Mustang Moon
Page 16
Sam’s photograph had helped the BLM capture the horses from a ravine on the other side of Lost Canyon.
Now, Apache Hotspot and Sweetheart were back in their home corrals. And even before the horses were found, Brynna’s first look at Sam’s picture convinced her he was no mustang.
One phone call and a risky peek at the tattoo inside his upper lip verified it. “Hammer” was the California endurance champion Brynna had heard about by e-mail weeks ago. Within hours, Rosa Perez had started driving to Willow Springs to be reunited with her beloved Diablo.
“I hope he didn’t cause you any harm,” Rosa said now. “I know he has a bad habit of charging.”
Sam pictured the horse bearing down on her, ears pinned back, but she only shook her head.
“I bought him from a logger, who used him for pulling and, I think, whipped him a lot.” Rosa looked back at the trailer and smiled. “He’s mild as a dove with me.”
“Some horses just bond with one person,” Sam said, understanding.
She gazed at the road beyond the horse trailer. Any minute now, Linc Slocum was supposed to arrive with a check, making everything perfect.
All the same, Sam wasn’t as happy as she should be. She missed the Phantom.
Since she’d bandaged his fetlock, there’d been no sign of the mustang. Sam tried to think positively, but she couldn’t stop worrying.
Laughter boomed from the table where Jake, Gram, Dad, and Brynna sat talking. Applause greeted a tray of Clara’s chocolate upside-down cake.
Everyone was having fun, but Sam wouldn’t really celebrate until she’d seen her horse, whole and healthy. The quickest way to do that was retrace her steps to the Phantom’s haven. Soon. It was only August, but the high pass and stone tunnel leading to the wild horse hideout could be blocked by an early snow.
“Sam! Come eat!” Jake held up a plate of cake.
“In a minute,” she said. Sam noticed Dad had a little smear of chocolate next to his mouth. If she timed it right, maybe he’d say yes when she asked to return to the Phantom’s home. Of course, that meant telling him about it.
From outside the café, Sam heard the blare of country-Western music. She and Rosa squinted at sun glaring off the beige Cadillac. Slocum had arrived.
“Oh my,” Rosa said.
Linc Slocum heaved himself free of the car and straightened the coat of his Western-style suit. The suit was purple as plum jam, but his Stetson was white and he wore a bolo tie set off by a polished rock.
Although neither Sam nor Rosa could hear what he said, they saw Slocum lean toward the horse trailer and speak to the stallion.
Diablo kicked the tailgate of his trailer with renewed vigor. Rosa reached into her purse for her car keys.
“Thank you, again, Samantha, for everything.” Rosa gave Sam a hug that said more than words. “I think I must leave before my endurance horse can endure no more.”
Rosa waved and slipped through the café door. As Slocum tipped his Stetson after Rosa, Sam hurried back to the table and plopped into the chair next to Jake’s.
“Mr. Slocum.” Dressed in her khaki uniform, Brynna greeted the rancher strutting toward them.
Sam uncrossed her arms and legs. A second later, she realized she’d crossed them again. Slocum had an oblong piece of paper in his hand. It was really going to happen.
“Hello, folks,” he said. “I figured—”
Slocum blushed. All his bluster was costing him a small fortune. Sam tried to feel sorry for Slocum, but she couldn’t.
“That is, Miss Samantha—”
Then, Jake caught Sam’s eye. In a subtle movement, Jake rubbed the side of his neck, reminding Sam of the Phantom’s scar. Sam straightened in her chair and met Slocum’s bashful expression with a glare.
Since Slocum couldn’t pay the stallion for the pain he’d inflicted, the next best thing was paying someone who loved him.
“Yes, Mr. Slocum?” Sam stood.
“Well, I know Wyatt is just as happy as a dog with two tails to wag, so I won’t take up your time. Thanks for finding that filly of mine and getting her home, uh, safe.”
Sam knew why Slocum hesitated over the last word. The vet who’d checked the animals after capture suspected Hotspot was in foal.
Slocum ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair until it stuck out at odd angles. “In fact,” he said with a short laugh, “I may just insist you take a bonus with your reward check. How ’bout you keep one stall open, Wyatt? This baby may not fit in with my Appaloosa breeding program. Still, with those two for parents, you might end up with a colt who’s fast as a caged squirrel.”
As those around her laughed, Sam took the check. This skinny piece of paper would pay Mr. Blair for the camera, put in new fence rails where Diablo had broken them, and replace River Bend’s aged pump. Dad was making her save the rest for college, but she planned to keep back a few dollars for a present.
Jake looked over in surprise as Sam squeezed his hand. She couldn’t help thinking about his October first birthday and the beautiful bridle just waiting in Tully’s Western Wear.
Frost clung like silver icing to every twig and branch, as Sam rode Ace away from the Calico Mountain camp the next morning. An early cold snap made frozen brush sparkle as the sun rose. It was all the more beautiful because Jake had let her come alone.
Trusting her, even though she wouldn’t tell exactly where she was going, Dad had allowed Jake to drive Sam back to the Phantom’s territory. He’d instructed Jake to let her approach the stallion’s secret haven alone.
Sam checked her watch. It was five A.M.
Jake had driven to the site where they’d held the herd the night she and Ace had been kidnapped by the Phantom. As soon as they’d arrived and unloaded the horses, Jake had built a campfire, positioned his sleeping bag next to it, then crawled inside.
Leaning on one elbow, he’d rattled off orders.
“You’ve got two hours to get there and get back, or I’m coming after you,” Jake insisted. “Witch can catch your old pony without even trying.”
Sam was counting on Ace to help find the mustangs’ hideout. Everything looked different than it had in early summer.
A crystal forest of cottonwood trees crowded around her and the broad plain seemed smaller. Was Ace taking a different approach to the stone tunnel and wild valley?
The footing turned steep. That seemed right. Sam recalled shale shaped like dinner plates, but she didn’t see it as they climbed upward.
Sam kept her weight balanced, sparing Ace. The little mustang snorted and looked from side to side, more watchful than ever.
“Do we need the Phantom to lead us back, boy?”
Ace shook his head so hard, the buckles on his headstall clinked. Sam loosened the reins, wishing the stallion would appear.
Fear hovered over her like a storm cloud. What if she found the way back and her horse wasn’t there?
All at once, Sam saw the faint path Ace was following. It was no more than a dust smear through silver-green sagebrush. Though it ran along a cliff, Ace’s delicate hooves navigated it with ease.
“Good boy,” Sam whispered, and then she saw what the uncertain light had hidden. A steeper path climbed a cleft between two rocks, and suddenly they moved into darkness.
Ace stopped. His hooves echoed as he shifted from hoof to hoof on the slick rock, but he didn’t go forward.
Sam listened. She dismounted, then ground-tied Ace, as if the act of holding the reins could distract her from something she must hear.
The tunnel turned from brown-gray to black just ahead.
“You stay, boy. I’ll be back.”
Sam walked into the gloom. She wouldn’t think of bats, of earthquakes, of tons of stone hanging overhead.
The way ahead was silent. Cold shimmered from the walls. She could not hear the rushing stream in the Phantom’s hidden valley, nor the squeals of hungry foals. She heard no hooves striking rock, telling her the stallion was coming to meet her.
Was she lost? Sam wrapped her arms around her waist, shrinking away from the narrowing stone walls. Could this be the wrong tunnel?
Up ahead, brightness flickered. Cheered as if sunlight warmed her, Sam recalled a crack in the tunnel roof. That must be it.
But it wasn’t formless daylight. The pale shape wavered like a ghost.
Zanzibar?
It couldn’t be. No matter how wild, no animal could move so silently. Then, she said the word aloud.
“Zanzibar.”
In this lonely cavern, it must be safe to speak a secret name.
For a heartbeat, Sam blinked against the brightness, and then her stallion stood before her, whole and healthy.
His front hooves lifted off the stone floor, spinning in a blur. He would have reared in greeting, if not for the low stone ceiling.
His back hooves pranced with no trace of a limp. No limp.
This time, Sam didn’t think. She embraced his silvery neck and though the stallion lifted her briefly off her feet, he didn’t run. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t bowl her over or neigh a protest.
The stallion stood, head over Sam’s shoulder, chin moving up and down her spine, as if he hugged her, too.
“You’re safe.” Tears stung her eyes, but Sam blinked them away. She refused to miss an instant of magic.
It was a good thing, because Zanzibar leaped backward. Head tossing; he gave her chest a push. Off balance, Sam retreated a step. With the persistence of a father moving his child along, the stallion urged her back another step, toward Ace, still ground-tied and waiting.
Sam stepped backward, until Ace’s whinny vibrated through the tunnel. For only a second, Sam looked behind her.
When she turned to face the stallion one last time, shadows had taken his place.
“He was here, Ace.” Her voice echoed around her and the gelding nickered in agreement.
Zanzibar was alive. He’d come back to tell her so.
As Sam walked out of the darkness, love bounded up in her like a fountain.
About the Author
Terri Farley has always loved horses. She left Los Angeles for the cowgirl state of Nevada after earning degrees in English and Journalism. Now she rides the range researching books and magazine articles on the West’s people and animals—especially Nevada’s controversial wild horses. She lives in a one-hundred-year-old house with her husband, children, and way too many pets.
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Read all the books in the PHANTOM STALLION series:
1
THE WILD ONE
2
MUSTANG MOON
3
DARK SUNSHINE
Credits
Cover art © 2002 by Greg Call
Cover © 2002 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Copyright
PHANTOM STALLION #2: MUSTANG MOON. Copyright © 2002 by Terri Sprenger-Farley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition March 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-189010-9
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