Crazy Horse

by Jenny Oldfield

  So the bus pulled away, and the young wrangler’s car took its place at the curb. “And before you ask, no news from Matt so far,” he told Kirstie as she climbed in. “You coming, Lisa?”

  Lisa stooped to peer in at Kirstie. “Am I?”

  “Yeah, I need to talk. And jeez, Lisa, I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk.”

  “That’s OK.” Relieved, she settled into the back seat beside Kirstie. “So, tell me!”

  Charlie drove as Kirstie talked. She described the magic moment when Crazy Horse came back, the surprise call from Sheriff Francini, the way her mom had cut her out, sent her to school, and how much that had hurt.

  “But you know how she is about Matt and college,” Lisa reminded her. “It’s the same with you and school. You gotta be there.”

  “I guess.” Kirstie frowned. She still hadn’t confessed what was really on her mind. “You know what? Matt was so happy this morning. The news about the sale barn came through, and you should’ve seen him. He could hardly wait to get out of the house.”

  “So?” Lisa indicated that it was understandable. “How would you be? You just found out where your favorite horse in the whole world is. You’re gonna be ‘up’!”

  “But I’ve had time to think since then,” Kirstie went on, noticing Charlie look at her in his rearview mirror. “Maybe we reacted too quick. We hear about a white horse for sale in the Falls, we jump right in there. But what if this horse isn’t Cadillac?”

  Charlie heard and swerved slightly in the road. Lisa groaned. “Oh, my!”

  “Right.” Kirstie waited for the doubt to sink in. “How’s Matt gonna feel if he drives 200 miles just to find out it’s a false lead?”

  Kirstie got the strong feeling that Crazy Horse agreed with her. He was at the white fence when Charlie’s car pulled into the yard, trotting up and down to attract their attention, limping slightly on his sore foot. When Kirstie, Lisa, and Charlie got out of the car, the sturdy tan horse threw back his heavy head, curled his lip, and whinnied loudly.

  “If only he could talk,” Charlie said quietly. He stood, thumbs hooked into the back pockets of his jeans, staring at Crazy Horse. “He could sure tell us everything we need to know!”

  Charlie had echoed Kirstie’s feeling from earlier that day. It made her drift thoughtfully across the bridge toward Red Fox Meadow. “Maybe he can talk…kinda.”

  “Talk…how?” Lisa climbed and sat astride the fence, turning her collar up against the stiff, cold wind blowing down from the mountains. “Like, he’s gonna tell us what happened Sunday night?”

  “Horses talk,” Kirstie insisted. “Leastways, they communicate. They use body language.”

  Lisa studied Crazy Horse. “He is kinda jumpy. Restless. Look at his ears!”

  The horse carried his head high and flicked his ears. There was tension running through his body, making him swish his tail and stamp his feet as he trotted and turned.

  “I’d say he’s trying to tell us something, no doubt about it,” Kirstie insisted. “But he knows we’re stupid, so he’s having to wait for us to figure it out.”

  “It’s about Cadillac.” Lisa grew convinced. She retraced recent events to try to understand Crazy Horse’s impatience. “He’s taken prisoner by a bunch of rustlers. They treat him and Cadillac rough. He escapes. Then what does he do? He heads for home. He wants to tell us about Cadillac, his buddy—where he is, what these guys are planning to do to him. Only we take no notice. We stick him in a field and leave him. No wonder he’s upset!”

  That was it; Lisa’s clear version of the story made Kirstie come to a decision. She swung her leg over the fence and jumped into the field, took hold of Crazy Horse’s head collar, and led him toward the gate. “Find Charlie!” she called. “Ask him to bring two saddles to the corral.”

  “Who for?” Lisa held the gate steady as the wind caught it. Her eyes were lit up, her movements quick and excited.

  “For Lucky and Crazy Horse.” Kirstie’s mind was made up. “We can’t hang around doing nothing. We gotta follow Crazy Horse. So long as we trust him, he’ll tell us everything we need to know!”

  Charlie had argued the sensible case: wait until your mom and Matt get home, until the bad weather passes over, until Crazy Horse’s lame foot clears up.

  But Kirstie and Lisa had got it into their heads; it must be now, there could be no delay. “We waited long enough to start listening to Crazy Horse,” Kirstie told the young wrangler. “He’s been wearing himself out in that meadow trying to make us listen to him.”

  “We’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Lisa promised. “We’re carrying a radio to call you if we hit trouble.”

  “And you call us if Mom and Matt get back,” Kirstie reminded him. Crazy Horse was saddled and tacked up, straining at the reins to head out toward Miners’ Ridge.

  “You take care,” Charlie warned. “Stick to the trail—remember, Crazy Horse has been through a tough time already.”

  They set off with his cautious words in their ears, across the creek to pick up Meltwater Trail out of the valley. Crazy Horse trotted ahead of Lisa and Lucky, testing his sore foot and soon breaking into a lope. He ducked his head and settled into a steady stride, his pale mane streaming back, hooves thundering over the frozen earth.

  “His foot doesn’t seem to bother him so much when he’s loping!” Kirstie called back to Lisa. She dodged sideways to miss the sticking-out branch of a lodgepole pine, regained her balance, and let her horse lope on.

  …Up the slope between the trees, toward the heavy clouds clinging to the mountain peaks… Past Hummingbird Rock…They retraced the route that the rustlers had dragged Crazy Horse along on Sunday night.

  “He sure knows where he’s headed!” Lisa gasped when both horses came to a crashing stream and were forced to slow down. She shouted above the noise of the tumbling, splashing water. “Lucky’s having a hard time keeping up!”

  Once more, Kirstie gave Crazy Horse his head and let him cross the stream where he chose. She felt his shoulders dip as he descended the steep, rock-strewn bank. She leaned back in the saddle, felt the icy water splash her legs and soak through her jeans. “Here comes the snow!” she warned Lisa as the wind cut through her jacket and the first flakes began to fall.

  It drove down from the gray sky in flurries, the giant flakes soft as feathers, cold as ice, cutting down visibility so that Kirstie and Lisa could soon see no farther than the next tree. The horses had struggled through the stream and carried on, heads down, trudging higher until they came to a narrow gully called Fat Man’s Squeeze. Here, sheer rocks rose to either side. The wind drove the snow furiously through the channel, whirling it into the girls’ faces and forcing their eyes almost shut.

  For a second, halfway through the squeeze, Crazy Horse hesitated. Snow caked his mane and eyelashes, his feet slid on the packed ice, the wind blasted him full in the face.

  “Keep going!” Lisa yelled. Lucky was hard on Crazy Horse’s heels. If they stopped now, there was no room to turn and go back.

  Kirstie kicked hard with her heels. “C’mon, boy; you can make it!”

  The brave horse shook the loose snow from his mane and plunged on. Slowly, painfully, he emerged through the far end of Fat Man’s Squeeze.

  And then they were on Miners’ Ridge. Kirstie recognized the ancient mounds of mine waste, the eerie, boarded-up entrances to long-disused shafts. “Narrow trail ahead!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Keep to the left!”

  On their right, invisible in the blizzard, was a sheer drop into Dead Man’s Canyon. Crazy Horse and Lucky knew the path well, and instinct told them to steer clear of the cliff. They slowed their pace to a crawl, one foot after another, listening to the rattle of loose stones falling over the edge and peppering into the canyon a hundred feet below.

  Trust your horse! Kirstie repeated the phrase to herself under her breath. It was the Half Moon Ranch mantra—the phrase they taught to visitors on their first day’s ride. Trust your horse. If you fo
llowed the basic rule, you’d be safe.

  Her fingers were so stiff with cold she could hardly hold the reins, her whole body was rigid and numb. But she pressed on. “You OK?” she yelled back to Lisa.

  “Nope!” The reply was whipped away by the wind. “But me and Lucky, we’ll cowboy-up!”

  The blizzard lasted ten minutes. As quickly as it came, it was gone. The wind died down, the snowflakes eased, then stopped completely. All around, there was a white wonderland of freshly fallen snow.

  Though the trail was covered and the branches of trees sagged with the weight of the snow, Crazy Horse ploughed smoothly on. He crested the mountain and picked his way down the far slope across Lazy B land. A willing follower, Lucky carried Lisa in his wake.

  “Hey, Kirstie, shouldn’t we call Charlie to tell him we’re OK?” Lisa shouted. “That snowstorm will hit Half Moon Ranch soon. He’s gonna wonder if we made it.”

  Fumbling in the pocket of her slicker with ice-cold fingers, Kirstie reached for her radio and made the call. When Charlie answered, she gave him their position: “Half a mile from Horseshoe Creek,” she reported. “Crazy Horse found his way through the storm. Now he’s picking up his pace, heading straight for the river. Over.”

  “Gotcha, Kirstie. No message from your mom and Matt this end. Over.”

  She listened hard to understand the message through the mush and crackle caused by the weak signal. “OK, Charlie. We’ll keep in touch.” Signing off, she slipped the radio back into her pocket and sat tight until they reached the creek.

  “Which way now?” Lisa muttered. She gazed around at the snow falling gently from nearby branches, letting them spring back into position. Across the stream, a mottled, gray bobcat broke cover from under a fallen tree trunk and stole silently up the bank, its footprints clear in the smooth snow.

  “Over the bridge,” Kirstie whispered. She felt Crazy Horse watch the bobcat on its way, then set off determinedly across the rough planks.

  “Onto Ponderosa Pines land!” Lisa sounded worried but not surprised. “Are we sure we want to do this?”

  “We don’t have a choice.” Trust your horse, Kirstie repeated to herself. Crazy Horse was certain that this was the way he wanted to go.

  They continued along the bank toward Wes Logan’s ranch house, bushwhacking across country, through trees, over open land until the house and stables came into view.

  “Déjà vu!” Lisa groaned. Her teeth chattered, she sat hunched in the saddle, trying to joke to hide her unease. “Didn’t we already come this route once before?”

  “It looks deserted,” Kirstie said, “except for the horse box in the yard.” But Crazy Horse was more eager than ever to go on, not caring who saw them from the windows of the ranch house. She had to let him walk on, only reining him back again when they came to the final stand of bare aspens between them and the house.

  “Whoa!” She ordered Crazy Horse to stop. “I mean it; whoa, boy!”

  He tossed his head and strained against her. Why wouldn’t she let him carry on? There was something down there that he needed to show her.

  But Kirstie slipped from the saddle and led him, protesting, toward the nearest tree. “This is as far as you go,” she told him firmly, hitching the lead rope around a low branch. “You leave the rest to us, you hear?”

  Crazy Horse snorted and stamped his feet. He let her know he objected to the tether.

  “Ssh!” Lisa pleaded. She, too, tied Lucky to a tree. “Give us a break, you…crazy horse! ”

  “Wait here!” Kirstie repeated. “We’re gonna creep down on foot, take a secret look, OK?”

  Up went the head with a toss of the pale mane. He strained at the rope in protest.

  “Let’s go!” Lisa said. “If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it!”

  So they left the uneasy horses hidden in the trees and made for Wes Logan’s stable block, dodging from rock to rock, holding their breath, peering out at the house, edging forward again.

  “Hold it!” Kirstie put out an arm to stop Lisa. She made her duck down behind a snowdrift by a fence twenty or thirty yards from the stable. A door was swinging slowly open, a man was leading out a white horse.

  “It’s Logan!” Lisa gasped. “And…and…”

  “San Luis Dawn!” For one, two, maybe three seconds, Kirstie’s heart was in her mouth. The horse was wearing red leg and tail bandages, as if for a journey; an exact match for Cadillac, but female, she realized as the rancher led her out toward the horse box. “Today must be the day they drive her to California!”

  “For a moment there, I thought it was Cadillac!” Lisa swallowed hard. Disappointment was written all over her face.

  “But look! Look at the head collar!” Kirstie kept hold of her friend’s arm, gripped it tight. San Luis Dawn was wearing expensive, fancy tack. It was made from red and white plaited leather, with a lead rope to match.

  “Wait till we tell the sheriff!” Forgetting how scared she’d been, Lisa grinned at Kirstie. “That’s why Crazy Horse brought us back here, isn’t it? So we could pick up evidence like this to link Wes Logan with the rustlers!”

  Kirstie nodded. “But it’s not over yet. I know in my bones there’s more!”

  Crouching, listening, waiting, they saw Wes Logan steady the gray mare and bring her to a halt by the ramp leading into the box. But the horse began to act up, and they heard him shout for help, saw another man come quickly out of the stable. Between them, the two men attempted to lead the mare inside the horse box.

  Lisa and Kirstie held on until Logan and his helper had the horse halfway up the ramp.

  “Now!” Kirstie whispered. She crawled under the fence and sprinted for the stable. There was a side door out of sight of the men at work in the yard. It would give them a chance to scout around in secret and be out again before the rancher had San Luis Dawn safely tethered and ready for her trip.

  The girls slid into the stable, breathed in the warm air, the sweet smell of hay and horse. They looked down the row of light, airy stalls, heard the unconcerned rustle of hay nets as horses in the stalls nibbled and munched.

  “Wait!” It was Lisa’s turn to hold Kirstie back. She pointed to a stall at the far end as a man emerged carrying more of the special tack that had given Wes Logan away. He walked quickly out of the main door and across the yard.

  “That was close!” Kirstie admitted. She felt suddenly hot and breathless. And the horses in the stalls seemed to have sensed their presence. They grew restless, coming to poke their heads over their doors. Then they snorted and blew, rolling their eyes in alarm.

  “Too close!” Lisa breathed. “C’mon, Kirstie, let’s get out of here!”

  “Not until I take a look in that stall.” Kirstie’s eyes had narrowed. Gut feeling took over. Her life depended on being able to edge down the aisle until she could see into the stall at the end of the row.

  Closer, closer…The men in the horse box exchanged a joke with the man in the yard. They laughed hoarsely. Lisa crept between the stalls after Kirstie. Then they reached the end and stood up straight.

  There was a horse in there. An elegant, gray, beautiful horse with dark eyes and a flowing mane. This time, there could be no mistake.

  “Cadillac!” Lisa gasped. She turned to Kirstie. “I knew it!”

  “Me, too. It looks like he’s been here all along.” Kirstie had to say it out loud to believe it. Taken by surprise, she felt she could hardly breathe or move a muscle. “That’s what Crazy Horse has been trying to tell us!”

  “So call Charlie. Tell him we found Cadillac!” Excitement raised Lisa’s voice above a whisper. She reached into Kirstie’s pocket to grab the radio. “Give me, give me!”

  Inside his stall, the magnificent white horse thumped his hoof against the wooden boards.

  Lisa pressed the on button. “Charlie! Charlie! It’s Lisa. Come in, please!”

  There was a crackle of static sound, no reply.

  “Charlie!”

  A gloved hand
came down and sent the radio crashing to the floor. A figure loomed over them: a man in a sheepskin jacket and a dark brown Stetson who came out of nowhere and smashed the radio to pieces.

  Lisa screamed.

  Kirstie whirled away from Cadillac to see the man hook one arm around Lisa’s neck and pull her against him. At the far end of the stable, Wes Logan and his two other men flung open the door.

  9

  Kirstie didn’t dare to move. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man nearby tighten his stranglehold on Lisa.

  Wes Logan strode toward her. He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her against Cadillac’s stall.

  “What the heck…?” The shortest and heaviest of the three ranch hands demanded an explanation.

  “She’s the kid from Half Moon Ranch.” Logan glared at Kirstie. He ignored Lisa and the man who held her in his grip.

  “Tell him to let her go!” Kirstie begged.

  The rancher’s expression didn’t alter. “Do as she asks, Johnson,” he said calmly.

  Slowly, the man obeyed.

  Kirstie waited until Lisa stood free of the man, then let herself breathe again. Her back to the stall, she reached out a hand to her friend, whose trembling fingers curled around it and clasped it hard.

  “What now?” The stocky man closed the stable door and threw them back into semidarkness.

  Lisa’s grip on Kirstie’s hand tightened.

  Inside the cramped space of the stall, Cadillac turned uneasily.

  “You give us back our horse,” Kirstie said. She had nothing to lose by confronting Logan. In spite of the threatening looks from the four men who surrounded them, there was no way the thieves could get away with this now that they’d been caught red-handed.

  “Your horse?” Logan echoed.

  “Yes. Cadillac belongs to my brother, Matt!”

  “Cadillac?” The rancher shrugged as if confused. “You talking about the horse behind you?”

  “Yes, and you know it!” This wasn’t funny, though the three men backing Logan up seemed to think so. “This is a Half Moon Ranch horse!”