Crazy Horse

by Jenny Oldfield

  “Sure.” Hadley took his orders and disappeared.

  Soon, Charlie followed him. Matt stayed by the creek for a few moments, watching Sandy walk slowly toward the ranch across the empty yard. The door of the log-built house swung open, and a light went on in the kitchen. “Will you leave Lucky behind tomorrow and ride Crazy Horse for me?” he asked Kirstie. “He needs to work off some excess energy.”

  “Sure.” She nodded. “Will you take Cadillac?”

  It was a question that didn’t need an answer. Cadillac and Crazy Horse. Matt’s two horses. Beauty and the Beast. Sometimes, Kirstie thought they were all he cared about: his gray pedigree and his ugly, light brown quarter horse.

  2

  There was new snow next morning on Eagle’s Peak. Kirstie got out of bed, drew back the drapes, and saw the granite mountain glinting white against the pink dawn sky.

  Eagle’s Peak, Miners’ Ridge, Bear Hunt Rock; they all overlooked the valley where Half Moon Ranch nestled in one of the small pastures that ran like green jewels strung along the silver necklace of Five Mile Creek.

  But there was no time to stay at the window and admire the view, Kirstie realized. Charlie was already hard at work in the corral, saddling his own horse, Rodeo Rocky, and brushing down Moose, the sturdy, gray quarter horse who was to be Hadley’s mount for the day. Beyond the corral was the creek, and beyond that the frost-covered meadow where Matt was cutting out Cadillac and Crazy Horse from the rest of the herd.

  Quickly, Kirstie climbed into her jeans and shirt, pulling on a thick blue sweatshirt and two layers of socks. By the time she glanced out of the window once more, her brother was already leading the ill-matched horses across the wooden footbridge into the corral.

  “Breakfast!” Sandy Scott reminded her as she shot downstairs and into the kitchen.

  Kirstie grabbed her boots from under the table where she’d kicked them off the previous night. “No time!”

  “Sure you have time,” her mom insisted. She pushed a stack of waffles covered in a thick layer of maple syrup in her direction. “And eggs!” Crossing to the stove, she got to work on a cooked meal that would see Kirstie through the hard day at Lazy B.

  “Not hungry,” Kirstie protested, stuffing waffle into her mouth.

  “Where did I hear that before?” Sandy smiled as she delivered the plate of eggs to the table and eyed the vanishing waffles. “Could it be from Matt, by any chance?”

  “Did he have breakfast already?”

  “No, he skipped it.” Kirstie’s mom’s smile faded, and she sighed.

  “No big deal, Mom. It’s only breakfast. I figure he’ll survive.” Gulping down the eggs, Kirstie showed she was ready to leave.

  “Only breakfast,” Sandy echoed with a shake of her head. “If only…”

  Heading for the porch, Kirstie hesitated. “You worried about Matt for some reason?”

  “A little, I guess. He’s moody.”

  So what was new? Kirstie’s brother often went into sulks over his lack of social life, the traveling to and from Denver, or some small problem with his girlfriend, Lachelle. “That’s Matt.”

  “But yesterday, before the trail ride, something happened, and he went crazy over it.” Sandy had followed Kirstie to the door and stood looking thoughtfully at her son as he saddled Cadillac in the corral. “It was just a phone call from Wes Logan at Ponderosa Pines. You know, the well heeled guy from California who bought the ranch a couple of years back? He’s looking for a horse for his wife, Nancy, and thought we might like to sell Cadillac.”

  Kirstie swung around. “No way!” was her immediate response.

  “That’s what I told Mr. Logan. The horse isn’t for sale. I softened it a bit—said Cadillac was a little hard to handle. His wife would probably prefer a more docile mount. But when I got off the phone, Matt wouldn’t let it drop. He said my ‘no’ had sounded like ‘maybe,’ that I wasn’t tough enough, and never in a million years would he agree to part with the horse.”

  Taking her baseball cap from the hook on the porch, Kirstie jammed it firmly onto her head. “Matt overreacted, that’s all. Blame it on exam nerves.”

  “Yeah.” Sandy sighed again, then gave a small smile. “I guess I just worry about your older brother.”

  “Well, don’t!” Kirstie leaned across to give Sandy a kiss on the cheek. Outside in the corral, she saw Hadley mount Moose, ready to set off for Lazy B. “Matt’s a big boy. He can take care of himself!”

  Sunday was a good day to ride the trails; and the last Sunday in October, when the year’s final visitors to Half Moon Ranch were heading for home was the best of all, according to Kirstie.

  Meltwater Trail—which took them along the sides of rushing creeks to Miners’ Ridge through Dead Man’s Canyon—was deserted, just the way she liked it. A red-tailed hawk soared up from a treetop as they passed by a stand of lodgepole pines. A bull elk stood in a clearing of long, dry grass, raised his head, and gave his bugling call, sending two racoons and a family of red foxes scuttling across the trail.

  Crazy Horse saw the foxes out of the corner of his eye and skittered sideways. Kirstie reined him to the left, back on course, chiding him for being chicken. “Tiny, tiny foxes!” she told him. “And you, a great big, hulking thing with iron shoes!”

  The light brown horse snorted and blew. Up ahead, Hadley reached the end of Miners’ Ridge and brought Moose to a halt.

  “I fixed on meeting up with Jim Mullins in the next valley,” he told Charlie, Kirstie, and Matt. “Four cows holed themselves up there the day before yesterday. We’ll round ’em up and head them back to Lazy B by midday.”

  As the others nodded their agreement, Hadley set Moose off down the slippery descent toward Horseshoe Creek: a thirty-minute trek through more pines and aspens. Reaching the bottom, the four riders let their horses wade into the creek to drink and were greeted by the stocky figure of Jim Mullins astride Monty, his blue roan gelding. Monty’s bridle clinked and Jim’s polished leather saddle creaked as the rancher approached.

  “Any sign of them four runaways?” he asked, turning straight to business. Only a nod in their direction before he cast his gaze up the hillside, the way they’d come.

  “Nope.” Hadley was like Jim; he never used two words where one would do.

  “OK, we spread out and sweep the hill. Don’t go too high. It gets kind of vertical up there.”

  Kirstie glanced up at the ravines littered with fallen trees, at the thick forests and the tiny green clearings. Then she grinned at Charlie. “Kind of like a needle in a haystack!”

  “Only the haystack covers 30,000 acres!” he agreed before he and Rodeo Rocky split off and made their way downstream.

  She watched Matt rein Cadillac to the left, taking off in the opposite direction of Charlie. Hadley and Moose were retracing their steps the way they’d just come.

  “You’re with me,” Jim told Kirstie, taking her and Crazy Horse up the opposite bank. For a moment, her horse hesitated, turning to stare upriver at Matt and Cadillac wading knee-deep through the creek. The gray horse glanced over his shoulder for a similar check, wanting to establish where his partner was headed. Crazy Horse whinnied, then went on up the hill after Monty.

  “Good boy!” Kirstie clicked her tongue and felt him begin the climb, surefooted and steady. I wish Lisa could see you now! she said to herself. Who did she think she was calling crazy?

  Crazy Horse planted each foot firmly on the soft ground, choosing the easiest path between boulders and bushes, not following Monty, whose tactic was simply to bulldoze whatever plant life stood in his way. The rancher’s strong quarter horse made rapid, unselective progress, whereas Kirstie’s mount was more thoughtful and considerate.

  “You’re taking good care of me,” she murmured gratefully, winding her way to a height some 500 feet above Horseshoe Creek, where they came to a plateau of grassland and, to her surprise, to the four cows they were seeking.

  Immediately, as he spotted them browsing throug
h the meadow, Jim Mullins calmly pulled a radio from a hook on his belt. The middle-aged rancher called up his wrangler at Lazy B. “Bob, this is Jim. We have four units up at Wigwam Meadow, four units at Wigwam. We’re bringing them in.”

  Kirstie’s heart raced as she listened to the message and the four red cows raised their heads at the disturbance. It looked like two mothers and their spring calves; wary, clumsy creatures with enormous square heads and long, straight backs. Their bellies bulged after a summer’s lush feeding, their nervous bellows signaled that they had no intention of being chased and caught.

  She saw them break for the nearest trees and warned Jim that his cattle were about to take cover. The rancher put away his radio. He cupped his hands around his mouth, hollered to Matt, Charlie, and Hadley for help, then rode Monty hard after the cows.

  “C’mon, git up!” Kirstie urged Crazy Horse. It would be hard to flush the cows out of the trees again, she knew. So she raced across the clearing, heading around the back of the brushwood at the far side, joining Jim in a scissors movement that would cut the lumbering cattle off before they made it to the dark stand of ponderosas.

  “Good, we’ll flush ’em out!” the rancher yelled, standing clear of his saddle, racing Monty at a hard gallop.

  Realizing what was happening, the cows bunched and turned back toward the clearing. They crashed through undergrowth, stumbling and jostling, bellowing as they went. Now their plan was to bolt back across the meadow, then down the slope toward the creek. But they hadn’t banked on Matt and Charlie, who appeared at the edge of the clearing on Cadillac and Rocky, closely followed by Hadley on Moose. Enraged that their escape was blocked, they thundered on.

  “Don’t get in front!” Jim called. “Keep left, Matt! Keep right, Charlie! Kirstie, you stay behind!”

  She got the point and rode alongside Monty, helping to push the cattle through the funnel made by the three riders at the far side of the clearing. Crossing the churned-up meadow, she tucked Crazy Horse in close behind one of the calves, forcing it down the steep hill toward the creek.

  “Yee-hah!” Matt took off his hat and raised it above his head as gradually the riders outflanked and tired the fleeing cattle. The four creatures were brought safely down 500 feet of hillside, splashing through water downstream in the direction of Lazy B.

  Kirstie grinned at her brother. His face was alive and flushed and there was success in his eyes as they drove the cattle on.

  “Steady and slow!” Jim ordered. He saw that the fight had gone out of the tired creatures. It was a long plod home along the creek, watching their woolly white heads sink lower as the morning wore on and the roundup reached its end in a crowded, dusty corral.

  “Great team!” Matt crowed as they rode home to Half Moon Ranch. They’d been out again in the afternoon, rounding up seven more cattle. Now, as the sun sank low behind the mountains, Hadley had stayed on at Lazy B to check brands for Jim Mullins while Charlie, Kirstie, and Matt headed for home.

  “We did good,” Charlie agreed. He fell into a low, rambling whistle as Rocky, Cadillac, and, last of all, Crazy Horse followed the Meltwater Trail.

  “Better than good!” Matt insisted. “We did great!”

  Picking up his rider’s good mood, Cadillac stepped out smartly over fallen logs, jumping neatly across any gully that came his way.

  From behind, Kirstie grinned to herself. Was this the same brother who’d been moping around the house all weekend? Under her breath, she sang the words to the tune Charlie was whistling.

  “You know something, Charlie?” Matt went on, his tall figure straight in the saddle, Stetson tipped back on his head. He seemed to forget about Kirstie and Crazy Horse ambling along behind.

  “Nope.”

  “I reckon you got it just about right when you quit school early.”

  No answer from Charlie, whose whistle, however, picked up speed.

  “Like, you knew no way was studying your thing. You looked long and hard at what you were doing and decided to quit. Took a job out here instead. Now you do what you love, day in, day out…” Matt sighed and fell deep into thought.

  “I ain’t necessarily quit school for good,” Charlie reminded him. “Part of taking the job at the ranch is for me to make enough money to get back there if I want.”

  “…No exams, no sitting in a classroom.”

  No license to be a vet at the end of it, Kirstie thought. She felt the back of her neck begin to prickle with alarm as Matt went on. That was the deal: Matt studied to be a veterinarian while Sandy paid his way. Their mom wanted to see him take up a good career, and it had been Matt’s lifelong ambition to work with animals. The course in Denver seemed to be the ideal solution. But now he was two years into it and evidently changing his mind.

  “Take me,” he told Charlie. “I ain’t the kind of guy you can put behind a desk. I look at Jim Mullins and his life, and I envy him. When did he last sit in an office? And it ain’t just me I’m thinking of. There’s Mom. You’ve seen how hard she has to work to keep the place going. Now, if I was there helping out, instead of wasting my time studying—jeez, think how much easier that would be!”

  Charlie said nothing. Instead he took up whistling again, this time much more quietly and slowly. Coming up against a clutter of logs that half-blocked a stream, he dismounted to clear the jam.

  Quickly, Kirstie jumped off Crazy Horse to help. She seized the end of a log and hauled it free, unsettled by Matt’s conversation. She knew that their mother had no idea that this was how he was thinking. “C’mon, Matt, grab the end of this big log!” she called.

  “Huh?” Matt frowned as Cadillac backed up away from the stream. His horse didn’t like the splash of the foaming white water or the splinter of rotten logs as Charlie hauled another free. Resting on his haunches, he reared up, caught his rider unawares, and tipped him from the saddle. “Hey!” Matt ended up in the dirt with a sore butt and a surprised expression.

  “Quick, grab Cadillac!” Charlie hissed at Kirstie.

  The temperamental gray horse was seizing his chance to lope off home without a rider. His reins flew free about his neck as his long mane whipped from side to side, and he reared again before setting off solo down the track.

  Kirstie reached out to grab the reins. Too late. Cadillac twisted and began to run. “Go get him back!” she told Crazy Horse on the spur of the moment, knowing that if anyone could fetch the Thoroughbred back, he could.

  For a start, he understood as much as any horse she’d ever known. Inside that ugly-beautiful head of his was a smart brain. He knew that Cadillac was well out of order throwing Matt and loping off. So he set off after him at a strong gallop, overtaking him and then performing one of his spectacular sliding stops. Thirty feet down the trail, in a cloud of brown dust, both horses came to a halt.

  Kirstie set off from the stream at a run, followed by Charlie and then Matt. Crazy Horse nudged Cadillac around to face them, stood in his way in case he tried another silly trick, waited until they arrived and took hold of his reins. Within seconds, Matt had grabbed the horn and hoisted himself back into the saddle. He gathered the reins and slipped his feet into the deep stirrups, shamefaced but back in control.

  “Say thanks,” Kirstie reminded him as, minutes later, they set off on the final leg of their journey.

  “Huh?” Matt had quickly lapsed into his preoccupied daze.

  “Say thanks to Crazy Horse,” she insisted. “Without him, you’d be walking home!”

  “Yeah, yeah!”

  No proper thank you; nothing.

  “That’s brothers for you,” Kirstie told Crazy Horse as she brushed him down and gave him his favorite feed of alfalfa hay. “‘Thank you’ isn’t a phrase in their vocabulary!”

  Cadillac stood tethered to a nearby post. His head was up and he was looking down his nose at his empty hay net, stamping his feet for attention.

  “See ya, Kirstie!” Matt yelled from the yard. He opened his car door, ready to climb in for the dri
ve back to Denver.

  She glanced up. “Yeah, see ya!…Good luck on your exams!” After all, he was under pressure. She excused his lack of gratitude toward Crazy Horse and wished him well.

  With one long leg already inside the car, Matt seemed to change his mind. He turned and walked toward her, stopping at the fence. “Hey, you won’t, like, say anything to Mom about me quitting school?” he muttered. A deep frown creased his forehead and half-hid his hazel eyes.

  Kirstie gave Crazy Horse his last handful of alfalfa and frowned back.

  “’Cause I ain’t exactly made up my mind, you understand? Maybe I’ll quit. Maybe I’ll stay. You know what I mean?”

  This time, she nodded.

  “OK, good!” He seemed relieved. Reaching out to give Cadillac a gentle rub on his supple cream neck, he jumped down from the fence. Seconds later, the car door slammed, the engine started up, and he was gone.

  “Should I? Should I not?” Kirstie asked Crazy Horse and Cadillac. It was one of those problems without a right answer. She’d tried to tease it out as she finished feeding the horses and led them both back to Red Fox Meadow. The sun had gone down, the herd of horses ran restlessly and silently by the far fence. “Should I warn Mom that Matt is thinking of quitting school?” she asked Cadillac.

  The beautiful horse looked vacantly at her as she released him from his head collar. He tossed his head, waiting impatiently for Crazy Horse.

  “Or should I keep quiet like he asked?” she asked the funny-looking quarter horse.

  The tan coat of the stocky gelding looked chocolate-brown in the deep dusk. His long ears flicked and twitched, he lowered his heavy head to nuzzle her hand.

  “OK, I know; you don’t have the answer, either,” she sighed, stroking his soft muzzle, feeling the rough lick of his tongue.

  She watched him turn to join his ghostly colored friend.

  “Thanks anyway,” she whispered, looking up at the new moon, then walking quickly back across the footbridge to the ranch.