Moonrise

by Terri Farley

  Sam looked back over her shoulder to see Jen’s legs braced far apart as she stood with her cup of cocoa in the mouth of the box canyon. She waved as Sam rode away.

  They’d camped out alone and held a herd of cattle all night long.

  Okay, so it was a small herd, but the cattle hadn’t pushed down the fence to escape overnight, and that was an accomplishment. Sam felt proud.

  Above her, the clouds were drifting from the plateau.

  Good, she thought. Clear weather would make it easier to spot what she was looking for—not just cattle, but mustangs.

  Sam pushed up the sleeves of her green sweatshirt. The morning was warm and Ace frisked like a yearling. Sam felt so good, she let him swing into a lope.

  Wind stirred by his gait snatched Sam’s Stetson from her head. Held on by its stampede string, her hat bounced against her back as she swayed in the saddle, forgetting Slocum and his dogs, absorbing the green-and-gold scenery as it slipped past.

  Dew revived the wet clay smell of the plateau. Sun awakened the tang of sagebrush. Sam drew the scents of home into her lungs, smiling until Ace sensed the mustangs.

  His sudden, jolting trot sent shocks through Sam’s spine, which was sensitive from sleeping on the ground.

  Ace clambered up the incline, then stopped without warning on the plateau.

  Sam’s elbows drew close to her body. In fact, every muscle and tendon hugged closer to her bones as she tried to make herself smaller.

  She felt as if she’d stepped onto a stage while a play was in progress.

  Moon and his mares stood off to her right. The Phantom’s band grazed and milled to her left. The Phantom’s big honey-brown lead mare flattened her ears at a bay horse within her band. The bay looked familiar even before he turned to show Sam the patch of white over one eye.

  Pirate! Sam smiled, remembering the colt she’d first seen on Dad and Brynna’s wedding day. He’d come through the winter strong and tall.

  Ace snorted, arched his neck, and pawed. Sam’s fingers curved around the reins, pulling them snug. She wouldn’t blame the little gelding if he bolted. He’d been wild, and the temptation to run toward one of the herds might be too much.

  But then Sam understood Ace wasn’t agitated by the mustangs; he just recognized a friend.

  “It’s him,” Sam whispered.

  The silver stallion moved through his band until he stood in front of his mares. He was the most beautiful horse in the world. And for one instant, he saw and greeted her.

  Prancing forward, the Phantom tossed his head. Muscles sculpted the brightness of his neck. His mane and forelock rayed around him. Touched by the rising sun, he was a magical beast wreathed in a sun-burst.

  My Zanzibar, Sam thought. In all the world the stallion recognized just one human as a friend, and it was her.

  His single whinny was for her, but then he turned his eyes on New Moon.

  Moon’s neigh rung out, only to be covered by the Phantom’s. In the silence that followed, the stallions faced each other, ears tilted forward. Then each snorted. Each struck out a front hoof at the same moment.

  Sam held her breath as, together, the stallions squealed loudly and rose into half rears.

  Last fall, the Phantom had tried scolding his son with the snaking gesture he used to herd mares and foals.

  Last fall, Moon had hesitated, lowered his head, and lost.

  Since then, Moon had grown up.

  When the silver stallion bobbed his head, higher with each movement, the black stallion did the same.

  Moon was taller than his father, Sam realized.

  The young stallion arched his tail and flexed his neck as if he knew his black head was inches closer to the sky.

  Sam’s fingers froze to her reins. She couldn’t turn Ace away from the fight and go looking for cattle. She had to see this battle through.

  Moon was more muscular, stronger than the last time he’d challenged his sire, and though Brynna insisted fights between stallions were mostly play-acting, these two looked serious.

  The Phantom trumpeted an arrogant neigh that gave Sam chills.

  Look at me, king of kings, mightiest of mustangs!

  The silver stallion trembled with his own power. He wasn’t bluffing. He’d just given his son a chance to walk away, unbeaten.

  Moon didn’t take the Phantom’s offer.

  Black knees silvered by sunshine, he trotted forward until he reached the Phantom. Moon snorted so loudly, a red roan mare with white sprinkling her back sprinted past the Phantom’s lead mare to watch.

  Moon was so close now, the stallions sniffed each other’s ears, smelled each other’s nostrils and breath.

  This could end happily, Sam told herself. It could be a reunion, not a fight. But Moon hadn’t forgotten he’d once, however briefly, ruled the Phantom’s herd.

  The black rose on his hind legs, but came down at once. With a forceful snap, his chin pounded the Phantom’s withers.

  Sam curled forward in the saddle. She gripped her reins with one hand while the other braced across her stomach. This would not end well.

  Moon was exerting dominance he didn’t have.

  Surprised but unhurt, the Phantom stepped back, standing eye to eye with Moon. Sweat showed white on the young stallion’s black coat as the Phantom pressed his forehead to Moon’s.

  When Moon didn’t back down, the Phantom swerved as if to bite his son’s glorious tail.

  Moon mirrored the gesture and the stallions circled, head to tail, for what must have been a full minute. At last, Moon bit the Phantom’s right heel, drawing first blood.

  A scream of outrage erupted from the silver stallion.

  He reared like a monster, mouth agape, tidal wave of mane cresting against the sky.

  Moon was brave—no, foolhardy, Sam thought—ducking threshing hooves, going in low, trying to bite and grab and pull his sire off balance—but he failed.

  The Phantom crashed down on Moon’s back.

  Did the plateau quake as the black stallion fell to his knees? It felt like it, and Sam ached for Moon. He was trapped there, until the Phantom struggled loose and backed off a step.

  Silent and determined, Moon staggered to his feet.

  The Phantom was taking no chances of a second assault. When Moon curved his neck and tucked in his chin, protecting his jugular vein, the Phantom bumped his shoulder, making the young stallion stumble. When Moon lunged with a wide-open mouth, the Phantom wheeled and released a kick into his son’s hind legs. Each time Moon moved, the Phantom kept him off balance, reminding him he was not the ruler here.

  Then both stallions grew alert. Arched necks flew up to their full length. Flattened ears pricked to listen. Snorting nostrils distended, drawing in the scent of trouble.

  At first Sam didn’t understand. Unconcerned, the mares grazed, nursed their foals, and stood head to tail, swishing cool air on each other’s faces. Only the honey-colored mare seemed distracted.

  Pirate and the roan filly had ambled away from their herd.

  Night, Moon’s adopted colt, had done the same. Noses touching, the three young horses made a truce.

  The stallions didn’t notice the disobedience within their bands. Front hooves stepping with spirit, panting from their battle, the black and silver stallions shifted to face the cattle trail.

  Brush shook. Dirt scattered. Something was coming up the path to the plateau.

  Was something wrong? Sam wondered. Could Jen be coming after her?

  This time, the dogs didn’t burst baying from the sagebrush. Their tails were straight up, wagging with excitement as they sized up the horses.

  The herds stood, trembling with curiosity as the predators crouched lower, bellies almost touching the ground as they considered the strange, deer-like prey.

  Should she yell at the dogs, or would that startle the herds, start them running, and begin the chase?

  A dun mare gave a nervous nicker and backed with stuttering hooves into the safety of the Pha
ntom’s herd. Another mare called to her foal, then bolted forward, batting it with a swing of her head when it didn’t move fast enough. The bald-faced mare neighed to Night.

  Startled, maybe afraid he’d been caught playing with the young horses from the Phantom’s herd, Night bolted. He ran away from both bands and headed across the plateau alone.

  Fleeing, he might have been a fawn.

  His flight worked like a match to gasoline, setting the hounds into an explosion of barks, and then baying as they ran after him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The stallions dropped their heads, herding Moon’s mares, pushing them in with the larger band.

  Sam couldn’t believe her eyes. The enemies knew safety lay with the herd. They circled the joined band, nipping and neighing, trying to keep them together.

  Ace snorted and his heels lashed out, though the dogs were far away. Sam kept him reined in and suddenly she was glad, because the bald-faced mare and Pirate bolted after the foal. If she’d allowed it, Ace would have been right with them.

  Moon refused to let his mare go. He dealt her a harsh bite on the neck and she shied, but Pirate kept running. His hooves thundered across the plateau, after the dogs.

  The pack was baying with such excitement, they couldn’t have heard Pirate coming. But the brown pointer must have sensed him. The dog slowed and turned in an arc toward Pirate, and suddenly the pack shifted their attack. They chased the closer prey.

  “No!” Sam screamed at the dogs. “Stop it!”

  The black-and-tan hound leaped for Pirate’s hind legs. As if time braked into slow motion, Sam saw a ribbon of bay skin peel back. Then she saw blood.

  Pirate abandoned the rescue and returned to his herd. Faced by so many milling horses, the dogs hesitated, then looked back at Night.

  The black foal shivered. His head drooped and his legs trembled.

  The hound named Gator jumped into the air, mouth open as he aimed at a mare’s nose.

  He never made the bite.

  The Phantom’s heels caught the dog and sent him spinning away. Beside the white stallion, Moon moved into the same defensive positive, guarding the herd.

  But what about Night?

  Sam knew the answer even before the question finished flashing through her mind. The stallions had to protect the herd.

  Hands shaking, Sam unsnapped her rope holder. She could only think of one way to make the colt an unappealing target.

  “Here comes your chance to discipline those dogs,” she told Ace.

  If the dogs turned on Ace, she’d send him galloping for the safety of the herd and the protection of the stallions. That was an advantage Dad hadn’t had when the dogs attacked Jeep.

  The Phantom’s head whipped in her direction, white mane flying as he watched her.

  “Got me covered?” she mumbled to the stallion, but she knew better.

  He was no longer her pet horse Blackie. If it came to a choice, the stallion must guard his herd. Not her.

  Sam touched her heels to Ace and trotted toward Night.

  “Easy, easy, easy,” Sam told Ace when the dogs followed. “We’re pretending we’re in charge here.”

  With the dogs just a few yards from Ace’s heels, Sam stopped short of Night and pulled her mustang around to face the pack.

  Hope surged up in her when she saw the dogs were still making up their minds, still deciding whether she was some interfering creature or a master.

  Whirling her rope over her head, she shouted, “Get back! Shirley, Bub, Gator, get back, I said!”

  When the black-and-tan hound growled, chills rained down Sam’s arms. It was a test, and Ace wanted to solve it with his heels. He squealed in frustration when she refused to let him whirl and kick. Thinking of Pirate’s wound, she couldn’t let him do it.

  Instead, Sam used the rope like a whip.

  Claws scrabbling, the dogs jumped back to avoid punishment.

  “Bad dogs,” she yelled. “Go home!”

  Confused, the dogs pressed together for an instant.

  Was it the safest time to drive Night to the herd? Or the most dangerous?

  Sam swung Ace behind the foal, and suddenly they both knew what to do. They bolted toward the herd and Ace didn’t stop until they were surrounded by others of their kind.

  Slammed between a chestnut mare and the roan filly, Sam felt warm horseflesh press her legs. The blue-eyed mare crashed into them as she made for her colt. The noisy dun snapped at Ace and he squealed before giving her a frustrated nip.

  Just the same, the nervous mass of horses meant safety while the hounds were near.

  Suddenly the Phantom broke from the herd. Head low, ears flat, and mouth open, he moved like a striking snake after the dogs. Behind him, the honey-colored mare urged the combined herd across the plateau in the opposite direction.

  Yapping, the speckled hound stood her ground for a minute, until Moon joined his father’s charge.

  Struggling with her rope and reins, doing her best to keep Ace from being swept along with the stampeding herd, Sam saw the dogs flee from the stallions.

  Only Shirley paused in the cow trail and gave a single bark. Then, wagging her tail as if it had all been a game, she followed the others.

  More than anything, Sam wanted to jump from Ace and run to the Phantom. Sweat had darkened his bright coat to pewter. He quivered with anger as he stared after the dogs.

  Going to him wouldn’t be safe, but Sam wanted to throw her arms around his mighty neck and hug him for his bravery.

  And, she thought as she looked at Moon, his mercy.

  She didn’t do it.

  When the Phantom wheeled away from the trail and the lingering scent of dogs, he raced past her. She thought his dark eyes met hers through his tangled forelock. For sure, his pale shoulder grazed her leg, as he stayed several galloping steps ahead of Moon.

  And then all the mustangs were gone.

  Sam was still shaking with reaction, still wondering how she could get her words in order to tell Jen what she’d seen, when the three Brangus cows—two adults with a calf in between—appeared on the trail ahead.

  Ace halted. Sam swallowed hard.

  They were huge and almost burgundy in color. Sam knew they were a common cross between Angus cattle and Brahmas. She knew they were valued for their quiet temperaments and that Jed Kenworthy, who’d probably put those purple tags in their ears, thought they were the best beef cattle on the range. But they blocked the trail, looking to Sam like maroon refrigerators with horns.

  Ace wasn’t intimidated. He jogged toward the cattle with casual authority.

  Sam knew Ace was the expert and she was just along for the ride when the two cows glanced at each other, flapped their ears in agreement, then turned down the trail. Without a backward glance, all three trotted in front of Ace as if they’d been going that direction in the first place.

  She’d only been gone two hours.

  Sam couldn’t believe it was only eight A.M. when she stood drinking water with her granola bar while Jen and Silly watched over the loud, cranky cattle penned in the box canyon.

  Up on the plateau, fear or adrenaline had swept away her fury at Linc Slocum. Now she just wanted him punished.

  “I hate it,” Jen said, when Sam had finished telling her everything. “But I don’t think we can do anything right now. Do you see any point in going back early? I mean, don’t you think we should finish up here?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “But as soon as we get home, someone has to make him send those dogs back to Louisiana where it’s legal for them to do what they do best. Then, he needs to be punished.”

  As they finished off their granola bars, they stared at the restless cattle.

  “They know something’s up,” Jen said.

  “I think you’re right,” Sam agreed, and now that her hands had stopped shaking, she knew there was no way to put off the only part of the trip she’d dreaded.

  Sam swallowed hard and tried to assess her feelings.
She still wasn’t looking forward to hurting the calves, but it really was for their own good. She had to remember that. Besides, her hesitation would only cause them more pain.

  Handling six fractious adult cattle while she and Jen vaccinated, branded, and ear-tagged four calves could be tricky.

  “What are we waiting for?” Sam asked at last.

  “It seems awfully early to start,” Jen said, “but what if we run out of daylight?”

  “We can’t risk it,” Sam agreed. “If we’re late meeting them at War Drum Flats tomorrow morning, my dad will jump to the conclusion I’ve been trampled. Or thrown. Or carried away by a giant vulture.”

  So, even though they had the high-altitude Cow Killer Caldera left to check, they decided to get busy.

  “If we finish early and find more cattle near the caldera, we’ll just drive them along with the others,” Jen said. “There’s no reason the calves can’t be branded later.”

  Unless they escape, Sam thought, but she didn’t say it. Instead she gave Ace the praise he deserved.

  “How are you doing, best cow horse in the world?” Sam asked as she picked up Ace’s trailing reins and kissed his nose.

  He nudged Sam and stamped as if he was ready to go again. Sam swung into the saddle.

  While Jen held it open, Sam rode through the small gap in the orange plastic fence. Then, from the saddle, she did the same for Jen.

  Even before Sam could refasten the gate, Ace’s eyes were on the cows and he was ready to work.

  Sam wished the people who thought mustangs were scrubby and weak could test their papered purebreds against Ace. He’d already had a demanding morning, and now he was going to make her look like a real roper.

  “I’ll do it just like I did at home,” Sam whispered to Ace. “I promise.”

  Sam’s mind conjured a picture of Jake, rope wheeling gracefully above his head, and she did the same.

  “Pretty,” Jen complimented Sam’s spinning loop, then she trotted Silly toward the first cow and calf. “This is going to be okay.”

  And it was.

  As the first Brangus bolted away from Jen, her calf lagged behind. In a single leap, Ace positioned Sam to throw her rope for the calf’s back hooves.