The Girl Who Remembered Horses

by Linda Benson

  Chapter Seventeen

  My horse. Sahara felt helpless as the young animal lay before her. She watched it stare wild-eyed as the hunters chained their reluctant dogs and retreated into the night. The glade was quiet with their absence, except for the heavy breathing of the wounded creature.

  Sahara looked to Evan. “He cannot get up,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Perhaps he tries too hard,” whispered Evan. “He is very frightened.”

  Sahara sat squat-legged at the trail’s edge, making herself small so as not to worry the young horse. She needed the book! If it had fallen when she jumped off the trail, it would still be close, perhaps nestled in the tall, damp grass. But the moon, with its waning light, now sank beyond the alder grove at the top of the hill. Sahara could barely make out Evan’s face as he knelt on the earth next to her. It was too dark to search for the book, and Sahara did not want to scramble around on her hands and knees feeling amongst the reeds. Surely that would frighten the horse.

  But how can I even begin to train this horse without it? The brave words spoken earlier to Dojo now raced around her head in foolish circles.

  “Why is he so mean?” She fought back tears now that the hunters were gone.

  “Who? Dojo? He’s always been hot-headed, even as a boy.”

  “You knew him them?”

  “Yes. He used to live at Gardener’s Camp, before his parents died. He was always picking fights with other kids, and causing trouble.”

  “I thought he was from our clan. He’s always been there, ever since I can remember.”

  “When he was left alone, Nehalem agreed to take him in, and he wanted to go. No one in the Gardener’s Camp was sorry to see him leave, actually. Dojo and I had our share of scuffles when we were younger, and I can’t say our relationship has improved much since.”

  “You fought?” Sahara tried to imagine Evan and Dojo as young boys tussling with one another. “It’s like Dojo’s always trying to prove himself. By hunting animals or boasting, or something.”

  “Well, he has become a fine hunter,” said Evan, grudgingly. “And it’s an important job. That’s probably why he’s so angry right now. You kept him from doing his work.”

  “Well, I’m glad I did,” retorted Sahara. She didn’t care if Dojo was a fine hunter. He still made her blood boil.

  The young horse struggled again to get his feet under him, thrashing around on the grass. It was painful to watch. How were they ever going to get him back to camp?

  As if from some long-forgotten memory, an idea bubbled to the surface of Sahara’s mind. “Do you have a knife?” she asked.

  Evan nodded and dug in his pants.

  Sahara untied the goat skin from around her waist. It was partially dry now, and she stretched it full length on the ground, squinting to see in the dim light. Carefully, she cut a long strip the full length of the skin.

  Evan watched with eyes wide. He said nothing.

  The pink tinges of an early dawn crept through trees and onto the path where they waited. The young horse, exhausted with his struggles, stretched his head and neck out flat on the ground. Dojo’s arrow still stuck in the wound below his hip. Sahara held the strip of goat hide, waiting and watching until the horse’s breathing slowed until finally, he dozed.

  Keeping herself low, Sahara crept forward, barely taking a breath herself. Although not fully grown, the horse was big enough to crush or stomp her if he woke and panicked. She found a spot at the base of his mane and scratched lightly. The sleepy animal instinctively turned toward the spot, as if to scratch an itch.

  Sahara sneaked the length of goat hide around his neck, over his nose and around the back of his ears. She tied it at the bottom of his head, leaving a long piece from which to lead him. The movements came to her easily, as if she had done them all her life. Then she stepped away quickly.

  “How did you know to do that?” Evan asked. His eyes searched hers.

  “I don’t know. It’s as if I’d done it before.” Sahara pointed. “Look, he rises.”

  The horse had recovered with the slight rest. Now, without the panic and fear of the hunters and the chase dogs, he gathered his legs under him, and with a groan of pain, pushed up from his knees to a fully upright position. The goat leather stayed on his head and the long end of it dangled to the ground between his front legs. He shook mightily to rid himself of it, but it stayed on.

  Sahara smiled at Evan. “He doesn’t mind the head rope.”

  “He is glad to be standing again. The wound has closed, and the bleeding stopped. That bodes well.”

  The young horse called out for his herd. Hearing no response, he trotted a few pathetic steps, his lame leg dangling. He whinnied loudly, long and plaintive, realizing he was all alone. Frantically, he attempted a short run toward the alder grove where the horses had last bedded. But his wounded back leg crumpled under his weight, and he fell to his knees with the effort.

  Sahara could hardly bear to watch. “He’s so scared,” she said. “He’s going to hurt himself.”

  The horse turned his head when she spoke. He charged toward the alders one more time, but fell again.

  “Easy, my boy,” Sahara murmured. “We are here.”

  The horse rose to his feet once more, this time taking a long look at the two humans. Apparently satisfied that he was not totally alone, he shook himself and seemed to accept his plight. His head went down to the dewy grass in front of him, which he tore off in large chunks. He held his wounded leg totally off the ground. The arrow bobbed menacingly.

  “See?” Sahara turned to Evan. “He is accepting us.”

  When the horse had cropped close all the grass in a circle around his head he stood uncertainly. Quickly, Sahara tore an armful of rich grass from the lush pasture in which they stood. She started toward the horse. He raised his head as if to run, but seemed to realize that he could not. Moving slowly, Sahara crept low and laid the grass near his nose. He dug greedily into it, his eyes never leaving her.

  “He will need water soon,” said Sahara. “Do you think he can reach the pond?”

  Evan shook his head. “I don’t think he can make it down the muddy slope.”

  “The book!” she cried. In her concern for the horse, she had almost forgotten. The sky brightened now, and she searched in the muddy reeds alongside the pond and back along the path where she had leaped to safety from the running herd.

  “It’s no use,” she said, as Evan stooped to help her search. “It was so dark, I might have lost it anywhere on the path from camp.”

  I cannot train a horse without the book. About to give up, she shoved away some thick reeds surrounding a puddle of water at the edge of the trail. Her fingers felt the ridges of something hard and rectangular. Dragging it toward her, she wiped it carefully with her shirt. Mud and weeds had stained the cover. Some of the pages were wet with dew, but it was still in one piece.

  “I found it,” she called triumphantly, waving it over her head. Sahara glanced at the sky. The rising sun now hung like a pale globe to the east. “Laurel will expect me soon,” she said. “She’ll be frantic when she finds me gone.”

  Evan nodded. “The horse should rest for a while. But we need to get him closer to camp.”

  “What about the arrow? How will we get it out?”

  Evan shook his head. “It must hurt terribly. But he won’t let us remove it. He is wild, after all.”

  “Someone must stay with him,” said Sahara. She thought of Grandfather, and of her dog Banner, left in the tent. A slim ray of guilt stabbed at her, but she could not leave the horse.

  “You should go back,” said Evan. “You’ve had no rest. You could stop by the barn, tell Ulu to milk the goats, and then get things straightened out with your sister.”

  Evan’s suggestion to return to camp was tempting. Dirty and exhausted from the long trek through the dark and the night spent outside, Sahara didn’t need a looking glass to imagine what a sight she was. She didn’t really care ab
out that. But she should check on Banner, and she was worried about Grandfather.

  Her responsibility to the horse, though, rose unbidden to the front of the line. “I will stay,” she said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “WHAT WILL YOUR SISTER SAY?”

  “She will be boiling mad,” said Sahara. “But that’s far from unusual.” Sahara managed a small grin.

  “All right,” said Evan. “You stay. I’ll go by your camp and check on your grandfather for you. Then tend the goats.”

  “How are your two nannies?” Sahara ducked her head. “I just remembered.”

  “They are fine, but it was good that I went back. Marilda has two kids. And Biscuit had triplets. The first one was stuck, but after I pulled it out, the others tumbled out right behind.”

  Sahara smiled.

  “I’ll be quick,” said Evan. “Back before midday. And I have a plan — ” he winked, mysteriously “ — to get the horse where we can doctor him.”

  The horse shook his leg in frustration, as if trying to lose the arrow that still protruded ominously from his hind leg. The arrow moved, and the young creature shuddered with pain. He moaned softly and stood still.

  “What plan?” Sahara asked.

  “You will see.” Evan gathered his things, turning back toward camp. “You were very brave last night,” he said, and was gone.

  Brave. The word chased away the morning chill. Sahara had been quivering like a leaf during the entire ordeal with the hunters. But she had saved the horse!

  Sahara sat on the clammy ground now, hugging her knees to her chest, watching the horse’s every move. She pulled the musty book from her jacket. The pages stuck together, and she turned them carefully, one by one, ignoring the ones filled only with words, looking for pictures.

  Each one showed men working with horses. Did women train horses too? Why was she — a girl not yet woman — given the dreams of horses, of riding them, of helping them? And how did she know how to make the headgear?

  You are the one, Grandfather had told her. The one who must save them. Sahara hummed softly to the horse as she waited. His ears twitched back and forth, listening, picking up every sound she made.

  As time passed, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had not eaten since the previous evening. Sahara reached with exaggerated slowness into her pocket, so as not to startle the horse. She found the food Evan had given her the night before, some hard bread and a piece of goat cheese. Satisfied with those few bites, she closed her eyes again as the warm sunlight danced around her face. She stole one last glance at the smoky-colored horse, who yawned and blinked also.

  Just before she dozed in the soft rays of morning’s light, she saw the horse’s eyes finally close. Does he dream, too? Does he dream of being with humans, of being ridden?

  Decorated with braided rawhide head gear, a smoke-colored horse, with a strange woman seated securely on his back, galloped hard across a wind-swept desert. Racing madly toward camp, the woman slowed to a walk, as hordes of unknown people crowded close to watch. They smiled and clapped as the animal turned easily, moving at her lightest command.

  But now the rider transformed into Sahara, who sat proudly upon the fancy horse’s back. As she maneuvered the elegant animal through the crowd, Laurel emerged from the sidelines, frowning and holding out a rabbit for the stew pot, motioning Sahara to return to her chores.

  As Laurel dangled the rabbit, the startled horse skittered from side to side. The crowd parted in fright, and as Sahara clung to him, the horse bolted away. Running, flying with blinding speed. Sahara buried her face in his mane. She was free, free as a bird. She was running like the wind across a flat open prairie. She was —

  Sahara awoke not to a dream horse, but to an actual horse dancing at the edge of her consciousness. Startled, she opened her eyes to see him prancing about — staring wide-eyed toward the path from camp. Almost instantly, she heard the soft “maa” of a nanny. Right behind was the rowdy kid goat that Sahara had had trouble catching. As the goats charged into the meadow, the horse jumped sideways with alarm. Up the path strode a smiling Evan.

  “What’s this?” said Sahara, blinking sleep from her eyes.

  The nanny shoved her head into the luxurious grass and began pulling dainty bites. Her kid knelt on his front legs and butted against the nanny, sticking his head sideways underneath to nurse.

  “I thought the goats would give him company,” said Evan.

  The injured horse, realizing the newcomers were only goats, put his head down to graze. He seemed unconcerned with them, and in fact seemed to breathe a sigh of contentment.

  “The goats have been on this hillside when the horses bedded down each night,” whispered Evan. “He’s used to them.”

  Sahara nodded. “Did you see my sister? How is Grandfather?”

  “Yes, I invoked the wrath of your Laurel,” Evan said, with a smirk. “Mad as a hen without a nest box she was, when she found out you’d been gone all night.” Evan winked. “I told her you had been with me.”

  “Well, I was. Most of the time.”

  “Your grandfather seemed heartier this morning. When he heard you’d been out saving horses, he told Laurel to leave off.”

  “He did?”

  “He said you were just following his orders. Told her he had sent you — in secrecy. You’ve got quite an ally in your old grandfather.”

  Sahara blinked back tears. “Yes,” she said. “I do.” She swallowed hard. “And how is Banner?”

  “When I walked by your camp, both dogs were lying by your tent. The big male barked at me, and the female seemed peaceful. Perhaps she had only eaten something that did not agree with her.”

  That put Sahara’s mind to rest. Now she could concentrate on the measure at hand — how to move the wounded horse back to camp. Nothing in her dreams had given her any clue how to do that.

  She watched in wonder as the young horse inched toward the pair of goats. His back leg could bear almost no weight. But slowly, haltingly, he moved closer until he was not twenty feet from the goats, the improvised head gear and lead still dragging on the ground beside him. He let out a long, plaintive whinny, calling for his herd, but there was no answer.

  Evan stood up. “I’ll try to grab him by the rope,” he said, “and lead him back.”

  “No. That will frighten him.” Sahara studied the horse for a minute. “He seems to like the goats,” she said. “Maybe he’ll follow them.”

  Evan motioned back toward camp. “It was dark when you passed by last night. But there is a makeshift corral just around this hillside. We’ve used it in the past for penning the goats. If we can get the horse to follow, maybe we can get him inside. What do you think?”

  “Let’s try. It seems like our best hope.” She suddenly wished her dreams had included how to corral a horse using only two goats.

  Chapter Nineteen

  IT WAS EASIER THAN she expected. Evan led the nanny down the path toward the Gardener’s Camp, with her kid following in his own meandering way. Sahara stayed close to Evan, glancing back at the horse. When the injured animal realized everyone was leaving, he whinnied frantically a few times. Then with a halting gait he began to hobble toward the small group.

  “Do you think he’ll go in?” whispered Sahara, as they drew close to the corral.

  Evan shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s hope.”

  The horse was obviously tiring, and the arrow bobbled in his wound with every move. He stopped and snorted in distrust as the goats went through the opening into the small enclosure. Evan and Sahara moved to the far side of the corral, out of sight. Evan sprinkled a pile of barley on the ground, and the nanny dove into it fiercely.

  Sahara crossed her fingers. If this plan didn’t work, she had no idea how she would tame the animal. The horse became even more nervous as his newfound companions disappeared from view. He whinnied and pranced outside the gate, head flung up in the air. Dojo’s arrow flopped dangerously from his lower hip.

&
nbsp; Finally, in a last ditch effort to regain his new herd mates, he bolted through the opening. Evan quickly moved behind him and worked the heavy gate shut. Realizing his freedom was gone completely, the horse panicked, moving around and around the small enclosure, thrusting his neck over the top as if to try and jump it.

  Sahara shivered with apprehension as she watched. He was only a young horse, but already so big, so strong. How could she ever hope to tame him? What had she been thinking, standing up to Dojo and the hunters and making wild promises about things she knew only in dreams? Laurel had always called her a dreamer. Sahara’s dreams seemed to have gotten her into deep water this time.

  The horse’s frantic behavior stirred up the goats and they began to race too, dashing madly around the corral. The kid goat, in a blind run, ran right between the front legs of the wounded horse. The horse’s legs tangled for a moment, he lost his balance and fell hard against the fence, scraping his right side hard as he went down. He lay there in a lathering heap, wind knocked out of him, moaning.

  Sahara’s heart thump-thumped in her chest. She longed to run into the corral and comfort him, but she knew that would frighten him more. Feeling helpless, she held her breath and waited.

  The horse, grunting in anguish, lay in the dirt for a long time. Fresh blood mixed into the dirt underneath him.

  “What happened? Is he all right?” Sahara cried out.

  Evan pointed. “I think the shaft of the arrow broke off.”

  As the young horse, who seemed to be in even more distress now, struggled to regain his feet, she could see it was true. The larger part of Dojo’s arrow lay in the dirt, broken with the animal’s fall into the side of the corral.

  The exhausted animal seemed to give up now. The new injury caused his wound to reopen, and he stood shivering at the far side of the pen.

  Would the horse ever be strong enough to tame? Or to ride? Sahara shuddered at the alternative. “What can we do to get the arrow out?”