Wild Horses Read online

“Builds up a whole pile of debts …” Kirstie added.

  “Sells a few horses that don’t belong to him …”

  “Until the sheriff rides him out of town.” She wished she felt as confident as they both sounded. She wished her heart would stop thumping and jumping with fear every time she pictured Tyson. Most of all, she wished she could think of a plan to deal with the new emergency.

  “I don’t reckon he’ll ever find the way into the clearing!” Lisa insisted. “My guess is, he’ll forget what we told him about the stallion and keep on after the gray mare.”

  “I guess.” Kirstie sighed. “But you gotta admit, we’ve been wrong about a whole lot of things …” She tailed off, realizing that they’d jumped to too many conclusions since yesterday, when they’d seized on the idea that it was a drifter up to no good who’d hidden the injured stallion in the clearing.

  “You’re right.” Lisa’s face fell. “We can’t rely on Tyson not finding the stallion.”

  They were silent for a while, as they rounded a bend in the creek and the scattered, single story log buildings of Half Moon Ranch appeared in the distance.

  “What we have to do is beat Tyson at his own game,” Kirstie decided. “Now that he knows about the horse, he’s gonna find him for sure. Sooner or later.”

  “Let’s hope it’s later.” Lisa gave Cadillac his head and let him trot for home.

  Lucky too gained speed. “So what we do is go back and get the horse out of there before Tyson shows up!” Kirstie insisted. “Only this time, we get your grandpa to come along with his earth-moving machine.”

  “Which he plans to do in any case.” Lisa told her that he’d mentioned it again on the drive to Half Moon Ranch that morning. “He knows he’s still gotta move that heap of rocks and clear the entrance to the canyon,” she confirmed.

  Encouraged, Kirstie went on. “He bulldozes a way through the landslide while we fetch the horse from the clearing. Sure, the stallion can’t climb up the cliff because of his bad leg, but walking right out of there on a level track once your grandpa’s finished work; that’s different. I reckon he could do that easy.”

  Lisa nodded. “It sounds like a pretty good plan… if Grandpa agrees. And your mom too.”

  If…if. If they beat Tyson to it. If the bulldozer could be brought across to Dead Man’s Canyon in time. Urging their horses into a lope along the final stretch of flat ground, Kirstie and Lisa raced for the ranch.

  “What I don’t get is, if Tyson ain’t the guy who’s been looking after the stallion in the clearing, then who the heck is?” Matt spoke what was in everyone’s thoughts. It was the one thing that still puzzled him, even as he rode out with Lisa and Kirstie, back to Miners’ Ridge.

  The girls had done a good job of convincing everyone that they needed to act fast if they were to save the black horse. Sandy Scott had returned from her morning ride and listened intently as they described the new developments, including the sighting of Tyson. She’d immediately called Lennie Goodman, who had agreed to drive the earth-mover straight over from the trailer park to the canyon. He’d estimated that it would take him a couple of hours to get there in the slow, heavy vehicle.

  Matt had promised Sandy that he wouldn’t let Kirstie and Lisa out of his sight all afternoon, and she’d finally reluctantly agreed to let them return to the ridge.

  “Watch and wait until Lennie’s bulldozed a way in,” she’d insisted. “Then go get the stallion and lead him right out.”

  Kirstie had stood at the kitchen door, shifting guiltily from one foot to the other. “Got it,” she muttered.

  “And don’t even think of doing anything except that.” Her mom had been deadly serious. “Straight into the clearing, straight out again. If his leg’s strong enough, let the stallion go. No fooling around bringing him back to the ranch to keep an eye on him.”

  “No way!” Kirstie had protested.

  “You gotta be tough.”

  “Sure.” She’d turned and crossed the deck, taken the two steps down onto the grass, and run for the corral ahead of Lisa and Matt. She could dream of caring for the beautiful black horse, of brushing him until he gleamed, of giving him the best feed and watching his every move. But that would mean surrounding him with fences, penning him in. No, that would never work. The stallion needed freedom.

  By the time she, Lisa, and Matt were heading for the canyon, she’d squashed her dream and faced reality.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time the three riders reached Miners’ Ridge. The sun had scorched away the last of the clouds and now shone down from a deep blue sky. Yet more meltwater from the icebound peaks swelled the streams. In the distance, they heard the slow rumble of Lennie Goodman’s bulldozer as it made its way along a lower trail.

  “Remember, we stick together,” Matt reminded Kirstie and Lisa, picking up the girls’ impatience as they reined their horses in by the cave-like entrance to the old mine. Since Lisa was riding Cadillac, he’d picked out Crazy Horse for himself—a big, ugly-beautiful pale tan horse with white socks and fair mane and tail.

  Kirstie dismounted, then stared down into Dead Man’s Canyon for signs of Bob Tyson’s presence, but all seemed quiet. “How about we all go down to check?”

  The others agreed that there could be no harm in climbing into the canyon and making sure that the stallion was still safe in the clearing.

  “Let’s take the horses,” Lisa suggested. “If Tyson’s still hanging around the area, he could spot them, guess what we plan to do, and beat us to it.”

  Matt nodded. “You and Lucky lead the way,” he told Kirstie.

  So she went ahead on foot, leading the palomino, keeping a watch for any unusual movement or sound from below.

  “Did you hear that? Like, branches moving, twigs snapping!” Lisa hissed. She and Cadillac were halfway down the track into the canyon, hard on Kirstie’s heels, but she stopped dead and glanced anxiously back up at the ridge. “I got this weird feeling someone’s watching us!”

  Third in line with Crazy Horse, Matt scanned the jagged overhangs. The heat of the sun made steam rise from the dark red rocks. He shook his head.

  “Yes, I kind of…feel it!” Lisa protested. “Like eyes are on us all the time!”

  “Those miners’ ghosts keep showing up.” Matt shrugged off the uneasy feeling that Lisa had created.

  But Kirstie took her friend more seriously. She watched out for movement, saw sinister shapes in shadows, could almost pick out Tyson’s dark hat and crouching figure. But no; when she looked hard, there was no one there. “Come on!” she whispered. “Let’s go see the stallion!”

  Pushing ahead, wading with Lucky through a new stream that came gushing over the ridge and across their path, Kirstie was suddenly overtaken by a fresh rush of anxiety. Not concentrating, the force of the clear, cold meltwater almost knocked her off her feet and made her lurch to catch hold of Lucky’s saddle horn. Her horse stood steady long enough for her to pull herself upright and wade to safety.

  “You OK?” Matt shouted above the sound of splashing water.

  “Yep.” More determined than ever, she pressed on.

  “When you get to the bottom, wait there for us!” her brother yelled.

  Kirstie glanced back to see that Lisa was also having trouble crossing the stream. Matt seemed to be telling her to mount Cadillac and try riding across. But the ledge where they all stood was narrow, and the hold-up lengthened. Meanwhile, Kirstie decided to continue.

  So much meltwater. Water everywhere. It dripped off every ledge, trickled into narrow streams. The small streams joined together to form wide waterfalls that bounced and crashed off the rocks all around.

  But, while Lisa struggled with Cadillac halfway down the cliff, Kirstie and Lucky made it to the bottom. She looked back up to see where they’d come, and in a way she was relieved to see how difficult the route had been. Surely Bob Tyson would have found it impossible to pick out the way. Which meant that, most important of all, the stallion was still safe �
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  Impatiently Kirstie glanced at the main waterfall that hid the ledge entrance to the clearing. She frowned at the torrent of water that crashed into the pool at the foot of the fall. Surely the pool hadn’t been that deep before? And surely the waterfall hadn’t completely hidden the ledge!

  Suddenly she realized what was happening. The floodwater from the melting mountain glaciers, combined with the rain from the weekend storms, would soon make it impossible to use the entrance. The water would rise faster and faster as the sun continued to melt the snow, and soon it would cut them off from the clearing!

  There was no time to lose. Swiftly Kirstie ran to the edge of the pool. Obviously, the narrow channel between the rocks behind the waterfall had been blocked by driftwood and other debris, so the floodwater couldn’t drain away into the stream that flowed across the clearing. Instead, it was rising rapidly over the ledge.

  Telling Lucky to stay where he was, she waved both arms and yelled up at the figures on the cliff. “Matt, Lisa; I’m going ahead into the clearing!”

  Matt’s reply was drowned by the sound of the waterfall. In any case, it made no difference. Nothing would stop her from checking on the black horse.

  Kirstie stumbled and splashed through the pool, taking a shortcut toward the vanishing ledge. Already soaked through, she hauled herself up and began to crawl behind the thundering fall. The water splashed white and foaming all around. Dark rock towered to one side; to the other was a wall of water.

  She gasped and crawled on down the sloping ledge. Water was tumbling onto her, bowing her under its force. She had to close her eyes, hold her breath, crawl on, until at last she reached the end of the ledge. Now she could squeeze into the narrow, water-filled gap between two rock faces. She could fumble with her fingertips along the stone corridor, feeling the water hammering down onto her, resisting the rush of the stream as it tried to sweep her along.

  But, before the end of the gully, she found an obstacle blocking her way. It was as she thought; a heavy log had jammed across the gap, and a pile of stones and brushwood had collected against it. Water was building up behind the jam, which Kirstie would have to climb to get into the clearing. Steadying herself, feeling the current swirl around her legs and up to her waist, she dragged herself over the sodden barricade.

  On the far side she eased herself down into the clearing. She pushed the wet hair from her face and took a deep breath. After the roar and crash of the waterfall came the peace and quiet, the green trees and grass, the black horse in the sunlight.

  He stood by the stream as if waiting, his left leg raised from the ground, head up, ears turned toward her.

  So beautiful. Caught up in the spell of his powerful presence, Kirstie walked toward him. To her amazement and delight, the horse responded by stepping forwards; one, two, three paces. His injured left leg took his weight, his limp was much less than before. Kirstie smiled at the sight of the stallion’s steady approach.

  But only a few yards behind her, the floodwater was rising. She glanced back. The strong current pressed at the log jam, shifting stones, trickling through the gaps into the already swollen stream.

  Then suddenly, as she was about to turn to the stallion and reassure him, the main log gave way. Kirstie heard the dam burst and the water rush through in a torrent. With a gasp she prepared to stand her ground.

  The powerful wave roared at her and engulfed her, knocked her off her feet, swept her on. She went under, flung out her arms, tried to grab at something solid as the current twisted and turned her. She came up, dragged air into her lungs, sought to save herself.

  The stallion was her only hope. He stood in the path of the surging stream. Water swirled around his legs, his chest. It swept Kirstie directly toward him. She closed her outstretched arms around his neck, felt him lose his footing and slide into the water with her.

  Then he was floating. She was clinging to his neck, the horse’s magnificent head was clear of the water and he was swimming through the flood, carrying her to safety.

  10

  The stallion’s strength lifted Kirstie clear of danger. She clung to him, clutching at his mane until his feet found solid ground. The water tugged at her, testing her grasp, but she held fast, felt the horse stand firm, then managed to straddle his back as he stepped out of the raging flood.

  When he reached dry land, she found herself slumped forward, her head against his wet black mane, her arms still circling his powerful neck.

  Kirstie breathed out with a sob and a groan. In the instant when the cold floodwater had closed over her head, she’d faced death. A moment’s noisy confusion, then clarity and silence, before she’d put her arms around the horse and been saved.

  “That was a pretty neat piece of luck,” a voice said.

  She looked up and all around. The voice had belonged to a stranger, not to Matt or Lisa or Lennie Goodman. Bob Tyson then? She tried to match the drifter’s low, mean tones with the voice she’d just heard.

  “You could say that horse just saved your life.”

  A figure was walking toward her as she slid quietly from the stallion’s back. She could see a man’s legs as she crouched beside the horse; legs in jeans and cowboy boots.

  “I guess that evens things up. You dig him out from under a heap of rocks. He saves you from drowning.” The voice was light, even amused. The booted feet came to a halt a few yards from them. “Kinda neat, like I said.”

  Kirstie stood up and stepped to one side of the stallion. She shivered and dripped as she came face to face with the one witness to the stallion’s courage.

  “Art Fischer.” The man held out a hand for her to shake. “I would’a helped too, only I was too far off.”

  She stared at the hand, then the checkered padded jacket. She looked up at a pair of brown eyes in a smiling face; smiling as if she hadn’t nearly drowned back there.

  “You saw me yesterday by Hummingbird Rock,” he reminded her. “Horseshoe Creek, remember?”

  The man with the fishing rod! “Yep.” She nodded hard, sensing the black horse turn away from her and toward the man. “We thought you were Bob Tyson…that is, Lisa…she heard a noise…Were you watching us?”

  It was the man’s turn to nod. The smile seemed to stay on his face, around his eyes, even though it had faded from his lips. “Tyson moved on,” he told Kirstie.

  “When?” The news was slow to sink in through the questions flying round inside her head.

  “Midday. He gave up on the gray mare he wanted once the Forest Guards got on his case. Didn’t stop to say too many good-byes before he packed up his trailer and left.” Art Fischer watched and waited for the horse to leave Kirstie’s side. He studied the injured leg as he limped slowly toward him.

  “You told Smiley Gilpin?” Kirstie frowned. Slowly she puzzled out what had happened.

  Art gave another slight nod. Gently he greeted the stallion by rubbing his long nose with the back of his hand.

  “He lets you get pretty friendly, doesn’t he?” She noticed that the stallion had no fear around Art.

  “I guess.”

  “You wouldn’t say he was a wild horse to look… at…him now…” Kirstie slowed down and tailed off. The stallion nuzzled Art’s hand, then pushed at his chest with his dark muzzle. “How come?”

  Letting her work out the answer for herself, Art scratched the stallion’s forehead and ran an expert hand along the animal’s neck and across his shoulder. Then he stooped to examine the injured knee.

  Kirstie watched the man inspect the wound to check that the swelling was down and the horse was able to bend the joint. She saw him reach into his jacket pocket and take out a tub of white cream. He unscrewed the lid, dipped in his fingertips, and gently began to smear ointment onto the jagged cut.

  “Art is the mystery healer!” Kirstie told Lisa.

  Together she and the quiet stranger had made their way along the ledge behind the waterfall into Dead Man’s Canyon.

  Lisa stared as if she was s
eeing a ghost. “We never thought you’d make it out of there!”

  “Well, I did, thanks to the stallion. And listen, Art’s the one who led him into the clearing first of all; not Bob Tyson!” Kirstie was dripping wet and shaking all over. “Art’s been taking care of him ever since the landslide. Isn’t that great?”

  Matt stepped forward to sling his jacket around her shoulders. “Save it for later,” he said quietly. He squeezed her gently and kept one arm around her while she went on regardless.

  “Tyson wasn’t the only one who knows all the old stuff about horses. Art here picked it up from his grandpa when he was a little kid. His folks had a ranch over by Aspen Falls before they built the Interstate highway there. Then they moved away to Colorado Springs, but Art didn’t like the city. He lives in a trailer up at Eden Lake. That’s where he first saw the wild horses …”

  “Whoa!” Art Fischer stopped staring at his wet boots, looked up, and spoke for the first time. “I didn’t reckon on you telling them my whole life story.”

  “But it’s amazing! You taught yourself the medicine stuff by working alongside your grandpa. And you’ve remembered all of it!” Art had explained everything in answer to her breathless questions in the clearing. Then, once he was satisfied that the unexpected swim hadn’t done the horse too much harm, they’d left him in peace and quickly come back to the canyon.

  “I guess. But no way do I want folks knocking on my door pestering me with damn fool questions,” he protested. “I got a quiet life up by the lake, and that’s the way I like it.”

  Kirstie bit her lip and blushed. “You’re not mad at me?” To her, Art was her new hero. He might not look or sound like one, with his faded clothes, his shy way of hanging his head, and his quiet, funny voice, but what he’d done for the black stallion made him number one in her eyes.

  He smiled now and shook his head.

  But, as if in answer to Art’s fears that his privacy was about to be invaded, the sound of Lennie Goodman’s bulldozer rumbling up Meltwater Trail broke the silence of the mountain. And up on the ridge, a group of trail riders appeared with Hadley at their head. The line strung out along the cliff edge, staring down at the small group standing in the canyon.