Moonrise (4 page)

“H
orse on the porch.”

Sam and Dad stared at Gram. Had she been talking to Mrs. Allen?

No. With the telephone receiver clamped between her ear and shoulder, Gram pointed toward the kitchen door.

As she did, hooves clopped on wood.

Then Sam heard hooves on dirt. Many hooves.

Once before, on the night of the fire, River Bend's horses had been freed from the ten-acre pasture. The horses had been gone all night, but in the morning, one had shown up on the ranch house's wide wooden porch. Ace.

He must be the horse on the porch now.

Grimacing, Dad pushed up from his chair at the table, but Sam darted past him.

“Go ahead,” Dad said, “but take it slow.”

Sucking in a breath, Sam took smaller, quieter steps, instead of bursting out the door as she'd been about to do.

It didn't help. The horses still spooked.

A sudden stomping—like the pounding at a pep rally in the school gym, when everyone stomped their feet—erupted on the porch. Ace couldn't be making all that noise by himself.

Sweetheart, Gram's aged pinto, had been right behind Ace, but now both horses backed off the porch, just missing the roof support posts.

Ace retreated so fast, he rammed into Sweetheart and she scolded him with a bite. The gelding cried out in surprise, then whirled toward the ranch entrance and bolted into a run. Sweetheart followed, limping on a foreleg for an instant before she loosened up and galloped after him and the other horses.

“They're all out,” Sam called back to Dad.

Dad was at her elbow by now. Together they stared after the fleeing saddle horses. Ace and Sweetheart sprinted toward Popcorn, Jeep, and Strawberry.

Five horses were headed for open country.

Sam knew what she was doing with the rest of her day.

“Help me catch Amigo and Penny,” Dad said.

She hadn't noticed the two sorrels milling next to the barn corral, uttering distressed nickers to Dark Sunshine and Tempest.

“Tell you what,” Dad said. “Saddle up Amigo and trail them. With any luck, Ross and Pepper will run across 'em and push 'em on home, but if they don't, you can take a try at it.”

Goose bumps pricked her arms and legs like a thousand cold, tiny needles. Dad was sending her out alone to bring back the saddle horses. Did he really expect her to be able to do it?

She tried to look confident, but Dad must have seen her hesitation.

“Only one way you learn to be a buckaroo,” Dad told her, “and that's the hard way.”

Sam almost stopped breathing.

A buckaroo wasn't just a cowboy. A buckaroo never drove when he could ride, never lost pride in his skills, and never let his ranch become a farm.

Sam only knew three buckaroos and they were all men: Dad, Jed Kenworthy, and Jake.

Being a buckaroo wasn't a matter of bloodlines, either. Jake's dad, Luke, was a good rider and rancher, but he also worked for a mining company in town. Luke wasn't a buckaroo, but Jake definitely was.

Once, Sam had heard Dad tell Brynna that he knew Jake for a buckaroo the first day he saw him mount an unbroken horse.

“He was so good, so soon, it was amazing,” Dad
had said. And that's why he'd hired Jake to help with horses.

Sam wondered if she'd misunderstood Dad when he said
she
could be a buckaroo.

There was no time to ask.

She grabbed the halter and lead rope hanging over the hitching rail and strode toward Amigo. The old gelding tossed his graying muzzle skyward and rolled his eyes, but he didn't resist.

Penny, Brynna's copper-bright mare, was another story. Confused by the chaos, she squealed and rose into a half rear when Dad stood before her.

“Hey, little girl, you get back now. You're going nowhere. Brynna'll have my hide if I lose you.”

The blind mare's ears pricked forward. Was it Brynna's name that made her stop rearing and shift from hoof to hoof?

While the mare calmed down, Dad kept talking to Sam.

“I'll be along on Penny, soon as I check the lock on that gate,” Dad said as he slipped a rope around the mare's neck and led her into the barn stall.

Sam grabbed the tack that was still sitting out on the porch. With luck, it would fit, so she wouldn't have to go to the barn in search of Amigo's gear.

Close enough
, Sam thought as she adjusted the headstall to Amigo's larger head. She smoothed on the saddle blanket, hefted the saddle, and grunted as she boosted the saddle onto Amigo's back. The cinch had
to be fastened on a looser notch, but the saddle fit fine.

Sam managed to mount, in spite of feeling as if a giant hand held her by the ribs and waggled her back and forth. Was it her heartbeat? Her runaway pulse? Or the realization that Dad thought she could be a buckaroo?

He hadn't made any big deal over it. In fact, he acted as if he hadn't said it at all, but Dad touched his hat brim and lifted his chin toward the range.

See you out there
, his gesture indicated, but as she rode away, Sam heard Dad mutter, “I know I closed that danged bolt.”

 

Amigo was taller than Ace, and narrower. Although Sam knew the gelding was well fed, age had whittled him down. He was about fifteen years old and, according to Dallas, the best cow horse in the state.

There.
Just as they jogged off the bridge, Sam saw the brown-and-white blur that was Sweetheart. Gram's mare trailed the dust raised by the other horses, and Amigo was eager to catch up.

It looked as if the saddle horses were slowing, spreading out, meandering with indecision. Would they follow the river toward the Three Ponies Ranch or cross the highway and head for Deerpath Ranch?

“Whoa, boy,” Sam told Amigo. “Let's wait a minute and see what they do.”

If the horses made a break for the road to Deerpath
Ranch and the Blind Faith Mustang Sanctuary, they'd be easier to catch. Mrs. Allen's road was fenced on both sides. Sam knew, because she'd helped build that fence.

But a sprint for Deerpath Ranch meant the horses would cross the highway. Though there wasn't likely to be much traffic, five horses could get into a lot of trouble if there were.

No, even though it would be tougher to gather them, Sam hoped the horses would keep moving along the river toward Three Ponies Ranch.

Amigo tossed his head against the reins, eager to follow the other horses.

Sam smooched to Amigo. He swiveled one ear to listen, but she could feel his impatience.

“Let them get settled,” she told him. “Then we'll just herd them back toward home.”

Finally she let Amigo start toward the others. She kept him at a walk until, up ahead, Strawberry veered into the river.

They were near enough now that Sam heard the mare blow through her lips as she lowered her head to drink.

Sam sighed as first Jeep, then Ace and Sweetheart followed Strawberry. Finally Popcorn joined them, grazing on the soft summer grass hidden among the riverside stones.

“Easy, easy,” Sam told Amigo.

By the time they reached them, the horses showed
no signs of bolting.

Tree-strained sunlight dappled their backs and they barely raised their heads at Amigo's approach.

Popcorn lowered himself into the shallows and rolled in the mud.

It wasn't the first time Sam had seen the albino gelding change his coat from milky brightness to a calico of green and brown streaks from mud and river grass. Popcorn lurched upright and shook like a dog, splattering them with drops of muddy water.

Still, Sam didn't rush the horses.

A taste of freedom could make them hungry for more or, if she gave them half an hour to graze and wade, they might be willing to mosey on home.

At last she reined Amigo behind the group and gradually rode closer. The horses moved off in the general direction of the ranch.

So far, so good. Sam scanned the empty range for distractions. No cattle, no cars on the highway.

Strawberry snorted at the flick of a ground squirrel disappearing behind a boulder, and Sam leaned forward in the saddle. For some reason, the saddle herd followed the roan mare as their leader. If she made a break for open country, they'd be right behind her.

The horses kept moving. If everything stayed this way, she could bring them home.

Ace was the first to break into a jog. His bay head swung as if he were checking the mountain range for
mustangs, but he followed Strawberry.

Sam increased the pressure of her legs just slightly and Amigo lengthened his strides. All of the horses fell into a lazy jog toward home.

Hooves made sucking sounds in the mud, struck submerged rocks, then dry dirt. Ears up, knees lifting, Strawberry began loping toward the bridge over the La Charla River.

“Almost there, almost,” Sam murmured as Popcorn, who'd stayed toward the back of the herd, broke into a lope and caught up with Strawberry. With a quick flattening of her ears, she told him to back off, and though he was definitely headed for River Bend Ranch, he shortened his strides and didn't pass the invisible barrier that ran even with the roan mare's tail.

They were almost there when the metallic glitter of a truck, approaching from the direction of Linc Slocum's Gold Dust Ranch, caught Sam's eye.

Ace stopped. Ears pricked so intently that the tips trembled, he stared at the champagne-colored truck, looked away after the other horses, then considered the truck again, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

It figured. Linc Slocum was the richest rancher in this part of Nevada, maybe in the entire state, and though he longed to be considered a real cowboy, Sam was pretty sure it would never happen.

If there was a way to mess up the business of ranching—of dealing with the land, animals, and
people who considered the high desert their home—Linc Slocum would stumble upon it. Many of his misdeeds were done on purpose, but just as many were the worst sorts of accidents.

Like this. If Ace caused a commotion because he perceived some threat from the vehicle, if he caused the other horses to wheel and run for the mountains, she'd have Slocum to blame. Or at least Slocum's vehicle, she thought, because now, as it inched nearer, she saw that Linc wasn't at the wheel. The driver's silhouette wasn't bulky and broad like Linc's. Could it be Ryan? Maybe, although he'd stayed so close to Hotspot and her foal, it would be a surprise.

The dark outline seemed more familiar as it drew closer, but Sam looked away. If she played her cards right, she could have the horses across the bridge and headed for home pasture before the truck reached them.

“It's up to you, boy,” Sam told Amigo, and the sorrel settled into a swinging lope, the gait he used to herd cattle, which could stay placid as a rocking chair or explode into a burst of speed certain to cut across the path of any animal making a break away from the herd.

She'd done it. The horses were trotting across the bridge, hooves hammering an announcement that she'd brought them safely home, when suddenly Sam recognized the driver.

Jake. She straightened with such surprise that
Amigo snorted and his smooth stride switched to a slower, rougher gait.

“It's okay, Amigo,” she told the old horse, touching his flaxen mane for assurance. “Everything's okay, except Jake's apparently gone
loco
.”

S
omething big and metal jangled as it was jarred around in the back of the truck. Sam heard a howl and shivered. Then the sounds came together, painting a picture in her mind.

Dogs in a cage.
Those
dogs.

All at once, she was relieved not to be riding Ace. The little horse had wanted to battle them as if they were predators.

Why were those dogs in Slocum's truck? And why was Jake driving it?

You'll never know if you don't ask
, she told herself, but she couldn't rush the horses just to satisfy her curiosity.

The truck stopped about a hundred yards away.
Idling, the vehicle sounded like a small factory.

When all the horses had crossed the bridge and showed no signs of turning back, Sam reined Amigo toward the truck.

If you didn't know Jake, his set jaw would just look stubborn, but Sam could tell he wasn't gloating over driving Slocum's truck. He was embarrassed by the loud, flashy vehicle.

The dogs yapped and yodeled as Sam rode closer. Amigo made a cautious, inquiring snort, and Sam felt a bit scared.

“They can't get out, can they?” she called.

Jake rested his arm on the sill of the driver's window.

“'Course not,” he said. Hatless, he pushed back a clump of black hair that had fallen over his brow. Sam noticed his faded blue shirtsleeve was rolled up. “Never knew you to be scared of dogs.”

“Just
those
dogs,” Sam said. Then, slapping one hand over her nose, she recoiled. “What's that smell?”

“Sardines,” Jake said. “They're hunting dogs. I couldn't chase 'em down on foot. I tracked 'em so far, then set up their cage—”

Their cage? Did that mean the dogs were usually kept in it? Despite their ferocity, Sam felt a little sorry for them.

Jake's eyes slid sideways from hers, and she guessed he felt the same. “—and used a scent I was pretty sure would carry.”

“It carries, all right,” Sam said, still cupping her hand over her nose.

Sam stood in her stirrups to look into the back of the truck, through the narrow bars on the cage. Openmouthed and excited, the dogs wagged their tails.

Even though they'd probably gulped down the sardines an hour ago, they were panting fish-scented breath.

Up close, they didn't look so scary. The black-and-tan hound's floppy ears and sad-looking eyes made him almost cute. But he'd been the one that had leaped snarling into Jeep's face and slashed his tender nose.

“Back by the lake, when you said you were tracking trackers…” Sam paused as Jake began nodding. “They were the reason you went to Gold Dust Ranch? So, they're Linc Slocum's dogs?”

“Yep,” Jake answered.

“You're lucky you weren't riding Witch,” Sam said. She imagined Jake's Quarter Horse mare trampling the dogs.

“Not lucky.” Jake's flat tone hinted he'd caught the dogs with skill and planning. “Also might've been a chore to bring 'em home on horseback.”

Of course. Sam winced at Jake's logic. It was just that she was so used to picturing him as a rider.

“They attacked Jeep.”

Jake interrupted his level stare with a blink, then smiled. “
Attack
's a pretty strong word.”

“Talk to Dad,” Sam said.

“Wyatt saw it?”

“Dad was riding Jeep”—Jake's only sign of surprise was the way his hand lifted from the windowsill, then flattened again, but Sam knew he wanted to hear more—“not far from High Grass Canyon,” she went on. “The whole pack came down from behind him. That black-and-brown one jumped up and bit Jeep on the nose. When Jeep went over backward, Dad went with him. He was thrown clear.”

Jake gave a quiet whistle of amazement. “Never knew Wyatt to come off a horse 'less he meant to.”

“I know,” Sam said. “That's why I'm kinda scared of them.”

She stared at the dogs again. All three tails wagged furiously at her attention.

Typical. Jake didn't ask if Dad was all right. He assumed she'd tell him if there was more he needed to know. Instead, he seemed to mull over the dogs' behavior.

“They're deerhounds,” Jake said slowly. “A blue tick, a Walker, and some kind of pointer.”

“I don't care what they are, or why he has them,” Sam snapped.

“Calm down, Brat.”

“I'm calm. And I don't blame the dogs, exactly, but you wouldn't be so understanding if you'd seen them, Jake.”

“Like werewolves, were they?” Jake meant it as a
joke, but she could tell his heart wasn't in it. He was as shaken as she was by Dad's fall.

“No…like predators,” Sam told him.

If Jake was right, the dogs had been trained to hunt. Maybe even bred to hunt. And, knowing Slocum, he wasn't using them the right way.

“Why does he have them?” Sam asked. “I bet they're part of some wild scheme like the buffalo.”

Jake shrugged, but Sam could see that the memory of Slocum's herd of bison—which he'd purchased to lure hunters to a Wild West resort he was planning—didn't sit well.

Linc Slocum had known nothing about the bison. He'd tried to herd them like cattle and they'd escaped.

Just like these dogs, which might have passed for family pets.

Yawning, the black-and-white speckled hound collapsed to the floor of the cage and rolled onto its back. Tail wagging, it begged Sam to scratch its belly.

“I can see through your disguise,” she muttered, then suddenly she remembered the hounds Linc had rented to pursue the cougars last fall.

They'd been speckled like this dog, and they'd helped Linc corner a mother cougar. He'd shot her, leaving her adolescent cub to fend for himself.

Sam swallowed hard. She'd been riding Strawberry in Arroyo Azul when the young cougar had pounced.

She remembered the pain between her shoulder
blades and the terror of being overwhelmed by a wild animal.

No thanks to Linc, she and Strawberry had survived the attack.

Why couldn't Linc see that his mistakes led to disaster way too often? Why didn't he care?

“Don't underestimate them,” Sam told Jake. “Those dogs are dangerous.”

Suddenly the lazing hound jumped to his feet. Then they all began barking. An answering bark came from River Bend Ranch. Blaze was fiercely protective, but he wouldn't stand a chance against three trained hunters.

“I'd better get going,” she said, gathering her reins. “But I think you should tell Linc about Dad.”

Jake opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He wouldn't enjoy giving Linc bad news. In fact, he'd hate it. Jake rarely spoke two sentences in a row to anyone. But Sam knew Jake would tell Slocum, because it was the right thing to do.

 

As soon as she reached the bridge's midpoint, Sam's eyes began searching for Dad. He'd promised to follow her, but once her horse clopped into the ranch yard, Sam realized he was nowhere to be seen.

The saddle horses had wandered into their pasture on their own, so Sam dismounted and locked the gate behind them.

It was a mystery how they'd escaped. She examined
the lock and it worked the same as always.

Dad would never forget to lock the gate. Neither would she, or anyone else on the ranch.

It was a rule of ranch life that open gates stayed open, closed gates stayed closed. You learned the hard way—by wasting hours going after wandering animals—not to forget.

Sam led Amigo to the hitching rail, tossed his reins over it, then went looking for Dad.

It wasn't just because she wanted his words of praise, she told herself. She wondered how he was feeling after that fall.

Dad wasn't in the barn, though Penny was, alert and ready to return to the ten-acre pasture. So, Dad hadn't ridden after her.

He wasn't in the tack room, and though she knocked at the bunkhouse door and called for him, there was no answer there, either.

Dad must be in the house. She'd only made it halfway there, when Gram came out on the porch.

“You got all of them, I see.” Gram's arm circled Sam's shoulders in a hug. “You've come a long way since this time last year.”

Sam smiled so hard, she felt a twinge in her cheeks, but Gram didn't give her long to gloat.

“Now, I need you to weed around the base of these morning glories,” Gram said, pointing to vines with tightly closed blue flowers that twined up around the rabbit-proof fence that protected Gram's garden.

“Okay,” Sam said. “But where's Dad? I need to tell him—”

“And when you're through with that, weed inside the garden itself, but those are carrots,” she said, pointing to feathery greens just showing above the dirt, “and those are radishes. Don't pull them up by mistake.”

“Okay,” Sam said, again, “but shouldn't I tell Dad—”

“Then,” Gram continued, with forced patience, “you can bring them some water. Plants can't pull up roots and go looking for it themselves, you know.”

“Are you just going to keep giving me chores till I stop asking about Dad?” Sam asked, exasperated.

“Now, honey, why would I do that?” Gram asked.

Sam didn't guess aloud, but she'd bet Dad was taking a forced rest. He might be an adult, but Gram was still his mother.

“I might as well tell you what I told your father, “Gram admitted. “He's no good to any of us all crippled up.”

Gram tried to sound harsh, but Sam wasn't fooled.

“You made him take a nap, didn't you?”

“I might have suggested a hot shower and some aspirin,” Gram admitted. “And since he was upstairs anyway, I mentioned it would do him good to get off his feet.”

“I'm amazed, Gram,” Sam said. “Dad never rests.”

“You're old enough to know that fall shook him
up a bit,” Gram confided.

Bone-deep fear chilled Sam. It had been years since she'd really thought about something happening to Dad.

Sam remembered her own awful fall. She'd been unconscious and they'd feared brain damage. And Mom had died from her accident….

“He's fine,” Gram insisted, squeezing Sam's arm. “If you'd heard how many times I had to promise to wake him if he nodded off, you wouldn't worry a bit.”

“Shall I go tell him I'm back?” Sam asked.

Gram shook her head. “I heard him cross the bedroom floor and look out the upstairs window just before you rode in.”

Sam shivered, but in a good way. It made her proud to know Dad had watched as she brought River Bend's horses home.