Carole (30 page)

The cattle drive is over. But I will never, as long as I live, forget it.

It started out well enough. Our parents were still being their Saddlebag selves, making a mess of their bedrolls and generally acting clueless about what we were really setting off to do for the next two days. Lisa’s mother actually tried to pack an electric blow dryer in her bedroll!

But our parents were pretty well behaved once we hit the trail. They seemed impressed with the wild, beautiful landscape we were riding through, and they followed John’s and Walter’s instructions without a peep.

That was the first day. This morning, after a night sleeping under the stars, their mood seemed a little less chipper. Lisa’s dad kept grumbling about having only beef jerky and coffee for breakfast. And the others, including Dad, kept cracking jokes about everything. I was afraid they might have hurt John’s and Walter’s feelings—after all, this was real work to them, not just a lark—but they didn’t seem to notice.

Everybody felt a little better once we were back in the saddle. Well, okay, I’m not sure about the “everybody” part. But I know
I
felt better.

The rest of the morning was actually a lot of fun. The Saddlebags really seemed to be getting into the spirit of things, and by the time we stopped for lunch, each of them had managed to help out and make themselves useful at least once.

Well, make that each of them except for Dad. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t done much of anything during the ride. “He spent the whole morning chitchatting at the back of the herd,” I told my friends ruefully. “I almost wish something would come up that would teach him a lesson or two. About real riding and what goes into it.”

Just then Walter called for us to mount up to continue the ride. I got up to obey, trying to forget about Dad and just enjoy myself.

By early afternoon, we’d reached an arroyo that I remembered from the day before. It hadn’t been hard to cross it then. But today, with a herd of cattle, it looked like a much tougher job. I quickly realized that the safest place for the cattle to go down the steep side was very narrow. Walter and John started herding them down, but they had to funnel them practically one at a time into the narrow spot to take a drink. That would have been fine, except that a lot of the animals were too impatient to wait their turn. They tried to make their own way down the hillside, slipping and sliding and doing their best to break their own necks.

It was definitely a job for Stewball. And for The Saddle Club. We swung into action, with Stevie and Kate working the front of the line of cattle, herding them across the stream to John and Walter, while Lisa and I stood back and guided the cattle at the back of the line.

It was a slow process, and we all stayed intensely focused on what we were doing. Meanwhile, the Saddlebags were hanging back, watching and getting restless.

“These ornery beasts are sure taking their time,” Dad said at one point.

I overheard him and couldn’t help feeling irritated. The cattle weren’t being ornery. They were just thirsty. That was why it took so long to get them across the stream.

Eventually the adults decided to take a ride upstream while they were waiting. They cleared it with Walter.

“Just don’t go too far,” he told them. “Fifteen minutes up and fifteen back ought to bring you back by the time we’ve got all these critters on the other side.”

The Saddlebags agreed and rode off, and the rest of us continued with our work.

It took a long time, but finally we did it. The whole herd had made it across the arroyo safe and sound. We paused for a few seconds’ rest and a drink from our canteens.

“Sure took a while, didn’t it?” Lisa commented.

“Yeah,” Kate agreed. “It’s getting dark already.”

Stevie checked her watch. “It’s only three-thirty.”

“That’s weird,” I said.

We all looked up at the sky. Above us was a low ceiling of sinister-looking clouds.

“Wow,” I gasped. “I didn’t see
those
coming.”

“Uh-oh, I feel a drop,” Stevie said.

We all grabbed our ponchos just in time. The drops started coming faster, and a moment later the heavens opened up in sheets. It felt like we were standing under a pounding waterfall. The land, which had been dry and parched, instantly developed puddles and lakes. The tiny winding creek where we
had just watered the cattle was rapidly swelling upward in the arroyo.

“It’s a good thing we got the cattle out of there before the storm hit,” I called to my friends, having to raise my voice over the pounding of the rain.

“I hope the Saddlebags get to see this!” Stevie shouted back.

“Where are our parents, anyway?” I cried, looking around. It had been nearly an hour since they’d ridden off.

Suddenly I saw something that made my stomach turn over. The current below had torn a small tree out of the bank by its roots and sent it floating downstream. Behind it, rushing toward us, was a big black ten-gallon cowboy hat. Dad’s hat.

“Oh no!” Stevie cried. “Our parents are in trouble!”

We shouted for Walter and John. Walter was already out of earshot, but John rode back to see what we wanted. As soon as he heard, he nodded grimly. “Let’s go.”

We rode upstream, looking for any sign of our missing parents. Nothing met our eyes except the rushing water and rain. My heart was pounding a mile a minute. What if something happened to Dad? I couldn’t stand that. I tried not to think about it as I scanned the arroyo and the land around it.

After what felt like forever, we rounded a bend in the stream, which now looked more like a river. That’s when we saw them. They were standing on a tiny patch of land in the middle of the arroyo, surrounded on all sides by rushing, tumbling water. All five of them were huddled together on their five very nervous horses, looking terrified. And the water was rising by the minute.

As soon as they spotted us, they started waving frantically and yelling for help. We swung into action, led by John. He pulled his lariat out from under his poncho and Kate tied it around a boulder on the bank farther upstream. Then he threw the other end of the rope, and it landed around one of the scraggly trees on the island with the Saddlebags. Stevie’s dad tied that end around the trunk of the tree.

I’m still not sure how we did what we did next, but we knew our parents’ lives were on the line. John and Tex made their way through the swirling current to the little island. He coaxed each of the horses out into the water, and then they began to swim across the river. Mrs. Atwood was terrified and we were all afraid that she might fall in, but John kept her calm and they finally reached the other side. Then she grabbed the rope John and Kate had strung up earlier, and we helped her pull herself to safety. And so it went until all the Saddlebags were safe. By the time the last of them had made it across, the little island where they’d been standing had totally disappeared below the raging water.

I’ve never felt the kind of relief I felt when Dad was back on the bank—when they were all there, safe and sound, but especially Dad.

As we rode away, I glanced back one last time at the flooded arroyo. I felt tears sting my eyes as I remembered Dad’s silly cowboy hat floating downstream. It was almost too much to bear. I looked over at him, and I almost sobbed out loud. What if I’d lost him?

But I didn’t. That’s the important thing. Thanks to The Saddle Club, and to John and Tex, I didn’t.

It feels kind of weird to be home again after everything that happened at the Bar None. I mean, we left expecting a nice, fun, relaxing trip with our parents. Instead we ended up saving their lives. It just goes to show that nobody really knows what’s going to happen next.

Which makes me think that maybe I’ve been trying a little too hard in the past few months to figure out the rest of my life. I mean, I should know by now that things are always going to change, no matter how carefully you plan. A horse can always throw a shoe five minutes before he’s supposed to
step into the ring. So I guess it’s a little silly to spend so much energy worrying about my career when I could be doing other things, like enjoying all the different kinds of riding I love. And I’ll just have to cross the career decision bridge when I come to it. John Brightstar is right—there’s plenty of time for that.

In fact, I’m starting to think maybe I should call Cam and mention this to him. It’s fine if he really wants to be a three-day eventer, and if he wants to spend extra time preparing for that. But I’d hate to think of him giving up any opportunities to do other stuff. So I think I will go call him—right now.

(later)

Well, what do you know? All this time I’ve been so worried because of what Cam said last summer, and it turns out he doesn’t even remember! He was completely confused when I started babbling about his three-day event plans. That’s because these days he’s convinced that he’s going to become the world’s greatest polo player when he grows up!

So that’s that. My brilliant future career can wait. I have other things to think about, like next weekend’s Horse Wise meeting, and that book report I’m supposed to be writing before spring break ends in two days, and what to get Lisa for her birthday next month.

And also what I just read in my diary. Remembering that horrible day when we lost Mom was even harder, somehow, because of how close I came to losing Dad on the trip to the Bar None.

But I’m still glad I read it, because it also makes me think
about the time we
did
have together before she died. That makes me miss her more than ever, of course. But it also reminds me of what she told me about looking for the special moments in life as they come. I guess I’ve had a lot of special moments recently. Stuff like seeing Deborah propose to Max. Or helping Stevie celebrate getting her own horse at long last. Or cheering Lisa on in her stage debut as Annie. Or touching that amulet for the first time as Grand Alice told me its story.

Those are all things I wish Mom could have shared. And somehow, I guess she did share them. Because just like I realized on New Year’s Eve in Minnesota, friends are always with you—and the same is true of family. Mom will always be a part of me. So in that way she’ll always be there to share the important moments, from the day I got Starlight to the day I get married. Not to mention all the smaller, but still special, moments in between.

But knowing that doesn’t seem like quite enough somehow. I still wish I’d been able to say more during those last days in the hospice, when I wanted to talk to her so much but was afraid to. Plus I keep thinking about what my old instructor always said about how writing things down helps you focus. So I think I’m going to try something, an idea I just had. Here goes …