El Miedo signaled to his two senior lieutenants. It was time to put the plan into effect. El Bolsillo, he called the plan, or the Pocket. As the legion spread out into the configuration of el Bolsillo, they accelerated their pace. “We are about to pull the drawstrings of the pocket,” El Miedo murmured to Pego.
The horses would put up a fight, no doubt, but they were no match for El Miedo. He would catch them and break them, break them as he broke everything that stood in his way.
The horses of the first herd had been traveling just beyond the usual boundaries of their winter camp. The last few days had been warm and snowbanks had melted away, so they had gone out to forage for grass. The wind shifted. A different scent — not the fresh new green of spring and sun but of sweat — sweat from the footpads of a coyote. Like a current from a dreadful tributary, the odor coursed through, fouling the green river of grass. Hold On stopped grazing and jerked his head.
“What’s wrong?” Tijo asked. He was astride the stallion’s back and lost in his own daydreams.
“Coyote!” Hold On replied. “They sweat from their feet like dogs. A coyote has been this way.”
“Coyote? Are you sure?” Hold On felt Tijo stiffen and grip his sides.
Estrella gave a sharp snort seconds later. “I smell something! Coyote! Let’s turn a bit. There’s grass west of the camp where I scouted yesterday.”
“I agree,” Hold On replied. “Nothing good comes from crossing a coyote’s territory.”
Estrella flinched. She knew this better than any of them.
They turned and Estrella accelerated their pace from the leisurely trot to a gallop, not full out but what the horses called “close on,” packed tightly yet moving swiftly.
Not much time had passed before they picked up the scent again. This is odd, Estrella thought. How can a coyote cover that much ground so quickly? It was the same coyote. Of this she was sure. She could tell by the scent. Once more she signaled a turn, with two sharp snorts. And again they picked up the scent. But the wind shifted and another overwhelming scent came upon them. It was salty, but not like the fresh salt smell of the sea. And not the smell that leaked from the coyote’s footpads. It was the rotten salt odor of sweat through skin, human skin.
“Men!” Estrella’s whinny was high-pitched and frantic. “Men on horses!”
Corazón and Angela froze in their tracks. They turned to each other with looks of disbelief. Disbelief and despair, as if they were too old for what was coming, too tired to run. The terrified squeals of Verdad and Sky split the air. The first herd broke into a full-flight gallop, their necks stretched out as they raced across the plain.
Estrella dared not look back. She felt the energy of the herd behind her, streaming through her. The earth trembled with the pounding of their hooves. Their own sweat now spun off like white strings into the sunlit air. The clouds seemed to stand still in the sky while the ground beneath their hooves blurred. But their was no joy in this gallop. They were running for their very lives.
Pego could feel El Miedo’s tension. He also felt the spurs dig into his flanks. If I am a god, why does he jab me with his spurs? He faltered slightly and the spurs dug in deeper. No time to think, but he knew that blood had been drawn. He pressed forward harder. He would show this man who rode him. He quickly was gaining ground. They were closing in on the haunches of two old mares who had fallen behind.
“¡Adelante! ¡Adelante! El Noble. ¡Mi Pego!” El Miedo urged.
But it is the filly we want. Not the old mares! Pego thought. Still, he felt El Miedo picking up the lariat looped around the saddle horn. Seconds later he heard the hissing sound of it swirling over his head. It soared into the air, inscribing the sky with a perfect circle that began to fall over the mare’s head, the one called Corazón. A terrible shriek rent the air, not from Corazón, but Angela.
Tijo turned around and felt a cold blade of fear stab him. The mare was struggling to keep galloping, but the rope had tightened. Her neck twisted at an odd angle and within seconds she was down, flailing on the ground.
Estrella galloped up beside them, matching her stride to Hold On’s.
“Quick, onto my back, Tijo,” she ordered.
“What is it?” Hold On asked as he felt Tijo leap from him.
“Corazón. She’s down. You keep galloping,” Tijo replied. “Estrella and I will go back for her.”
“But ropes. If they have her with ropes, how will you get her?”
Estrella was determined that no horse be left behind, abandoned to the mercies of the Ibers. This was what it meant to lead — to protect every member of your herd even if you had to risk your own life. She was one with the herd and inseparable.
El Miedo blinked. He saw a horse. The strong young filly whose scent he had caught was bolting toward the lariat with a rider on her back. If only I had two ropes! El Miedo thought. But there were more men with ropes behind him closing in. What he saw next was inconceivable. The filly with the rider was charging straight for the old mare. The boy reached down and with one swift motion severed the rope with his hunting knife. The mare was free, back on her feet and streaking ahead.
Estrella could hear the pounding heart of the old mare racing beside her.
“You can do it, Corazón. Remember your big heart.” And Corazón knew she could do it. I can! I can! I … I … Then she heard Estrella gasp. And Tijo shrieked, “No!”
A deep ravine loomed ahead. That was where the coyote had been driving them. Coyote! Estrella thought. How had he tricked them this time? She felt something flicker from deep within her, or was it outside of her? The tiny star horse glittered in her mind’s eye.
It was like during the fire, when the tiny star horse had appeared to her out of the smoke and flames so she could lead the others out of the canyon. But at that time, it had been only herself who had seen the tiny horse. Now it seemed as if the horse was alive in all of their minds, like the earliest star rising in the twilight before the coming darkness of the night.
Estrella was the first to fly off the edge of the ravine. Tijo turned around to shout to Hold On, “You can do it, Old Fellow. You can do it!”
But there was no need for words. The image of the tiny horse sparkled in the old stallion’s blind eyes. He felt the force of his legs as he broke into a tremendous leap and sailed across the ravine. The other horses followed. Estrella spied the first of the evening stars rising in the dusky night. A wild whinny curled into the air. “Jump for the stars.” It was a jubilant sound. First herd leapt, and it did seem as if the stars embraced them as they arced over the ravine.
El Miedo on Pego screeched to a halt as his dream began to vanish. He jabbed his spurs into Pego’s flanks, gouging him again and again until blood poured down the stallion’s legs. He began cursing him.
“You dumb, stupid, cowardly beast. You are no better than a plow animal, a mule. Stupid mule. You have betrayed me!”
But all Pego could think was that Coyote had betrayed them. He reared up suddenly and then changed ends and started bucking madly. El Miedo, still screeching, knew he must hang on. If he fell off, the horse would trample him to death. El Miedo vowed that he would kill this horse before he was thrown. He pulled out the Crusader dagger from Toledo and was about to drive it into Pego’s neck, when suddenly he felt himself losing his grip and being flung to the ground.
This must be the end, he thought, and steeled himself for the crushing weight of the horse’s hoof on his skull. But he was shocked. The horse Pego was standing perfectly still, his gaze fixed on something across the ravine. El Miedo turned his head to look. On the opposite side of the ravine, at its very edge, was a fine-looking bay mare.
“Bella!” Pego whinnied. “Bella!”
The mare turned and cantered off. Pego then began to walk toward El Miedo. The man rose to his knees and put his hands together as if in prayer.
“Por favor … mi amigo noble …” But Pego tossed his head, then reared and, spinning around in the opposite direction, ga
lloped off. El Miedo remained stunned on his knees as the dusk gathered around him. He watched the sun slip low, spreading across the horizon like the yolk of a bloodied egg.
Coyote burrowed deeper in his den. He had run off when the chase went awry. He was furious. He wanted to be rid of men and of horses. He was sick of other creatures’ dreams. He had done his part, rounded up the herd, driven them toward the ravine. Who knew they would dare to leap? He thought he was rid of them, of all horses.
But now these creatures had invaded his new territory, and that strange boy was snatching his prey! Sage grouse and every other ground bird that he feasted on through the long winter. First Angry he was called. But now, as he often thought, the name did not quite fit, for he was too clever, too clever to allow anger to get in the way of his cunning. A familiar sound pulled him from his poisonous thoughts. Hoofbeats. He came closer to the opening of his den and peered out.
An immense shimmering moon had risen. He blinked, for a strange design was printed against its silver surface, an odd assemblage of things both human and animal. A twisted creature like a two-headed beast with the boy on top and his spear a slash across the moon. He blinked again. The heads seemed to separate and now he could see more clearly. It was two horses. The old blind stallion and the young filly.
Well, they wouldn’t find him. There had been a snowfall and he had covered his tracks, using his tail to brush his paw prints away. He blessed the coyote god for giving him such a fine bushy tail. He had also laid a false track, a scent trail with the remains of a doe he had brought down days before. But his anger still simmered as he watched them. Don’t be angry, he chided himself. Be clever. Be cunning. For that is what you are — the dream stealer, the fantastic concealer. Crafty and sly, I’ll sell you lies. He had spun a snare of lies around him now so they would never find him.
Hold On stopped and peeled back his lips. He was picking up a scent. At first, they had objected to Hold On coming. But now they understood why he had insisted. As Corazón had said, “It’s as if that stallion has eyes in his nose!” The stallion gave a barely discernible nod of his head and flicked his ears toward a small knoll. The snow seemed unbroken by any animal. There was no visible trail, only snowy humps that suggested a buried stump or shrub. They moved slowly in the direction Hold On had indicated. Soon they picked up the odor. It was peculiar. Deer but not deer, Estrella thought. And Tijo leaned down closer to examine the snow. There was something odd about it. The snow did not seem as if it had fallen here but rather had been blown or brushed. A bitter wind was blowing down on them, so cold that it caused Tijo’s eyes to water. He wiped away the tears and felt the bump of the bobcat scar on his cheek. It suddenly seemed to burn. How could he be so cold and the scar feel as if it were burning? He drew the rabbit fur hood tighter around his head.
Coyote could not believe it. In his den he heard the crunching sound of the snow the hooves made as the horses approached. They’re coming! Coming here! How did they find me? Coyote’s guard hairs stood straight out as he chanted to himself — I am the trickster! I am the trickster!
The horses shied as Coyote exploded from the burrow and leapt into the night. Coyote, who had led them nearly into the hands of the men! They had not expected this direct, bold attack from a creature known for his cunning. The savage barks splintered the night. He was the essence of cruelty, vicious and meaningless cruelty. He sank his teeth into Hold On’s front leg. Hold On screamed and, with his powerful hind legs, reared into the air. The coyote hung on. They were an odd, entangled form writhing in the moonlight. Then Hold On’s feet began to slip. He was on the ground on his back. A stain of blood blossomed on the snow. Estrella felt Tijo slip from her back, not fall but slip off on purpose. With his dagger in one hand and his spear in the other, Tijo ran around the tangled, kicking stallion, trying to get a clear shot at Coyote and not accidentally stab Hold On. But they were wrestling on the ground in a hopeless snarl of limbs like some demonic flower, its petals tinted in blood, blooming in the winter night. Raw, desperate cries scratched the cold wind, which began to blow harder.
Estrella and Tijo knew they could not let Coyote get to Hold On’s neck and sink his fangs into the life-giving artery. Suddenly, there was a tearing sound overhead, a high-pitched shreeeeee. A white face hung in the night, then, folding its wings, sliced down through the darkness, its face like a hurtling moon. Coyote yowled in rage. Tijo and Estrella looked up in amazement as the owl, with Coyote in its talons, rose in the night. Hold On had staggered to his feet. His wounds were not serious.
However, Coyote was still howling with rage. The shadow of the owl and the witch dog spread out over the snowscape and then the owl rose higher over the crown of the trees. The branches of those trees murmured in the wind. Tijo, Estrella, and Hold On all tipped their heads toward the sky. The yips and barks of Coyote grew fainter. Suddenly, the omo owl released Coyote. He came blistering through the night straight down like a yellow comet, hitting the ground a few feet from the two horses and the boy, broken but still gasping.
The horses and the boy approached and hung over him. The creature was attempting to speak, although his body seemed completely mangled and askew.
“Tricked,” he gasped. That was his last word. Tijo took his dagger and stabbed him in the heart. The eyes of Coyote froze in shock. But beneath the glaze of death, there lurked the last remnants of a powerful anger.
They returned to the camp and once more the horses gathered around to watch Tijo with his needle close up the torn flesh of Hold On. Luckily, although Coyote’s fangs had come close to a tendon, it was not close enough to cut it. The bleeding had almost stopped by the time they were back. Not many stitches were required, not nearly as many as Estrella’s shoulder wound had. After stitching up the wound, Tijo made a cleansing poultice of devil’s claw and hemp and bound the leaves tightly to Hold On’s leg. When he had completed tending Hold On, he turned his attention to the dead coyote. He would take his hide and cure it well.
He worked carefully on the skin. It was very important that he do every step just right, with no excessive cuts. Except for removing the brains from the skull, he wanted to keep the head as intact as possible. He would not use this as a blanket. He had no desire to sleep under the skin of this conniving animal. Instead, it would serve as a totem to fend off evil, a spirit chaser.
Slivers of light began to lengthen the days and from a distance the horses and the boy could hear what they called white thunder, slides of snow hurtling down steep slopes.
“That’s where we are heading,” Estrella said one morning as she, with Tijo on her back and Hold On by their side, looked north. The earth was unlocking as spring approached and new smells were unleashed into the morning air. Tijo could see both Estrella and Hold On peeling back their lips to catch these new scents.
“Do you smell the sweet grass yet?”
Estrella shook her head. “That is not the sweet grass. That smells different.”
“I know what it is,” Tijo replied.
“Really?” Hold On asked. “What?”
“A creature — a grazing creature but not a deer. Much bigger.” He thought a minute. “An animal so huge it sounds like thunder when it runs. It has shaggy long fur. And a head so big, almost as big as I stand tall!” Tijo was very proud of how tall he had grown.
“Have you really seen this creature?” Hold On asked.
“No, but I have slept under its skin.”
“How? Where is the skin now?”
“It is a long story.” Tijo hesitated.
“A snow story?” Estrella asked. For on the coldest blustery nights when blizzards struck and engulfed the landscape, the horses loved to tell stories.
“Yes — a snow story. So we’ll wait until next winter.”
Tijo had not revealed much of his past. He knew the horses, especially Estrella, were curious.
Hold On lifted his head a bit. “I am not sure if you will have to wait that long. I smell a storm coming. A late winter st
orm — almost spring storm. They can be fierce.”
By dusk a few flakes had begun to fall. Tijo had built a small fire to cook the fish he had caught in the stream. None of the other horses were about. They were away, foraging for the last bits of vegetation before their favorite spots, which had melted out just a few days ago, were covered again.
“Tijo,” Estrella began, “you say we are long spirits that have stretched deep into the past. That you and I are threads in the same blanket.” Tijo nodded. He sensed what was coming. “I have told you of my time on the ship. Of my memories of my dam. Of the shark that killed her. Of the island where we first swam to. Of the City of the Gods, where we were captured. But you have told me nothing really about yourself from the time before … before you and Hold On found each other. I want to know. We became a herd, I mean really became a herd, on the night of our first blizzard in this new world. That was when we told our stories. It is time for you to tell yours. You are already a part of this herd. Can’t you trust us with your stories? The stories, the ones of the thunder creature, or how you came to learn medicine and why you left the people — can you not tell us those stories?”
By the time the herd gathered around Tijo, the snow had begun to fall hard. The small fire glowed, enveloping the horses and the boy in a pale orange cocoon of light. The bobcat-skin blanket was wrapped tightly around him, and he’d pulled the rabbit hood down so low and the muffler of a rabbit so high that only a narrow slot revealed his eyes and mouth.
“There have been many blankets in my life.” Tijo began speaking slowly. “But I came naked into the world and, hours after I was born, was left naked at the edge of the old meat trail that the people followed to hunt.” The horses snorted in dismay. “Yes, I was to be meat, prey for other creatures. You see” — he pulled out his leg from the coverings — “I was cursed. This crooked leg. So they wanted to get me and my mother out from the clan. My mother died minutes after she gave birth to me. So they set me out on the meat trail, a run for coyotes, wolves, and mountain cats.
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