by Nancy M Bell
“They have to drive around those barrels, right?” Coll squinted into the sun.
“Yeah, they do a figure eight pattern and then have to stay in their lane when they leave the infield. Once they’re out of the infield they can pick any lane as long they don’t interfere with another wagon. First one across the finish line in the fastest time without penalties wins.”
“Brill! What do the outrider blokes do other than throw the thing in the back and hold the horses at the start?” He stood up to see the infield better.
Laurel pulled him back down beside her. “They have to ride the figure eight pattern too, they get on once the horn goes and the wagons are in motion. Then they follow the wagons around the track and have to be within a certain distance of their wagon when it crosses the finish line.”
“That’s why they all wear the same coloured shirts as the wagon driver they’re riding for, so the judges can see who is with who,” Carly chimed in.
The horn blared, and the infield became a mass of organized chaos as the horses leaped into action. Dust rose, and the drivers’ voices sounded above the rattle of the wagons and the thunder of the hooves.
“Bloody hell,” Coll muttered. He whipped out his phone and videoed the wagons as they swept past. “Gort and Ash will never believe this if they don’t see it.”
“I wish they could have come with you this summer. I miss them,” Laurel said.
Coll put his arm around her and pulled her close while he posted the video to social media. “I miss them too, but I like having you all to myself.” He grinned.
“Here they come!” Carly shot to her feet with the rest of the crowd.
The four wagons rounded the clubhouse turn and thundered into the homestretch. A checkerboard wagon with a grey leader was in front by a nose, the driver standing in the box and throwing the lines at his team. All the wagons were bunched close together and swept under the wire to the wild roar of the crowd.
“Who won? Could you see?” Laurel gripped Carly’s arm.
“Couldn’t tell, they were way too close. Maybe Jake’s horse, he had his nose stuck out…?” Carly said.
The drivers slowed their teams and turned them to come back by the grandstand and salute the crowd.
“How do they figure out who won? When do we find out?” Coll plunked down on the bench.
Laurel sat beside him and pulled Carly down with her. “They’ll have video and review it. They’re gonna look for any infractions of the rules while they’re at it. Even if you get across first if they decide to slap on a penalty it can move you from first to last.”
By the time the ninth and final heat was over, Laurel was more than happy to head back to the trailer. She and Coll sidetracked to the barns to do night check on the horses. Carly tagged along with them. Sam was lying down when Laurel looked into his stall. He got to his feet and shook, shedding bits of shavings in a halo around him. She threw him some hay and checked the water bucket was full. She did the same for her dad’s horse. Coll helped Carly move some bales of hay closer to her horse’s stall. Satisfied everything was in order the three left the barns.
Away from the buildings the night was dark but the lights in the living quarters of the parked trailers made it easy to find the way. Carly pulled them to a halt behind a semi with a ten-horse trailer. “Listen,” she whispered. “It’s Dad and Chance.”
The only sound other than the light wind in the grass was the far-off murmurs of conversations from nearby rigs. Laurel started to pull Coll away when Cory Cullen’s voice cut through the silence.
“Quit bellyaching,” he growled. “I told you you’re gonna get a catch permit.”
“You keep sayin’ that, but I don’t see any permit,” Jack Carver complained.
“Me either.”
Laurel recognized Milt Stone’s voice.
“They aren’t issued yet, for shit’s sake.” Cory sounded frustrated with his companions.
“So how do you know we’re gettin’ them?”
Laurel wasn’t sure who was speaking, but she gripped Coll’s hand tight. Carly’s face was pale in the gloom when she glanced at her friend.
“He’s on the committee, you idiots! He gets a say in whether there’s a cull or not who gets the permits,” Chance’s voice rang clear and belligerent.
“Shut up!” Cory snarled at his son. “You want the whole effing world to hear you?”
“There’s gonna be a cull for sure this fall?” It was Milt speaking again.
“I said so, didn’t I?” Cory shot back.
“We already started on the catch pens—” Chance’s voice cut off with an exclamation of pain and something banged into the side of the rig.
“I said shut up! You go shootin’ your mouth off and some wildie lover is gonna get wind. Keep your pie hole shut!” Cory hissed.
“Sorry, Dad.” Chance sounded subdued.
Carly gripped Laurel’s arm and nodded toward their campsite. “Let’s get out here,” she whispered.
Laurel nodded and tugged Coll along with them. Once they were a safe distance from the group of men they stopped.
“Are they really going to round up the wildies?” Laurel asked.
“Dad says so, but I’m not supposed to talk about it. He’s not very happy I even know about it.”
“Even Coal and his band? They stay out of the way most of the time. I mean the last time I went looking for them it took me three days to find where they were grazing.”
“Especially Coal. He hates that stud for some reason. I think he tried to catch him a long time ago and the horse got the best of him.” Carly paused. “Once he’s got a hate on for someone or something he’s like a pit bull with a bone.”
“Yeah, but Coal hasn’t been anywhere near the ranches for a long time.”
“Don’t matter. And Chance is determined to do whatever it takes to prove he’s as tough as Dad.”
“Can they just go and round up any wild horse they want to?” Coll removed his hat and scratched his head.
“Pretty much, once the government decides there’s going to be a cull and issues the permits, the ranchers can take what they want. I think maybe there’s supposed to be limits or age limits or something, but nobody ever monitors the roundups and the Fish and Wildlife officers seem to side with the ranchers,” Carly responded.
“But the foals?” Coll shook his head. “What do they do with all those horses?”
“They send them through the auction and then mostly meat buyers pick them up and they end up in Fort McLeod.” Laurel felt sick just saying the words.
“What’s Fort McLeod, you told me before, but I forgot?” Coll asked.
“Slaughterhouse,” Carly told him.
“I’m gobsmacked. I just can’t believe it,” Coll was clearly upset.
“Believe it,” Laurel said grimly. “I was at the auction last year when some of them were run through. Pregnant mares and young foals, some of them separated from their mothers. It was horrible, I couldn’t watch and made Dad take me home.”
“Your dad isn’t applying for a permit, is he?” Carly looked at Laurel.
“Mom would kill him if he did,” she replied.
“What are we going to do to help the horses?” Coll broke into the conversation.
“Nothing we can do.” Carly shook her head. “It’s all legal and the RCMP and Fish and Wildlife are on the ranchers’ side.”
“And nobody protests?” Coll persisted.
“There are a couple of groups that champion the wildies, one of them seems to be really close with the government people though.” Carly started walking toward their rigs.
Laurel fell into step beside her with Coll right behind her. “That other group though, remember? They were just out checking on the condition of some wildies that were already penned and they got arrested. Arrested! For doing nothing except watching what was going on and documenting everything. That’s how people with the horses’ best interest at heart get treated.” Laurel kicked at a tuf
t of grass in disgust.
“There should be a sanctuary or something where they could be safe and still be free,” Coll suggested.
“That would be perfect,” Laurel agreed.
“But there isn’t anything like that, at least not that I know of around here,” Carly said.
“We have to do something,” Coll insisted.
“I’m with you,” Laurel agreed and looked at Carly.
“Count me out.” She shook her head. “Dad would go nuts if he found out I was involved in anything like that.” Carly wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
They halted just outside the ring of light shed by their trailers.
“I gotta go,” Carly said and hurried off disappearing around the end of the rig.
Coll pulled Laurel close and kissed the top her head. “We have to help those horses, Laurel. We have to.”
“We will, Coll. We will. We just have to think of something and we will.” Laurel tipped her head back and found his lips with her own.
With Coll’s arm around her shoulders they joined her parents by the camp fire.
* * *
It wasn’t until a week later Laurel had a chance to take Coll out to look for the wildies. The horses roamed on the unfenced lease land surrounding the ranches. Technically the land belonged to the people of Alberta overseen by the provincial government, the province issued grazing licenses to the owners of adjacent land to run a specified head of cattle on for grazing. The leases were hotly contested and hard to obtain, some being handed down from generation to generation. Laurel figured it made for less bookkeeping for the government clerk or something.
The sun was warm on Laurel’s back while the horses picked their way across the short prairie grass. Coll reached over and twined his fingers with hers as they rode side by side. Hawks spiraled overhead in the blue sky and from somewhere nearby the liquid falling notes of a meadow lark carried on the breeze.
“I can’t get used to how big everything is,” Coll remarked, his gaze roaming from east to west on the horizon.
“I guess I’m just used to it,” Laurel answered. “Oh, look! That’s a golden eagle!” She stood in her stirrups and pulled her hand free to point at the large raptor riding the thermals over the sun-drenched land.
“That’s ace, Laurel. He’s bigger than any I’ve seen at home.” He tipped back in his saddle to better watch the bird circling overhead.
“We go down here,” Laurel brought his attention back to the ground. The horses stood at the edge of a deep coulee. Below them the Crowsnest River shone in a blue ribbon as it wound its way along the bottom of the coulee. The floor of the coulee was crowded with poplar and cottonwood crouching over thick meadow grasses dotted with wildflowers.
“Is this where the horses usually hang out?” Coll gave his horse its head and braced his hand on the saddle horn. The gelding followed Laurel’s lead onto the narrow path which switch backed down the side of the steep ravine.
“Why do you call it a coo-lee instead of a valley,” Coll stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar word.
Laurel shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think Mom told me it had something to do with French explorers when they first came to Alberta, and then the Metis kept using the name. If I remember right it means ‘to flow’, so I guess it’s because there’s usually a river or creek at the bottom of a coulee. Or maybe there was way back when the first explorers came here.”
Coll grunted in response but concentrated on not noticing how steep the trail was. The gelding seemed to take it all in stride, twitching an ear at a fly and flicking his long black tail against his flanks to keep the tiny sand flies at bay.
Laurel reined Sam to a halt in a spot where the trail leveled out. She twisted in her saddle so she could see Coll better. “You doing okay?”
“Sure,” he said striving for nonchalance. “Are you sure the horses are down there?”
“They’re probably in the trees at this time of day. Don’t worry, we’ll find some. I want to show you Coal. He’s my favourite band stallion.”
“Who named him?”
“I don’t know, I’ve just always called him Coal. Quite a few of them have names, the people who keep an eye on the horses and come out to photograph them give them names. There’s a big grey up by Sundre called White Spirit.”
“They come all the way out here just to take pictures?” Coll shifted his weight in the saddle, causing his gelding to move forward a step.
“Yeah. They get some great shots and I think they sell the images. I’ll show you a couple of websites when we get home. C’mon, let’s get down there and see who we can find.” Laurel settled back in her saddle and nudged Sam with her heel.
Coll followed at a safe distance behind her. Laurel had warned him earlier not to crowd too close in case his horse slipped on the loose footing and banged into Sam. When they reached the grassy bottom land Laurel halted and waited for Coll to come up beside her.
“Isn’t it beautiful? I love this coulee.” Laurel dropped her reins on Sam’s neck and threw her arms wide.
“It’s brill, Laurel. Almost reminds me of home in a way.”
She reached back and took a bottle of water out of her saddle bag and drank. Coll did the same. Returning the water to their saddle bags they let the horses amble across the meadow and down a short slope to the edge of the river where the horses dipped their noses and drank deeply.
“Bloody hell, it’s dry here.” Coll rubbed a hand over his face. “I feel like I’m covered in dust.”
“It’s a dry year, for sure.” Laurel agreed. “But we never get the kind of humidity or rainfall you do in Cornwall. I guess I’m just used to it. C’mon.” She tugged Sam’s head up and urged him further into the river.
“How deep is it?” Coll hesitated in the shallows.
“Not bad here, this is where we always cross. The only time it’s bad is in the spring when the snow melt swells the river.”
Sam splashed through the swift running water that came up to his belly, when they emerged on the far bank Laurel pulled up and turned him to check on Coll. Shrugging, the English boy nudged his horse out into the river and joined her.
“Not so bad, was it?” Laurel grinned.
Coll grinned in return. “So where is this famous wild stallion and his band? I don’t see anything but grass and trees.”
“He’s usually around here some place. We don’t want to get too close though,” she cautioned. “Coal can be pretty protective of his band, like most stallions.” Laurel nudged Sam with her calves and followed the dirt path away from the river.
Coll fell in behind her. When the trail faded at the edge of a grassy meadow he reined his horse up to ride beside her. “Lord it’s hot. How do you stand it?” He removed his wide brimmed hat and wiped his damp forehead with his forearm.
“Used to it, I guess. The flies are less in the sun, too. We can head for those cottonwoods over there if you want.” Sam responded to her commands and loped across the flower strewn short grass prairie. Coll whooped behind her and she grinned at the sound of his horse’s hooves on the soft ground. He came alongside her and together they loped the short way to the grove of cottonwoods.
“Let’s give them a breather,” Laurel suggested when they halted in the shade of the rustling leaves. She slid off Sam and tossed the near side stirrup over the saddle before loosening his cinch. Coll followed suit. Laurel slipped the one ear bridle off her horse and hung it on the saddle horn.
“What are you gonna tie him up with?” Coll hesitated with his horse’s reins in his hands.
“They won’t go anywhere. There’s plenty of grass and if Coal was anywhere near we’d know it by the way our horses act. Go ahead and take her bridle off so she can graze.”
Still looking uncertain, Coll slid the bridle off and hung it on the saddle horn. “You hungry”
“This is a nice spot for lunch. Sure.” Laurel moved to Sam and pulled a wrapped package from the saddlebags. Coll dug in the big pouches sl
ung across his horse’s loins behind the saddle and dug out the cans of pop in the insulated bag.
Laurel picked a spot at the foot of a big cottonwood and sat cross-legged leaning against the trunk. Coll dropped down beside her, stretched out on his belly, leaning on his elbows. He deposited the pop by her knee.
“Sure is pretty here. Sometimes I almost think I’m back home riding across the headlands, but then I hear a coyote or see one of those big eagles…” He trailed off and rolled over on his back. “The wind in the leaves sounds like the tree is laughing,” he mused.
“I think so too,” Laurel agreed. “Chance thinks I’m just being silly when I say stuff like that.”
Coll grimaced. “Do we have to talk about Chance? I swear, Laurel, that bloke hates me.”
“I don’t think he hates you, Coll. He just can’t get used to the fact that we aren’t a couple, and we never will be. Chance has always bought into the plan our dads cooked up when we were kids.”
“What plan?” Coll wriggled onto his side and rested his head on his bent arm.
“They thought it would be a great idea if we got married and consolidated the ranches. Trouble is, I’m just not interested in Chance in that way.”
“I’m not so sure he believes you.”
“Well, he’s gonna have to. Here, have a sandwich.” Laurel passed him a bun stuffed with ham and cheese and pickles.
After finishing the picnic, Laurel stashed all the garbage in her saddlebags. Taking Coll’s hand, she pulled him deeper into the grove of trees. “Let’s go exploring. Sometimes I find cool stuff like old arrowheads. There’s a place up in the mountains that Joey Good Smoke knows where his ancestors used to go to knap flint. His dad and some of the other band members still go when they need flint for something.”
“You know in Cornwall they call the old arrowheads and things like that elf bolts or elf arrows. The legends say if you suddenly get a bad pain or get sick for no reason you’ve been shot by one of those and they say you’re elf shot.” Coll walked beside Laurel, shortening his longer stride to match hers.