Dark Sunshine

by Terri Farley

  “Flick is on his way to Arroyo Azul to catch the Phantom. That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

  “Why didn’t you say so, Brat?” Jake nodded toward the road out of town. A feathery trail of dust was scattering on the wind. “That’s gotta be him. Let’s go.”

  Convincing Jake they should report Flick had been easy, but they didn’t agree on when, so it took most of the drive to hammer out the ground rules of their ambush.

  Jake wanted to drive to Slocum’s, tell his dad, her dad, and Brynna, then return for a full-scale assault. Sam knew they didn’t have time.

  Jake wanted to go back to Alkali and phone the county sheriff. Sam knew the sheriff couldn’t drive from Darton to Arroyo Azul before Flick escaped.

  After twenty minutes of explaining and arguing, Jake declared that what he wanted most was to leave her at the roadside for vultures to peck at.

  “Okay, Sam, now listen. This is the last time I’m going to say this,” Jake began.

  “Drive while you talk,” Sam urged.

  “I am driving!” Jake hit the steering wheel with his palm. “When did you get to be such an expert?”

  “I may not be an expert, but I can read a speedometer,” Sam insisted. “Every time you turn to yell at me, your speed drops about eight miles per hour.”

  Then they were back to playing the quiet game. Sam’s patience frayed first.

  “Let’s try this,” she said. “We’ll go into Arroyo Azul and scare off the horses, then drive like crazy to get help.”

  As Jake thought about it, they didn’t gain on the dust from Flick’s truck and trailer, but they didn’t fall behind, either.

  “What’s wrong with that plan?” Sam asked.

  “Nothing,” Jake said, finally. “But I still don’t like it. I don’t trust that guy. He hates me and my brothers.”

  “Oh, Jake,” Sam said again.

  “Don’t ‘oh, Jake’ me until you’ve been referred to as ‘your kind.’ You know, like ‘your kind never…’ or ‘your kind always…’”

  Sam didn’t ask what Jake thought Flick meant, because Jake was driving so fast now that she had to grab the door handle to stay upright.

  They were nearing War Drum Flats when Jake pointed.

  “When we turn off there, we’re committed. He’ll know we’re after him and I don’t know any other way out.” Jake looked at Sam with exasperation. She knew he’d be a lot less edgy doing this with one of his brothers. “You still want to do it?”

  “Of course.”

  The truck sped down the road after Flick. Even from this distance, Sam saw the rustler’s outline inside the truck. She wondered if he was watching in his rearview mirror. If so, what was he planning to do about them?

  “What makes you think he has someone else with him?” Jake asked. “He sure looks alone.”

  “He’s not, though,” Sam said. “When Lester asked what Flick would do if there was trouble, Flick said there was no trouble Dr. Winchester couldn’t handle.”

  Jake flinched.

  “Gee, Sam,” he said. “I sure wish you’d mentioned that earlier. Unless I’m mistaken, that means Flick has brought along a Winchester rifle.”

  The last climb into Arroyo Azul had to be done on foot. Flick had abandoned his truck at the roadside, but Jake wanted to hide his. He slowed the truck to a crawl, prepared to make a U-turn, and parked behind a stand of juniper.

  This was taking way too long and Flick had a head start. Before Jake could stop her, Sam jumped out.

  “No, Sam!” Jake shouted.

  Sam ran up the path Flick must have taken. She knew this was a little foolhardy, but Jake would be right behind her.

  The narrow path ran around the lip of the arroyo. Its steep sides had dozens of narrow rock shelves. She supposed you could reach the turquoise stream below by balancing on one shelf and stepping to another.

  Sam felt dizzy as she looked over the edge. From where she stood, she could see Flick’s water trap. All he had to do was get down there while the mustangs were drinking and slam the gate.

  But Flick was nowhere around. What if he’d taken a shortcut and climbed down to the stream already?

  When she looked up at a quick movement across the arroyo, it wasn’t Flick she saw, it was the Phantom.

  Halfway down to the water, on a rock shelf opposite Sam, the stallion’s silver body shone against tawny sandstone. He was watchful, but Sam didn’t see any mares down below.

  When she’d watched the mustangs come to drink from the pond at War Drum Flats, the stallion had run in and taken a quick sip of water before retreating to his lookout post.

  If he’d done that here, Flick would have trapped him. Had Flick arrived too late, or was the Phantom still watching, unconvinced the stream was safe?

  “Rachel said it was you.”

  The male voice made Sam whirl around. Flick stood on the narrow path beside her. This time she recognized him.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, Flick wore a fine gray Stetson. At his belt, he carried a set of piggin’ strings for tying calves, and he had the attitude of a skilled buckaroo. He might have been handsome except for his cold, selfish eyes.

  He was taking up too much space on this skinny path that verged on thin air.

  “Rachel said what was me?” Sam wasn’t sure how to act, but he wasn’t carrying the rifle, and he’d sounded casual. Maybe she could keep him talking while Jake made his way up the path.

  “When I ran into her at the mall in Darton, she remembered I’d worked for her dad. I bought her a cappuccino in a ritzy little shop and she couldn’t wait to tell me the neighborhood news. Like how you’d adopted one of those range rats from BLM. She’d even heard it was a buckskin.”

  Flick smirked. “Then I started rememberin’ how you talked the Olson woman out of letting Slocum have that gray stud. Shoot, a girl your age shouldn’t keep sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  Flick touched his upper lip, as if smoothing a mustache that was no longer there. Maybe because he was congratulating himself, Flick didn’t hear the little scuff that made Sam think Jake was nearby.

  “If you were a little more like Rachel,” Flick said to Sam, “you wouldn’t get into so much trouble.”

  “If I were like her,” Sam snarled, “I’d want someone to put me out of my misery.”

  Sam’s anger turned to caution. Even though she didn’t see Flick’s rifle, they were standing on the edge of a cliff. That hadn’t been a very smart thing to say.

  Chapter Eighteen

  FLICK WAS A RUSTLER, not a killer. Sam tried to remember that.

  “I have the buckskin,” she said calmly, “but I didn’t identify you to the BLM. They saw a bill of sale with your name on it.”

  “From the bus.” Flick’s frown said he was kicking himself for not hiding the document better. Then he shrugged. “Don’t matter, really, since we’re gonna be doin’ some horse trading. I know you consider that gray stud yours. So don’t worry about the mare. If you ever catch her, we’ll be even, horse for horse.”

  Across the arroyo, the Phantom picked his way down from the rock shelf. Nimble and wary, he found stepping stones to take him lower. His mares were headed into the trap.

  “Not much of a deal for you.” Flick chuckled. “That buckskin looks about gone.”

  Dark Sunshine’s condition hadn’t improved. Stiff and awkward, she limped along in the middle of the mustang herd. But she was still alive. Sam knew she could help her.

  She had to warn them. Sam picked up a rock and threw it.

  Flick laughed when the horses didn’t pause, then asked, “How’d you know I was comin’ here?”

  “Lucky guess,” Sam said.

  “Maybe,” Flick said, but the way he watched her had changed. “This is just my lookout, t’see if the horses were in yet. You don’t know my shortcut.” He gestured toward the bottom of the arroyo.

  As he moved closer to her, Sam backed up the trail. She wouldn’t let him force her clo
ser to the edge.

  “It’ll take ’em a while to find you, all trussed up like a calf.” Flick touched his leather piggin’ strings, “but I don’t think you’ll die up here.”

  “She won’t.” Jake’s voice sounded calm and confident, and Sam was very glad to hear it.

  Flick stiffened. Because he’d faced Sam as she retreated uphill, his back was to Jake. As Flick turned, he saw what Sam did.

  Jake held Flick’s rifle.

  “If it’s not Jake Ely,” Flick drawled. “You know, son, that rifle’s not loaded.”

  Jake smiled.

  Sam wished her brain would tell her what to do. She wanted to run over there and stand beside Jake. To do that, though, she’d have to pass within reach of Flick.

  “Besides,” Flick added, “you’re just a kid. You’re not going to shoot a man and ruin your life.”

  Jake’s smile got a little harder. “You know what you always say, Flick. There’s no telling what my kind will do.”

  Right then, Flick lunged for Jake. Sam tackled Flick’s ankles and he went down with a grunt just as Jake threw the rifle over the cliff.

  In the arroyo below, mustangs called and galloped, but Sam barely heard them over Flick’s cursing. He rolled onto his back, holding his ankle.

  “Look what you done! Aw, look what you done to me!”

  While Flick was distracted by the pain, Sam darted past.

  The instant she was near enough, Jake grabbed her hand and they started running.

  “Hurry, Brat.” Their feet flew along the path. “Don’t fall and don’t look back.”

  “If you’d quit pulling me—”

  “No, wait,” Flick howled after them. “How’m I supposed to get down? This ankle is swellin’ and my boot—”

  Jake gave him the same poor sympathy the rustler had given Sam. “It’ll take ’em a while to find you,” Jake shouted, “but I don’t think you’ll die up there.”

  When they reached the foot of the trail, they rushed past Flick’s truck and piled into Jake’s. Both Jake and Sam were panting like dogs.

  “What…what if…he can walk out before we get back?” Sam managed as Jake started the truck.

  “Reach under your seat.”

  Sam did, and her shaking fingers closed over something metal. “Is this the key to Flick’s truck?”

  “Yep.”

  Sam clapped. She bounced up and down. They had him now. Flick couldn’t escape before the rangers got here. The horses would be safe.

  Sam sighed, weak with relief. Then her sagging eyelids popped open. “Jake, why did you throw that rifle over the cliff?”

  She actually heard Jake swallow. He looked more serious than she’d ever seen him before.

  “After he threatened to leave you there, I was afraid I might use it,” Jake said.

  He didn’t say another word or take his eyes off the road until they reached the Gold Dust Ranch.

  For weeks, folks talked about the stir Jake and Sam created at the Brahma-que. The story of Jake skidding to a stop just short of the life-size ice sculpture of a Brahma bull was told along with one about Brynna, in her lacy blue sundress, searching for her handcuffs before she’d leave her plate of lobster salad. Jen Kenworthy’s favorite tale was how she’d piled into the back of a truck with five Ely boys and a dog, shouting “I’ll be all right, Mom” as the truck sped away.

  Flick and Lester went to jail along with their white-haired partner, ending their rustling days for good. BLM awarded the Forsters full custody of Dark Sunshine for use in the HARP program and Dad agreed to accept. Everything would have been wonderful—except that the mare was still lost.

  Now the desert breeze smelled like autumn, and Sam walked from the bus stop toward home. She didn’t hurry. It was the last day of the HARP pilot, and Mikki’s mom was coming to watch.

  Since Mikki had managed to load the black rubble from the fire into the Dumpster, Jake had spent the week working with her and Popcorn. After seeing Dark Sunshine a second time, Sam was even more confused about Mikki.

  So far, they’d figured the bunkhouse had been the only thing lost to the fire. If Dark Sunshine’s wounds didn’t heal on their own, that could change.

  Sam stopped walking and stared toward the Calico Mountains. Her fingers touched the horsehair bracelet on her wrist, and she turned it and turned it again.

  She’d let Mikki wear it only that one day, but Sam knew she should never have taken it off. It had meant a lot to Mikki, but everything had fallen apart after that.

  The Phantom had actually charged at her. He didn’t love her anymore, and it was all Mikki’s fault.

  When the white BLM truck pulled up alongside Sam, she wanted to scream.

  “Need a lift?” Brynna said through the truck window.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Well, I need to give you one,” Brynna said. “So, hop in.”

  Sighing so loudly Brynna couldn’t miss it, Sam crossed to the passenger side of the truck and threw her backpack in. As soon as she buckled her seat belt, Sam crossed her arms and stared out the side window.

  As usual, Brynna didn’t take the hint.

  “You’re still mad at Mikki, and at me for letting her continue in the program,” Brynna said.

  It was a dumb, obvious thing to say. Sam tried not to answer, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “It’s all her fault—the barn, Dark Sunshine’s injuries, Phantom hating me—and she barely got punished.” Sam sighed again, and turned angrily to look at Brynna.

  “Do you know what would happen to me if I was smoking? I’d be grounded for life. And if I burned something down and nearly cost us the barn?”

  At a loss to imagine her punishment, Sam shook her head.

  “Not grounding, not restriction from television or talking to Jen. I can’t even picture what Dad would do to me. And Mikki’s off the hook completely.”

  “Do you think it would be better if I kicked her out of the program? Should I take her out to see Dark Sunshine, and send her home brokenhearted over what she’s done?” Brynna asked.

  Sam nodded. “Yes, you should.”

  “I’ve thought about it,” Brynna admitted, “and I don’t blame you. But I think I know what would happen if I did.”

  “What?” Sam wished she hadn’t asked, because Brynna braked to a stop just before the River Bend bridge.

  “When she got back home, Mikki would paint bitterness over that painful memory, just like she has all the others. She’d forget the good things about working with Popcorn, and she’d keep getting tougher and meaner until it wasn’t a cover-up anymore. It would be who she really is.”

  Sam tried to look away from Brynna’s serious blue eyes, but her conscience wouldn’t let her. Sam remembered her own mistakes. One of them had almost cost Buddy her life. And yet, she’d earned Dad’s trust again.

  Just as Sam couldn’t dismiss Dark Sunshine and the Phantom as lost causes, Brynna wouldn’t let her dismiss Mikki. Sam felt her heart open, to give Mikki just one more chance.

  Mikki’s mom had already arrived at the ranch. Her name was Kathy. Kathy’s bleached blond hair ballooned away from a thin, nervous face. She chewed gum, hard, as Mikki approached Popcorn in the ten-acre pasture.

  Sam leaned against the fence with Dad and Gram while Brynna stood next to Mikki’s mom.

  “Why are they working here?” Sam asked her father.

  “Sort of a test,” he said. “It’s harder with other horses and plenty of room to run off.”

  But Popcorn didn’t run away. As Mikki walked toward him with the halter and rope, Popcorn quit grazing. Head on high, he trotted toward her.

  Sam remembered the rules Jake had set out for Mikki at the very beginning. Popcorn had to come to her without the lure of food. He had to let her touch his face and neck without flinching. He had to trust her. Only then would Jake let her ride the albino.

  Popcorn not only tolerated Mikki’s touch, he loved it. Sam could tell from the way he pressed
his face forward the instant Mikki lifted her hand.

  “Yes, he really is a mustang.” Brynna was answering a quiet question from Kathy. “He was very badly treated, and Mikki’s brought him out of it.”

  Kathy clapped.

  Mikki and Popcorn were startled by the sound. The gelding sidestepped and his ears showed his discomfort, but he stayed with Mikki, even when she haltered him and Kathy shouted, “You go, honey.”

  And then the wind blew a message to all ten horses in the pasture. As one, they faced the mountains.

  Mikki was leading Popcorn around the pasture when he stopped and nickered.

  From the other side of the river, the Phantom trumpeted a challenge. The echo of his summons hung in the afternoon air.

  Sam couldn’t believe her eyes. The Phantom glowed white and perfect as marble. His mane hung to his shoulder, until he reared, forelegs pawing.

  “He’s beautiful!”

  “Oh, Sam, he’s amazing!”

  Sam didn’t know who spoke. She only knew the Phantom had never before come to River Bend by daylight.

  He reared again, neighing for Sam.

  She broke into a jog, running to the bridge and trying not to cry.

  Dark Sunshine was with him. He nudged the buckskin mare toward the river, but she hesitated in the shallows, afraid to cross without him.

  “Come on, girl,” Sam called. “You can do it.”

  The mare wouldn’t leave him. She was injured and needed human help. The Phantom seemed to know that, but could he make Dark Sunshine understand?

  With a deep, demanding neigh, the Phantom told the mare to stop her nonsense. With a nip, he drove her forward.

  Dark Sunshine ran a few faltering steps, then stopped, and suddenly Sam knew what to do.

  “Mikki, bring Popcorn.” Sam glanced back over her shoulder.

  Jake opened the pasture gate. Mikki walked out with Popcorn, but defeat showed in her face.

  The last time she’d led Popcorn outside the pen, he’d panicked and she’d failed him. This time she had to be strong. Everything depended on it.

  “That’s it,” Sam encouraged. “Just lead him over the bridge, then down to the water. She knows him. She’ll come to him. Then we can help her.”