The Wild One (6 page)

“That's pretty much what I figured,” Jake said.

“The way she was speaking up for mustangs the other night, I figured she went looking for some,” Slocum said.

Sam's heart hammered so hard, she could feel it in her throat.

Slocum winked at Jake. “Better bait than hay with sweet molasses, that's how young girls work on horses.”

“You sure that's not with unicorns?” Jake asked without cracking a smile.

“I hope Gram wasn't worried,” Sam blurted.

“No problem. Grace put some biscuits aside for your breakfast. I told Wyatt I'd get you a fresh horse and help you catch up with the herd.”

Jake's expression didn't change. His high cheekbones and hard jaw might have been carved of redwood, but the heat in his eyes told Sam that Dad had taken lots of convincing.

Slocum looked between the two as if he expected an argument. Sam knew that might come later, in
private, but not in front of Slocum, who seemed to yearn for division between then.

When nothing happened, Slocum gave a disgusted grunt.

“I'm headed back. You two can ride in together.” Slocum jabbed ornate spurs at the palomino's sides and galloped away.

“No reason to run,” Jake yelled after Slocum, then mused to himself. “He's just the sort who'll cuss his horse if it steps in a ground squirrel hole.”

Sam and Jake sat in silence, broken only by the creak of saddle leather.

“Ever hear your dad call me a good tracker?” Jake asked, finally.

He stared off at the horizon. Sam knew Jake wasn't bragging, just hinting he knew the truth, and giving her a chance to confess.

“He says you're a
world-class
tracker,” Sam admitted.

“I was ten when I trailed Smoke to a wild bunch.”

“I know,” Sam said.

“And you remember Buck Henry.”

“Sure.” Sam swallowed hard.

Buck Henry was a hermit who'd broken into Jake's dad's meat house and made it look like the work of a bear. Only Jake hadn't been fooled. He'd trailed Henry to his mountain cabin and knocked on the door before the man could fry a single stolen steak.

“I don't suppose you know about the cattle thieves.” This time Jake gave her a quick, sideways glance.

“Dad told me you were in Darton, after school one day,” Sam said, “and identified tire prints from a truck that had driven off with some of our stock. You got them arrested.” Sam urged Ace toward camp. “So, what's your point, Jake?”

She wouldn't lie to him, but she wouldn't give away the Phantom's hiding place, either.

“You think I don't know what happened?” Jake asked.

“I think that if you bothered to look at our tracks, you know exactly what happened,” Sam snapped.

For Jake, it would be as if she'd left a note saying she'd galloped off with a wild horse.

“You want to talk about it?” Jake pulled his fingers through his rein ends.

“Not now,” Sam answered.

“That's what I figured, but there's two things I need to tell you. First, if you've seen the Phantom, you know he has a scar on his neck. Slocum put it there.”

Sam caught her breath and felt dizzy. “How?”

“Slocum roped him from the back of a moving truck. The other end of the rope was tied to a barrel full of hardened cement.”

Sam covered her lips to keep a gasp inside. She
thought of her colt's delicate neck, of the concrete snubbing him to a stop.

“He couldn't get away, but he tried, flinging himself against the rope, even though it was choking him.”

Sam could almost hear the echo of the stallion's terrified scream.

“But Slocum got greedy. He left Phantom fighting the barrel, and went after an Appaloosa mare running with the herd. By the time he got back, the Phantom was gone.”

Sam thanked the instinct that had forced her out of the valley and away from the wild horses, before Slocum found her.

“Slocum asked me to track the Phantom.” Jake gave a cold smile.

“But you didn't,” Sam said.

“The blood drops would've made it easy and he offered me a couple hundred dollars,” Jake said. “But I was too busy with school and stuff like that.”

Sam wanted to tell Jake she was proud of him, but her mind kept replaying the stallion's screams. She rode beside Jake in silence, wondering what kind of monster would leave a wild horse alone and fighting, with every chance of breaking his neck.

Only the plastic corral and Gram's chuck wagon marked the place where camp had been. The herd of red and white cattle had moved on.

Before they rode in, Sam pulled Ace to a stop. “You said you needed to tell me two things. What's the other one?”

“Just this: you got hurt before because I wasn't watching you close enough.” Jake raised his voice, refusing to let Sam contradict him. “This time, I'm going to stick to you like glue, Samantha Anne. Slocum's dead serious about catching that horse. He'll do whatever it takes—including using you as bait. But I'll do whatever I have to, to keep you safe.”

Then Jake touched the brim of his hat and galloped away, before Sam had time to say a word.

J
AKE HAD A LOT
of nerve. He'd “stick to her like glue,” would he? In Sam's opinion, she'd proven herself halfway to being a cowgirl.

As she rode drag on Strawberry, Sam wondered why Jake still worried over a fall that had happened years ago.
She
thought about it because it had, after all, been her head Blackie had kicked as he escaped.

You got hurt because I wasn't watching you close enough
, Jake had said. Had someone blamed Jake for her accident or was he blaming himself? Sam made a mental note to ask Gram.

Sam glanced up toward the front of the herd, but couldn't spot Jake's black hat and paint cow pony. After the drive, she and Jake must talk this out. She wanted a friend, not a watchdog.

They'd ridden for about an hour when Strawberry's gait changed. Had she picked up a rock? Sam stopped, ground-tied the mare and patted
down her leg to lift a rear hoof and examine it.

In the quiet, wind rattled the buck brush and cattle calls drifted back to her. No rock was lodged in the hoof, and the stop had cost her only a couple minutes.

She gave Strawberry a pat before remounting. As Sam swung into the saddle, she glanced ahead to see if she'd have to hurry to catch up. That's when she noticed him.

Slocum had dropped back, too. Through the rolling dust, he sat watching her and scanning the open range.

Jake had said Slocum was using her as bait, but did Slocum expect the Phantom to come galloping to her side?

Sam waved at Slocum to let him know she'd noticed his spying. He didn't wave back, just let his horse walk on, as if he'd never stopped.

Maybe Jake wasn't being paranoid. Still, if he thought he could stand between her and the Phantom, just to keep Slocum away, Jake was dead wrong.

Sam pushed aside thoughts of Slocum and concentrated on tomorrow's crossing. They would be crossing the
playa
. Sam knew
playa
was Spanish for “beach.” A thousand years ago, most of Nevada had been covered by ancient Lake Lahontan. Over centuries, the prehistoric waters had dwindled and a crust had formed over the muddy pools left behind.

The men had warned the crossing could be treacherous. This time last week, a risky crossing
would have meant sprinting across Market Street ahead of a cable car or taxi. Tomorrow's crossing would be something new. Dallas had ordered an early stop today, so they could cross the
playa
in daylight.

When Dallas trotted back to join her at the rear of the herd, Sam grabbed her chance to ask questions.

Trying to act unconcerned, she wondered aloud if the crust always held up under the weight of the cattle.

“Not always,” he said. “And the animals know it. They've got an instinct for when it's gonna break and any sound can cause them to stampede.”

The crust could crack beneath a single hoof, he added, sending a cow and calf or horse and rider into the quicksand beneath.

“See you at camp,” he said, then put his horse into a lope so he could catch the leaders.

Sam shuddered and wished the
playa
wasn't too huge to detour around.

 

The drive was over for the day. By the time Sam reached camp, the lead cows had made a muddy mess of the water hole. Some cattle had waded in up to their bellies. Others hung back, keeping calves apart from the crowd, until it was safe to drink.

Strawberry was thirsty, but she and the other horses weren't interested in a water hole packed with noisy cattle.

Sam didn't know Jake was behind her until his voice startled her.

“There's a pond up the hill where the mustangs drink,” he said. “Let's take the horses up there, after dinner.”

“Quit stalking me,” Sam snapped at him.

Jake rode past, but he glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. Though she didn't catch all he said, Sam heard the words, “like glue.”

She couldn't imagine a more annoying friend.

 

After chili, cornbread, and a mound of green salad, Sam didn't feel like riding to the mustangs' water hole. Just lifting a saddle onto a horse's back seemed like work.

Jake looked her way and her weariness must have shown.

“Forget it. They can drink down here,” Jake said. “You didn't sleep much last night, what with nighthawking and all.”

Sam was tempted, until she thought of the two bottles of clear, cold water she'd chugged with dinner. The horses had worked a lot harder than she, and only had a few sips of muddy water.

Dallas must have seen her hesitation. “Sam, you go on ahead to bed and catch up on your sleep,” he said. “I'll get one of the boys to help Jake.”

One of the boys.
Something in Sam growled at Dallas's offer. His words were like a dare, and
Jake was about to laugh.

“Give me five minutes and I'll meet you at the corral,” she told Jake, then turned to the pot suspended over the campfire. “Gram, do you mind if I take a little of this before it turns into dishwater?”

“Help yourself, dear,” Gram said.

Sam washed her face, then considered her reflection in the little mirror Gram had hung on the back of the chuck wagon.

Her sunburned cheeks felt worse than they looked, but blowing dust and short hours of sleep showed in her bloodshot eyes. Sam longed for some lip balm and she wished she hadn't chopped off her hair. Braiding it might have made her feel tidy. She leaned close to the mirror and fluffed her fingers through her bangs.

It sure was a lot of trouble, proving she was tough enough to belong.

Finally, Sam tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Best I can do,” Sam said as Gram's reflection appeared alongside hers.

“You look like a cowgirl, and that's all the horses care about.” Gram kissed her cheek, then stood back as if she had more to say. “I know Jake gets on your nerves, sometimes.”

“It's worse than that.” When Sam noticed she'd put her hands on her hips, she let them slide off. “He either ignores me or acts like a mother hen.”

“Don't you think that's natural? After your
accident?” Gram asked.

“I don't know what it is, Gram.” Sam leaned over and whispered, loudly, “But he's driving me nuts!”

Sam waved good-bye and took two minutes to rummage through the tent for her black sweater. No luck. She jogged to the corral and arrived as Jake rode by, herding most of the saddle horses in front of him.

“I left Ace and Strawberry for you,” he said. “Just take the path up that ridge.”

His gesture was easy to follow, and Sam had no doubt she could handle the last two horses.

After a lazy day just moving with the remuda, Ace rushed the fence, seeming glad to see her.

“Hi, good boy,” she said, stroking the velvety nose he thrust over the fence. Ace nodded until his forelock uncovered the white star high on his forehead and she rubbed that, too.

Sam considered the short ride up the ridge and decided to ride him bareback, while she led Strawberry.

Jake had said he'd taken all the other horses, but as she entered the corral, Sam noticed a third horse tied nearby, at the same time that she smelled cigarette smoke.

The brown Thoroughbred had the long legs and deep chest of a steeplechaser. Double sets of saddlebags hung from his saddle and the man drawing his cinch tight was Linc Slocum.

Everything about the horse and saddle made Sam
nervous. She bridled Ace, thinking that Slocum was prepared for more than nighthawking. Just the same, Sam returned Slocum's wave, before leading Ace from the corral.

“I'm giving you a break from that heavy saddle,” Sam muttered as she vaulted onto Ace's back. “Don't dump me and make me look bad.”

Aunt Sue would have said the gelding acted sweet as a lamb. As he plodded up the trail, Sam watched the sky. Dark clouds hung over an amazing sunset. Often, over the past two years, Aunt Sue had coaxed her to watch San Francisco Bay turn gold as it swallowed the setting sun. The scene was always nice, but for Sam fell far short of entertainment.

Today, Sam had seen the sun rise and set. No one had prompted her to watch. The fiery tangerine color flooding the desert foothills made Sam understand Aunt Sue's enjoyment.

Then she heard him. Sam knew, even before the horses' ears pricked forward, that the Phantom had returned. His nicker floated around her like the words to a secret song.

“Where is he, Ace?” Sam whispered. “Where?” She twisted at the waist, scanning every rise and dip of the land around her.

Somewhere, hooves skittered on rock. Sam urged Ace and Strawberry up the trail for a better view, but still there was nothing, except Slocum's shout.

“I knew it!” His words carried from below.

No!
Slocum must have spotted the stallion first. His Thoroughbred leaped into action, covering yards of desert, stretched low as a greyhound.

Ace pulled at the bit and danced in place, eager to join the chase, but Sam kept him reined in. Still she saw nothing.

“You okay?” Jake was suddenly there on foot. He grabbed her reins near the bit and gave a tug to make Ace settle.

“I'm fine, but Slocum—”

Jake pointed and Sam's eyes followed. The Phantom was leading the Thoroughbred across the desert.

A pale wisp, he teased Slocum's mount. Phantom let the Thoroughbred draw close enough that he must feel the Thoroughbred's breath on his tail. Then the stallion jumped a clump of sagebrush and doubled back with impossible agility.

More ghost than horse, the mustang disappeared in the middle of a hillside with Slocum still thundering after him.

Sam told herself everything would be fine. The Phantom would escape. But that night in her dreams, she saw the stallion dashing through snow drifts, past a candy-cane North Pole, while Slocum followed in a sleigh, face fringed with a beard of ice.

 

Thunder woke Sam before dawn. She wriggled deeper in her sleeping bag and listened to the lowing
of restless cattle. Raindrops pattered on the canvas tent. In the dimness, she saw Gram's bed, neatly tied in a roll.

Dallas called, “Boots on the ground, we're burnin' daylight.”

“
What
daylight?” Jake's voice came from somewhere nearby. His spurs chimed and a horse snorted its bad mood as its hooves sucked across wet ground.

Sam heard bacon sizzling.

Moving like an inchworm, she scooted to the tent flap and pulled it back.

“Psst,” she whispered.

Jake heard her over the hissing curtain of rain, and stopped.

“Is Slocum back?” she asked him.

Rain dripped off Jake's black hat brim as he shook his head and kept riding.

Slocum had been out all night, after the Phantom.

Sam pulled on her jeans. Four days of riding had finally caught up with her. She ached all over and the contortions required to tug up her socks made Sam bite her lip against a whimper.

Dad was waiting by the campfire. He gave her a wink and a yellow slicker. Once she'd struggled into the raincoat, he offered her a warm pottery mug. Steam curled up from the creamy combination of cocoa and coffee and Sam sighed with delight.

The cold sneaking between her upturned collar and pulled down hat made the hot drink taste even better.

Pepper approached the other side of the fire and rubbed his hands together. He wore a long duster which must be oiled, because the water beaded on it.

The bad weather had put him in a playful mood.

“Great day for crossin' the
playa
,” Pepper said, with a wicked grin. “Rain pourin' down from on high and water bubblin' up underfoot.”

“Is it really?” Sam asked. She tried to look out of camp, past the herd, to the
playa
.

“You bet. Think of a hard-boiled egg. Y'know how you give it a whack so you can peel off the shell?” Pepper asked, and Sam nodded. “Well, the
playa
's like that. Little cracks all over the place, with quicksand underneath, just waiting to suck in your horse's hoof and pull you down, down, down.”

As Pepper's voice quavered into the creepy tone you'd use to scare a child, Sam knew she'd been had.

“Hey, you don't want to go scaring a dude like that.”

Dude?
Sam looked up to see which of Slocum's cowboys the words had come from. She thought it had been Flick. Not that it mattered. They were all laughing at her.

“Quicksand doesn't suck you under,” Dad said, sipping at his coffee, looking patient. “It's just a thick combination of sand and water. It doesn't have a mind of its own.”

“I know,” Sam said, but she didn't.

“The main thing's to keep the herd together and
quiet. Don't do anything to spook 'em.”

Dad glanced at her, confirming that she knew what he meant. Cattle, horses, even people got edgy during a storm. The least little thing could spook them into doing something stupid.

“If a cow does go through,” Dad added, “we can rope her and pull her out.”

Sam hoped he was right, but she remembered an adventure movie in which the villain had died struggling in quicksand. The last shot had shown his hat, sitting on the surface of the gritty ooze. But she didn't bring that up.

“Think you all have time to quit joshing and move some cows?” Dallas asked.

The men mounted up. Sam gave Gram a stiff smile and went off to get Ace. She imagined the earth cracking and a black goo swallowing her without a trace.

As always, Jake read her mind. “You can swim right out of it,” he said, quietly. “If you don't panic.”

“You take care of your little girlfriend, now.” Flick grinned at Jake. “Even if they have good bloodlines, dudes scare real easy.”

Sam ignored Flick, just like she would any smart-mouthed jerk at school.

“Sam's no dude,” Jake responded. Sam felt herself relax before he added, “More of a
dudette
, I'd say.”