by Alan S Evans
“Not really, I know she comes from a herd that runs wild on the reservation.”
The old man smiled as he stood. “I’ll tell you what, son, you look like you could use a home-cooked meal. You come out to the house tonight and see your horses. I’ll tell you what I can about that mare over dinner.” He took one more sip of coffee, then leaned over and said, “Let me give you some advice. If I were you, I wouldn’t mention that brand around town. You might stir up more interest than you want.”
Shane nodded to indicate that he heard his warning, then the old man headed for the door. He thought Mr. Jensen was being a little dramatic with his advice, but figured he would wait until he heard what the Jensen’s had to say before he went nosing around town about the mustangs.
After breakfast, Shane went back to his room. He’d slept for over seventeen hours and felt rested for the first time in a while. He quickly grew restless watching TV, so he decided to drive around and have a look at the countryside. Soon he might be packing into the foothills and valleys surrounding the area, and he wanted to see what he was in for.
Shane also knew if he sat idle for very long, his mind would begin to drift to the memories that continually haunted him.
Sometimes he felt guilty pushing the thoughts of the three out of his head, but for the present it was the only way he could survive. So he left the little room and drove northwest toward the mountains in hopes that seeing this country would be a good distraction.
He didn’t have to drive far before realizing how special this place really was. The scenery was spectacular, and he couldn’t help but be in awe. Soon he found himself on an elevated road, where he stopped his truck to gaze down into a valley. Scanning across this amazing site from his high perspective, it almost appeared as if the countless tree-topped hills below had collided, sometime in years gone by. Each one was shoved up against the other, as if once they had been in motion and then long ago had come to this sudden eternal halt. They seemed to roll on forever, until they finally ran into the base of the distant snow-capped mountains that rose high into the clear blue horizon. It seemed in every direction he looked there were streams and lakes, which meant this wilderness would surely be alive with an abundance of wildlife. Sloppy’s herd would be hard to find out here. There was plenty of cover, and Shane began thinking he would probably need a guide to help him locate them.
He sat there for a long time and soon began to wonder how a God who could make country as beautiful as this could be the same God who let his family die in that horrible accident. As the familiar anger built inside him, he quickly stood, took a long, deep breath to clear his mind, and climbed back into his truck. By now it was late afternoon and time to start heading to the Jensen’s for dinner.
During the drive, Shane found himself becoming more and more curious about what Mr. Jensen could tell him concerning the mustang’s brand. Hopefully he might even know where the herd was, or if not, where he could find a competent guide.
Shane pulled into the driveway, and both of the horses trotted up to the fence. Even at his first quick glance, he noticed that Sloppy had a different look in her eyes. She seemed more alive and
animated. “You know you’re back in your own country, don’t you?” he teased. He affectionately patted the two on their necks and checked them over from head to hoof.
A shallow stream ran through the field where the horses were staying and Shane could see by the mud on their legs that they’d been playing in it. After visiting with them for a few more minutes, he went and knocked on the Jensen’s door.
The old brick, ranch-style house was in good shape. The yard was well kept with the surrounding landscape a sight to behold. The small farm sat in the middle of the foothills with a variety of large aspen, sycamore, and maple trees, all in full foliage, randomly scattered about.
Mr. Jensen opened the door, “Hi Shane, come in and take a load off.” They sat in the den near the fireplace, which was in full flame. “I don’t usually light a fire this time of year, but for some reason I was in the mood for one,” he said as he offered Shane a glass with a shot of good sipping whiskey.
“I want to thank you again for taking care of Tory’s colic.”
“No problem,” the old man answered as he poured himself two fingers.
“I hope you like fried chicken,” Mrs. Jensen remarked as she walked into the room.
“Yes, ma’am, that sounds good.”
The three of them sat next to the fire, and talked. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed the clinic I saw you put on in Kansas,” Mrs. Jensen said. “You know, I must have gone to half a dozen clinics that year. My friend and I decided that we would travel together. We had a lot of fun driving all around to horse shows and clinics. We wore out a set of tires on my horse trailer,” she laughed. “You were the one clinician that really stood out for us. Your clinic was full of practical information on how a horse thinks and reacts. We were simply bowled over seeing what you could do with one. Why, you had every one of those animals in the palm of your hands. I even ordered some of your videotapes. I think I still have them. I kept looking for more of your clinic dates, but you just seemed to vanish. I finally assumed you gave it up for some reason.”
“Yes, ma’am, I haven’t done that for almost fifteen years now.” Fearing she might question him concerning the reason he stopped putting on his clinics, which was, of course, his family life, Shane decided to quickly change the subject.
“Dinner sure smells good.”
Mrs. Jensen smiled and replied, “Why don’t we continue visiting while we eat?” She then led them to the table.
After the meal, they moved back by the fire. It wasn’t long before he felt the conversation was once again drifting toward the reason he left his life on the road. These were nice people and he wasn’t trying to hide anything from them, but the last thing he wanted was to have them feel pity for him. Besides, he was here to find out about the herd.
“I don’t mean to shift gears on you, but I’m very interested in getting any information I can on the mustang. You see I promised somebody close to me, and close to the horse, that I would bring her out here and set her free with her old herd. I aim to see that through.”
“I think that’s admirable,” Mrs. Jensen stated.
Mr. Jensen eagerly spoke up. “I’ve heard a lot about the wild bunch you’re looking for. The locals from town call them the broken-arrow horses because of the brand the Indians put on them. The Indians call them the spirit horses. I really don’t know why. The Shoshone claim rightful ownership of the herd. They say their tribe has raised them for generations and their ancestors even used the same bloodlines for their hunting and war horses. That’s why they put their brand on them. I’ve heard the horses sometimes wander off the reservation and end up grazing on some of the bordering property leased by a local cattle rancher named Vince Nethers. As I understand it, he doesn’t want his cows to share their grass with the mustangs. Nethers’s son, Bo, and some of the hired hands who work on the ranch claim the horses are fair game if they wander off the reservation. Unlike most mustangs, this herd has had selective breeding and management through hundreds of years by the Shoshone tribe. This is well known in the area, so the horses are considered to have some special value around here.”
Shane leaned back in his chair as he listened intently.
“The herd is smart and hard to find. Some of the young men around town consider it something to brag on if they can find and catch even a few. They act like it’s some kind of sport. This small group of young jerks thinks it’s fun to try to piss off and provoke the Shoshone by stealing their horses. Most of the time the tribe tolerates the loss of a few animals to keep from starting trouble, but I hear there’s a lot of tension over it all right now.”
“Why is that?” Shane wondered out loud.
“Apparently,” Mr. Jensen replied, “the Shoshone found out a few of the horses were caught, then hauled straight to the killer market for quick cash. The Indi
ans caught wind of this, and made it clear they won’t put up with it anymore. They say the horses are part of their heritage, so they have a right to protect what is theirs.”
“Why doesn’t the tribe put up a fence to keep them in?” Shane asked.
Mr. Jensen laughed, “The border between Nethers’s land and the reservation covers about forty miles of rough country. It would be damn near impossible to fence it. I went up there a few years ago just to see if I could find the herd. I stayed in that country almost a week on horseback, but never did get a look at them. All I ever saw were tracks and droppings. That’s a smart bunch of horses. Like I said, the boys from town consider it a real challenge to catch them.”
Shane smiled and encouraged Mr. Jensen to tell him more. “How do the Indians keep up with the herd?”
The old man continued, “They say the Shoshone keep watch over the herd most of the time. They’re supposed to have a special relationship with the horses. The Indians would be your best bet to find the herd, but I doubt they would tell a white man where they are—especially now. I found out there’s been a couple of fistfights in town between some of the Shoshone braves and Nethers’s son and friends. The scuttlebutt is that Bo Nethers and some of his cronies are the ones that took the three mustangs to the killer market a few weeks ago. The Indians don’t come to town much, so I don’t know if they came looking for trouble or just ran into it by accident. If I were you, I’d be careful about going out to that reservation right now. If you ask me,” he added, “I think those horses should be left alone. There’s plenty of grass up there in the spring and summer for both cattle and horses.”
Shane took a sip of his coffee. “Looks like I’m stepping into a real hornet’s nest! This may not be the best time, but I still plan to turn that mare loose. I guess I’m a little worried now that she might get caught again, and wind up at the killers. I wish I knew how she ended up all the way down in Tennessee at an auction.”
“No telling how that happened,” Mr. Jensen shifted in his seat, “she might have been hard to break, and one of the ranches sold her to a trader. She’s lucky to have made it to you and not the slaughter house, that’s for sure.”
“She was kind of hard to start, but once I got her trust she proved to be real trainable.”
“Maybe you ought to just take her back home,” suggested Mrs. Jensen.
“No, ma’am. This is something I need to do, even if I have to keep a check on her for a while to make sure she stays free.”
“Well, if you end up extending your trip, you’re welcome to use our spare bedroom,” she insisted.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine at the motel.”
“Suit yourself, you know you’re always welcome.”
“Thanks again,” Shane said as he headed out the door. The information he obtained tonight was interesting as well as valuable. At this point, he was leaning toward a trip to the reservation in hopes of finding someone who might help. The fact that the Shoshone were on guard about the brewing situation concerning the herd was a complication he wasn’t sure how to get around. On top of all this, he needed to be certain the mare would be safe from the trappers, once he did set her free. For tonight he hoped he could get some sleep. He knew tomorrow might be a long one, and he wanted to be rested and ready for anything.
***
Shane woke to find it raining with a slight chill in the air. Although he slept well, he was now battling that empty feeling with which he usually started his days.
“Shake it off, Carson,” he mumbled. “Get your ass up, put on a smile, and see if you can figure out how to find those mustangs.”
He really wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Trying to hire a guide was still an option. He just didn’t know whom he could trust.
So, he got out of bed this wet Wednesday, cleaned up, and went to the diner. About halfway through his eggs and hash browns, he overheard some young men talking at the next table.
“The trap gate is open, and we’ll have nine riders trying to push the horses into the canyon.”
“This time we should have enough people to get a bunch of them,” another claimed.
“I’m taking all six of my catch dogs,” a third guy added. “If any Shoshone are out there, the dogs will keep them busy. If that doesn’t work, we’ll scare ’em off with our rifles.”
As the men threw down their money on the table, the group made arrangements to meet at the canyon Saturday afternoon. Shane couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. These assholes were planning on stealing some of the Indians’ wild horses this weekend! He wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe he should ease over to the sheriff’s office and tell him about this after he finished eating.
As Shane filled the deputy in, he soon realized this man didn’t care about the situation.
“I have no jurisdiction on the reservation; the Indians have their own police for stuff like this.”
Shane felt a surge of frustration and snapped, “So call them and tell them about it!”
“I’ll try and do that later,” the deputy said as he leaned back in his chair.
Shane looked at him in disbelief. “That’s it! That’s all you’re gonna do?”
“Look mister, if the mustangs are off reservation land, then it’s legal for those boys to take them as far as I’m concerned. Besides, those horses are hard to catch. They’ll probably avoid the trap anyway.”
“I just told you the plan was to go on reservation land and drive them down to a trap on the Shoshone’s land! That can’t be legal!”
The deputy stood up and leaned into Shane’s face. “Sir, I told you I don’t have any jurisdiction out there. I’ll consider contacting the tribal authorities later to tell them what you overheard—while you were eavesdropping.”
Shane gave the officer a “go to hell” look. “If someone gets hurt this weekend it’s on you!” With that he got up, pushed his chair out of the way, and left.
The deputy stood and followed Shane out to his truck. “Look, mister,” he said, “there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know what your interest is in all of this, but if I were you, I’d put some serious thought into keeping my nose out of it!”
Shane looked straight ahead, nodded slightly, and drove away.
“Damn,” he thought out loud. “It looks like these mustangs are the center of a lot of controversy around here.”
Chapter 7
He went back to his room and flipped on the TV as he tried to figure out his next move. For now all he could do was hope the herd could avoid the trap on Saturday. It didn’t take long for him to get bored, so he walked back over to the diner for a cup of coffee. As he sat at the counter, he kept stewing over his conversation with the deputy. He didn’t hold out much hope that the guy was actually going to call the reservation police and contemplated calling them himself.
He was a little surprised to see the rowdy boys walking back into the diner. Shane figured they probably didn’t have anything else to do. They were reliving their partying from the night before while laughing about how two of them had been with the same girl. They were really trashing her in a loud way, and it was easy to tell that everyone else in the place was taking offense at the conversation. It was only about eleven in the morning so Shane frowned and shook his head as he noticed them take out a flask to start passing it among them. That’s when the owner of the diner slapped his hand hard on the scuffed-up old counter and yelled, “It’s time to move it outside. There’s no drinking allowed here.”
The boys chuckled and hollered back, “Don’t worry old man, we’ll leave. We’re through here anyway.”
“Just get the hell out of here, you boys are bad for business!” the man snapped.
Laughing and shoving chairs out of their way, the obnoxious gang went out and leaned up against the front wall of the diner where they passed the flask among them. One of the boys had pushed a chair against Shane’s stool on the way out. Shane gave him a hard look, but decided to let it go.
; “Who are those guys?” he asked the man behind the counter.
“The leader of the bunch is Bo Nethers. He’s a spoiled, rich troublemaker, whose daddy leases a lot of government property around here to raise cattle. The rest of the group are boys who grew up in the area. They’ll hire on as ranch hands from time to time, but none of the crew is worth a damn. They’re always causing problems and looking for easy money. I’d avoid ’em if I was you. They love to start fights and gang up on people.” The man continued wiping down the counter, and getting set up for the lunch crowd.
“Doesn’t the law around here handle them when they get out of line?” Shane asked.
“They’ve got no worries. Whenever they get into trouble, Mr. Vince Nethers will show up and bail them out. He inherited a ton of money some years back and controls a lot of the businesses here. Hell, he owns this building along with the bank and the motel you’re staying in. He’s not that bad of a guy, but in his mind his asshole son, Bo, can do no wrong. Uh-oh!” he said as he looked past Shane through the café window.
“What’s up?” Shane asked as he turned to see.
“I don’t know for sure, but those guys just saw something that caught their attention. All six of them just trotted across the road. Knowing that mob they’re going to mess with some poor soul.” The young men moved up the street and out of view.
“You know,” said the man, “those guys are all in their mid-twenties. You’d think they might have grown out of acting like idiots. Some of those boys aren’t half bad on their own, but whenever they get together with Bo Nethers, they act like damn fools.”
Shane quickly stood, and paid for his coffee. He wanted to get out where he could see what the boys were up to. Once outside the door, he spotted them catty-corner across the street, as they leaned against an old pickup truck. They were still smoking and passing around the flask. Whoever owned the truck must have been inside one of the stores nearby. Shane sat down on a park-style bench in front of the diner and watched.
