Spirit Horses

by Alan S Evans

  Chapter 8

  After a cup of coffee and taking care of the morning feeding, Shane struck out for the reservation.

  The Indians lived deep inside the reservation borders a good distance from its entrance. Mrs. Jensen had mentioned that a town called Fort Washakie was the site for the Shoshone Affairs Office. Since the population was only three to four thousand, hopefully someone there would know Tara and how to contact her.

  The office was easy to find. He parked, took a deep breath, then headed for the door. As he opened it, he quickly realized he was the only white person in the large room. This made him feel a little as if he had stepped through a magical threshold and had been transported to an exotic, foreign country. That’s kind of an ironic idea, he mused to himself. After all, these are true Native Americans who have lived on this continent longer than any white people. There were at least ten Shoshone working in the office, and most of them were busy shuffling papers at their desks. Almost everyone had a friendly look on their face, but for a second he became the center of attention with all eyes glancing in his direction. A young Indian woman, sitting at the counter, smiled and asked if she could help.

  “I’m looking for a girl named Tara.”

  “Tara who?” she asked.

  “I don’t know her last name, but she is tall, slim built, has blue eyes, and is probably in her late twenties.”

  “Mister, even if I know who you are talking about, I wouldn’t give you any information until I spoke to her.”

  Thinking fast, he said, “I owe her family some money, but I don’t know how to contact them. Can you call her and let me speak to her?”

  She left the room and came out a few minutes later. She told Shane to pick up the phone and push the button for line one.

  “Hello, Tara.”

  “Who is this,” she asked curtly.

  “It’s Shane Carson.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I came out to ask you for some help. Can you meet me somewhere to talk?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t want any more trouble!”

  He answered quickly, “No, ma’am, no trouble. I promise. I’m looking for information about my mustang. We could meet some place public, if that’ll make you feel more comfortable. Please, I drove all the way out here, hoping you would help me, and besides, you kinda owe me a favor.”

  Tara was quiet for a minute. “Meet me across the street from the Affairs Office. There’s a little restaurant called The Long Horn. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be waiting.”

  The small restaurant was busy, and the aroma of food cooking made him realize how hungry he was. It was close to noon, so he sat in a corner booth and ordered lunch. The waitress was well-spoken and friendly.

  “How are you today? The special is meat loaf. Everyone sure seems to like it.”

  “That sounds good,” Shane replied with a smile.

  Just as he finished eating, Tara walked in. Everyone appeared to know her, however, they seemed a bit surprised when she walked over and sat across from Shane.

  “Thanks for coming. Can I buy you lunch?”

  Tara shook her head, no. “I’m pretty busy today. What can I do for you?”

  “Like I told you on the phone, it’s about my mare.”

  Tara raised her hand, stopping Shane before he could continue. “First, I want to apologize for what happened yesterday. My brothers never would have treated you the way they did, if they’d known how you helped me in town. I didn’t tell them what happened. I was afraid they would go after those guys and get into a fight. When we left the farm, I told them what you did for me and how you got the mare in Tennessee. After they heard the story, they promised they would leave you and the horse alone. So, if that’s why you came out here, you don’t need to worry anymore.”

  Shane started to reply, but Tara had more on her mind, so he respectively kept quiet and let her continue.

  “I also want you to understand that the Shoshone are good, honest people, and we are proud of our heritage. I know there are plenty of nice folks in the town of Reddick, but there are also some who don’t like us because we’re Native Americans. My brothers, along with the rest of us, have lived with this all of our lives and tend not to trust others until we get to know them, as friends. When they saw the brand on the mustang, they naturally thought you were one of the gang who steal our horses.”

  “That wild herd is very special to your tribe, isn’t it?” Shane remarked.

  “They are an important part of our heritage. That small group of idiots from town knows this, yet they still try to take the mustangs. They force us to keep a close watch on the herd. Usually we’re successful in stopping their attempts to steal them, but now and then they do catch some. That’s probably how you ended up with your mare.”

  “I saved her from the killer market three years ago. I can assure you, the horse has been treated well. I’ve come a long way to put her back with her wild herd. She’s the only reason I’m here.”

  Tara looked puzzled, “Why would you come halfway across the country to set her free?”

  Shane was guarded in his answer. “I made a promise to someone very close to me and to the horse, that I would do this.”

  Tara remarked, “You must really care for this person to go to all this trouble.”

  He responded with a slight nod.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  “I had two reasons for coming here today. The first was to let you know I overheard those men we tangled with in town planning to steal more of the horses Saturday afternoon. They talked about a trap they built in a canyon, and they were bragging about taking their dogs and guns.”

  Tara smiled, “My brothers have already found the trap and destroyed it. The head stallion of the herd is smart. Between the stallion and our herd watchers, those men won’t have much of a chance to catch any horses this weekend. But, thank you for the information.”

  Shane looked relieved. “Do you know anyone I can hire as a guide to help me find the Mustangs, so I can set my mare free with them?”

  Tara shook her head. “I’m sorry. It just doesn’t work like that. No one in our tribe will help you without my grandfather’s permission. He is one of the leaders of my people, and the tribal member in charge of our wild horses. The decision would have to be his.”

  Continuing to think quickly, Shane asked, “Then, would you take me to your grandfather? Maybe if he understood why I’m here, he would help me put the mare back where she belongs.” Shane

  realized how much easier this would be with the Shoshone’s permission. He could also read the immediate doubt in the girl’s face.

  Tara looked down toward the table and took a slow breath as she mulled over his unexpected request. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, but I’ll take you to meet him.”

  He followed her old pickup on a winding road, heading northwest out of Fort Washakie. After several miles, they drove through a run-down neighborhood of shacks and trailers. Out of the corner of his eye he watched children playing on a rusty old car, men passing around a bottle of wine, and people sitting on porches seemingly doing nothing. He thought about these sad conditions and wondered how many of the three thousand Shoshone on the reservation lived this way.

  Soon after passing through this impoverished neighborhood, the scenery began to improve. Only a few miles up the road, Shane noticed several huge, rolling fields. Here, a vast number of quality Angus cattle were grazing serenely on the lush, early summer grass. Just beyond one of these fields, Tara slowed, turned left, and went through a freshly painted entrance. Shane realized as they pulled into the ten-acre compound, that this was the headquarters for the large cattle operation he’d been driving through.

  Scattered along the edges within this gated area, were twelve small, smartly painted houses. Each one was complemented with its own recently mowed yard, leaving the aroma of fresh-cut grass lingering heavy in the air. He was a bit bo
wled over by the contrast from this place and what he had driven through only a short time ago. At the far side of the compound was a large well-kept stable with at least a dozen stalls. Adjacent to the stable was a separate barn where he saw a handful of men unloading a flatbed trailer full of alfalfa hay. He surmised that this hay had probably come from the recently baled field, which they had passed about a mile before.

  Located in the middle of the compound he noticed a stoutly built square corral, with a strong looking snubbing post standing in its center. This old-style-type pen was used for breaking young horses—the hard way. He figured these pens were probably a common sight in this part of the country. Built on two sides of the corral were a couple of nice flat one-acre riding areas. These would be perfect to put some initial training on the young horses, once they were started under saddle. Except for the old-school breaking corral, he was impressed. These folks had a nice training center.

  He wasn’t surprised to see the facilities here. He remembered Mr. Jensen telling him the Shoshone were born horsemen and that they bred and trained working horses to sell. The horses in these paddocks were not mustangs. He could tell they were domestic horses and guessed they were registered stock. It was easy to conclude that these animals provided a good supplemental income for the Indians’ cattle business. He wondered if the ranch was owned by an individual or the whole tribe.

  Tara stopped in front of one of the small houses, and Shane parked alongside. As they got out of their trucks, she motioned for him to stay on the porch. “I’ll tell my grandfather you’re here and wish to speak with him.”

  Shane sat down on the porch swing to wait. He looked again at the snubbing post in the center of the corral and found it hard to believe that experienced horsemen, such as these, would still be breaking horses this old-fashioned way.

  A snubbing post is a large pole set firmly in the ground. An unbroken horse is tied to it and forced to stand relatively still while being saddled for the first time. This procedure provides a way to keep an untrained horse under control while introducing these new scary things.

  Shane, from experience, knew this made horses feel even more scared and trapped. It ended up leaving a bad impression on the frightened animal—a feeling that could last for months or in some cases for the rest of their lives. He grinned as he remembered using this method himself a long time ago. The truth be told, if the right person hadn’t come along and taught him a much better way, he’d probably still be doing it.

  After a short wait, Tara came to the door, “You can come in.”

  The house was small but well furnished; clean with a comfortable lived-in atmosphere. He could see several modern appliances in the kitchen plus a large TV in the living room. In the small den/office, a beautiful Indian headdress grabbed his attention. It hung almost five feet high on a tall rack and still came within a couple of inches of touching the floor. The entire length of the headdress was adorned with large, bright feathers, skillfully laced together with leather and strings of colorful beads.

  There were many other Native American artifacts neatly situated throughout the house. Shane’s eyes drifted to one wall in particular, on which hung several impressive knives and hatchets with bone and deer horn handles. On the same wall hung a very old looking bow mounted next to a quiver full of arrows. “This is an interesting blend of past and present,” he remarked quietly to Tara.

  Before they entered the living room where the old Indian was sitting, she whispered, “My grandfather is very shy with strangers and he prefers to speak our Shoshone language. I may have to do some interpreting for you, but be assured he understands and speaks English.”

  The three of them sat facing each other while Tara explained, “My grandfather is the shaman, or medicine man, of our tribe. It is one of his responsibilities to teach the younger generation all about our ancient traditions.”

  The old man sat quietly as Tara spoke. She told Shane again how the Shoshone considered the mustang herd an important part of their heritage. “It is also one of my grandfather’s responsibilities to ensure that our herd be properly managed as well as to keep them wild and free, as they have been for hundreds of years.”

  Shane got a feeling, just from looking at him, that this was a man of status. He looked to be in his late seventies or early eighties, and was in good physical condition for his age. Even though he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, there was an air of nobility about him. Wearing the fancy headdress in the other room, this old guy would fit right in with his warrior ancestors who once ruled this country on horseback.

  The elderly man pointed his finger at Shane and said only one word, Tahotay. Shane smiled and glanced at Tara for a translation. She looked at her grandfather and shook her head, and then turning to Shane said, “It’s nothing important.”

  Shane asked him, “How is this herd so connected to your tribe’s past?”

  The shaman spoke in his native language for quite a while. When he finally stopped, he indicated to Tara with a wave of his hand, to translate. She appeared reluctant but did as her grandfather asked.

  “He wants you to know that these horses are direct descendants of the hunting and war horses that the Shoshone depended on for centuries. Many generations of warriors and chiefs have ridden these particular bloodlines during famous battles, battles that were important in both the white man and Shoshone’s history.”

  Shane sat attentively. Her voice had taken on a storyteller’s quality as she translated the exotic sounds of the Shoshone language into English for him.

  “According to our ancient tribal beliefs, these horses are spiritual in nature, and some still believe that when a Shoshone dies these horses will carry their soul to the threshold where those who have passed before will be waiting to greet them. My grandfather and others of his generation believe our ancestors still run with the herd when the “great spirit” allows them.” Tara stopped, then smiled at Shane and said, “I know this sounds farfetched to you, but my grandfather wants you to understand why these horses mean so much to us.”

  Shane shook his head from side to side, “No ma’am, I’m not here to make any judgments about your tribes’ beliefs or traditions. I just appreciate his time. Please let him know that I’m respectful of what he’s telling me, and that I consider this very interesting.”

  “My grandfather’s name is Tigee, and you may speak to him as you wish. I have told him about your mare and how you have taken good care of her, but that is all I’ve told him.”

  The shaman then looked at Shane and repeated, Tahotay. Tara looked embarrassed and shook her head, “No,” at her grandfather again.

  Tigee asked Shane in his broken English, “What do you want from me?”

  Shane breathed deeply and said, “I want to set the mare free with her herd. I drove a long way from home to do this and hope that you will help me.”

  Tigee spoke again in Shoshone. When he finished, Tara translated. “He thinks the mare has been away too long and wonders if the herd will accept her.”

  Shane said, “I plan to stay out there to make sure they don’t reject her. If they do, I’ll take her back to Tennessee.”

  The old Indian said, “No,” and began talking again in his own language to Tara. When he finished, she looked at Shane. “My grandfather does not think this is a good idea.”

  Disappointed, Shane became quiet in thought for a moment, “Could I please speak with your grandfather alone?”

  Tara looked questionably at Tigee, he nodded his head, yes, and indicated for her to wait outside.

  He hoped if Tigee knew the real reason this was so important to him, perhaps he would reconsider. Strong emotions became evident on Shane’s face as he told the old Indian about his family.

  “We acquired the mare from a nice lady who saved her from the slaughterhouse. I had no idea how much a part of our family she would become. Once she was trained, my two kids rode her almost every day, and believe me, the mare looked forward to every minute she spent with Jac
ob and Tina.”

  Shane stopped for a second to control the lump that was building in his throat along with the burning in his eyes. “It was my young son, Jacob, who noticed at times she seemed sad. Even though my son loved that horse with all his heart, it was his idea that one day we should bring her back to her herd. I promised him I would do that, and now I’m here to fulfill that promise.”

  Tigee was obviously moved by the story, “I must think about this. Please wait outside while I talk to my granddaughter.” As Shane started to leave he turned back, “I’d like you to please keep the information about the loss of my family between the two of us.” The old man nodded. “I understand.”

  Shane sat on the porch for about ten minutes before Tara came outside. “I don’t know what you said to my grandfather, but he changed his mind. He says you can take the mustang to the herd.” Shane breathed a sigh of relief, then sat quietly in bewilderment as Tara continued, “My grandfather believes the mare has lost her wild edge and will not be cautious of humans anymore. He is concerned that she may lead some of the other mustangs into danger. He

  doesn’t think it would be safe for her or the rest of the herd to reintroduce her right now.

  “He wants you to stay on the reservation until we find a way to stop the problems with the young men from town. Only then will he allow your mare to rejoin the herd.”

  Shane was not expecting this, and he didn’t know how to respond. “Could I come back in a couple a days and let your grandfather know my decision?” She nodded her head yes.

  Shane thanked Tara and climbed into his truck. The drive back seemed to take forever, and he was still pondering on what to do when he arrived back at the Jensen’s. Mr. Jensen was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. Shane greeted him and walked up the steps and sat next to him.

  The old man smiled. “Well, you don’t seem to have any new bumps or black eyes, so I guess it didn’t go too badly.”