A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (15 page)

Continuing the monotonous
‘horse-talk’ and
passes with the blanket, Colin held Mogollon’s attention. Without
hurry or fuss, he came close enough to place the blanket against
the stallion’s nostrils. Being one taken from Colin’s bed, the
blanket was impregnated with his scent. After allowing the horse to
sniff at the material, he edged himself around to the side of its
head. Mogollon snorted and stamped its hind feet, but neither
backed away nor tried to attack Scot.

Still talking, Colin gripped the
blanket between his knees and began to massage the
stallion
’s
body with his hands. When he saw that Mogollon allowed him to do
so, he retrieved the blanket and started to waft it repeatedly on
to the horse’s back. When he laid the blanket on to Mogollon’s
back, the stallion grunted indignantly and tried to buck it off.
The hobbles caused it to stumble. Instantly Colin whipped away the
blanket, steadying and soothing the horse. Another session of
massage and gentle swishing with the blanket restored Mogollon’s
confidence. When the Scot placed the blanket on the stallion’s back
for the second time, it stood quietly and made no attempt to throw
off the light burden. With that much achieved, Colin retreated from
the corral.

‘
He’s
taking it well so far,’ the Scot remarked as he returned to the
Kid.

‘
Why
sure,’ the youngster replied. ‘Looks like he remembers how he was
trained. Was I you, though, I’d sleep outside the corral
tonight.’

‘
It
might be as well,’ Colin admitted, for he would make his
bed close to the stallion during the period of winning its
confidence.

Arriving with food for the two
men, Jeanie listened to Colin
’s glowing account of how the ‘blanket’ training
had progressed. With his meal eaten and Jeanie seen on her way,
Colin took his bedroll to the corral. Although Mogollon stayed on
the far side of the enclosure at first, it moved in Colin’s
direction after the Scot had settled down in his blankets. Lying
without a movement, he saw the bulk of the stallion loom through
the darkness. Mogollon advanced cautiously, ears pricked and
nostrils testing the air. Colin made no attempt to rise nor speak,
but remained perfectly still. Lowering its head, Mogollon sniffed
through the rails of the corral at the motionless
figure.

A feeling of contentment filled
Colin, brought about by the knowledge that Mogollon was his. In the
morning he would continue with the
‘blanket’ training, going through the
various stages until he achieved his desires. Once Mogollon allowed
the blanket to remain on its back, he would rest his elbows upon
it, raise his feet and let the horse grow gradually accustomed to
accepting his weight. When the time came for the first try at
riding astride the stallion, he would lead it belly-deep into a
pool along the stream. There Mogollon’s ability to pitch and buck
would be restricted and any throw Colin took would result in a
ducking rather than a serious injury.

According to the Kid, if all
went well the
‘blanket’ training system accustomed the horse to a rider’s
weight and reduced bucking to a minimum. With Mogollon broken to
the saddle, Colin could call himself a mustanger. He would also be
able to use the stallion as a stud when he and Jeanie settled down
on their ranch.

Still making plans for the future,
with Mogollon standing close by on the other side of the fence,
Colin drifted off to sleep.

The rumbling
of many hooves mingled with the
occasional crack of a shot, caused Colin Farquharson to bring
Mogollon to a halt. Reaching forward and down, he slid his Henry
rifle from its saddle boot. After throwing the lever through its
loading cycle, he started the horse moving. Coming to the top of
the slope up which he had been riding, he peered cautiously over.
What he saw brought a grunt of annoyance and he returned the rifle
to the boot.

Ten days had gone by since
Mogollon
’s
capture. Solitude and finding itself in a strange locale had
rapidly won over the stallion. The ‘blanket’ training had produced
results which Colin had found most satisfying and all had gone as
he had hoped it would. The fact that Mogollon had once been broken
for riding had done much to reduce the task. Firmness and kindness
had done the rest. By the fourth day, he had the horse accustomed
to blanket and saddle. Two days later he had ridden Mogollon on dry
land for the first time. After that, there had been a growing
confidence between the Scot and the
manadero.

So far Colin had not started to
train Mogollon for any specialized type of work. Instead he
intended to use it when scouting for other mustangs. That required
no particular skills on the stallion
’s part, but permitted a greater
understanding to develop between it and the Scot. After discussion
with Jeanie, Colin had decided to wait until they had filled the
orders for the OD Connected and the Army before commencing
Mogollon’s higher education.

What Colin saw as he topped the
rim told him that the chances of locating
manadas
in its vicinity were being ruined. While
he had never seen the type of activity being carried out before
him, he had heard his companions talk of it. Now he could
understand why the
mesteneros
had cursed its consequences with regard to their
work.

Flanked by four fast-moving
riders, a small herd
of buffalo was racing along the level ground at the foot of
the gentle slope beyond the rim. Growling his indignation, Colin
studied them. Going by appearances, they ‘ran’ the buffalo for
sport rather than to collect meat or hides. That fact increased his
antipathy towards them.

At the rear on the side closest
to Colin rode a young U.S. Cavalry lieutenant holding a Henry
rifle. On the opposite side of the herd, the second
man
’s
buckskin clothing and gun belt with an open-topped holster hinted
that he might be an Indian-scout or professional hunter. Up front,
ahead of the hunter, a slender man dressed in Eastern riding
fashion aimed a Spencer carbine from close range at a buffalo. Also
dressed stylishly and Eastern, the fourth member of the party was a
beautiful, black-haired woman. She too held a Spencer carbine.
Raking her spurs along her horse’s ribs, she goaded it to greater
efforts in her attempt to catch up with the leaders of the
herd.

Colin was less interested in the
composition of the party than with how their
‘running’ the buffalo
herd—seeing how many they could shoot on the move—would affect the
mustanging prospects. Another good
corrida
would see the OD Connected’s requirements
satisfied and the Army’s contract well on the way to completion.
That would not be possible in the surrounding country for some time
to come. Even if the wild horses were not driven out of the
vicinity, they would be extra wary and alert after such a
scare.

Just before coming level with
Colin
’s
position, the male Easterner’s carbine cracked. Caught from a range
hardly exceeding two feet, the buffalo in front of the muzzle
swerved violently. Its legs buckled and it went down. In falling,
its actions startled the animal at which the woman was lining her
weapon.

Even as Beatrice,
Vicomtesse
de Brioude, squeezed
her borrowed carbine’s trigger, she saw the buffalo at which she
was aiming suddenly alter direction. Flame licked from the
Spencer’s barrel. Instead of driving into the animal’s rib cage,
the bullet tore a furrow across its hump. Cutting loose with a
shrill, enraged hiss that sounded like steam being released under
high-pressure from an engine, the wounded beast turned and lunged
towards its assailant.

Being trained for buffalo
running, Beatrice
’s horse knew the danger. Instead of allowing it to avoid
the charge, she tried to guide it in what would have been the wrong
direction. With a squeal, the bay gelding took the bit between its
teeth and hurtled forward. Left to its own devices, it would have
carried them both to safety. Beatrice’s intervention delayed it for
long enough to put them in a dangerous situation.

Finding that its victim was
spurting clear, the buffalo essayed a quick hook which spiked the
tip of its horn into the bay
’s rump. Again the horse squealed. More pained
than hurt, it flung itself onwards at an even greater speed. Being
completely surprised by the sudden increase in motion, Beatrice
almost went flying from the saddle. Thrown forward, she dropped the
Spencer. Up flew her hands, letting the reins fall, and her feet
flapped to the rear. The screech she let out did nothing to lessen
the bay’s pace. With the bit gripped firmly in its teeth, it raced
away from the herd. Instead of retrieving the reins from the
horse’s neck and using them to control it, she clung to the saddle
horn with both hands. Finding itself free from restraint, the bay
followed its natural inclination to put as much distance as
possible between itself and the buffalo.

Seeing
Beatrice
’s
horse bolting, Lieutenant Lebel swerved away from the rear of the
herd and gave chase. Abe Peet, the hunter, took one glance in her
direction and swung his mount behind the last of the buffalo. Not a
bad-looking man, Peet had received sufficient encouragement from
the
Vicomtesse
to figure rescuing her would bring a satisfactory reward.
He did not want the bow-necked officer to be the one who received
it.

Watching the men, Colin realized that
neither of them sat a horse capable of overtaking the bay quickly.
Maybe they could not even catch the frightened animal. If so, the
woman might be carried for miles. Even worse, in her panic she
might fall off. At the speed her mount was running, that would be
very dangerous.

Nudging
Mogollon
’s
ribs gently with his heels, Colin set the stallion into motion.
From the four-beat gait of a collected walk, his further heel and
rein signals induced Mogollon to open out into a gallop. He felt
the mighty body between his legs change its easy movements to a
powerful, pulsating thrust as it increased its speed. Settling into
the heels-down, toes-in, leg position, Colin thrust his shoulders
forward and chest out. Unlike Beatrice, he retained his hold on the
reins and so could keep the stallion under control. Beneath them,
the ground was ideally suited for galloping; firm but not so hard
that it threw undue pressure on the frogs of the hooves. Nor did
the gentle slope pose any serious threat, for Mogollon had the
agility of a cat over that kind of surface. So the stallion sped on
a converging course with Beatrice’s bay. It moved with the flashing
speed that had so often carried it to safety when chased by human
pursuers.

Becoming aware of his
wife
’s
predicament, the
Vicomte
de Brioude reined in his horse. While waiting for the
buffalo herd to stream by him, his attention transformed from
Beatrice to Colin. Stiffening in his saddle and restraining his
mount, de Brioude stared in awe at the manner in which the great
chestnut stallion was racing in the
Vicomtesse’s
direction.

Fright had added speed to the
bay gelding
’s
flight and Beatrice’s behavior did not improve matters. Clinging
desperately to the saddle horn, swaying from side to side, she
repeatedly screamed in a manner calculated to keep the horse
running. All the wild exhilaration of the chase had left her and
she felt only raw fear.

Fast though the bay moved, it
could not match the controlled speed of the chestnut stallion. With
each sequence of the galloping gait
’s hoof-beats, Mogollon lessened the
distance between them. Seeing the gap closing brought up a problem
for Colin. How could he save the woman once he reached
her?

Trying to rope the gelding
offered no solution, Mogollon lacked the training necessary for
such work. Nor did Colin think much of his chances if he tried to
come alongside the woman
’s horse, lean over and grab at the reins or
headstall. While his riding skill would be equal to the task, any
slight mistake on his part or panic by the woman could throw the
bay off balance with fatal consequences for her. As far as Colin
could see, there was only one way that he might effect the rescue.
It would be as risky as hell, but better than any of the other
means which had occurred to him.

Drawing level with the woman, Colin
began to edge Mogollon closer to the bay. He saw a beautiful face,
distorted by fear, turn towards him.

‘
Help
me!’ Beatrice screeched, speaking French in her fright.

There was no time for Colin to
say anything comforting, nor to discuss his plan for her salvation.
Already the gelding showed signs of moving away from what might be
a source of further pain and danger. Mogollon still remained under
Colin
’s
control, striding out fast and ignoring the other horse. Gripping
the reins in his left hand, Colin steered his mount until his right
leg almost brushed against the hem of Beatrice’s divided
skirt.

‘
Get
your feet out of the stirrups!’ Colin snapped, hoping that she
retained sufficient sense to obey.