Ten Mile Treasure

by Andre Norton

  But the Big Plan—that was something else, something that Neal had mentioned first and Christie had seen right away was important, even if it were something Mother and Father had never spoken about at all.

  The idea had come first five days ago, when they had begun the long drive from Ohio to Arizona. On the first night out Perks and Parky had been wild to stop at a motel where they had had a lot of pheasants and other birds in a wire enclosure and kept advertising that show along the road for miles before the station wagon finally got there. From then on the twins, then Neal and Christie, had kept watching for motel signs. Not just the kind that read TV in every room or swimming pool, but others with wayside zoos (though Mother did not like those and said it was cruel to keep wild animals shut up so). But one in Missouri had shown a lot of things from the Civil War days, and there had. been another where a real live buffalo had a pasture all to himself and they could watch him.

  So it became the Plan. They—Christie and Neal, and the twins—were to find something to show that would make Ten Mile Station a place where people would just have to stop and see what was there. That would probably keep them long enough to eat, or to get gas, or even stay overnight. But whatever they showed had to be important—and different—exciting enough to make the tourists stop first. So the children had been making lists of ideas, which Neal carefully kept in the back of his notebook. So far, Christie was afraid, none of them were very bright ideas worthy of a real Big Plan.

  Baron was by the corral waiting for them. Now he stood up, his creamy tail wigwagging his excitement and delight at being in this place of unusual and exciting smells, wide open to give pleasure to a dog. He was a very large Shepherd with silver cream fur, except that his back was marked with a black saddle. Now he trotted forward, his tongue lolling happily from his jaws, to escort Neal and Christie to where they could look between the poles of the corral at its inhabitants.

  There was a baby burro with the two big ones! Christie held Shan firmly as the small creature threw back his head and loosed a sound much bigger than himself. The horse was a very ordinary-looking brown one with a black mane and tail. And they had seen other burros, but never a baby one.

  "Is he good enough to fit into the Plan?" Christie asked her brother.

  After a long moment, he nodded slowly. "Maybe for a start."

  They went on with Baron to the shed where Pinto was fitting a shoe to the hoof of another horse. The twins were squatting down on their heels watching, round-eyed.

  "Doesn't it hurt her?" Perks wanted to know, her face screwed up in sympathy. "Not even when you nail it right on like that?"

  "No sirree. It would hurt old Susie more to go walkin' over these rocky trails without no shoes. She was limpin' bad yesterday 'cause she had throwed the old shoe. This don't hurt her none—just makes her feet safe. There now, ol'gal, you're a sight better off now, ain't you, than when you was goin' around three-legged this mornin'?" He slapped the mare on the flank, untied her rope hackamore, and led her out into the corral.

  "Please." Christie was at his elbow as he put the gate bars back in place. "What's its name —the baby burro, I mean?"

  "That's Jericho. He's named that rightly 'cause he's got a bray what'd bring down Jericho walls were he to come close to 'em—them soldiers what took the place in th'old days, they'd never have had to use their trumpets were he marchin' alongside 'em. You know the Bible story about those trumpets and how the walls came all tumblin' down? My ma used to read that to me when I was a little 'un. I always favored the excitin' stories an' she knew it."

  "Yes, we know," Parky answered before Christie could. "He's Jericho—and this is Baron." He thumped one dusty hand down on the dog's dark back. "He's a real, true police dog—been to school and has papers that says so! And that's my sister Perks." He waved toward his twin with much less ceremony.

  "Your sister now!" Pinto stared from one twin to the other in open-faced surprise.

  Christie sighed. When would the twins ever decide that Parky was a boy and Perks a girl? So far their insistence on identical shirts, jeans, and floppy haircuts had caused a lot of confusion in school and out.

  "Their real names," she explained, "are Patrick and Patricia—"

  "Parky and Perks," cut in Parky with a scowl and an elbow cocked outward, which Christie managed to avoid with a quick half-turn developed in long practice. "He's Neal and we're all Kimballs, like Dad said. Now"—he grinned, showing a new toothless gap in front—"we're introduced and can be friends. What's that horse's name?"

  He pointed to the brown one who appeared to be asleep standing right there.

  "Old Timer. And an old-timer he is—'most as old, judgin' by horse time, as I am. He's got a right to take things easy these days."

  "Do you ride him?" Parky wanted to know.

  "Not much anymore. He's a mite old for any trailin'. Was a top ropin' horse in his day. I bought him offen the Bar Six when they thought him past his work. He'n me, we worked together real good once, and I like to think he has it easy now. Susie carries me where I want to go these days."

  Pinto turned arid was looking at the dust-covered station wagon. "Your folks have a proper lot of stuff to unpack. Suppose we go and see if they need help doin' it now."

  "Mr.—Pinto," Christie corrected herself hastily, "do you live here all alone—with just the animals? Isn't there anyone else around?"

  "Not generally. Oh, there's some as come and neighbors now and then. The Wildhorses— it's 'bout time for them to be showin' up."

  "Wild horses! You mean real wild horses— like on TV?" For the first time Neal lost his usual calm. "Gee, can you rope them—catch them and tame them?"

  Pinto threw back his head and gave a bark of laughter that sounded near as loud as Jericho's bray. "Not these kinda Wildhorses. 'Course they was wild once—or their old folks were—accordin' to our ideas. These Wildhorses—they're people—Navajos. Wildhorse is their last name—like yours is Kimball and mine's Odell. Mighty good neighbors, they are. Not like some what were around here in the past. Just you looky here now—"

  He led the way to one of the thick wooden shutters and loosed the catch that held it back against the wall of the house, swinging it out so they could see what he was now pointing to clearly. Sticking out of the wood was a piece of stone and just above it a second gray splinter.

  "Know what those be?" Pinto tapped his forefinger against the lower stone. That's a genuine injun war arrowhead! Fired right into this here bit of plank by some Apache come raidin'. This station—twice it was a fort, held against raidin' parties. I heard m'pa tell 'bout them. In those times injuns weren't no good neighbors to us, and sure as shootin' we didn't favor them none either. Plenty faults on both sides, as I heard it. M'pa, he fought Injuns, but he fed 'em too, when they was starvin' 'cause they was chased up this way and penned in on land where even coyote couldn't get hisself a good meal. But them were the old days—things are different now. Only they did have two-three fights hereabouts, and you can find yourself arrow points to prove it."

  Christie clutched at Neal's arm eagerly and saw him staring back at her with beginning excitement. This was the best idea yet for the Big Plan.

  New Neighbors

  Birds awoke Christie the next morning with their cries. She lay in the bunk listening until she suddenly wanted to get up and be but and crawled from beneath the covers. Shan leaped from where he had been curled between the edge of her pillow and the rough wall and padded to the door. He looked back at her with a demanding sound deep in his throat. Christie dressed with more speed than she usually did in the mornings and tiptoed past Perks, still asleep in the opposite bunk. In the big outer room there were a lot of shadows, and the doors to both the other rooms were closed. Baron was scratching and whining from behind the one that was shut on the boys' room and she let him out. The big dog touched noses with the cat and they both stood impatiently now by the outer door, watching her.

  Christie snapped on Shan's leash before she unbarred the ent
rance way. Though the sky was light, she could not yet see the sun. A shattering sound made her jump and sent Shan, his ears flat against his head, to take refuge between her feet. For the second time that bray came from the corral. Could that really be Jericho?

  Baron barked sharply and trotted over to look in between two of the poles. He barked again, as if warning Jericho against making such rude noises. Christie laughed and there was a flash of gray along the top pole over Baron's head. The dog ran along, leaping up now and then to try and catch the runner. Then the small animal vanished and he was left standing on his hind legs, taking great sniffs of air.

  "Rroow-—" Shan cried, and Christie scooped him up. He made a soft, chittering cry as a bird swooped overhead.

  "Well, now, you're up bright and early."

  Pinto was coming up to the corral, a rope coiled over one arm. He grinned at Christie. "Goin' to be a right good day." Throwing back his head, he squinted up at the sky from under, the wide brim of his battered hat. Seeing Pinto made Christie remember what she and Neal had talked about last night.

  "Mr.—Pinto—you said that there had been a lot of Indian fights around here. Do you suppose we can find some arrowheads? Not just the ones stuck in the shutters, but loose?"

  Pinto was opening the swinging gate of the corral. "Shouldn't wonder. Except you'd have to go lookin' for them careful. And this is so-methin' to keep in mind, Christie—you and them other young'uns—you don't go wanderin' off by yourselves here. 'Tain't safe. You don't know nothin' 'bout readin' trail signs, nor findin' your way 'round yet. This is no kinda country to get lost in. You stay close by where you can see the station—understand now!" His voice was just like Father's when he said something important. Christie nodded.

  "You mean— Are there bad things—bears, maybe—or wolves?" She tried to think of any dangerous animals listed in the desert book.

  "You don't have to be afraid of animals so much. Maybe there might be a big cat or two back in the canyons. Not that he'd have any mind to go stalkin' you—he'd rather have a deer or such like. No wolves in this country. And coyotes, now, they don't go botherin' nobody. But there's snakes and they ain't so friendly minded. Just gettin' lost is bad enough. So you stay where you can see the station 'cept when you got your pa or me or your ma 'round."

  .Christie nodded again, even more vigorously. The warning about snakes was one that stuck in her mind. Now she watched Pinto rope the mare Susie. The three burros were drinking noisily from a hollowed-out log trough and the other horse still looked asleep standing up.

  When Pinto had the mare saddled, he threw another rope around Old Timer's neck and the horse opened his eyes and reluctantly ambled forward at the slow pull. Pinto, now mounted, looked once more at Christie.

  "Old Timer gets a mornin' out grazin'. You want to go along. Can't say as how Susie would take to carrying that cat of yours, though."

  "Shan will stay on the leash here. He's used to that," Christie answered eagerly. "Just wait a minute."

  She hurried to anchor the leash to one of the porch supports, then came flying back to be boosted up on Old Timer's back, catching fast hold of the horse's rough mane.

  "First time I ever rode a horse," she admitted nervously as Pinto urged Susie ahead and Old Timer plodded behind.

  "That a fact? Well, now, we'll have to see as how you learn to do that before the summer is over."

  Christie was not quite sure she wanted to learn more. When she dared to look beyond

  "Old Timer gets a mornin' out grazin'. You want to go along. Can't say as how Susie would take to carrying that cat of yours, though."

  Christie grabbed the mane and was glad they were going no faster.

  Susie and her rider picked a path that wound around between trees, through high brush, to come out at last in a big, open space. The mare halted and, as Old Timer slow-footed up beside her, Pinto reached over and took Christie from her perch, setting her behind him. Then he twitched the rope from Old Timer's neck and the horse dropped his head and began grazing.

  "Right pretty, ain't they?" Pinto pointed ahead and Christie saw trees in bloom. "Them's apricot and some peaches. Kinda old now, but still got life in 'em. The Company had an orchard and a garden here—raised their own garden sass and a lotta grub. Set a good table, the station did. My ma, she used to dry apricots, make peach leather. Mighty tasty!"

  "Was the stage line still running then?" Christie held Pinto's belt with the same grip she had kept on Old Timer's mane.

  " 'Bout seventy years ago now, it was—yes, they were running it. There were mines back up there"—he pointed to the rocky walls in the distance—"and the stage ran through to Dar-ringer. Took out gold dust, brought in passengers and mail. But it started a lot earlier than even Pa's time. Back in eighteen-sixty Bright made the first run. Them were the big days. M'pa, he started ridin' shotgun a little later when he weren't more'n a kid. But he was mighty handy with his gun, and he could take over the leathers too—drive stage—if there was a need. Took a man as knowed how to drive real good to manage a six-horse team at a run. 'Tweren't till he met my ma and got married that he settled down to keep station. She didn't take to him drivin'. Though keepin' station in Apache country weren't so safe neither.

  "Now—we'd better be gettin' back. Your ma wakes up to find you gone and she might be thinkin' as how you were lost."

  They heard Baron barking, loud excited barks.

  "Somebody must be coming." Christie knew what those barks meant.

  "So? Maybe that truck from out of town with the things your pa's expectin'. Though it's a mite early for them."

  Susie broke into a lope and Christie gasped, holding Pinto's belt as if her fingers were glued to the leather. She was glad they did not have to go far.

  When they reached the station, she saw Baron standing in front of the door, barking furiously. Shan had retreated as far as he could—his tail was puffed up and he was spitting. Another car had pulled up beside the station wagon.

  Car? No, it was a truck—or was it a trailer-camper? It looked, Christie thought, as if someone had seen a trailer and then built something like it on a truck body. And it was painted brilliant blue with patches of yellow here and there. Attached behind it was a horse trailer.

  "Lucas!" Pinto stopped Susie by the corral and handed down Christie, who ran to catch Baron's collar, keeping him from rushing at the people getting out of the cab of the truck.

  There was a man wearing jeans and a red shirt, the tails hanging outside. He had a hat like Pinto's, only it was newer and black and there was a band of silver discs around the crown. There was a big buckle of the same metal on the belt he wore over his shirt and he had a heavy necklace of silver set with blue stones.

  He pushed back his hat a little and looked at Pinto very solemnly, raising the other hand palm out and saying, "How!"

  Pinto laughed, "How, Lucas. Glad to see you, ma'am," he added to the lady who dropped from the opposite side of the cab. She wore jeans and boots, too, and a shirt of deep orangy yellow. Her long black hair was fastened back with a silver clip and she had on two jingly necklaces.

  "Pinto," she called, "you just get younger every year instead of older. My"—she threw out her arms and took a deep breath—"it's good to get back!"

  Two more travelers were tumbling out. One was a boy who looked to be about Neal's age.

  He had on jeans, boots, and a red shirt like his father's, but he was bareheaded and his thick black hair was a rather untidy-looking mop. The girl behind him came more slowly, staring at Christie. She had a blue shirt and a necklace like her mother's, and her hair lay in two smooth braids over her shoulders.

  "Something new! Pinto, don't tell me you have taken to wheels at last!" The man looked at the station wagon.

  "Ten Mile's startin' up again. That's the new owner's." Pinto dropped Susie's reins to the ground and came across the yard. "Here's Christie Kimball." He nodded at Christie. "Her family's goin' to make this into a highway stop for that danged road when
they get it finished."

  "Christie"—now he spoke to her—"these folks are the Wildhorses I was talkin' 'bout a while back. There's Lucas and Marina, Toliver and Libby."

  The Wildhorses were no longer smiling. Instead they had drawn together by their home on wheels. Lucas glanced from Christie to the station.

  "Maybe we'd better pull on, Pinto. Didn't hear about the change—"

  Just then the door opened and Father came out. Pinto again introduced the newcomers. Father held out his hand.

  "Glad to see new neighbors. Simpson told me that you planned to spend the summer near here."

  "We did," Lucas answered. "But if the station is starting up we can make other plans—"

  "Nonsense!" Father said quickly. "You have a better right to be here than the rest of us, if the truth be told. Patricia," he called, "come and meet our neighbors."

  So they had breakfast together, Mother and Mrs. Wildhorse working to prepare it. Christie eyed Libby and Toliver shyly. She did not get up courage to speak until the Navajo girl knelt to admire Shan. The twins and Neal had already drawn closer to see Toliver's knife in its beaded sheath, eagerly listening to him tell about the horse that had just been transferred from their trailer to the corral.

  "I never saw a cat like this before," Libby said.

  "His name's Thai Shan. He's Siamese and Burmese both," Christie answered in a rush of words. "That's a lot different from most cats. Look! He really likes you."

  Shan had stopped washing a paw to sniff at the hand Libby held out to him. Then he rubbed his head back and forth against her fingers.

  "Scratch him behind the ears and under his throat. That's what he likes best," Christie suggested.