Hoofbeats of Danger (6 page)

“No, Billy,” Annie said. Even she was surprised at the calm strength she felt now. “You'd lose your job if Pa caught you. Besides, you don't know the way.” She led Surefoot past Billy and out into the station yard.

Billy followed. “You'll get your pa fired if Nate Slocum learns you've taken this horse without permission, Annie,” he whispered urgently. “And Slocum flat out said you couldn't bring in an Indian healer.”

Annie set her jaw. She'd reasoned through all this already. None of it mattered as much as saving Magpie. “He can't blame Pa if Pa doesn't know I'm doing it. And by the time Slocum finds out, Magpie will be cured. He won't complain then.” She turned to go.

A fretful wheezing from the corral made both of them pause and listen unhappily. “I halfway think your pa suspects I did something to her,” Billy muttered. “He was asking me all sorts of questions this evening. I felt so offended, I could hardly answer.”

“Be patient with Pa,” she replied softly. “He's afraid the Overland's fixing to fire him.”

“Well, if someone's sabotaging the horses, it ain't me,” Billy insisted.

Annie frowned as the meaning of Billy's words sank in. “Are you saying that someone
deliberately
hurt Magpie?”

Billy raised his eyebrows. “That horse wouldn't just go loco, Annie. You and I both know that. Something else must have happened to her. Poison might've made her scream and kick and tremble like that.”

“But who would do such an awful thing, Billy?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Could be the Blackfeet, trying to stir up trouble. They'd do anything to drive us whites off their hunting grounds. Or what about the Butterfield Mail? They hate the fact that the Pony Express gets mail to California twice as fast as their service does.”

Hearing an agitated whinny from Magpie, Annie drew in a sharp breath. “Well, right now all I know is that Magpie's suffering—and I've got to stop it. I'm going to fetch Redbird.” She vaulted onto Surefoot's bare back. “You'll keep an eye on Magpie while I'm gone?”

“I promise. Good luck.”

She rode Surefoot out of the yard, guiding him onto the grassy fringe where the sound of his hooves would be muffled. Once they had reached the trail heading west down the bluff, she gave him his head and urged him to pick up speed.

The rain had stopped falling, but a thick cover of clouds still hid the moon and stars. Annie tried to spot the buttes in the distance, but even they were obscured. She had to guess where the track lay by sensing where the grass stopped. She concentrated hard, relying on her memory of each curve and boulder that disrupted the westward trail.

The farther she got from the station, the less familiar the terrain became. She kept her ears tuned to the constant rumble of the river to her left, using the sound to guide her.

Though the wind had died down, the tall grass still swayed and hissed. Annie could hear small animals skittering about in the sagebrush—deer mice, gophers, jackrabbits. Surefoot shuddered with tension as he picked his way over the muddy, uneven ground. His legs jolted as his hooves struck unseen rocks.

As they pushed ahead through the darkness, Annie's thoughts turned back to her conversation with Billy. Could it be that someone had intentionally hurt Magpie? Annie hated the very idea, but she was running out of other explanations.

One thing Annie felt sure of—Magpie had been her old self when she'd galloped into the station yesterday. If anyone had poisoned her, it must have happened after Magpie was stabled in the barn. Annie considered Billy's remark that either the Blackfoot Indians or the Butterfield Mail folks might have a reason to sabotage an Overland Express horse. But Indians wouldn't have risked entering the station's barn only to poison a single horse. And no one from the Butterfield company was nearby—the Butterfield line crossed the country hundreds of miles to the south, through the old Spanish territories.

With a shiver of dread, she realized that it must have been someone who was at the station that evening. Who'd had an opportunity to meddle with Magpie before she went loco?

Annie felt sure that none of the stagecoach passengers could have harmed Magpie. They'd all run straight from the coach into the station house, hadn't they? Then Annie stiffened, remembering the blond man—Goldilocks. He'd come in the house several minutes later. Where had he been? Maybe he'd only gone to the outhouse. But he could have slipped into the barn with no one seeing him, couldn't he?

Suddenly, Annie jolted wildly as Surefoot's left hind foot slid off the muddy trail and slipped toward the riverbank. Yanking her attention back to riding, she clung desperately with her knees as Surefoot made a sickening lurch toward the rushing river. Then the pony scrambled and caught his balance. She gasped with relief. She was lucky that neither she nor the horse had fallen.

Annie took a deep breath and urged Surefoot on. As he settled back into a steady trot, her thoughts returned to the early evening.
What about Nate Slocum?
a nagging voice inside her asked. He hadn't been in the station house at first—he'd been out in the barn, unhitching the horses. And so was that new guard. Jeremiah and her father had been there too, but they'd have been hard at work themselves. Could either the driver or the guard have approached Magpie unnoticed? Maybe.

Annie fidgeted, uneasily twisting the reins around her fingers. Was Nate Slocum beyond suspicion? He was one of the company's top drivers; surely he could be trusted. He might not like Mr. Dawson—might even hope to get him fired—but he wouldn't hurt one of the company's horses, would he? And if the guard was a company spy, as her father suspected, he'd hardly want to damage company property either.

All at once, Annie's thoughts were interrupted by a furious rustling right at her shoulder. Startled, she jerked on Surefoot's reins. With a fierce beating of wings, a marauding nighthawk flew past to land on a nearby bush. Annie saw its yellow eyes gleam through the darkness.

Annie looked around her with a creeping sense of dread. How long had she been riding? An hour? Two hours? With no moon to judge by, it was hard to tell how much time had passed. Halfway to the Wilsons', the route branched off on a side trail, winding up the steep face of Wilson's Mountain. Had she missed the pile of rocks that marked the turnoff?

She peered harder than ever at the low scrub on the right-hand side as Surefoot pressed on. A few paces farther, she spotted a pale gleam—the pyramid of white stones that Jake Wilson had set out years ago. Relieved, Annie pulled on Surefoot's reins, pointing his head up the rocky slope. The mustang snorted uneasily and balked. Annie slipped to the ground and went on foot, pulling the horse behind her, remounting only when the slope became more gradual.

The roar of the river soon faded away as pinewoods closed in around them. The darkness of the plains seemed nothing compared to the darkness of the woods. And though the scraggly trees blocked the wind, the damp mountain air made her feel the cold even more than she had felt it in the valley. A shiver ran through her, and her teeth began to chatter. A low-hanging pine bough, heavy with raindrops, smacked her full in the face. Annie ducked and raised one arm to ward off other branches as Surefoot plodded forward. Annie told herself not to hurry him. She had to trust the sturdy mountain pony. Magpie's life depended on it.

Her mind flew back to Magpie. Who else might have sabotaged her? Annie's heart sank as she realized she had to consider each of the people who lived at the station—her own family and Jeremiah and Billy.

She knew she could rule out Davy and her mother straightaway. Davy was too young for such evil deeds, and Mrs. Dawson had barely left the house all afternoon and evening.

She refused to suspect her father, too, she thought, pushing aside another drooping bough. He could be gruff, but he wasn't cruel. And he stood to lose the most if anything happened to one of the horses in his care.

Jeremiah? He might be a quiet loner, but he was loyal and honest—and he truly loved horses. That left only Billy Cody, she realized. But Billy, mischievous as he was, would never hurt Magpie—would he?

Annie rubbed her face wearily with one hand. She simply couldn't make sense of things. Maybe Redbird could help her figure it out.

Annie leaned forward to peer through the pine branches overhead. In the gaps, she spied the dark clouds breaking apart, rimmed with moonlight.

A few minutes later, the pony splashed across a shallow creek that Annie recognized. She felt a flush of triumph. The Wilsons' small, rough log cabin was only a few yards off, standing dark and silent among the gnarled pines.

Annie pulled Surefoot to a halt. Until now, she hadn't thought about how the Wilsons would react to her arrival in the dead of night. Her heart skipped a beat as she imagined Jake Wilson answering the door. She was more than a little afraid of the crusty, grizzled fur trapper, who'd lived off this bleak landscape for years.

C
HAPTER
7

T
HE
D
ARK
B
EFORE
D
AWN

Annie paused, listening nervously at the cabin door. She swallowed her fear and pounded a second time. Her muscles tightened, ready to dash away.

The door creaked open. Annie relaxed gratefully. It was Redbird, rubbing her eyes and looking confused. She clasped a shawl around her coarse linen night shift. Wisps of her raven black hair hung around her face. “Annie?” she said in amazement.

“I'm sorry to disturb you so late,” Annie said in a rush. “But something terrible took place tonight.” Quickly, she explained to her friend what had happened to Magpie. “They're planning to shoot her this morning,” she finished. “Please, we've got to cure her before they get out their guns. I know you can do it, Redbird. If anything happens to her—” Annie's voice broke. Now that she'd finally found Redbird, all the fear and grief she'd been holding at bay came surging back.

Redbird put an arm around Annie. “I can't promise I'll be able to save Magpie, Annie,” she said softly. “I have no idea what could be ailing her. But I'll try my best. Wait here a minute.” She slipped back inside the cabin. Annie heard a sleepy murmur of voices inside. Waiting, she hugged her arms around herself, feeling the cold pierce her damp clothes now that she wasn't moving.

Redbird reappeared, pulling a buckskin dress over her shift. “I've got my pouch of remedies.” She held up a small leather bag. “I'd best not take our horse—my pa might need it tomorrow. I'll ride behind you.”

As Redbird pulled the cabin door shut, Annie asked, “Your ma didn't mind you coming out like this?”

Redbird shook her head. “My mother is the daughter of a healer. She knows we have to come when called, even in the middle of the night.” The girl grimaced. “My father, on the other hand … well, I didn't wake him to tell him I was going.”

Annie laughed ruefully as she swung up onto Surefoot. “I know. My pa's like that too.”

With the moon out, the ride down the mountain went more quickly. Redbird sat behind Annie on Surefoot's back, her arms tight around Annie's waist. Their bodies warmed each other against the chilly night.

Redbird asked Annie many questions about Magpie's condition. Then she fell silent, mulling over the facts. “Reminds me of how horses act when they eat locoweed, but that plant doesn't grow much around here. It does sound like some kind of poisoning. If it wasn't something she ate by accident …”

Annie sighed. “I fed her myself. She got hay straight from our meadow, and her oats came from the same bin as all our other horses' oats.” She paused as a thought struck her. “She did get a new horseshoe this afternoon. Could there have been something on the nails?”
The nails my own father drove into her hoof?
she added silently.

“I don't think so,” Redbird replied. “The outside part of the hoof, where you drive the nails, has no veins in it—it's like our toenails and fingernails. A poison couldn't spread from there into the rest of her body.”

Annie let out a breath of relief. She couldn't bear the thought that her father might be responsible. And she didn't like the idea that Magpie might have been poisoned in the afternoon, when the only people around the station had been people she knew well.

“Your father knows a good deal about horses. He may have some idea what caused this,” Redbird went on. “When I speak with him—”

Annie felt uneasy. “Well, you see, Redbird, we can't rightly talk it over with him right now.”

“Why not?” Redbird wondered.

Annie hesitated. How could she explain that she'd been forbidden to ask her friend's help—just because Redbird was an Indian?

But Redbird seemed to guess the truth, or at least part of it. “Ah, I see. So that's why
you
had to come for me,” she said softly.