Rodeo Rocky Page 2

  The bay stallion pulled away. His head was high, his jaw rigid, his back arched. He stood below the white banner that flapped in the cold wind blowing off the Meltwater Mountains.

  “Keeping the Dream Alive!” Kirstie re-read the bold, red letters.

  She gazed again at the wild horse that had been torn from his world, trapped, tied, and ridden to exhaustion. And, as she glimpsed the nightmare in his eyes, she swore to him that she would help.

  2

  “One rider broke his jaw.” Hadley’s report on the wild horse race was in full swing when Kirstie, her mom, and Lisa rejoined the group from Half Moon Ranch. Dale Lavin was smiling broadly and showing the other guests his winnings, while his son crowed in a loud voice over the way the cowboys had used their spurs to urge the mustangs on.

  “You see that Fenney Brooks?” he cried, running to meet Kirstie and Lisa. “I wanna ride like him, without a bridle. You see him? You see how he beat those other guys?”

  Kirstie frowned and nodded. “You wanna break your jaw, too?” she muttered under her breath.

  “Kirstie!” Sandy Scott stood between her and the guests. “Why don’t you and Lisa just find a good place to watch the bulldogging and the bronc riding? Meet us back here at half past four.”

  Kirstie hung her head and scuffed the dirt with the toe of her boot. “Do we have to? Can’t we leave before the end of the show?”

  “Not unless you want to walk the fifteen miles home,” Sandy said firmly, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her away.

  “I don’t want to see it,” Kirstie complained. “I can’t stomach much more, Mom.”

  Seeing she was serious, her mother kept one arm around her shoulder and walked her a little way off from the group. “What’s got under your skin, honey?”

  The poor bay stallion, she wanted to say. The cuts from the spurs; the look in his eyes. But she was too choked to speak.

  “Rodeo Rocky,” Lisa said quietly, coming up alongside Sandy and Kirstie and sticking out her chin in a determined fashion. “We say that’s no way to treat a beautiful horse!”

  “I might agree,” Sandy replied. “But what can we do? You saw how the crowd loved it. And the rodeos have been treating horses pretty rough for years and years. Are we gonna be the only ones to speak out?”

  Kirstie took a deep breath and looked her mom in the eye. “Yeah. Someone has to.”

  “Then we’d be real popular with the ranchers and the rodeo organizers!” Sandy shook her head.

  “So?” In Kirstie’s mind, unpopularity was a price worth paying.

  “So, we’d lose business,” her mother pointed out. “Which we can’t afford to do. We rely on people hearing good things about Half Moon Ranch to make them want to come and stay.”

  “Your mom’s right,” Lisa said after a pause.

  Kirstie glared at her as if to say, whose side are you on?

  “Sorry.” Lisa shrugged helplessly and wandered off to watch the bulldogging event just getting under way in the main arena. There was a buzz in the crowd again, as the first riders galloped into the ring to either side of an angry steer.

  Kirstie was left face to face with Sandy. “Don’t spoil the day,” her mother warned. “I know it’s hard, honey, but try and put a good face on…for my sake, OK?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kirstie saw the bulldogger leap from his horse and wrap his arms around the thick neck of the bucking steer. Within seconds, the man had grabbed the bull’s horns, twisted his head and flipped him sideways into the dust. “OK,” she agreed. “But I don’t have to watch this. I’ll be over by the corral if you want me.”

  “Fine.” Her mom watched her go with a sigh, then went back to her guests.

  At least if I wait by the corral I can watch the horses being saddled for the bronc event, Kirstie thought. Being with horses, anywhere, anytime, was her main thing.

  But today, even the pleasure of watching her favorite animal was spoiled by knowing that the wranglers were forcing saddles on their backs and dragging them into chutes. She felt a dull anger come over her as she made her way toward the corral and the scores for the bulldogging event went up on the board. Ignoring the cheers and the yells, she found a quiet corner where she could sit on the fence and wait out the rest of the afternoon.

  Half an hour passed in a haze of dusty heat. The cheers of the crowd sounded distant to Kirstie, whose gaze was fixed on the broncs in the corral. The unbroken horses milled restlessly in the confined space. One would break from the group and make a quick, nervy run toward the fence, spin, and lope back. Another would raise his head and rear as a wrangler approached to cut him out of the herd. The cowboy would swing his lasso, the horse would feel the rope snake around his neck and burn into his skin as the man dug his heels in the dirt and pulled.

  One horse, a flea-bitten gray, gave her wrangler a hard time before she was finally forced into the squeeze. Too strong for one man, she jerked the cowboy off his feet and dragged him through the dust. Kirstie heard the man yell, saw two others race to help. They lassoed the gray mare’s hind leg, then hobbled her by winding the rope around her neck, pulling the back leg forward off the ground. Then they dragged her, limping off-balance, into a chute.

  “Gary, that fleabitten’s your bronc!” a nasal voice yelled across the corral. The middle-aged speaker was a man Kirstie recognized with a shiver of dislike. It was Wade Williams, the owner and organizer of the San Luis Rodeo. He was tall and broad, with a sallow face and a heavy, dark mustache. “You got that?” he shouted at Gary Robbins, one of the riders in the bronc event.

  The cowboy strode around the outside of the corral, hat in hand, leather chaps flapping against his legs.

  “You’re first into the arena!” Williams instructed. “Then Fenney on horse number nine!”

  Kirstie sighed as the cowboys prepared for action. She saw Jake Mooney, the anchor man from the team-roping contest, speak with the organizer, who jerked his thumb toward the horse Mooney would be riding. She glanced in the direction of Williams’s pointing finger, then stood up and clung onto the fence in dismay.

  This couldn’t be right. The stallion earmarked for the heavyweight cowboy was Rodeo Rocky!

  Kirstie looked again to make sure. The bay horse trotted defiantly around the edge of the corral, his black tail swinging, the blood on his flanks now dry and congealed in long, dirty streaks. He wove in and out of the other horses, twisting and turning whenever a wrangler drew near.

  “He’s a tough one,” Wade Williams warned Jake Mooney.

  “Yup.” Jake remembered the lead stallion all too well from the wild horse race.

  “Think you can ride the buck out of him?”

  “Sure,” came the careless reply.

  As the men discussed Mooney’s chances, Kirstie stepped down from the fence and drew nearer to the chutes. How could they think of putting Rocky through even more than he’d already undergone? Wasn’t one cruel race enough?

  It was because Rocky had shown such spirit in the first event, she decided. Williams must see him as a big crowd-puller, a real challenge even for the likes of Jake Mooney. With her heart sinking, her mouth feeling dry, and her palms beginning to sweat, she watched the wranglers set to work on getting the bay horse into a squeeze.

  And now events really did begin to blur and slide. As the lasso snaked around Rocky’s neck and he reared up with an angry cry, the bulldogging contest came to an end and the first bronc rider was released into the arena. There was a wild cry from the crowd, a few seconds of tension as Gary Robbins kept astride the bucking, kicking gray.

  “No!” Kirstie whispered, staring at the badly cut bay stallion. A second wrangler moved in on Rocky to hobble him. The horse fought the lassos for all he was worth.

  “Come away, honey,” a quiet voice at her shoulder said. “If you can’t stomach it, come and sit in the car.”

  She turned to her mother. “Mom, look what they’re doing to Rocky. Make them stop!”

  “I can’
t, Kirstie.” Sandy Scott took hold of her daughter’s hand.

  Over her shoulder, Kirstie saw Gary Robbins hanging onto the reins of his gray mare for dear life. One arm flung wide, head down, leaning back in the saddle, he rode the bucking bronc around the arena.

  She turned back from the competition to the corral. “Look! Now they’re using an electric prod to force Rocky into the chute!”

  Sandy grimaced. The metal prods were used on the ranches to maneuver cattle into the branding pens. As the electrified rod touched the bay’s sore flanks, he whinnied and leaped sideways, into the path of a second wrangler ready to pull the hobble rope tight.

  At that second, a gasp and groan from the crowd told Kirstie and Sandy that Gary Robbins’s bronc had finally succeeded in unseating her rider. There was a lull while the cowboy’s time was recorded and he picked himself up from the dust. Now it was Fenney Brooks’s turn on number nine, a black and white paint.

  Meanwhile, Rocky was prodded and forced into the chute closest to where the Scotts stood. The wranglers slammed the gate shut behind him, and one ran for the heavy saddle to make him ready for his turn in the competition.

  Next, Kirstie saw Fenney shoot out of squeeze number two on the frightened paint. The slim, supple rider rode the horse’s frantic bucks with ease at first, dipping and swaying, maintaining a perfect balance. Soon it would be Rocky and Mooney’s turn. She groaned and half-closed her eyes as the wranglers slammed the saddle across his back and leaned through the gaps in the chute fence to fasten the cinch strap across the gashes in the horse’s sides. How long now before Mooney jumped into the saddle and the chute opened?

  But there was a delay. The crowd had stopped cheering. There were gasps and cries. A cloud of dust rose from the arena, and when it cleared, Kirstie could see Fenney Brooks down on the ground. He lay flat on his back without moving. The black and white horse, suddenly free of his rider, reared up over the lifeless body and thudded his hooves down within inches of the man’s head.

  Kirstie, too, gasped and ran toward the arena. In the eerie silence following the fall, she saw the wind catch Brooks’s hat and roll it toward the fence. Then men were climbing the fence and running. One caught hold of the horse’s reins to drag him clear. Another knelt over the rider, called for a stretcher, and brought more helpers scrambling into the ring.

  “It’s crazy!” Kirstie whispered to Sandy, who hovered behind her. “Mom, can’t you see, this is all completely crazy?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Kirstie ducked between the bars of the fence and ran into the arena. She saw Fenney Brooks stir and try to lift his head as a stretcher arrived. In the confusion, she was able to make it to the far side and grab hold of Wade Williams by the arm. “You gotta stop them!” she yelled above the anxious swell of noise amongst the spectators.

  Busy directing the rescue operation, the rodeo organizer tried to pull his arm free. When Kirstie hung on, he glanced around at her, his face red and angry, the corners of his mouth turned down beneath the heavy black mustache.

  “They’ve used an electric prod on the bay stallion!” she cried. “He’s already cut from the earlier race. No way is this fair!”

  The tall man frowned and pushed her to one side. Kirstie lost her balance and had to put out a hand to stop herself from falling into the dirt. Then she was up and following him across the arena to the squeezes.

  Williams stopped short of Rocky’s chute and turned on her. “Quit it, will you?” With a quick look sideways, he gestured to Jake Mooney to get ready to mount his horse, which kicked and barged inside the trap. “Soon as they’ve carried Fenney clear and got him into an ambulance, you’re on!” he yelled.

  The tough cowboy nodded and pulled on his black leather gloves. As he climbed the chute fence, poised ready to swing his leg across the protesting horse, his silver spurs clinked and glinted.

  “Please!” Kirstie cried. She ran around to face the angry organizer. “You have to stop this!”

  “I said, quit it! Do you have any idea what you’re asking?” His voice nasty and loaded with scorn, Williams stood by Rocky’s chute and stared down at her.

  Kirstie held his gaze. She clenched her hands until her nails dug into the soft palms. “Use another horse!” she pleaded. “Rocky’s hurt. Don’t send him into the ring!”

  The organizer sneered and shook his head. “Come here, let me tell you something.” He leaned into the chute and roughly took hold of the bay stallion’s reins.

  Squinting into the sun, Kirstie saw Rocky pull away, eyes rolling, ears back. Above them, balanced on the top rung of the fence, Jake Mooney’s black figure towered.

  “What you gotta understand, little girl, is that this bronc is special,” Williams explained. “He’s strong, he’s fast, and he’s mean. If we play our cards right, we’ll make a champ of him!”

  “What kind of champion?” Kirstie protested. She was stung by the organizer’s insulting tone, but felt hot, dizzy, and helpless before him.

  Rocky strained away from the man’s grasp, swinging his head, shaking his tangled mane.

  “A prize bronc. We’ll send him around the circuit; San Luis, Renegade, Marlowe County.”

  Inside the narrow chute, Rocky reared and whinnied.

  Williams held onto the reins, dragging the horse down. “Then, in the fall, when he’s got himself a big name as a bucking bronc, we’ll truck him up to the Denver sale barn and sell him for thousands of dollars.”

  Kirstie swallowed hard and bit her lip. She saw her mom quickly push her way to the front of the crowd, climb the fence, and jump into the arena.

  No way! she cried to herself, gazing up with tear-filled eyes at the struggling horse. No way will we let that happen!

  3

  “I’ll give you two thousand dollars for the horse.” Sandy Scott’s offer came across quiet and firm. Her hand shaded her eyes from the sun’s rays, which caught her fair hair and made it shine the color of corn.

  Taken aback, Wade Williams let go of Rocky’s reins. “You can’t be serious!”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life.” Kirstie’s mom didn’t waver. She stood beside the chute, one hand on the back pocket which held her checkbook.

  Kirstie felt she could hardly breathe. She really loved her mom, she decided. She loved her more than anything in the world!

  “Two thousand dollars,” Sandy repeated. “But only if you sell me the stallion before you let Jake ride him.”

  “Hey, boss!” The cowboy climbed down from the fence to protest. “You can’t do that. I’m down to ride the bay. It’s a big chance for me.”

  The frown on Williams’s face deepened. He batted his hand in Mooney’s direction, as if swatting a fly. “Let’s get this straight. You want to buy Rodeo Rocky here and take him to work at Half Moon Ranch?”

  “You got it,” Sandy replied. She glanced sideways at Kirstie and gave a brief smile.

  “Hmm.” The rodeo organizer turned over the offer in his mind, while in the center of the arena, a team of paramedics worked smoothly to get the injured Fenney Brooks safely strapped onto the stretcher. The quiet crowd watched intently for signs that one of their favorite riders was going to make it through the accident.

  “Well?” Kirstie’s mother pushed for a reply.

  “This is a great horse we’re talking about.” Wade’s tone had changed. The sneers had gone and he turned on the smooth talk. “He has a good head and eye, and a mighty fine, deep chest.”

  “Sure,” Sandy agreed. “And two thousand is a good offer. You can take it or leave it.”

  Kirstie squeezed her eyes shut. Please, please, please say yes.

  “I reckon I could get two and a half thousand in the fall,” Williams said. A shrewd tone crept into his high, nasal voice and his eyes narrowed.

  “Sure thing!” Jake Mooney encouraged.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Sandy Scott was on a level with Williams when it came to making a deal. “Sure you could if the horse does well on the summe
r circuit. But if he doesn’t, you won’t get more than a thousand for him in Denver. Whereas, if you do business with me, you take the nice, fat check home with you tonight.”

  “Hmm.” Wade grunted and pulled nervously at his mustache. He glanced quickly at the saddled bronc, then along the line at other horses trapped in chutes, awaiting their turn in the ring. “Take horse number twelve,” he snapped at Jake without looking at him, and reached out a hand to shake with Sandy over the deal.

  Yes! Kirstie raised her clenched fists in front of her. Then she ran to the bay stallion and leaped onto the fence. “We bought you!” she cried. “Mom paid a fortune. You belong to us!”

  * * *

  The check written, the show went on without Rodeo Rocky.

  “I sure as hell hope this check don’t bounce!” Wade Williams sneered at Sandy as he pocketed the check.

  “It won’t.” Kirstie’s mother was already looking around for help to take the stallion out of the cruel chute and get him fixed up for transport back to the ranch. Lisa had watched the sale of the horse from the edge of the arena and had volunteered to run and find her grandpa to see if he could oblige.

  “D’you know what you’ve taken on here?” Williams couldn’t resist talking down to Sandy. “It don’t take a lot of savvy to figure out that you’ve just bought yourself a whole bunch of trouble.”

  “But you just said yourself that Rocky was a great horse!” Kirstie protested. In the background, she could hear the yells start up as, in place of Rocky, Jake rode a pure white horse into the arena.

  “Sure: a great rodeo horse.” Williams stepped aside to let Kirstie and Sandy get a full view of their bargain. Inside the chute, Rocky still kicked and battered himself against the bars of his cage. “Meaning wild and mean.”

  “Only because he hated it in the truck!” Kirstie claimed. “And because he’s been tied up and prodded and forced to do what he doesn’t want to do!”