Hoofbeats of Danger (4 page)

Her father looked at her, startled. Water dripped from his shaggy dark hair and beard. “Better stay out of this, Annie,” he warned.

Annie dug her fingernails into her palms. “But Pa, I know that horse,” she pleaded. “I've slept in her stall—she's eaten her oats right out of my hand. A horse like that doesn't go wild again.”

Billy raised his voice. “You're a good horseman, Mr. Dawson—you know what she's saying is true.”

Pa flashed him a sharp glance.

“She must be sick or hurt.” Annie pressed her point. “Why don't we send for Redbird Wilson? She knows a lot about healing animals. Remember the time we took her that goat with the broken leg?”

Her father hesitated, considering. They could hear a dull thud as Magpie flung herself against the side of the barn. “Well, I don't know,” he said, his gaze flickering toward Nate Slocum. “I guess it's worth a try. After all, she's one of the fastest ponies the Express has got.”

The stagecoach guard folded his thick arms. “Who's this Redbird Wilson you're talking about?” he asked curiously, cocking one eyebrow.

Mr. Dawson ran his fingers through his hair. “She's a girl who lives up the mountain just west of here. I reckon she's sixteen years old or so. Her pa's a mountain man, her ma's a Shoshone. The Shoshone grandpa is a healer. He's been teaching Redbird.”

The guard looked shocked. “You'd let an Injun doctor that horse, Dawson? Why, you know the Injuns have been trying to shut down the Pony Express ever since it started. They attacked your rider this morning, didn't they?”

All eyes turned to Billy. He pulled back uneasily. “Well, yeah, sure they set on me. But those were Blackfeet, not Shoshones. And they were just shooing me off their hunting ground—”

The coach guard clapped Nate Slocum on the shoulder. “You've been a jehu on this route for years, Nate. How many times you been attacked by Injuns?”

Nate Slocum frowned. “So often I've lost count.”

The guard nodded and went on. “I haven't been working for the Overland long, but I do know the ways of the West. And one thing I can tell you is never trust an Injun. Blackfoot, Paiute, Apache, Sioux—they're all the same. They'll do anything to keep white men from settling the West.”

Nate Slocum turned gravely to Mr. Dawson. “I'm of the same mind. Asking an Indian for help is just plumb foolish. I won't report this to headquarters, Dawson—but if I did, you'd get fired, sure as shooting.”

The driver pushed past Annie and went inside to finish his supper. The guard followed close behind.

Annie, Billy, Pa, and Jeremiah faced each other under the dripping eaves. Annie fought to keep her voice from trembling as she said, “Pa, forget what they say. You know Redbird could help—she's got the healing touch. She nursed that billy goat for two weeks—”

“I ain't going against Nate Slocum, Annie,” her father said firmly.

Annie raised her chin. “But he's wrong, Pa! Redbird wouldn't do us any harm.”

Mr. Dawson shook his head. “I've got nothing against Redbird. But if anyone knows how the company bosses think, it's Nate Slocum. If he says they'd disapprove, I ain't taking the risk. Not with my job on the line.”

“But if Magpie needs doctoring—” Annie began.

Her father cut her off. “Jeremiah's right—there ain't no doctoring for a horse that's turned loco. And a loco horse is too dangerous to keep around. A bullet to the brain is standard treatment.” He studied her anguished face and sighed. “I'll grant you this much, Annie—I won't shoot her tonight.” Annie's heart rose, and she flung her arms around her father. He awkwardly laid a hand on her hair.

“But look here, Annie—don't get your hopes up,” Pa added uneasily. “If she's still acting crazy by daybreak, I've got no choice but to shoot her. I won't let Nate Slocum report me for being slack.” He turned away and, shoulders hunched unhappily, walked back to his forge.

Annie watched him go. Billy tugged on her arm, urging her into the station house, but she shook her head. “I can't leave Magpie alone,” she said in a choked voice.

Billy sighed. “You'll catch your death out here, Annie. Next thing you know, we'll be fetching Redbird to save
you
.”

Annie hugged herself, feeling the chill of the raw, wet night. But she refused to give in. “I'll be all right,” she declared hoarsely. “Just leave me be.”

Billy shook his head and left with Jeremiah for the barn.

Annie stood alone under the station-house eaves for a few minutes, listening to the raspy snorts and whinnies coming from the corral. Those strangled noises didn't sound like Magpie—and yet it was as if Magpie were trying to tell her something. But what?

A faint light flared across the yard from the barn as Jeremiah and Billy settled into the hayloft for the night. Annie couldn't bear to go back into the house yet, but she couldn't stay outside in this downpour. Head down, she set off across the station yard to the barn, yanking her shoes out of the sucking mud at each step. Hurrying inside, she took a lantern from a hook by the tack room door. She lit it and headed down the aisle to Magpie's stall.

Pausing on the threshold, Annie stared into the silent stall, so strangely empty now. Her throat tightened, and suddenly she felt her chest heaving with sobs. She dropped to her knees, then threw herself face forward onto the straw-covered floor. Scalding tears brimmed over and ran down her cheeks.

If only Magpie could be here again, her old self! The thought spun round and round in Annie's mind, swelling into a stubborn hope. As she focused on that vision, Annie felt certainty surge within her. She just
knew
Magpie wasn't loco. There
had
to be another explanation. Magpie was sick or injured, and she needed help, not a bullet to the brain. None of the men understood that—only Annie did. “It's up to me, then,” Annie said, lifting her head defiantly. “I'll save you, Magpie—I swear I will.”

Slowly she sat up, caught a long breath, and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles.
If I'm going to save her, I've got to think clearly,
Annie told herself. This stall was where Magpie's trouble began, she realized; maybe there was some clue here to explain what had happened to her. Lifting the lamp, Annie began to examine the straw scattered wildly on the stall floor. She imagined how Magpie's frantic pawing had tossed it around.

The mare's water bucket had been kicked over, too, splashing the wooden wall and leaving a pile of matted, wet straw. Annie groaned, sickened by the sudden thought that the feed or water she herself had fetched might have made Magpie ill. Steadying herself, she thought hard for a minute. She had gone all the way to the river to draw Magpie fresh water, rather than giving her the tepid water from the trough in the yard. But the river water couldn't have made her sick. Annie had also refilled the water barrel at the station house with river water, and none of the people drinking it had fallen ill.

Then what about Magpie's oats? Annie knew that eating spoiled oats could give a horse a serious, even fatal, case of colic. Warily she knelt down and fingered a few oats scattered on the stall floor. She laid one on her tongue, letting its papery taste dissolve. There was no bitter or moldy flavor, nothing to suggest that the oats had made Magpie ill.

Baffled, Annie gazed around the lamp-lit stall. She noticed a few sharp, fresh gouges halfway up the wall, no doubt carved by Magpie's flying hooves. Annie felt her heart wrench as she imagined Magpie overwhelmed by pain or fear.
What was it, girl?
Annie's thoughts went out to Magpie.
What made you act this way?
If only she could find some clue.

Rain hammered on the roof, and the wind creaked the barn timbers. She could barely hear Magpie charging around the corral outside. But she knew the horse was still there, wet and cold, probably racked with pain. Annie wearily slipped to her feet and headed out into the rain again.

Pressing against the corral fence, her face lashed with cold raindrops, she whistled to Magpie. The mare gave one startled whinny and made a ragged dash, head down, toward the girl's figure. She veered aside at the last minute with a wild jerk. Snorting and wheezing, she danced away on stiff legs.

“Magpie! Maggie! It's me!” Annie called softly.

The mustang came to a wary halt. Trembling and shivering, she faced Annie. The whites showed dangerously around her eyes, but she held still.

Annie bunched up her sodden dress and climbed the rails of the fence. She hopped down on the other side, then edged forward, holding out a hand for the mare to sniff. Magpie quivered and snorted raggedly.

Getting closer, Annie reached for Magpie's halter. The horse flinched and backed away a few inches as the girl's hand brushed her coat. Annie, murmuring gently, followed her. This time she got her hand on the cheek strap and took a firm grip.

Ribs heaving, legs trembling, Magpie stood rigidly still. Annie ran her fingers all along the halter. She felt no burr, no twisted bit of rope, nothing that could be irritating the horse. Hope fading, she dropped her hand. Magpie squealed and jerked away, fleeing to the far side of the corral.

Annie stubbornly followed, sloshing through the mud. Reaching Magpie's side again, Annie laid a careful hand on the mare's barrel. She felt her heart hammering inside, felt the ragged catch of her breathing. Then Magpie reared away, backing into the fence with a resounding crash of wood.

From the corner of her eye, Annie saw light stream out as the door of the station house opened. Then she heard a sound she knew well—the metallic snap of a rifle being cocked, ready to shoot.

Annie wheeled around. Through the slanting rain, she saw her father's silhouette in the open doorway, outlined in the yellow glow of lamplight. Her breath stopped. He was raising the long barrel of his rifle to his shoulder—and pointing it directly at Magpie.

C
HAPTER
5

C
OURTING
D
ANGER

Pa, stop!” Annie cried urgently. Uncertainly, her father lowered his rifle. “Annie? What in tarnation are you doing in there? You want to get yourself killed?”

Annie slipped through the fence rails in a flash and raced across the yard. “Pa, I was only trying to calm her down,” she pleaded.

Her father laid his rifle on his shoulder, but his face was grim. “Thank the Lord you're all right, child. I heard wood breaking—I feared she was busting out. If she's getting worse, I'll have to shoot her now, Annie, not wait for morning.”

“She ain't, Pa,” Annie said quickly.

Mr. Dawson took hold of her shoulder firmly. “Annie, I don't want you going near that horse again—you hear? You've got to stop thinking of her as the old Magpie. If she's loco, you don't want nothing to do with her.”

“Why is everyone so all-fired certain she's gone loco?” Annie asked hotly.

“What else could it be, Annie?” Pa nodded toward the corral. They both turned to look at Magpie, pacing in circles in the rain, huffing and swinging her head wildly from side to side.

Annie tried to swallow the lump of dread that had lodged in her throat. “I've been trying to find what's wrong with her, Pa,” she said, ducking under the eaves of the cabin. “I went out to take a look around her stall. I checked out her feed and water to see if something made her sick.”

Her father studied her, surprised. “And what did you find?”

Annie dropped her head a little. “Well—nothing,” she admitted. “But there
must
be some reason why she's acting like this.” She paused, searching for the words that would reach her father best. “If she's sick, the company would want you to treat her, not kill her—wouldn't they? You said yourself she's one of the Overland's best horses.”

Pa gave Annie a long look, as though noticing for the first time how grown-up she was. He stood silent for a moment, fingering his shaggy beard. Annie looked back at Magpie's restless shape through the blur of rain.

Her father's voice cut into her thoughts. “Nate Slocum's watching every move I make,” he said. “That guard, too—he seems thick as thieves with Slocum. I'll bet anything they're under special orders from the company. I feel like they're just waiting for me to make a mistake.”

Annie held her breath. Her father had never talked to her like this before.

“Why would they want
you
to get in trouble?” Annie asked, confused. “You're not their enemy—you work for the same company.”

Mr. Dawson shook his head. “But I'm still new here. And I'm a failed prospector, not an innkeeper or trading-post owner like some of the stationmasters. The Overland took a chance by hiring me, you see, and I've still got to prove myself. If they don't think I'm right for this job … well, I've never felt Nate Slocum favored me,” he confessed. “He makes me awful nervous, like he thinks I can't do nothing right.”