My heart began that awful, fearsome pounding. I remembered what Mama had warned me about back in the peaceful days of the meadow—wolves and rattlesnakes and cougars and humans. Rattlesnakes I had seen. They were everywhere, and Mama had taught me ways to watch out for their holes. She told me how to avoid them when they came out to warm themselves on rocks in the early-morning sun, and how to leap aside if one struck out. But rattlesnakes disappeared at night.
Had Mama sniffed out a cougar circling us? Was that where she had gone? Or had she been snatched by a cougar? Or a wolf? My heart was pounding so hard I was sure Mama could hear it—wherever she was.
I nosed my way into the group of mares. They paid no attention to me. I was too young to be bothered with. Immature. I could tell by their posture. Their eyes were focused somewhere else. I was too ashamed to ask, Where’s my mama? It was foolish and childish. Mustangs are brave. And strong.
And sometimes, a little scared.
And then, while I stood fretting, trying to decide whether to speak up or not, Mama appeared. She trotted up silently, melting into the group of mares as smooth as a black shadow.
I nudged closer to her.
Mama? I asked. Is it wolves?
Mama didn’t answer. She bent with the mares, nickering and talking.
I waited awhile. A long while.
Mama? I asked again.
Still, Mama didn’t answer. She turned her rump toward me, facing the mares. For a long time, she ignored me, whinnying with the older mares, all of them circling and worried and anxious. I stayed with them awhile, although Mama was acting as if I hadn’t even been born to her.
Finally, I went away and lay down alone. I would be brave. I could be brave. Couldn’t I?
I was almost asleep when Mama came and lay beside me.
I lifted my head. Mama?
Humans, Mama said.
Humans?
They have only two legs. So they latch on to the back of a horse.
To kill us, Mama?
Sometimes. Sometimes worse, Mama said.
Worse than being killed?
They capture us, Mama said. We can’t run free.
I was quiet awhile, thinking about that.
Mama, I said finally, if they have just two legs, surely we can outrun them.
They come from the sky, Mama said. On wings. Airplanes, the old mares call them.
Wings? Like birds? I asked.
Like birds, Mama said.
Oh, Mama! I said. We’re not afraid of birds!
Mama got to her feet. She trotted over to the mares, who were still standing and circling. I felt bad then. I knew I had made Mama mad. She always thought I was too much of a know-it-all. And maybe I was. Sometimes. But it didn’t make much sense to me.
Anyway, I didn’t ask anything else that night, or for many nights to come.
But as the mares became more restless and worried, I worried, too. Courage, my mama had said when we’d returned to the herd. All is well.
It was clear, though, from the way Mama and the other mares continued to circle and sniff and worry together that all was not well.
Even we youngsters began to feel all itchy and anxious, ready to strike out at one another, kind of mean-feeling. Our play became less play and more real. I think we were all as nervous and skittish as the mares, waiting for something that we could sense was coming—something that was worse than an attack by wolves.
Humans!
Still, for a long time, all was peaceful. Summer was a sweet time for us mustangs, with plenty of grazing. In our herd, tempers seemed to calm some. Sota had decided to be less of a bully, and Omar and I were big enough to play at real fighting—though not the kind where we hurt one another. Calm descended over us as the summer went on, even though some mares, especially my mama, continued to be restless.
After a while, cooler weather again settled in. Mama gave the signal that it was time to move on, to look for more lush grazing. And so, one morning, we filled up at the water hole, getting ready to move on, the younger ones splashing one another. I had sort of outgrown my silliness, but I did enjoy sneaking up on Sota and Omar—and even my mama—and splashing them. I snuck up on Abril, too. I kind of liked her.
There were different family groups in our herd, and each waited its turn while the others drank. The sun had just lifted itself over the hills, spilling its light on the desert floor. I was splashing in the water with Omar.
I had my nose almost underwater when the air was jarred by a tremendous sound. The water trembled and moved in waves. I raised my head. We all raised our heads.
Overhead was a bird—an enormous bird. It was dark, and its wings were spread wide, casting a huge shadow. It was bigger than an eagle, bigger than a stallion, even. It brought a howling wind with it, swirling dust all around, dust and dirt that almost blinded us. All of us at the water hole backed out, turning this way and that. We circled wildly, none of us knowing what to do or how to escape.
What was this creature?
And then I remembered Mama. Humans. They come from the sky. On wings. Airplanes.
There was no time to think. There was no time to look for Mama. But it was clear that she had given a signal. The herd gathered itself together. As if we were all one horse, we took off, galloping across the desert floor, following Mama’s lead.
We ran hard, scattering and sometimes falling, panic forcing us on, right behind Mama. The winged human followed. It stayed with us, right above, right behind, and the noise was terrifying. It didn’t settle on us like an eagle with its talons. It just pushed us forward, forward—we didn’t know where. Or why.
I couldn’t find my mama, and Omar had lost his mama, too.
We stayed close to one another, galloping along. Omar’s eyes were wide and wild, and I knew mine were the same. My heart was pounding with the kind of fear I hadn’t felt since the night with the wolves. And then, as we ran, Sota appeared, galloping beside us.
I moved toward him, warning him not to try any of his bullying tricks. He backed off, saying he understood. I had become bigger and stronger, and he knew it. Still, I knew I’d be no match for him if he chose to attack.
Anyway, we were all so panicked, there was no chance for fighting. All our efforts were spent trying to escape the huge, dark, terrifying human above.
Once, Mama tried to make a shift. The horses in front began to lean into a turn, meaning that Mama wanted us to go back in the direction we had come from. We couldn’t turn, though. The human dropped down till it was almost on top of us, blocking our way.
Mama shifted again, and again the herd moved forward, following her lead. The human continued to hover over us, pushing us on, not allowing us to rest, even for a moment. It didn’t allow us to graze, either. Or to drink. I thought that I would die of thirst. Once, when the entire herd slowed a moment, the monster human swooped lower, lower, till the noise of its wings was deafening and the wind it brought raised bigger clouds of dust and whipped my mane all about.
I began tripping and stumbling from exhaustion. My lungs ached for air, my chest hurt, and my throat was parched. Omar fell behind. Even Sota showed signs of losing strength.
Omar stopped altogether. He fell back to the side, the herd sweeping on past him.
Omar! Omar! I called to him, urging him on. Cougars. Wolves. Come!
Omar staggered a few steps forward. He collapsed on the ground, his knees giving way beneath him.
We couldn’t wait. I dared not wait.
Sota circled round. He nipped Omar’s flank.
I was too weary to do battle with Sota. But then I realized: Omar had risen to his feet. Sota had bullied him, all right. Bullied him up and onto his feet!
Omar returned to trot along beside me, his breathing labored, his body soaked in sweat. We were all almost dropping from exhaustion and thirst. But we went on. And on. And on.
I faltered, too. How could I go on? I couldn’t. Many of our herd had already dropped, falling to the dusty earth, dead be
fore they even hit the ground.
I slowed. I could barely trot. My eyes blurred and I stumbled. I fell to my knees, gasping, longing for water. And then that Sota, he came from nowhere and he nosed me hard. Come! Come! You can’t give up. We can outrun him, we can! You can!
I thought of Mama. I had promised her I would be the strongest mustang ever. I struggled to my feet.
On we went. We had begun running just as the sun had come up above the horizon. Midday came, and the sun hung overhead, and still we ran. The sun slipped lower in the sky, and that human hung over us, pushing us on. We ran—Omar on one side of me, barely able to stand, and Sota on the other, limping, but urging us on. Exhausted, we ran into the setting of the sun, trying to escape the thing that hovered over us. The thing that was worse than wolves or cougars.
The thing that was worse than death.
Trapped
It was nearly completely dark when the winged human let up on us. One moment it was bearing down on us; the next moment, it was gone. It disappeared from the sky, just as quickly as it had come.
The herd stopped running as soon as the winged creature disappeared. We dropped down, exhausted, though I could see in the distance that some mares still moved slowly ahead, as though their legs didn’t know how to stop.
We were in a field of stubby grasses and shrubs, with just one small water hole. Every horse, every horse that was still alive, crept to the water hole. I was so tired, I could barely stand and drink. But I let my nose sink into the water. I drank. The water tasted foul, and after just a few moments, I simply held my head underwater, cooling myself. Beside me, a mare fell. She toppled right into the water. I could see that she was dead.
I rested for a little time, flat on the ground, my legs stretched out, lifting my head to look around for my mama, for my friends. On all sides, as far and as high as I could see, were cliffs and mountains—a box canyon. We had been forced into a tight box canyon. Was there no way forward? Was that why the human bird allowed us to stop? He would keep us from going back. I was sure of that, sure that he would return with daylight.
There was another wall that ran alongside us, something I had never seen before. It was a wall of trees, trees with no branches or leaves, trees as high as my shoulders.
Fences, I heard an old mare mutter.
After a while, I forced myself to my feet, my legs trembling and achingly sore.
Mama?
I moved slowly through the herd, looking. I passed many family groups, but not my own. No Sota, no Omar, no Abril, no Abril’s mama, none of the colts and fillies. Had they fallen? Were they all dead? I was hungry and thirsty, but mostly afraid. I so much needed my mama.
I kept moving on, so tired I could barely lift my legs.
And then, at last, up ahead, I saw her. My mama! She was with other mares, at the very front of the pack. She was leading. Still leading. Moving slowly ahead, her head drooping, but weaving back and forth as though looking for a way out. It was clear that even though she was still leading, she could hardly stand. Her whole body drooped, and she was soaked in sweat.
I summoned my energy. Mama! I cried.
She turned her head slowly, painfully. She whinnied me to her.
I could see that she was exhausted, her beautiful coat dark with sweat. And blood! She was dark with blood! It poured from both of her front legs and from her neck. Her flesh hung in strips, her bones showing underneath.
Mama! I cried again. Cougars? Wolves?
Mama didn’t answer. She just waited for me to reach her.
I did. I nuzzled close. Mama?
And then, on the far side of the fence, came a human. It had no wings, but I knew it was human. It had just two legs. And it sat atop a horse, just as Mama had warned me about. It was a small female human, and she was with another female, also atop a horse.
The small human cried out. “Mama!” she cried. “Mama!”
I knew that word—I thought I knew that word. But then she cried more, sounds tumbling out, things that meant nothing.
The horse that she rode moved closer to the fence. The child’s called Annie, the horse said. She’ll help you.
Help me? She’s clamped on your back! I cried. She’s clinging like a cougar. She’ll kill you, too.
Not so, fool mustang! the horse said. She saved me.
Sounds kept pouring out of the small human, but they made no sense. The horse—he called himself Clay, Big Clay, like he was important or something—he explained some as she talked. But he made no more sense than the child did. Nothing did but that we were trapped and my mama was bleeding to death.
“Oh, no, look!” the small human cried. “Oh, Mama, that mare is bleeding! Look at her!”
They turned to my mama. Clay turned to me.
Barbed wire, Big Clay said. She the lead mare?
She’s my mama!
Big Clay hung his head.
“Oh, Mama! What can we do for her?” the young one asked.
“Nothing right now, Annie. Nothing,” the bigger female said. “She’s wild. She won’t let us near her.”
“But she’ll bleed to death!”
“Maybe. Maybe not, Annie,” the other female said. “It’s almost dark. We can’t do anything, at least till daylight. Let’s go home to Papa. We’ll tackle Jake and the rest in the morning and see which of these poor creatures we can save.”
All this talk and more, Big Clay explained to me. Still, none of it made any sense at all. And even if it did, how could I believe him? Trust a horse with a human on his back?
“We’ll do what we can in the morning,” the mama said. “Now look! Look at the mare. There’s her colt.”
They both turned to me.
“Oh, Mama!” Annie said. “He’s so beautiful. Black and white like someone dropped patches of snow on him.”
Clouds. But I didn’t say it, not even to Clay. Clouds.
I nuzzled up to my mama. Mama leaned into me, as though she had forgotten that I no longer suckled from her.
Mama? I cried.
Mama’s legs began to fold beneath her. She went down on her knees and then rolled to her side. I could see that she was trying to allow me to nurse, that she had forgotten. I was too old to nurse now. She had forgotten.
Mama?
There’s no way out, Mama said.
Oh, Mama! I said.
Black Cloud, she said softly.
She fixed her eyes on mine. And then, slowly, the light went out of them.
Mama. My mama was dead.
The Humans Return
I lay beside Mama all night, nuzzling close to her. She was cold, and I tried my best to warm her.
But in the morning, she was still dead.
With the sun rising over the mountains, the humans came back, just as I’d known they would. They didn’t come on wings. They came on horses, clinging to the backs of horses! And they rode right in among us. They drove their horses cruelly, hard and fast. I had thought yesterday that I couldn’t have been more frightened. I was frightened today. But more than that, I was wild with fury. My mama was dead! The humans had killed her.
The men began circling horse after horse, one after the other. They threw a thick snakelike thing over the head of each horse, forcing the horse to halt. Most horses tried to fight back, kicking and biting and bucking. But we were exhausted. Even the stallions weren’t able to fight. I saw Abril’s sire fall and saw Abril leap to help him. But the men swatted her aside, and her sire fell hard, his knees buckling under him.
I looked for my sire, but didn’t see him. I knew he was among us somewhere. Did he know Mama was dead?
Once the humans had a horse under control, they grabbed the horse’s head. Using a sharp, pointy thing, the humans clamped shut the nostrils of each horse! Some horses sank to their knees immediately. Others remained standing, but they couldn’t flee. They were barely able to breathe.
And then they turned on Abril, one on each side! I flew in among them, kicking and biting. Too late. She was
small and delicate, and in an instant, they had her on the ground. They clamped her nostrils, closing off her breath.
The men on horseback fled as I stomped into their midst. I tried to get Abril to speak to me, but she didn’t, she couldn’t. Her pretty ears were laid back, and I knew she was angry and scared, but with the clamps, there was hardly enough air for her to breathe. There was no air left for talking. But her eyes told me. She was frightened. Near to death. She knew it.
I didn’t see Sota or Omar anywhere, but I knew that if they weren’t dead already they’d fight back. They would.
Each time a horse was encircled, I fled, but I turned, ready to face the humans, ready to fight, bite, and kick. They would not tie me down. I would die. But I would kill them, too, as many as I could.
The men went on. Horse after horse, stallions and mares and colts and fillies, all were hunted down and their nostrils clamped shut.
Each time they came close to me, I circled farther away, bucking and showing them my teeth. But my circling took me away from my mama, and I kept returning to her. I knew she was dead. But I couldn’t leave her.
And then there was movement on the far side of the fence. It was the small female, Annie, atop Clay, along with her mama on a horse and a male atop a horse, too.
All three horses seemed well cared for—but they all had humans clinging to their backs!
Clay moved closer to the fence.
Annie’s going to help you, he said. Her mama and papa, too. They’ll free you.
Free! I said. Free?
Free. They’ll buy your freedom. They bought mine.
You’re not free! I said. You have a human on your back!
Clay turned away.
Annie began making sounds then, talking, and again, I couldn’t understand what she said.
I nickered at Big Clay, and he turned back to me.
I been with them a long time, Clay said. Since I was real young, younger than you, not even a yearling. I understand them. And so will you someday. So listen to me.
Listen to a captured mustang who’d let humans on his back? Telling me I’d understand humans someday? But what else could I do but listen? Nothing. So as the humans talked, I listened to Clay, my heart thundering with hatred. And fear.
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