Wild Horses (9 page)

“No, ma’am,” Lisa agreed and hung her head.

Matt gave a quick nod.

“Kirstie?” Sandy prompted.

She hung her head and gave in at last. “OK,” she breathed, turning on her heel and striding away from the house.

So much for Kirstie’s belief in her mysterious horse healer. She spent the rest of Sunday doing chores on the ranch, helping Matt and Charlie to bring in logs for the fires and stacking them outside the guest cabins, then raking the dirt surface of the arena behind the corral. That evening Charlie and Matt were to give an exhibition of horsemanship there, and everything had to be made neat and tidy.

But Kirstie felt too let down to work well. It was like riding Lucky up to Hummingbird Rock, feeling great, seeing that the world was a beautiful place, then suddenly, unexpectedly, falling off. She was down on the ground, covered in dirt, looking like an idiot. And she only had herself to blame.

She raked the arena with sullen strokes, head down, eyes fixed on the furrowed pattern she made with the rake. Trust her to believe that the black stallion’s helper was someone you could trust. All that stuff about knowing nature and caring about horses turned out to be Kirstie’s own imagination running away with her, making up romantic stories that turned out not to be true.

“Sorry,” Lisa had said quietly after Sandy had dropped the bombshell. “I know how much this means to you.”

Kirstie had done her best to smile back at her friend. “Sure. But I guess we can still hope.”

“How come?” Lisa was waiting for her grandfather, Lennie Goodman, to drive over from Lone Elm, pick up her bicycle, and drive her down to her home in San Luis. “You heard what Hadley and your mom said. No way can we take any more risks to save the stallion.”

Inwardly Kirstie had groaned. But she didn’t show how disappointed she felt, and had waved Lisa off in her grandpa’s red pickup truck without giving anything away.

It was only when she was alone in the late afternoon sun, working in the arena, making it ready for the evening show that she admitted even to herself how bad it was.

For a start, she really loved and admired that horse. Her first view of him in the canyon, proud and suspicious, neck arched, nostrils flared as he protected his herd, had done it. Then there was his courage. She remembered how he’d struggled through his bewilderment and pain to get to his feet after the landslide. And the stallion had trusted her. Hers was the first human hand ever to touch him as she buckled the halter onto help him. And he’d believed in her as she strapped the bandage around his leg to stop the bleeding.

Fiercely Kirstie raked the ground. The horse had permitted her touch, had allowed her to help him. And now a second human being, a man whose name might be Bob Tyson, or Art Fischer, or Baxter Black, had deceived him. The mystery man had found him trapped in Dead Man’s Canyon, had offered false help in order to make money out of him. The drifter had betrayed the horse’s precious trust for the sake of a few dollars in a San Luis sale barn.

Unless…unless…Kirstie stopped work and held the rake frozen in mid-air. “How dumb am I?”

“You say something?” Charlie poked his head around the tack-room door. It was his afternoon to clean the tack while the others took rides along the trails. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, the low sun made him look extra-tanned.

“Yeah…Nope!” Quickly she worked over the last corner of the arena and flung the rake into one corner of the barn. Then she made sure Lucky was still hitched to his post in the corral before she went running into the tack-room to fetch his saddle.

Charlie stood to one side and watched. “Looks like you changed your mind about riding this afternoon.”

“Yep.” She’d been so dumb. Sure, her mom had said to stay away from the backwoods men. And that made sense, if they were as tough as Sandy said they were. Kirstie had agreed that she wouldn’t go riding up the mountain looking for their beaten-up old trailers, trying to convince them not to sell her beautiful wild stallion to some ruthless rodeo organizer.

That had been the exact promise: “OK, I’ll stay clear of Bob Tyson.”

“And Art Fischer, and Baxter Black, and any other drifter who happens to be passing through.” Sandy Scott had made the situation absolutely plain.

And, though it had felt as bad as teeth being pulled, Kirstie had promised.

But she
hadn’t
promised her mom not to go back to Dead Man’s Canyon.

“Can’t say I blame you.” Unsuspecting, Charlie looked up at the blue sky and offered to help her saddle Lucky. “I’d take a ride myself if I didn’t have this exhibition tonight.”

“Tell Mom I’ll be back before sundown.” Her fingers felt clumsy as she rushed to fasten the cinch and pull down the stirrups. She mounted quickly and took the reins.

“Sure thing.” Charlie stood and watched her set off, then called after her. “Hey, your mom’s gonna ask me where you went!”

Kirstie reined Lucky back. “Tell her Meltwater Trail,” she yelled, turning again and riding off into the sun without looking back.

Meltwater Trail and Dead Man’s Canyon. That was how dumb she’d been! It had taken her since lunch to realize that her promise to her mom didn’t cover riding back to the hidden clearing, finding the stallion, and setting him free.

Now it was all she could think about as she urged Lucky into a trot and then a smooth lope up the hill.

Again and again she went over each step of the new plan, almost forgetting to duck the branches of the pine trees and guide the palomino over fallen trunks as they sped on. The black stallion would still be there in his clearing behind the waterfall. Perhaps the rest of the herd would be gathered nearby. Kirstie would dismount and leave Lucky on the ridge. She would take a head collar and rope with her, and climb down into the canyon. Then she would crawl along the ledge into the meadow. Then …

Kirstie lurched forward as Lucky came to a sudden stop. They’d covered more ground than she’d realized and reached fast-flowing Horseshoe Creek. Now they would have to wade across before they reached the canyon. Lucky had been heading for his usual crossing place when a figure standing on a rock in the middle of the stream brought him to a halt.

It was a man with a fishing rod and canvas bag slung across his shoulder, obviously making his way down toward Five Mile Creek in the valley below. Nothing about him looked unusual or scary; he was medium height, with fair, short hair, wearing a padded jacket, jeans, and boots. But Sandy’s recent warning was fresh in Kirstie’s mind. What if this man, whom she’d never seen before, was one of the drifters they’d been talking about? Maybe he was Baxter or Art? Or maybe even the notorious Bob Tyson?

The thought made Kirstie rein Lucky to the right and head off across country without waiting to greet the stranger. She felt her horse begin to blow as the hill grew steeper and they passed under the shadow of Hummingbird Rock, but she pushed him on until they were out of sight.

Then she slowed. The detour was heading them toward Miners’ Ridge; she recognized the weird humps of grassed-over mine waste on the horizon. Knowing that the ridge would give her a good view down into the canyon, and finding that Lucky had soon got his second wind, she decided to carry on.

They came onto the ridge as the sun began to turn the sky pink. The dark pines lined up in silhouette, tall and straight. And beneath the trees stood the horses.

“Easy!” Kirstie breathed. Lucky gently slowed and stopped. The breeze lifted her hair and cooled her hot face as they stood gazing at the herd.

They seemed like dream horses, still as statues under the trees. But the breeze reached them and swayed their long tails. One sorrel stamped and turned her head toward the onlookers, then turned to gaze again into the seemingly empty canyon.

How long had they been waiting there, Kirstie wondered. Maybe hours. While shadows lengthened and the light drained from the hillsides, they’d been watching. She noticed a dappled gray mare standing apart from the rest, nearer to the sheer drop into Dead Man’s Canyon, her head forward, long ears pricked. The mare ignored Kirstie and Lucky, and gave a low snicker that rippled through the quiet air and was swallowed by the deep sides of the ravine.

The still, silent horses listened for a reply.

Kirstie shook her head. The mare had signalled to the black stallion below, but there had been no answer.

Restless now, the herd broke up and began to mill around. Two foals cut away from their mothers and skittered on long, ungainly legs toward a stream that ran into a gully at a blocked entrance to an old mine. A young, strong blue roan stallion trotted a hundred yards along the ridge, and with a flick of his tail and a toss of his head, wheeled and came back.

But the gray mare hadn’t given up. Standing at the brink, she gave another high whinny.

It sent a shiver down Kirstie’s spine. The mare was demanding an answer from her injured mate.

And this time it came. A loud, piercing cry broke from the depths of the canyon, echoing against the rocks, rising to where the herd had gathered. The black stallion had given his reply.

Kirstie tied Lucky to a tree branch and climbed down the difficult but by now familiar route into the canyon. She carried a rope slung crossways across her shoulder, her mind fixed on carrying out her plan to set the stallion free.

But she knew she must be quick if she hoped to crawl along the ledge behind the waterfall and into the clearing, because the light was fading. There was time to do it if everything went well. But the stallion might prove difficult to catch and lead out. In that case, she would have to leave him there for one more night and come back early tomorrow.

What she hadn’t expected was to find him still in pain from his injury. But when she stood upright after her wet crawl behind the waterfall and stepped onto the grass, and discovered the stallion standing at the farthest point beside the copse of young aspens, she saw that he couldn’t yet take his weight on his left leg. The knee was bent, the hoof raised from the ground.

But maybe … Kirstie went slowly forward. Maybe with her help he would be able to limp across the meadow, through the narrow chasm and along the ledge to freedom.

The stallion tossed his head and whinnied loudly. He shifted awkwardly, almost collapsing onto the left leg, then backing away.

Kirstie paused. The horse was more lame than she’d thought. The knee joint was swollen, the covering of white grease over the wound beginning to turn brown and dirty. He staggered again in an effort to keep her at a distance.

It was no good then. Her plan depended on him being well enough to follow her out of the clearing and up the difficult track onto the ridge. But it would have to wait. Kirstie sighed and turned away. Then she stopped. But what if the drifter came back for the stallion before her? The drifter—not the healer, not the mystery horse doctor, since Kirstie’s talk with her mom—might force him out of the canyon, bad leg or not. He wouldn’t care if the wild horse was in pain, not if he could make money out of him at the sale barn.

But what could she do? Nothing. Except keep watch. Kirstie took a deep breath and tilted her head to the darkening sky. One thing was for sure; no one in their right mind would come along after nightfall to move the stallion. They were safe at least until morning.

Encouraged, she made up her mind to leave the horse where he was.

“Until daylight,” she told him, as if he could understand. And in a way, he did.

Her gentle voice, her soft movements seemed to calm him. He no longer tried to back away, stumbling on his injured leg, but stood quite still. Head up, mane ruffled by a warm breeze that whispered through the aspens and up the steep cliffs onto the ridge above, he watched her go.

“I must be crazy,” Lisa complained. She yawned and slumped in the saddle. “It’s the first day of my vacation and I get up before dawn!”

Kirstie grinned. “You know what we say at Half Moon Ranch; you just gotta …”

“… Cowboy-up!” Lisa groaned. “Yeah, yeah.”

She’d driven out to the ranch with her mother in answer to Kirstie’s secretive phone call of the night before. Kirstie had asked her to ride back to Dead Man’s Canyon with her to look out for the stallion, but she’d warned her not to say anything to her mom. As far as the adults were concerned, Lisa and Kirstie had simply organized a breakfast ride to celebrate the beginning of the school vacation.