“I did take a buggy ride in Central Park once. But I don’t believe I have ever seen the world from the back of a horse. Mr. Coolidge says it’s like driving a car, though.”
That made me nervous. Mrs. Coolidge had been trying to get her driver’s license ever since I’d known her. I’d have to be sure she and Sal got the gentlest horses.
“The lovely Mrs. Coolidge is a natural at everything she undertakes,” her husband proclaimed.
“Now Mr. Coolidge,” said his wife.
Catman and M hadn’t spoken, at least not out loud. But I had a feeling they were saying volumes to each other, exchanging expressions at racehorse speed.
Mr. Coolidge revved the engine and shot down the bumpy driveway. “Sa-a-ay!” he shouted back. “What did the driverless car say to his friend, the bat?”
I started cracking up.
“Why are you laughing?” Sal whispered.
“You’ll see,” I whispered back. Mr. Coolidge has so many corny jokes. All he has to do is start one, and I lose it. “I give,” I replied. “What did the driverless car say to the bat?”
“‘You drive me, Batty!’ Get it? ‘You drive me batty!’ ” He laughed in windy huffs that made me think of horses’ snorting. “I’ve got a million of ’em!”
Sal cracked up too, shaking her head.
Mr. Coolidge tried out half a dozen equally corny jokes on us as he drove to Happy Trails. Most had something to do with horsepower. By the time we got there, Sal was laughing so hard her mascara was running in streams down the sides of her face.
Hawk and Kaylee were already at the stable when we drove up. They came running to the car and grabbed me the second I opened the door.
“I told him our friends were meeting us here, and we’d need all eight horses,” Kaylee whispered.
“And,” Hawk continued, “that man insisted they only have seven horses.”
“Then—” Kaylee took over again—“that old woman, the one who yelled at us before, poked her head out of her house and asked what all the arguing was about.”
“The large man’s face turned white,” Hawk said. “He was definitely frightened of her. You should have seen Kaylee. She told the old woman that we had wanted our party of eight to ride together. But since Happy Trails only had seven horses, none of us would be riding.”
“Way to go, Kaylee!” I wished I could have been there to see it.
Kaylee picked up the story. “Then Leonard said it had all been a mistake, and of course they had eight horses for us. So he walked out to the pasture and hasn’t been back since. The woman went back inside her house, but we’re still waiting for Leonard to bring the eighth horse. It’s got to be Bandit.”
“You did it!” I couldn’t believe our plan was actually working.
Kaylee and I made our way to the barn, while Hawk stayed outside to greet the other riders. We found the seven horses saddled and bridled, waiting in their stalls.
From behind the barn came a squeal, followed by a smack. Then Leonard plodded into the barn through the back door. Bandit, ears flat back, walked stiffly behind him.
I had a good idea of what Leonard had been doing to the horse—from the squeal, the smack, the look of terror and anger in Bandit’s eyes.
It made me want to grow three feet taller and 200 pounds heavier and give Leonard a dose of his own medicine.
Bandit’s head jerked with every move Leonard made as they did a tug-of-war up the stallway. The buckskin’s eyes were rimmed white, and his flanks quivered. He looked ready to bolt.
“I might have known you’d bring your little friend,” Leonard grumbled.
Bandit slammed on his brakes, his forelegs stiff. He threw up his head.
“Get up here!” Leonard shouted, jerking the reins. “I’ll show you who’s boss!”
“Stop it!” Kaylee cried, running up to them.
“Maybe now you can see why I try to keep this horse away from the customers,” Leonard said, pulling on Bandit’s leadrope. “He’s no good. I told the old woman we ought to get rid of him.” He looped the rope around a stall post and pulled a broken-down saddle off the railing.
Bandit tugged against the rope.
“You stop that!” Leonard bellowed. He charged the gelding, then stopped, as if realizing he wasn’t the only human in the barn.
“I’ll saddle him,” I offered. “Please?”
He frowned at Bandit, then at me. “Knock yourself out.” He tossed me the saddle, almost knocking me out himself.
I set down the saddle and walked up to the quivering Bandit. I could see myself in his watery eyes. From outside the barn came Mr. Coolidge’s voice as he told another joke, while Sal choked with laughter.
Kaylee moved up to Bandit’s head and held out her hand.
Bandit’s ears shot back.
“Careful, Kaylee,” I warned.
She took her hand back. “Oh, Winnie. He’s worse than before. What are we going to do?”
“I’ll tell you what we’re not going to do,” I said, touching Bandit’s neck lightly, then increasing the pressure to a scratch. “We’re not going to ride him. Not like this.”
“You’re right,” she agreed. “He’s so scared, Winnie. I can’t stand it.”
One by one Leonard led the seven tired horses out of the barn. Each time he returned for another one, he smirked at us. With just the dun remaining, Leonard stopped in front of us. “So, couldn’t even get that beast saddled, could you?”
“I changed my mind,” I said. “I don’t feel like riding.”
“No refunds!” Leonard barked.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll just stay here until the rest of them get back.”
“No way, Winnie!” Kaylee cried. “I’m staying with Bandit!”
“Well, whoever’s coming better come,” Leonard said, shoving Bandit into the nearest stall.
I tried to get Kaylee to go on the ride, but she refused to leave Bandit. Finally I gave up. “Okay. But don’t go into the stall. Promise? Just stay here. Talk to Bandit. Laugh. Let him see what it’s like when people are happy.”
I joined the others outside. Hawk was helping Mrs. Coolidge onto a dirty Palomino. Then she moved over to Sal and gave her last-minute riding instructions.
Leonard led out the dun last and handed him to me.
“Outta sight!” Catman cried, sliding off the bay he was mounted on. “Swap, Winnie? That horse looks like a Siamese cat, man.”
I’d never thought about it, but Catman had a point. The dun was cream-colored with brown shadings like a Siamese. “Be my guest,” I said.
I held the dun while Catman mounted. Then I climbed into the stiff saddle on the bay. “Did this horse used to be a Trotter?” I asked Leonard. “A Standardbred?”
“Yeah.” Leonard looked surprised. And suspicious. “How’d you know that?”
“Trade secret,” I said. But it wasn’t that hard. The horse was powerfully built, without the refined look of a Thoroughbred. His body was long, with sloping shoulders and short legs.
I glanced around at the horses the others had ended up with. All the horses seemed so tuckered out that I didn’t think we’d have much trouble with them on the trail.
“Tallyho!” cried Mr. Coolidge.
Leonard pointed to the trail and told us to ride out and back. At least that was one good thing. None of the horses had to carry him. “Them horses could do the route blindfolded,” he said, getting into his battered pickup. “I’ll be back before you are.”
“Hawk, you lead!” I hollered as she mounted a sorrel mare. “I’ll bring up the rear.”
The horses lined themselves up as they plodded on the rough trail toward thick trees. Mrs. Coolidge pulled her horse out of second in line and let Sal go in front of her. She said she wanted to be in front of her husband. Mr. Coolidge’s hat was crooked, and I hoped his toupee would stay on. He leaned to the side, but I didn’t want to insult him by telling him to sit up straighter.
For the first 15 minutes, Hawk couldn’t g
et her horse to move faster than a painfully slow walk. I had to keep pulling up the Trotter so he wouldn’t trot into the back of M’s horse, who would then ram into Catman’s horse.
Sal, who had moved in behind Hawk, kept a steady conversation going with her. After a while, Sal turned back and shouted, “Hey! You’re all invited to Winnie’s barn for a horse birthday party Saturday morning! Amigo will love it! M, you can hang with Buddy. Catman, we know you’ll bring cats.”
“Sal, I—” But I didn’t know what to say. I still hated birthdays—my birthday anyway. I’d vowed I’d never celebrate March 24th again. Too many pictures stored up in my head.
But some of the older pictures were good ones. A photo shot to my brain. I must have been about eight because Lizzy and I were almost the same height. Mom was holding Buttermilk, her buckskin, so I could ride her. I was wearing new boots I’d gotten for my birthday. But the real gift was Mom trusting me with her horse.
“So aren’t you going to say anything, Winnie?” Sal was twisted around in her saddle—one hand on her horse’s rump, the other clutching the saddle horn. “We’re bringing the cake and everything—unless Lizzy insists on baking it. Hint, hint.”
I looked up to the front of the line. Hawk was staring back at me. Our eyes held each other’s. And I knew. It wasn’t that she had forgotten how I felt about birthdays. Hawk understood. She just wanted to kick me past it.
“A horse birthday party, huh?” I said slowly. When I looked at it like I was somebody else, somebody whose mother hadn’t died like mine had, it was just about the nicest thing anybody had wanted to do for me in a long time. “I like it.”
“That’s better.” Sal turned back around.
Ahead of me, Catman was staring at something, holding it up to the sinking sun.
“What have you got, Catman?” I hollered.
He waved what looked like a tiny leaf he must have pulled from a tree.
M grabbed a leaf from a tree as we passed by. He held it up, exactly like Catman.
I plucked a leaf off the next tree and stared at it, holding it up to the sun. It was green and nice and everything, but nothing special. “I don’t get it!” I shouted.
But M did. “Blocks out the sun,” he explained. “Decidedly amazing.”
I looked at the leaf again. M was right. As we rocked along on our horses, I stared at the leaf and couldn’t see the sun behind it. Amazing that something that small could block out something so big.
“Mrs. Coolidge?” Mr. Coolidge’s panicky voice startled me. “Darling, where are you going?”
“I’m not doing it!” she hollered back, terror in her voice.
I dropped my leaf and saw that Mrs. Coolidge’s horse was very slowly walking past Sal’s horse, reclaiming her rightful spot as second in line.
Mr. Coolidge yelled, “Stop that horse! It’s running away with my wife!”
“No, it’s not, Mr. Coolidge!” I shouted up. “The horses are used to taking the trail in a certain order. She’ll be fine when she’s back in the right slot.”
But he wasn’t listening to me. “Mrs. Coolidge!” he cried. “Hang on! I’m coming!” He gripped the saddle horn. “Yeee-haw!”
I’m not sure what he did next. But suddenly his horse sprang to life. The mare gave a little buck I could have sworn she didn’t have in her and broke out of line in a trot.
“Pull back on the reins!” I yelled as loud as I could.
But he was only holding the tips of the reins. So when he pulled, nothing happened. In fact, the mare trotted faster, past Sal, past Mrs. Coolidge, past Hawk.
“Stop!” cried Mr. Coolidge.
But the mare had a taste of the lead and wasn’t about to give it up. She broke to a canter, sending Mr. Coolidge farther sideways. His legs stuck out. One hand continued to grip the saddle horn, and the other clutched his hat as his horse took off through the woods in a real, live runaway.
“Go, Bart!” Catman shouted as his dad’s horse disappeared into the forest ahead of us.
I couldn’t believe Mr. Coolidge’s mount had that much spunk. I knew the horse would just run back to the barn, but I was afraid Mr. Coolidge might fall off first.
“Come on, Trotter!” I coaxed, urging my bay out of line.
Catman started to follow me, but then M’s horse pulled out to follow him.
“Stay in line, Catman! Please!” I cried. “I’ll get your dad!”
“Save Mr. Coolidge!” his wife pleaded, as my Trotter broke to a fast trot.
“Don’t worry!” I yelled back. I wished I didn’t have the stupid saddle between the Trotter and me. He wasn’t reading my leg cues to canter. But he trotted faster and faster as I guided him toward the cloud of dust ahead of us.
When I spotted the tail of Mr. Coolidge’s mount, I leaned forward on Trotter’s neck. He trotted even faster, threatening to bounce his saddle off. But the gap narrowed between Mr. Coolidge and us. I could see the Tweety Bird tie flapping in the wind.
“Hang on, Mr. Coolidge!” I screamed.
My horse easily overtook the loping runaway. Without slowing down, I leaned over and grabbed the reins. “Whoa!”
His horse slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Then she stopped.
“Are you all right, Mr. Coolidge?” His toupee and hat were gone, and his face was beaded in sweat.
“I was less than forthcoming,” he said, panting, “in recounting my equestrian exploits. I did ride several times, but only as a young lad. Ponies. At the circus . . . in a circle. A couple of times I sat on a horse to have my picture taken.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Coolidge.” I spotted his hat a few yards away. “You thought you were saving your wife. That was very brave.” I hopped off Trotter and recovered the crumpled, 10-gallon hat. I pretended not to notice the toupee inside as I handed the hat over to Mr. Coolidge.
He plunked both hat and toupee onto his bald head, straightened his Tweety Bird tie, and picked up his horse’s reins. “Shall we go?”
We joined the others and finished our ride without incident.
Back at Happy Trails, we piled into the limo. I waited until we reached the end of the drive before tapping on the chauffeur window. Mr. Coolidge stopped the car and rolled down the window.
“Mr. Coolidge, would you mind if Kaylee and I walked back?” I asked.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Kaylee said.
“Are you crazy?” Sal asked. “It’s two miles to your house.”
“Winnie, won’t your dad be waiting for you?” Hawk asked.
Hawk was right. But I’d deal with that when I got home. For now, Bandit was my main worry.
As soon as the limo drove off, Kaylee and I sneaked back to the barn. The sky was a deep smoky gray, throwing jagged shadows on the ground. Leonard already had the horses unsaddled. He hadn’t even bothered to cool them down or groom them. It was all I could do not to barge in there and take care of the horses myself.
But I had Bandit to think about.
We lurked outside the barn until Leonard finished stabling the other horses. When they were all stashed in stalls, he barged into Bandit’s stall. I hated the way he manhandled Bandit, jerking the buckskin through the back of the barn.
Kaylee and I ducked from tree to tree, following, as Leonard dragged Bandit through pasture after pasture. We stayed back as far as we could without losing them. Finally he stopped at a scrappy pasture surrounded by hedge-apple trees and filled with thorny bushes. Then he shoved Bandit through the gate and smacked him on the rump. Bandit took off at a dead gallop.
We waited until we were sure Leonard was gone. Then we walked up to the splintered fence topped with rusty barbed wire.
“Here, Bandit!” Kaylee called.
Bandit raced around the pasture three times and stopped as far away from us as he could get. Kaylee picked grass and held it over the fence. We both tried calling him, but he wouldn’t budge. All the fight had gone out of him, but so had the life. He twitched in the middle of the pasture, hi
s tail between his legs.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Kaylee asked.
I tried to think like Mom. She would have wanted Bandit to get a vision for the kind of world, the kind of herd he could be part of if he chose to join up. I thought of Mom’s buckskin and tried to think of everything she’d done to win over that horse.
Then I remembered. “Sing,” I murmured.
“Did you say, ‘sing’?” Kaylee stared at me like I had a nose worthy of honking.
I nodded. “We have to make Bandit want to join us, to become part of our herd. Bandit has to see how happy we are, Kaylee. Then he’ll want a piece of that happiness.”
I wished Mom could be here to explain it better. I wanted Kaylee to understand. “See, when something bad happens to a horse, it’s always right there with him. Like no matter what human he looks at, there’s that bad thing somebody did to him. We have to change the way Bandit sees the world.”
Kaylee smiled over at me. Then she started singing, “‘Camptown ladies sing this song. Doo-da, doo-da!’” She whispered, as if afraid Bandit would overhear, “I can’t think of any other horse songs.”
I joined her, faking the words when I couldn’t remember them. “‘Camptown racetrack’s two miles long. Oh, doo-da day!’” We sang a dozen choruses, as woodpeckers pecked, robins chirped, and the pasture scent of clover and bittersweet mixed with the smell of sweat and horse.
Later, as we walked back across the fields in moonlight, we had to admit that Bandit hadn’t shown any signs of appreciating our singing. But at least now we had a place to see him and a plan to draw him into our world.
When I finally got home from Happy Trails, Lizzy was waiting for me. “Where have you been, Winnie? Dad’s been going crazy! And I was so worried!”
“Take it easy, Lizzy. Is he in the workshop?”
“What do you think?” Lizzy opened her mouth like she was going to say something more. Then she closed it. “I’m going to bed.”
Dad was so caught up in our invention that I think he forgot how mad he was at me. The minute he saw me, he started showing me things on the Multishower. We worked together on it until midnight, when I reminded him I was still in school.
Buckskin Bandit Page 6
