The Renegade

by Terri Farley

  “I’m trying out fried chicken recipes for the county fair cook-off,” she told Sam. She gestured toward three plates that had probably been piled higher a few minutes before. “I’ve got their votes. Now, it’s our turn.”

  Sam obeyed Gram’s taste test rules, eating bites of mashed potatoes and green beans in between chicken sampling, but her full stomach couldn’t chase away thoughts of Slocum.

  “Time to vote,” Gram said as Dad lay down his fork. “Which is best? The Buttermilk Crunch recipe …” Gram pointed to an empty pink plate. “Cha Cha Chicken.” She indicated a dish holding a lonely redflecked chicken wing. “Or Honey Fried?”

  “Honey Fried.” Dad placed his napkin on the table as if offering surrender.

  Gram turned to Sam.

  “They were all really good,” she said. “But if I have to pick just one, it’s the Honey Fried for me, too.”

  Gram gave them a lopsided smile. “But that’s my usual recipe. It’s the one I always cook.”

  “Lucky us,” Dad said. He leaned over and patted Gram’s hand.

  “How did Pepper, Dallas, and Ross vote?” Sam asked.

  “Pepper gave half his vote to the Cha Cha Chicken, but otherwise, same as you,” Gram said.

  Before they left the table, Sam blurted her question. “How much trouble are we in from this drought?”

  Dad’s smile melted. “It hasn’t helped, that’s for sure.”

  “Really, Dad. Tell me how bad things are.”

  Dad glanced at Gram, then shrugged. “We’ve been this close to the edge many times. A lot depends on winter rainfall. We need it now, before all the topsoil blows away.”

  Sam thought of the curtains of dust she and Jen had ridden through today. “But we aren’t farmers. Why is the soil important?”

  “Graze for the cattle next spring, and then our hay crop to see us through next winter,” Dad explained.

  “Then, if rain comes all at once, like it does sometimes, even thirsty ground can’t absorb it,” Gram said. She looked toward the window. “We get flooding and it washes away what topsoil the wind left behind.”

  “It’s kind of hard to know what to hope for,” Sam said.

  “Honey, you just leave the worrying to us,” Dad said.

  Gram nodded, but added, “I think it’s a real sign of maturity that you’re considering the future of your home, Samantha. It shows you’re really growing up.”

  Gram placed a reddened and wrinkled hand on Dad’s brown one. Together, those hands had done a hundred years of work. That struck Sam harder than Gram’s compliment.

  “What brought this on?” Dad asked.

  Sam didn’t rush to tell the truth. Once she did, she was committed to working for Rachel’s money. And didn’t that sound selfish?

  “Rachel asked me to teach her to ride,” she admitted.

  “I thought she already knew how,” Gram said.

  Dad frowned, probably trying to see how this fit with Sam’s worries.

  “She said she’d pay me,” Sam explained.

  “That’s fine, if you want to,” Dad said.

  “There’ll be field trips coming up, and clothes you want to buy,” Gram said. “If you earn money, it’s yours.”

  Gram and Dad gave her smiles that said the small amount Sam earned wouldn’t really help the ranch. Still, she didn’t know how to translate what Rachel had said about earning Linc Slocum’s good opinion.

  “Has Mr. Slocum ever tried to buy River Bend?” Sam asked.

  Dad slid his chair back from the table with a screech. Even though Sam knew he wasn’t mad at her, he looked scary.

  “I’d carry this land bucket by bucket and dump it in the Pacific Ocean before I let him have it.” Dad started from the kitchen, then turned back, voice even lower. “You can bet on that.”

  From the living room, Dad’s chair creaked and the television came on louder than usual.

  “We’re good neighbors to the Slocums,” Gram said, “because that’s the way things should be. But when he came in here a couple of years ago, flashing his money around, some of us decided to stand firm.

  “It was just after your accident, and Linc had the idea we’d want to sell and move out. Even made us feel ashamed for sending you off all alone to San Francisco.” Gram looked up, her expression guilty.

  “I had Aunt Sue,” Sam protested.

  “Of course you did,” Gram said. “In any case, Linc went to the Potters, the Dennis family, the Greens, and the Kenworthys. Only the Potters and Kenworthys sold out, but--” Gram stood and picked up two platters. “This could be a hard year.”

  After the dinner dishes were washed and dried, Sam trudged upstairs to do homework.

  Television didn’t tempt her tonight. Not only did she have algebra homework, she was trying to figure out the history project Mrs. Ely had assigned.

  But Sam’s mind wandered. She placed the silky gold fringe on the desk beside her. Something more than this had frightened the horses. Glancing toward her bedroom door to make sure no one could see her, Sam raised the fringe to her nose and sniffed it herself. It might, very faintly, smell like incense.

  She put it back down. Who had a shirt with gold fringe?

  Slocum was the only neighbor who wore such showy gear for routine rides. Everyone else saved such finery for rodeo time.

  The Darton rodeo had ended months ago, in June, but who knew how long the fringe had been out on War Drum Flats?

  Sam forced herself to look at her algebra book. She positioned her paper beside it and copied a problem, neatly.

  3x + 11x =

  Sam looked away from the text and gave the fringe a poke with her pencil eraser.

  This was so frustrating. She knew the fringe was a clue to something, but it remained a mysterious x to her.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Sam was rubbing her hands together, wishing she’d worn her gloves to the bus stop, when Jen gave her a shove that spun her toward the mountains.

  “Sam! Oh my gosh! Look!”

  For an instant, all Sam saw was Jen’s breath, hanging before her like smoke in the cold morning air. Then she saw what had startled her friend.

  Hooves crunching dry earth, a band of mustangs swirled in an uneasy bunch. The lead mare nipped with flattened ears, keeping the horses on the wild side of the highway. Only the Phantom crossed.

  The Phantom. What was he doing down here by the highway? Sam watched with amazement as he approached.

  As if the asphalt might splinter beneath his hooves, the stallion took a step, stopped, and squared up. Faint tremors ran over him like water, but his ears pricked forward and his eyes were set on Sam.

  She risked a quick glance away from the stallion, at Jen. Her friend watched her with awe and a little suspicion.

  “He’s coming to you,” Jen said.

  Sam opened her mouth, then closed it.

  There was no use denying the statement. Jen knew horses. She knew the silver stallion wasn’t wandering across the highway by chance.

  Suddenly, the girls heard the labored downshifting of the school bus. It rumbled their way, with one more hill to crest, and then a dip. When it came up the other side, the bus would be just yards from their stop.

  Fear lodged in Sam’s throat. She couldn’t speak and she struggled to take a breath.

  The Phantom didn’t notice. If he heard the diesel engine, he was too focused on Sam to pay attention.

  A collision between tons of metal and delicate equine flesh flashed in Sam’s imagination. She saw him rearing, falling … She had to stop him.

  “Get back!” Sam shouted so loudly Jen flinched. “Hyah!” She waved her hands and bolted onto the pavement. “Get out of here!”

  The stallion only cocked his head and considered her craziness. His white mane cascaded like a waterfall as he frolicked a step closer.

  Jen joined her, yelling and jumping into the air.

  They looked back and forth, searching for the bus, staring at the confuse
d horse.

  The bus had dropped into the dip. Only an edge of yellow roof moved closer. In a minute, it would be upon them. Why hadn’t the stallion spooked? What if the bus struck him?

  Something like electricity rushed through Sam’s bones and muscles. She shoved Jen back toward the bus stop and darted into the road. The engine’s huff clogged her ears. As soon as the bus crested, the driver would see her standing in his path.

  The horn blared, vibrating her insides, just as the stallion’s hot shoulder brushed hers. Sam turned to see the Phantom’s eyes edged with white, mouth agape.

  Clumsy with fear, he almost fell as the bus braked. Scraping hooves and a grunt of effort proved the stallion was fighting to keep all four legs beneath him.

  He spun, still skittering for balance, and ran for his herd.

  Sam didn’t watch the mustangs go. The bus driver stood in front of her, yelling.

  “What were you thinking?” His hands flew skyward in frustration. “Of all the--It was a horse. Just a horse. I could have killed you.”

  For a second, the driver’s hands covered his face. She’d really scared him, Sam thought, but when he looked up, his fear had been replaced by fury.

  “I’m writing you up, Samantha. I’m giving you a citation that will have you in trouble so deep you won’t be able to see out for months! Now, get on that bus!” He pointed as if sending her to her room.

  Sam ran up the steps onto the bus. Jen clattered right behind her. From the corner of her eye, Sam noticed Jen had snagged both of their backpacks.

  Jen was such a great friend--and Sam knew she was going to need one. Although the bus was filled with people she knew, their astonished faces didn’t look sympathetic. Of the thirty kids on the bus, half were gawking, with their mouths wide open.

  The driver slammed into his seat and pulled the doors closed. He glared into the mirror and addressed everyone sitting behind him.

  “No more distractions,” he commanded. “I want it quiet as a tomb. One peep out of anybody and there’ll be a pack of you going to the principal’s office. Got it?”

  Though a resentful murmur rippled through the students, they knew better than to protest.

  As the bus jerked back into motion, Sam’s stomach rolled with nausea. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t help. She made fists until her fingernails bit into her palms. Cold sweat gathered over her top lip, but wiping it away would only call attention to her distress.

  She swallowed. Probably, she hadn’t almost died. Probably, her mind had exaggerated the nearness of the silver grille on the front of the bus. Probably, Zanzibar would have run away in time.

  When Jen’s elbow hit her in the ribs, Sam felt as if she’d been awakened. Sam blinked heavy eyelids and pushed her hair back from her eyes.

  Jen had taken a lens-cleaning tissue from her backpack. Methodically, she polished her glasses, held them up for inspection, and let her eyes slide sideways to meet Sam’s.

  It’s okay. Jen mouthed the words silently, then slipped her glasses back on.

  Sam really hoped she was right.

  By the time they reached school and got off the bus, Sam had to hurry to her locker. Her rush didn’t keep her from noticing the eyes that followed her. Up and down the halls, kids from the bus were spreading gossip about the morning’s excitement.

  Later, when a student messenger interrupted Sam’s history class to give Mrs. Ely a yellow office pass, everyone looked at Sam.

  “Sam?” Mrs. Ely raised one eyebrow, and Sam guessed word of her misdeed hadn’t had time to spread to the teachers’ workroom this morning.

  She almost enjoyed her walk to the office. Unlike her three-story San Francisco middle school, Darton High’s single story framed a central courtyard. Sam crunched through yellow cottonwood leaves and looked up at the patches of blue sky showing between wind-torn white clouds.

  Sam pulled her sleeves down. The breeze cut right through her cotton shirt, feeling like winter, but that was the least of her worries. If she’d known when she got dressed this morning that she’d be talking with the principal, she would’ve worn her newest jeans. Or maybe even a skirt.

  It probably wouldn’t have made any difference.

  Mrs. Santos wore a businesslike beige suit and fooled with a clip-on earring as Sam entered the principal’s office. Not until Mrs. Santos pointed her toward a chair did Sam notice the principal was on the telephone.

  During her first week at Darton High, Sam had interviewed Mrs. Santos for the school newspaper. She’d found the principal to be a no-nonsense woman with a great sense of humor. Would she feel that way when she left Mrs. Santos’s office this time?

  Sam waited. With luck, Mrs. Santos would just lecture her. There was no reason, really, for Gram and Dad to find out about her reckless behavior.

  They worried, and they blamed the Phantom for Sam’s riding accident. Even though the stallion had been young, and had carried her weight for less than an hour, they blamed him for Sam’s fall, for the kick that knocked her unconscious and kept her in the hospital for several weeks.

  After that, Sam had been forced to live in San Francisco for two years, just to be near a hospital.

  Since the day Sam had returned from San Francisco, Gram had been afraid the stallion would hurt her again. And if Dad thought Rachel’s riding off into the mountains was a “stunt,” what would he say about this?

  Mrs. Santos hung up the receiver.

  “Sorry,” she said. Immediately, her eyes skimmed a form Sam knew was the citation. Mrs. Santos frowned, then pushed the form toward Sam. “Look at this.”

  Sam studied the undecipherable handwriting. She recognized her name and the word horse, but that was all.

  “I can’t read it,” Sam said.

  “Neither can I, and I’ve never had trouble reading one of Mr. Pinkerton’s citations before.” Mrs. Santos shook her head. “The man’s driven a school bus for fifteen years. He doesn’t get rattled easily. Tell me what happened.”

  Sam did. She left out the fact that she knew the wild horse she’d rescued.

  “It’s not like I’m ever going to do this again,” Sam ended her explanation.

  “No,” Mrs. Santos agreed. “Not this.”

  Sam wasn’t sure what the principal’s emphasis meant. While Mrs. Santos wrote on the form, Sam checked the wall clock. She’d missed half of P.E. The bad thing was, it was one of only two classes she had with Jen. On the other hand, it was one of two classes she had with Rachel.

  When Mrs. Santos finally put down her pen, Sam realized she’d been sitting with fingers crossed on both hands while she awaited the principal’s decision.

  “You’ll need to apologize to Mr. Pinkerton--”

  Sam found herself smiling and nodding before Mrs. Santos finished her sentence.

  “--and find other transportation to school for two weeks.”

  “You mean, I can’t ride the bus?”

  “That’s what I mean.” Mrs. Santos glanced at the phone that had begun ringing behind her.

  “But then my dad has to know,” Sam said.

  “That’s right,” the principal said.

  Sam shook her head. “I’m going to be mucking out the barn until I’m twenty-one,” she moaned.

  Mrs. Santos laughed, picked up the telephone receiver, and waved Sam on her way.

  The other girls were already jogging toward the locker room when Sam reached her P.E. class and fell into step with Jen.

  “I’m not suspended,” Sam said. “Except from the bus.”

  “Could be worse, but what are you going to do?” Jen used the hem of her gold tee-shirt to blot her face.

  “You’ll be the first to know. Hey, I’ve got to ask you something.”

  “Math or vet stuff?”

  “What?”

  “You must realize that you don’t ask my opinion about much of anything except your algebra class and horse medicine,” Jen said over the slamming of gym lockers. “On everything else, you just rush blindly ahea
d.”

  “Wrong.” Sam shook her head and lowered her voice. “Here’s the thing: in the past few days, the Phantom has shown up where he shouldn’t have. Before this he’s never come near me when other people were around. Now, he’s done it twice.”

  Jen nodded, encouraging Sam to keep talking.

  “So,” Sam whispered, “do you think he could be asking for my help?”

  Jen finished dressing, then faced Sam. Jen’s expression was owlish. “Would this be a bad time for me to suggest your attitude toward the Phantom is anthropomorphic?”

  Sam crossed her arms. “No worse than any other time--if your plan is to make me feel dumb.”

  They left the gym and walked toward their next classes. Jen was taking so long answering, Sam wondered if she’d used the word on purpose and hoped Sam wouldn’t ask what it meant.

  “Well?” Sam said.

  “It means you’re crediting an animal with human feelings,” Jen said gently.

  “But he does love me, like Silly loves you. And he actually leaves his herd to come see me. And I’ve helped him before …”

  “But does he know that?” Jen asked.

  Exasperation made Sam’s voice loud. “Of course--”

  “Hullo, ladies,” Rachel said, suddenly appearing beside Sam. “Am I intruding?”

  “Later,” Jen said, splitting off toward her class.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. She quickened her pace, but Rachel kept up. Finally, Sam glanced over at her.

  Olive silk pants billowed around Rachel’s legs. The matching pullover should have appeared rumpled. Instead, Rachel looked incredible. It just wasn’t fair.

  “About our business arrangement,” Rachel began. “And please don’t give my reputation a thought. Since we’re keeping this quiet, it won’t matter that some might think you’re a bad influence.” Rachel gestured toward the principal’s office.

  “You know what, Rachel?” Sam felt her anger building again.

  “If this is a bad time, we can talk later,” Rachel said.

  “No, it’s a fine time.” Sam paused outside her classroom door. “But you see, I’ve been suspended from riding the bus. And that means I have to wait for someone to pick me up from school. There’s no telling when Dad gets in from the range, and Gram can’t always get away, either.”