the opening and crawled over the wet surface of the rock, dragging its little tube house.

  “Caddis fly larvae,” Paul explained, picking one up. “They make these casings out of rock and sand. Pretty awesome.”

  “Pretty weird,” said Rivka. Bugs weren’t her most favorite thing in the world.

  Cat held out her hand, and Paul dropped the caddis into her palm. “It tickles,” she said, watching it crawl around.

  “There’s this artist who makes jewelry out of the cases,” said Paul.

  Rivka quirked an eyebrow at him. “Who wears bug jewelry?”

  “She raises them in an aquarium. Instead of regular old rock or sand, she gives them tiny chunks of semi-precious stones like amethyst or turquoise.”

  “And they make the cases fancy?”

  “You got it.”

  “Whoa,” said Cat. “I’d like to see those.”

  Paul grinned at her. “Next time we go to town I can show you the gallery that sells her jewelry.”

  “That’d be cool.”

  Rivka made a face. “I’m not sure I want to wear bug parts as earrings.”

  “Suit yourself,” Paul said with a chuckle. “Okay, gals, let’s set you up to catch us some dinner.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cat turned out to be a natural with a fly rod. But every time Rivka tried to loop the line overhead and launch the fly into parts of the river that Paul said looked “trouty,” all she managed to do was catch the hook in a tree or tie the line in a knot. Finally, she gave up and decided to explore upstream.

  “Don’t go too far,” Paul called. “Stay in earshot.”

  She gave him the thumbs-up and began to poke slowly along the shore. Her shuffling footsteps scared a frog out of the long grass. It went soaring into the river with a kerplop, just like that grade-school song about the banks of the Hanky-Pank. She hummed to herself as she walked. Around the next bend, the river widened. She could see the pebbled bottom all the way across, and on the other side was the ruin she’d seen from the ridgetop.