Wild Horses

by Jenny Oldfield

  “Good boy!” she soothed. Amazingly, a sixth sense must have told the wild creature that she was offering him his only chance of survival. He kept his head up, watching her as she strapped the wound, but he didn’t resist.

  Kirstie worked quickly. When one length of torn shirt was used up, she began another. At first, blood seeped quickly through each layer, but then the tight padding began to take effect. Soon, the bleeding eased and she was able to secure the bandage in a tight knot.

  Taking a deep breath, she sat back on her haunches. Now it was important to get the stallion on his feet. If he stayed down until help arrived, he would lose heart. He had to get up under his own steam. Yet how was she going to help him stand? She looked round, searching for the right idea.

  The herd was still milling around in the gully. Lucky was waiting nearby. If she borrowed his head collar and halter rope, which the Half Moon horses sometimes wore under their bits and bridles, she might have the solution.

  So she slipped quickly to where Lucky stood and, with hasty fingers, fumbled with the wet straps and buckles. At last she slid the head collar off and unhitched the halter rope from the side of the saddle horn. Then she ran back to the black stallion.

  “Now trust me,” she urged, offering him the head collar. Of course, he’d never seen anything like this before. Would he take it quietly or resist?

  The horse’s head drew back from the contraption. Through his pain and confusion, a deep instinct told him that the head collar was not to be trusted. This was a trap.

  “Not for long!” Kirstie whispered. “I promise!”

  With one hand on his neck, she used the other to ease the head collar toward his soft, gray nose. Again he jerked away. Kirstie insisted. She took her hand from his neck and offered the collar with both hands. This was going to be the only way.

  The more the stallion leaned away, the firmer she became. She urged the collar onto him, talking quietly, easing the straps over his nose and under his throat. Since he couldn’t move from the spot where he’d fallen, in the end he had to accept.

  The collar was on, buckled tight. The rope trailed across the rocks. The horse shook his head, ears back, hating the feel of the straps.

  Getting to her feet, Kirstie judged the best move. It was the left leg that was injured. It now stuck straight out, stiffened by the tight strapping around the knee. But the right knee looked sound. What she had to do was to use the collar and rope to persuade the horse to rise to his feet, taking his weight on the right leg only. So she went round to his right side, carrying the rope, bringing his attention to that side.

  He followed her with his deep brown, intelligent eyes. As she tightened the rope and raised it, he seemed to understand. With his back legs he shifted his weight the way Kirstie intended. He kept his left front leg straight and bent his right leg under him.

  “That’s great. Good boy!” Kirstie held her breath. If he could get up, if he could be on his feet by the time Charlie came back, she reckoned he stood a chance.

  The stallion fought to keep his balance. He was pushing with the sound front leg, but it was a lopsided movement that he’d never made before. He felt the halter rope tug his weight to one side, whinnied with pain as for a moment he tried to bend the strapped and injured knee.

  The horses in the gully heard the cry and broke apart, trotting wildly in different directions down the length of the canyon.

  “Try again!” Kirstie whispered to the horse, pulling hard on the halter rope.

  He pushed. His back feet found the ground, his legs straightened, and he tipped forward onto the sound right knee. Kirstie pulled on the rope. Up, up!

  And he made it at last, whinnying at the pain in his left knee, swaying as he rose, until he was up on his feet, towering over Kirstie, straining at the rope and pulling away from her.

  “Easy, easy!” She tried to hang on. But once more the horse was powerful. Yes, he stumbled when he tried to put weight on the injured leg, but he was fighting her now, wrenching the rope from her hands. It burned her palms as he tugged free.

  She gasped and let go. The horse had trusted her only so far. Now he was up and wild again, snaking the halter rope through the air in an effort to rid himself of the hated head collar.

  And the herd was gathering, waiting by the main rockfall to see what their leader would do.

  Over their heads, along the ridge from the direction of the ranch, more horses were approaching. As the stallion stumbled off to join his herd, trailing the rope, Lucky trotted up to Kirstie to let her know that help was arriving.

  But the sound unnerved the wild horses even more. Hooves thundered along Miners’ Ridge at a gallop, and they were trapped with a wounded leader in a canyon from which there seemed no escape. As Charlie and Hadley Crane appeared at the head of the gully, the herd reared and wheeled in frantic efforts to find a way out.

  “Kirstie!” Charlie raced along the edge of the canyon yelling her name. He stopped Moose and leaped from his back, coming to the edge of the cliff face. “Your mom’s not back from Denver, but Hadley here called her on the phone.”

  The older man dismounted more slowly and joined him. “She says to get you out of there!” he called, crouching alongside Charlie. His gray Stetson was pulled well down over his weatherbeaten face, and he was dressed in fringed leather chaps that covered the fronts of his legs, over his jeans. In spite of the recent storm, he wasn’t wearing anything more waterproof than a battered denim jacket.

  “But what about the stallion?” Kirstie cried.

  Hadley’s gaze followed the crazed path of the wild herd up and down the canyon. He saw the wounded leader limping to the far end, trailing the rope that Kirstie had attached. “Your mom’s trying to get in touch with Glen Woodford in San Luis,” he told her. “She’ll tell him the problem, then he can deal with it. But she said not to take no for an answer; she wants me to get you home!”

  Kirstie groaned. Glen Woodford was the nearest vet, but it sounded like he might be out on another job. “I don’t want to leave the stallion!” she protested, tilting her head back and cupping her hands around her mouth so that Charlie and Hadley could hear.

  “I got my orders!” Hadley hollered back. He began to look round the steep cliffs for a possible way out for Kirstie. “Ain’t nothing you can do about the injured horse.”

  “Looks like you did plenty already!” Charlie added. He’d spotted the pale bandage around the stallion’s leg. “You got him up on his feet, didn’t you?”

  “But he needs me here!” Kirstie stepped quickly to one side as a gray mare split off from the herd and thundered down the canyon toward her. A distant rumble of thunder had spooked her and sent her on a crazy sprint.

  “Listen, if you don’t do as your mom says, I got orders to come down there and fetch you out!” The old ranch hand’s gravelly voice reached her over the thudding hooves. “You gotta climb out right now, and Charlie and me will get you back to Half Moon Ranch before the boss arrives!”

  “What about Lucky?” Leaving the wild horses trapped here was one thing, but she couldn’t ever think of going home without her palomino.

  There was silence as the two men scanned the cliffs.

  “You could try leading him out!” Charlie yelled. “There ain’t a trail no more, but Lucky’s smart. He can help you find a way up to the ridge!”

  More horses thudded by, churning up mud and splattering it over Kirstie’s already soaked jeans and T-shirt.

  “Yep, try that,” Hadley agreed. “Don’t ride him, though. It ain’t safe.”

  Kirstie pushed her hair back from her forehead and glanced at the stallion. “He needs a suture in the gash on his leg!” she told them. “Maybe his knee’s even broken; I can’t say.”

  “Leave that to Glen!” Hadley grew impatient. “Anyhow, if it’s that bad, there ain’t no point losing sleep wondering how to get him out, is there?”

  She knew that the old wrangler was saying in so many words that a horse with a broken kn
ee would have to be shot. Her heart thumped against her rib cage and she couldn’t answer.

  “Are you coming up or are we coming down?” Charlie demanded, standing hands on hips at the edge of the cliff.

  There was nothing else to do; she and Lucky would have to abandon the wild horses to their fate until the vet from San Luis arrived. In any case, Glen Woodford would probably call at the ranch before coming up to Dead Man’s Canyon, so Kirstie calculated that the best thing to do would be to be there to explain. “We’re coming!” she yelled, taking the palomino’s reins and looking for any likely path to climb.

  As they trod carefully through the debris of rocks left by the landslide, and with the lightning flashing in the bruised blue sky over distant Eagle’s Peak, she kept one eye on the stallion. He was still on his feet, but his head was down, his left leg lifted off the ground. Then he shook his head from side to side, making the halter rope flail through the air.

  “Wait here,” she told Lucky, making another quick decision. Then she shouted up to Charlie and Hadley. “He hates the head collar; I want to take it off before we leave.”

  “You sure?” Charlie queried.

  “Yep. I promised.” “Not for long” was what she’d told the horse. Even if it helped the vet when he eventually got here for her to leave the collar on, how could she break her word and leave the rope swinging from the hated harness?

  So she dropped Lucky’s reins and moved in quickly on the stallion, almost before he was aware. The rest of the herd beat a retreat, and she was able to catch hold of the rope, ease in, unbuckle the strap, and slip his head out of the collar in one swift move. The black horse reared away, then stumbled onto his injured leg. But she’d freed him according to her promise. He limped away and joined the herd.

  “Get a move on, Kirstie!” Hadley insisted. He pointed down at Lucky. “Your horse is showing you how!”

  Sure enough, Lucky had set off by himself up the steep, rocky slope. Sure-footed as ever, he eased himself over boulders, testing for loose stones and taking a sensible route toward where the two men stood.

  Kirstie scrambled after him. For the first time since Ronnie Vernon’s reckless race out of the canyon on Silver Flash, she realized how tired she was. Her legs felt heavy and stiff, her cut hands began to throb as she hauled her way up the steep slope.

  Halfway up, Lucky stopped to wait in the thin drizzle that was still falling. Kirstie caught up to him.

  “You OK?” Hadley checked.

  She looked up and nodded.

  “Just follow the horse,” the old man insisted.

  On they went. Sometimes Lucky would misjudge his footing and a stone would break loose and fall. Sometimes it would be Kirstie stretching for a handhold that held them up.

  “Don’t look down!” Charlie hissed as she neared the top of the ridge. He caught hold of Lucky’s reins as the horse finally made it. Handing them to Hadley, he reached down again to haul Kirstie up the final stretch.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t!” She knew about the dizzying drop into the canyon without having to look. She was glad for the strength of Charlie’s arm as he lifted her to safety.

  And then she did turn and gaze back the way they’d come. With Lucky breathing hard beside her, and Hadley hurrying them along, she paused.

  “What do you think? Is his leg broken?” she murmured to Charlie, who was staring down at the herd of wild horses, taking one last look.

  The young wrangler shrugged. “Best leave that to Glen Woodford.”

  “I hope it’s not.” She watched the stallion limp to the far end of the canyon surrounded by his herd. He was moving around; that was good. But he was bending down to nip at the makeshift bandage, trying to scratch and bite at it. It looked like it wouldn’t be long before he managed it, then perhaps the bleeding would start afresh. Kirstie sighed helplessly.

  “Let’s go,” Hadley insisted, already astride his horse and handing Kirstie her reins.

  Kirstie mounted Lucky. A numbness threatened to set in the moment the horses began to move away along the ridge, but she fought it off. She had to stay clearheaded to explain to people back at the ranch exactly what had happened. Glancing up, she saw that the rain clouds over the far-off mountain still hadn’t cleared.

  So she turned in the saddle to catch a last glimpse of the black stallion. He looked up at the departing figures on Miners’ Ridge. “We’ll be back,” she promised.

  Her voice was lost in a dull roll of thunder, her face pale and drained under the latest flash of forked lightning in the stormy sky.

  4

  “I know how much you care about this injured horse, but you don’t go anywhere or do anything until you’ve changed your wet clothes,” Sandy Scott told Kirstie.

  “But, Mom …”

  “No buts.”

  “But …”

  Sandy grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face the stairs. “Scoot! Go on up and find some dry things!”

  As Kirstie felt herself shunted upstairs, Matt gave her a grin in passing, and flung a towel at her. The grin said, “Better do as she says!”

  As she got rid of Kirstie, Sandy spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I turn my back for a single morning, and what happens?”

  “You can’t blame the kid for a landslide!” Matt protested. “Even Kirstie couldn’t stop a mountain collapsing on her!”

  “But if there’s trouble around, she’ll find it.” Sandy didn’t bother to lower her voice as she got busy in the big ranch-house kitchen, putting coffee on the stove and finding mugs for Charlie and Hadley. “How come it was Kirstie who went up Dead Man’s Canyon ahead of the rest?”

  “That was because of me,” Charlie admitted, his own voice quiet and subdued. “I had a small problem down the line.”

  “It wasn’t Charlie’s fault!” Kirstie yelled from her bedroom. She pulled open drawers and tossed out dry shirts until she found the one she wanted. She changed, then gave her fair hair a rapid rub with the towel. Where in the world was Glen Woodford? She’d arrived at the ranch after half an hour’s weary ride to find her mom and brother, but no sign of the vet.

  In double-quick time she was changed and taking the stairs two at a time to join the others.

  “These wild horses; where do you reckon they came from?” Sandy was asking Hadley Crane.

  The wiry old man shrugged. “I did hear of a herd up by Eden Lake a week back.” His slow voice drawled over every word. He was standing, hat in hand, with his back to the wood-burning stove. His jacket steamed, his leather chaps were still tied firmly round his long legs.

  “And these are the same ones?”

  “Could be. From what I heard, no one got close enough to take a proper look.”

  Kirstie listened hard. She knew that Eden Lake was way up above 10,000 feet. The winter snow would still be on the ground, lying in the rock crevices and covering the mountaintops. The meadows between the peaks would only just be beginning to show green. It made sense that if the wild herd had been spotted up there, they would since have moved down the mountains for better grazing.

  As she figured it out she felt her brother Matt sidle up to her. “Watch out; one lecture coming up,” he warned.

  “From Mom?”

  Matt nodded. “She was real worried.”

  “I was OK. It was the black stallion I was thinking about.”

  “Yeah!” he grinned. “So tell me something new!”

  Kirstie blushed as Matt teased her about her obsession. “What would you have done? Found him under a pile of rocks and just left him?”

  “Nope. I’d have done about the same as you, I guess.”

  This time she grinned back. She and Matt didn’t look alike; he was tall and dark, where she was middle-sized and fair. He had light hazel eyes like their dad, hers were soft gray like her mom’s. Everyone said Matt was good-looking, the image of his absent father. “Beautiful but dumb,” their mother would joke with a touch of regret.

  But even though
they looked different, Kirstie knew that her brother shared her love of horses.

  “So how’s the stallion?” he asked her now. All he’d heard so far was a garbled story told in snatches by Charlie as Matt had helped him unsaddle the horses in the corral.

  “Lost a lot of blood,” Kirstie reported. “The cut on his knee’s real bad and real dirty. I guess he needs a tetanus shot and antibiotics.”

  “Charlie thinks maybe his leg’s broken,” Matt said quietly, as their mom went onto discuss with Hadley the chances of shifting the pile of rocks that blocked the entrance to Dead Man’s Canyon.

  Kirstie shrugged and turned away. Only Glen Woodford would be able to tell them that. For now, all they could do was wait. And for Kirstie, waiting was hard.

  “That’s a mighty big landslide back there.” Hadley scratched his head where the hair grew short and iron-gray. “I reckon it’ll take some serious earth-moving equipment to pull that pile of rocks away.”

  Charlie nodded. “It’s the only way to get the stallion out of there,” he reminded them. “No way can he do what Lucky did and climb out by himself.”

  Sandy Scott chewed her lip as she thought it through. Dressed in shirt and jeans like the men on the ranch, but slight and feminine under her workmanlike clothes, she wore her fair hair pulled loosely back. Her young-looking face was tanned from working in the clear summer sun, but it was creased right now by a worried frown. “The problem is, we still have a ranch to run,” she reminded them. “Finding equipment to move the rocks and rescue this horse sounds like it’s gonna take a whole lot of time.”

  This was where Matt stepped in. “Let me take over from Hadley and lead one of the rides this afternoon,” he suggested. “That leaves one man free to go back to Dead Man’s Canyon.”

  Hadley grunted, then nodded. “I reckon I could get over to Lennie Goodman’s place at Lone Elm and borrow his JCB. If I get the go ahead, I could drive the machine along Meltwater Trail and start work.”