Wild Horses (2 page)

But now, four years later, she was beginning to understand. She ran through those years as the shadows of Dead Man’s Canyon began to close down on the small group of horses and riders. She remembered the day when they’d shut up the neat, modern house in Denver and moved out to Half Moon Ranch for good.

Sandy Scott had decided to take the gamble of leaving the city with her two kids and setting up home and business on the eastern slopes of the Colorado Rockies. With Grandma’s blessing, they were going to turn the cattle ranch into a small vacation center for paying guests. There were five cabins to build in the aspen trees that sheltered the original ranch house; small log houses with open fires, sitting rooms, and bedrooms where visitors would be comfortable.

That took a year of hard work from Hadley and another cowhand, who had stayed on after Grandpa’s death. Then there were horses to buy at the horse sale barn in San Luis—Hadley again, though by this time Sandy herself had developed a good eye for the points of a horse. She planned ahead, bought wisely, waited for Hadley and a couple of local men to build a sound corral, strong tack-room, and feeding-stalls.

Then, two summers ago, Half Moon had finally opened its doors to paying guests.

Kirstie took a deep breath at the memory of her mom’s face as she’d welcomed their first visitors. It had been nervous, with small frown marks between her fair eyebrows, and she’d been too brisk in showing them to their cabins …

Just then Lucky tensed beneath the saddle, picking up his rider’s momentary edginess. His ears flicked round, quizzing Kirstie. What’s the problem? Was it something I did?

“Not you,” she murmured. She clicked her tongue gently against the roof of her mouth to urge him on. “It was me. I was just…thinking.” She sighed again.

The winter before last had been her grandma’s time to fall ill. In Kirstie’s mind, the old lady seemed to fade with the light. As days grew shorter, nights longer and colder, and the aspen leaves had turned from bright gold to brown, her gran had grown more frail. This time there was no surprise; Kirstie knew she would die.

“I’ve seen you build this place from nothing,” Grandma had told Sandy in her last days. “I’ve seen you work and build a whole new life out here. I’m so proud.”

She had slid away from them, died peacefully, and Kirstie’s sadness, though strong, was less sharply painful than at the other two terrible times.

These things had made her quieter than she was before, less likely to rely on people being there for her when she needed them. And now, when she looked at her mom and the growing success of the ranch, she could believe that a person could make anything happen, if only they wanted it enough. It made her feel good…that, and the horses of Half Moon Ranch.

Lucky, Moose, Johnny Mohawk, and Silver Flash. Crazy Horse and Cadillac, her brother Matt’s favorite. More than a dozen horses of all colors: sorrel, flea-bitten gray, palomino, and Appaloosas; all good American quarter horses, but each with their own personality and special spirit.

Like Silver Flash now; the sorrel horse with the bright white flash down the length of her bony, intelligent face. She knew all too well that she had a complete beginner on her back. The man was heavy, with a dark mustache. His name was Ronnie Vernon and he worked at a bank in Dallas, Texas. Whenever he tried to dig his heels into Silver Flash’s sides to make her break from the line and trot forward, the smart horse refused to obey.

From up front, Charlie caught sight of Ronnie Vernon’s tactics. He sighed and asked Kirstie to head the line once more. “Don’t try to overtake as we get near the canyon!” he yelled at the man, turning Moose and heading down the slope to make sure that his instructions got through.

Meanwhile, Kirstie knew there was another stream to cross before the horses could enter the narrow channel between the rocks into Dead Man’s Canyon. Horseshoe Creek was coming up; she could hear the water gushing and tumbling down the rocks around the next bend in the trail.

“Sounds kind of full,” Loretta said, still following close on Lucky’s heels.

“That would be the snow melting from the mountaintops,” Kirstie explained. “It all runs down into Five Mile Creek and on into Big Bear River. This time of year there’s always a lot of water.”

She and Lucky rounded the bend first, to find the creek leaping and swirling its way between wet black rocks. It tumbled over tree trunks that had fallen across its path, and sent white spray drifting toward them.

“Wow!” One of Loretta’s sons pulled Cadillac to a sudden halt. The big, creamy-white horse tossed his head and skittered sideways. Back down the line, everyone stopped.

“It’s OK. Follow me.” Kirstie had made this crossing dozens of times before, and she knew the safest place. It was only the wild sound of the water surging between the rocks that made it seem more difficult than it really was.

Lucky knew this too. He went boldly forward to the water’s edge, dropped his head, and with his ears pricked forward, stepped into the fast-running stream.

Kirstie’s horse was strong and certain. She knew he would pick his way through. And she loved the feel of the ice-cold spray on her hands and face as Lucky steadied himself, then went on, picking up his feet to step over a fallen log, letting the torrent push against his sturdy legs without giving way.

“Good boy!” Kirstie leaned forward to pat his neck as Lucky stepped up the far bank. Now they must wait for Loretta to pluck up the courage to try. “Come on, it’s fine!” she called back. “Give Johnny Mohawk his head and let him do it for you!”

She watched the dainty black horse put a first foot in the water, and noticed that, right at the back of the line, Charlie had finally got Ronnie Vernon in order.

The wrangler gave her a wave and yelled at her to go ahead into the canyon. “We’ll meet up with you there!”

So Kirstie watched Loretta through, then urged Lucky on, glad to let Charlie take charge once more. And she picked up an eagerness in her horse too. He seemed to be in a hurry, putting more pace into his walk. She clicked and he broke into a trot. “What is it?” she murmured. “What have you heard?”

Lucky’s ears were forward, his head up, as they entered Dead Man’s Canyon. A wind whipped through his pale mane and his golden shoulders grew dark with sweat as they left the group behind.

“You heard something,” Kirstie acknowledged, tensing a little. Or was it just the wind and the darkening sky that had made Lucky quicken his pace? Those distant clouds over Eagle’s Peak were speeding toward them, drawing down onto Miners’ Ridge, bringing rain. “Easy, boy!” she whispered, holding him back from a lope.

The rocks to either side rose sheer and blocked what was left of the sun. The shadows closed in.

And then she saw.

Lucky stopped dead. And Kirstie discovered what it was that had made him so eager to push ahead.

A herd of horses had gathered at the far end of the canyon. Horses without head collars, their manes tangled, heads up, tails swishing a warning to the intruders. Beautiful sorrels, dazzling grays, paints, and Appaloosas. Horses that had never been broken to wear bridle or bit.

Wild horses. And at their head, watching every move that Kirstie and Lucky made, was their leader. Taller than the rest, with a proud, arched neck and flaring nostrils, the black stallion kept guard.

“Easy!” Kirstie whispered to Lucky. The wild horses had penned themselves into a dead end where the walls of the canyon finally met. The only way out was by a steep trail to her right, up onto Miners’ Ridge.

The horse was perfect and proud, strong and fierce as he pawed at the ground to warn them away from his herd. His black coat shone, his mane fell forward over his long, wild face.

Holding her breath and not daring to move, Kirstie stared in silence at the beautiful black stallion.

Unflinching under her gaze, the proud horse stared back as the dark clouds rolled toward them, and in the distance, over Eagle’s Peak, forked lightning flashed.

The stallion stared back at Kirstie and Lucky. His herd milled restlessly in the stony gully where Dead Man’s Canyon came to an abrupt end. Sheer red-brown cliffs towered above them, trapping them. He studied the two possible escape routes; the trail which Kirstie had travelled, or the steep track up the cliffs to Miners’ Ridge.

Striking the rocky earth with his front hoof, the stallion tossed his head. He swung angrily toward Lucky, then turned his head and trotted back, corralling his herd deeper into the impassable gully.

“Easy!” Kirstie breathed. Behind her, Charlie calmed the other trail horses and their uneasy riders. She could feel Lucky’s flanks quiver, saw his ears flatten against his neck. A rumble of thunder rolled overhead, setting the palomino’s ears still further back. He stepped sideways, tugging at the reins in fright.

Then there was more lightning, this time just above them. A great, forked flash of it tearing through the dark clouds. And drops of cold rain, large and slow at first, spattering onto the rocks and the trapped horses.

Lucky flinched at the electric flash. Thirty yards from where he and Kirstie stood, the black stallion reared. He went up onto his hind legs, his front feet flailing, head back, teeth bared. Another blinding flash, and this time the thunder rolled across the ridge with a clatter and a crack. A wind drove the clouds down the snow-topped mountain in a torrent of icy, hard rain.

“Come on, let’s get out of here!” Kirstie decided to veer away from the hostile stallion and his frightened herd. In the flashing lightning and crashing thunder, it must have seemed to them that she and Lucky were blocking their escape. So she reined Lucky to the left, hoping to leave the way clear for the wild horses to reach the track onto the ridge.

But then, before the stallion could pick up her good intention, there was the sound of more hooves drumming behind them. A blurred shape appeared in the rain at the mouth of the canyon; a man on horseback galloping at full speed.

Surprised, holding Lucky on a tight rein, Kirstie peered through the sheet of rain. She made out the heavy figure of Ronnie Vernon on Silver Flash. The horse was out of control, no doubt spooked by his clumsy rider and by the storm into stampeding ahead of the rest of the group. Clinging to the saddle horn, his jacket flying open, hatless and soaked, Vernon careered toward her.

For a few stunned seconds, Kirstie thought they were headed for a collision. Rapidly she sidestepped Lucky out of the runaway horse’s path, heard the wild stallion whinny from the depths of the gully. Lucky whirled on the spot, testing her balance to the limit.

Then Silver Flash made a decision of her own. She’d spotted the track onto Miners’ Ridge. It was a trail she knew well, so she headed for it, regardless of her rider. It was her only way out of this echoing, dark, storm-torn place and she took it.

Steadying Lucky, Kirstie stared after them. Silver Flash’s hooves drummed up the narrow track, setting small stones rolling. It was the route she’d wanted the mare to use, but now the wild herd cowered at the far end of the canyon once more, away from the falling stones. Meanwhile, the rain bounced off the rocks and formed muddy brown streams in the dirt channels, loosening more stones.

“Kirstie!” Charlie’s voice yelled from the mouth of the canyon. “Don’t let that rider go any further. It’s not safe!”

“Too late!” she yelled back.

Vernon and Silver Flash were fifty yards up the slope, now dislodging bigger stones that crashed over the edge of the track and landed on the canyon floor. One missed the black mare by less than a yard. She reared up and sideways as it crashed down, her wet mane straggled across a neck that was flecked with white spots of sweat.

“Then look out for yourself and get out of there!” Charlie called. He’d ridden after Vernon as far as the mouth of Dead Man’s Canyon and taken in the scene through the sheet of rain; Kirstie and Lucky to one side, the wild herd at the far end, and the cliff track crumbling under Silver Flash’s hooves as Vernon rode her high onto the ridge.

“What about the wild horses?” she cried.

“Never mind them. Just get out as fast as you can!”

Behind Charlie, Kirstie made out a huddle of riders. He was right; she had to get out quick. The sooner she and Lucky left the canyon, the easier it would be for the black mare to lead the herd out too. So she kicked Lucky into action. For some reason he wouldn’t go. She kicked again.

“Get a move on!” Charlie shouted, his voice hoarse.

“I can’t! Lucky won’t shift!”

More rocks fell; bigger and louder, crowding the wild herd against the wall of the canyon. Overhead, Silver Flash was scrambling up the last stretch of track onto the ridge.

Kirstie was soaked to the skin, rainwater running from her scalp, down her face, dripping through her shirt onto her shoulders and back, drenching her jeans. “Come on, Lucky, please!”

Nothing. He stood like the statue of a horse in the eye of the storm.

And then, as if in slow motion, the lines and contours around her changed shape. The actual land shifted. Only Lucky stayed still as every inch of rock tilted and slipped.