by Nancy M Bell
“I know that one.” Laurel laughed. “Ponokaomitaa. Translated it’s elk dog.”
“Elk dog?”
The Cornish boy’s expression made Laurel giggle.
“When the Blackfoot first saw a horse the closest animal in size they knew was an elk, but the horse was used to carry things the same way we used big dogs at the time, so…elk-dog,” Joey explained.
“I guess it’s kind of like the way we still call the old tin mines wheals and stuff. And your grandfather the selkie calls rocks karrek,” Coll mused.
“Wait! What? Your grandfather was a what?” Joey pulled his horse to a halt and stared at Laurel.
Coll flushed with guilt and shrugged at Laurel. “Oops, sorry.”
Laurel sighed. “You have to promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Dad would literally kill me if this ever got out. Promise?”
“Sure. You know I can keep a secret. What’s a selkie?” Joey persisted.
“Coll, you want to explain? You probably know more of the old stories than I do,” Laurel said.
They set their horses in motion again, following the wide trail toward the river.
“Cornwall is full of old legends and myths, but like my gramma says, most of them have a grain of truth to them.”
Joey nodded. “The old aunties and uncles say that about our stories too.”
“A selkie is a shapeshifter…” he paused to see how Joey was taking his words.
“Like Napi the trickster. He is sometimes a coyote.”
Encouraged, Coll went on. “Laurel’s Gramma Bella lived in Cornwall when she was a girl and was friends with my gramma and Sarie. They met a handsome man and didn’t know he was a selkie until later. His name is Vear Du…that means Great Black in old Cornish. Anyway, I don’t know all the details but Bella and Vear Du got…you know…close…and anyway…Laurel’s dad was the result.”
“No shit?” Joey turned to Laurel. “That’s pretty hard to believe.”
“It’s true. But Dad won’t ever admit it. I’d be grounded until I’m ninety if he ever finds out anybody else knows about it.”
“Who knows?” Joey frowned. “More than your family…and him?” He nodded in Coll’s direction.
“Yup. People in Cornwall, but only close friends of Gramma Bella. Mom, Dad, Coll’s gramma, Sarie, me, Aisling and Gort, I think that’s it,” Laurel replied.
“Don’t forget that old guy, Red, your gramma told you about. The one that used to work for your Grampa D’Arcy,” Coll reminded her.
“Yeah, but that was a long time ago. He’s gone now, but he was there when Dad was born,” Laurel agreed.
“Wow! Like a legend come to life. That’s pretty cool.” Joey shook his head.
“Just remember you can’t breathe a word of it. To anyone,” she cautioned him.
“No worries. I sure don’t want your dad mad at me,” Joey agreed.
“Me either, so let’s keep mum about me opening my big pie hole,” Coll worried.
“I’m just glad him and Gramma Bella are speaking to each other again,” Laurel remarked while her horse picked his way down a steep slope toward the river.
“I thought your gramma was staying in England?” Joey said.
“She is. But her and Dad saw each other for the first time since I was a kid when we were there last Christmas. I have no idea what they said to each other, but he hugged her before she left, and he even agreed to meet Vear Du and be civil to him. It took a lot for him to swallow his anger and do that,” Laurel said.
“You mean old Mr. Rowan really wasn’t his father, right? Wow…” Joey stared off at the horizon. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I found out Pa wasn’t my dad, let alone that some Napi character actually was.”
Laurel snorted. “As far as Colt Rowan is concerned D‘Arcy Rowan is his dad and nobody is ever going to know any different around here.” She nudged Sam with her heel and urged the gelding into a lope along the grassy river valley. “C’mon, let’s go see if anybody rebuilt that trap.”
“Maybe we’ll see that stallion again.” Coll loped easily beside her.
“The foals will be gettin’ big, and I bet some of those bachelor stallions will be getting pushed out of the band. That’s always exciting to watch.” Joey caught up to Laurel and Coll.
A quick check satisfied Laurel the horse trap in the cottonwoods near the river was still dismantled. They rode a kilometer or so further up the valley to ease her mind further that there were no more traps in the vicinity. The sun was lowering in the western sky when they came up out of the coulee onto the rolling prairie. Joey waved a hand in farewell and loped off toward home while Laurel and Coll jogged toward the Rowan homestead.
“What does that mark on the cows mean?” Coll wondered when they passed a herd of red brockle-faced cattle.
“That’s our brand. Grampa D’Arcy’s dad registered it way back in the forties, I think. It’s how you can tell who owns what cattle. Every rancher has his own unique brand.”
“How do you read it? Looks like random marks to me.” Coll frowned and turned his head sideways trying to make sense of the marks.
“Take it apart. The thing that looks like a roof? That’s a ‘rafter’, below that is a reversed R. So, you read it as ‘rafter, reverse R’ on the right rib.
“You mean it matters where you put the brand?” Coll turned his attention back to Laurel.
“Of course. When you buy and register your brand the Livestock Identification Service checks no one else within a certain distance has a similar one already registered and where you can place the brand on the animal. The symbols also have to meet their standards.”
“Sounds complicated. I don’t think we have anything like that at home.”
“Race you home!” Laurel leaned forward and urged Sam into a gallop.
“Hey!” Coll yelped from behind her. “No fair!” He sent his mount after her, blinking against the dust raised by Sam’s hooves.
Chapter Seven
“Look! I can see the lights on the midway!” Laurel bounced on the seat and leaned forward between her parents. “I’m gonna take Coll down the midway and check out the new weird food they have this year.”
“Get back, Laurie,” Colt ordered. “It’s hard enough to drive in this traffic without you yelling in my ear.”
“Sorry, Dad.” She settled back beside Coll.
“What kind of weird food?” Coll glanced at her.
“Every year they come up with really different stuff. Here look” Laurel called up the Stampede food on her phone. “Deep fried chocolate bars and I saw on the news they had cricket grilled cheese, fried chicken hearts, giant squid on a stick and ohhh gross, caramel apples with crickets stuck on them.”
“Don’t they have any regular stuff?” Coll swallowed hard, gaze fixed on the cricket encased caramel apple.
“Of course, they do, Coll.” Anna laughed and spoke over her shoulder. “There will be all the regular things, big burgers and fries, BBQ beef on a bun, corn on the cob, huge turkey drumsticks. Don’t worry, you’ll find something that won’t make you sick just to look at it.”
“Spoil sport,” Laurel teased her mom and giggled at the relief on Coll’s face.
“Thank God, we’re almost there.” Colt turned down Olympic Way and pulled out his pass to get into the exhibitor’s parking. “I hate the traffic, it gets worse every year.”
“I know, Colt. But it’s only once a year and it was nice of Chance to give us passes so we could park close by and get into the barns and infield,” Anna soothed her frazzled husband.
“It was.” Colt caught Laurel’s eye in the mirror. “Remember to thank him when we see him.”
“Yes, Dad.” Laurel rolled her eyes at Coll and squeezed his hand.
The truck passed the gates and Colt drove slowly toward the mass of pickups, RVs and assorted vehicles parked near the Elbow River as it wound around the grounds. Colt waved at group of men dressed in jeans, colourful western shirts and straw hats.
One of them had a pair of purple and aqua chaps thrown over one shoulder.
“Are they real cowboys?” Coll twisted around in his seat to get a better look.
“They’re rodeo cowboys, son,” Colt said.
“What’s the difference?” Coll glanced at Laurel.
Colt grunted and backed into an empty spot.
“Rodeo cowboys make their living from the rodeos. Most of them also have ranches where they go in the off season, but for the most part they follow the circuit and try to make enough money to qualify for the CFR and the NFR,” Anna explained. “The people who work on the ranches and don’t rodeo are cowboys too, of course. The industry couldn’t function without ranch hands.”
“CFR…?” Coll asked.
“Canadian Finals Rodeo, held every November. It was in Edmonton for years, but they just moved it down to Red Deer. The NFR is the National Finals Rodeo, that’s in Las Vegas every December,” Laurel informed him.
“Las Vegas! I’ve heard of that place. Is your friend Chance going to Las Vegas in December?”
“Not hardly.” Laurel laughed. “He’s just riding here at Calgary ’cause he managed to qualify. Chance’ll have his hands full with these bulls.”
“Now, Laurie. Give the boy a break. Some of this stock was at Hand Hills in June.” Colt put the truck in park and opened his door. “C’mon, let’s go find the Cullens, and there’s some other people I want to catch up with.”
Laurel scrambled out of the rear seat and waited for Coll to join her. “I’m gonna take Coll to the midway, we’ll meet you in the infield before the rodeo starts.”
“Be sure to wear your lanyards or you won’t get back in to the restricted area,” Anna cautioned.
“Got ’em, Mom.” Laurel grabbed Coll’s hand and pulled him toward the noise and heat of the midway. “There’s the new zip line. We gotta try that!”
“Let’s get food first,” Coll changed the subject.
The pair plunged into the crowded area where the carnival games and rides were set up. Coll balanced the giant panda bear he’d won for Laurel on his shoulders while Laurel led the way toward the mini donut booth.
“These are my very favourite.” She fed him one of the hot cinnamon and sugar-coated donuts. “I could eat the whole bucket, all by myself.” Laurel spoke around a mouth full.
“Give me another,” Coll asked. “These are bloody good.”
“There.” Laurel dusted off her hands and dumped the empty container in a nearby garbage can. “What do you want to try next?” She scanned the row of food booths that ran at right angles to the top of the midway, just below the bulk of the Saddledome.
“Nothing with crickets or chicken hearts,” he paused. “Or squid for that matter.”
“I know…giant turkey legs! C’mon, they’re this way.” Laurel dragged him off toward a huge smoker and BBQ set up.
They found a place to sit and polish off the turkey legs by the huge statue of horses plunging through water. It was the perfect place to people watch. Laurel grinned at the way some of the wannabe cowboys and girls dressed. Sprinkled among them were the real thing with boots and jeans that had actually seen a horse or been near cattle. She wished Carly was with them, her friend always had a way of saying just the right thing to be funny without being mean.
She glanced at her phone to check the time and got to her feet. “We should be getting back. I want to find Carly, too. She gets so nervous before her brother rides I should be there for her.”
Coll got up and stretched. He took the now gnawed turkey leg from Laurel and put the remains of their meal into a refuse bin. “Right-o. Where do we get to watch from?”
“You have no idea how lucky you are. We get to be right up close to everything. We can’t go directly above the chutes where the guys get on, but there’s a great spot for the contestants and families. If you’re really lucky you might even get bull snot on you.”
“Sounds lovely,” Coll said, sounding like he thought anything but.
The grounds were filling up and the midway was much more crowded than it had been a couple of hours before. A huge clot of people were headed toward the grandstand for the afternoon performance. Laurel ducked around them and soon she and Coll were in the less crowded infield by way of the passage under the race track.
“That’s better.” Laurel took off her hat and wiped her forehead. “The pavement out there really holds the heat.”
“Laurel! Where have you been?” Carly bounded up to join them. “Hi, Coll.”
“Hey, Carly. When does Chance ride. What bull did he draw?” Laurel linked arms with her friend.
“He rides third. This is the last day of Pool A, he needs a really good score to get through to Sunday.” Carly shivered and squeezed Laurel’s arm. “I can’t understand how he enjoys getting yanked around by a sixteen-hundred-pound bull. And getting stomped on maybe. What is wrong with my brother?” Carly shook her head and laughed. “Hurry up, Mom is saving us spots in the bleachers.
“Who did he draw?” Laurel asked, hurrying along beside Carly. Coll on her other side.
“Canadian Outlaw. I don’t know anything about him, but some of the guys were sharing their book with Chance.”
“There’s a book about the bull?” Coll asked.
“No, each bull rider keeps a book on the bulls he’s ridden or seen. You know, like this one busts out of the chute, this one spins right and then switches, or this one will try to stomp you if you buck off. They share the information with each other,” Carly explained.
“Wouldn’t they want to keep that stuff to themselves? Why help the competition?” Coll wondered.
“It’s not like that,” Laurel said. “Rodeo is like family, nobody wants to see anybody get hurt and they all look out for each other. You share what you know, and your friends share what they know.”
“Cool,” Coll said.
“Here we are.” Carly waved to her Mom.
“We saved enough seats. Anyone want a bottle of water?” Anna Rowan shifted over a few spots and indicated the small cooler between her feet.
“Thanks, Mom.” Laurel scrambled up and took the cool bottle. Carly squeezed in beside her on one side and Coll on the other.
“The roping just finished, I think saddle bronc is next,” Mrs. Cullen said, her eyes on the arena.
“I think Mom is more nervous than I am,” Carly whispered.
“She doesn’t usually come to watch, does she?” Laurel whispered back.
Carly shook her head. “Dad made her come. They had a huge fight about it. But… you know, like always, Dad won.”
Laurel glanced over and saw Mrs. Cullen was crushing Mom’s hand.
“Those guys are bloody bonkers,” Coll exclaimed as a big paint bronc burst out of the chute to their right with the cowboy making great sweeping movements with his legs in time with the horse’s leaps. “Why isn’t he just holding on?”
“He can’t touch the horse with his free hand and he has to have his feet over the point of the horse’s shoulders when they come out of the chute. Remember at High River, I told you the horse’s performance is worth fifty percent and the rider’s form the other fifty?”
“They’re still barmy.” Coll never took his gaze off the scene in the arena. “That’s the longest eight seconds I ever saw,” he remarked at the blare of the horn. The outriders closed in on the horse and rider, getting the cowboy off and herding the bronc out the lane toward the pens behind the chutes.
Laurel shook her head and scooted a bit closer to Coll, leaning against him. “Wait ’til you see the bulls.” She grinned.
“I’ve seen them at High River, remember?”
“This is Calgary, it’s different with a crowd this big and the best bulls from all the stock contractors are here.”
“Don’t remind me.” Carly’s face was grim. “I should never have watched that movie Eight Seconds last week with Chance. Gives me the creeps.”
Laurel laughed in sympathy. “Probably not the best ol
d movie to watch right before your brother gets on a bull.”
“What’s it about? I’ve never seen it.” Coll leaned closer.
“I’ll tell you later. There’s Chance now.” She pointed toward the walkway behind the chutes where a group of men were huddled around a cowboy straddling the rails over a black bull. Chance stood a few feet away clutching his bull rope. Laurel’s dad and Cory Cullen stood with him.
“He’s after Curt,” Carly’s voice was barely a whisper.
“I can’t do this.” Mrs. Cullen stood suddenly and scrambled from the bleachers.
Anna put a hand on Carly’s shoulder. “I’ll go after her. You stay here and yell for your brother. You know he always looks for you right before he gets on.”
Carly nodded and swallowed hard. A roar from the crowd drew Laurel’s attention back to the chutes. The black bull burst out of the chute and spun into the cowboy’s hand in front of the bleachers. Laurel jumped to her feet and yelled encouragement. The three rodeo clowns danced around the churning animal at a safe distance being sure not to interfere with the ride, but close enough to intervene if the rider came adrift. She let her breath out when the horn sounded, and Curt dismounted, landing on his feet and spinning his hat into the air.
Carly’s nails dug into her arm and she glanced down to the chutes where Laurel’s dad had Chance by the back of the belt while Cory fished the bull rope under the bull and up to his son. Chance lowered himself unto the broad back just behind the big hump above the shoulders. Canadian Outlaw shifted and banged the sides of the chute while the bull rope pulled tight.
“C’mon, Chance. Get out of there,” Carly hissed. The most dangerous part of the ride was often in the chute before the animal actually got to bucking.
Chance snugged his rear up to his hand hold on the bull rope, tucked his chin in and nodded. The chute clanged open and Outlaw exploded into the arena. Laurel caught her breath as the big bull spun into Chance’s hand and then with snot flying promptly switched direction and spun away from his hand.
“Hold on, Chance,” she shouted. “Ride ’em!”
Carly’s fingers bit into her arm just when the horn sounded. Chance came off a split second later, face planting into the dirt as the bull spun him off. The clowns were there before he even hit the ground, getting between the fallen rider and the bull.