by Linda Benson
Louder now. Insistent. Several short barks, growls, whines, and yelps. Afraid of what she might find, Sahara fought the urge to turn back. No one knew she was here, and it had been foolish to come alone. But Sahara felt the pull of the horse. The tracks led here. She must follow.
Taking a breath, Sahara rounded a huge boulder and discovered a gruesome scene. A brown horse lay on her side, panting. A pack of wild dogs lunged at her, charging in and dashing off. There must have been five or six of them.
Sahara didn’t stop to count. She hollered for all she was worth. “Get away! Get out of here! Haarrghh! Away!” She knelt quickly, grabbed stones, and hurled them toward the dogs.
She found her mark and hit one of the dogs solidly. It whined and edged to the back of the pack. The other dogs milled around, tongues lolling.
For the first time Sahara looked at the horse — a female. She had a pool of blood near her back legs, which must have drawn the dogs with its smell. Her breathing was shallow now, and she struggled a bit, trying to lift her head.
Sahara charged toward the dogs. She hoped she could scare them — that they might recognize a human as the one in charge. But she knew dogs in a pack could be vicious.
“Out of here, you mangy things!” she screamed, with all the voice she could muster. “Go find your food elsewhere!”
The dogs scattered, whining and slinking off. Sahara knelt before the horse. The dogs had not touched the animal — she didn’t have a mark on her — but the blood from between her legs was not good. Sahara studied the horse, noticing the deep hollows above her eyes, the gray hairs speckling her face.
Pitifully, the old horse lifted her head once more and whinnied softly. From behind a large slab of rock, a small creature tottered out, barely secure on its legs.
The horse had just given birth! Of course. It was all clear to Sahara now. That’s why it traveled alone — she was looking for a hidden spot to have her baby. And if Sahara had not appeared just when she did, surely the dogs would have killed the horse and her baby.
But the horse, lying on the ground, seemed so weak; what could be the matter? Her breath came in ragged gasps. She barely noticed Sahara’s presence, but lay with her eyes cloudy and unfocused. The tiny baby, coat still wet from birth, swayed from side to side, its large brown eyes focused on Sahara.
Had the baby a chance to drink her mother’s first life-giving milk? It did not appear the mother had the strength to rise.
Sahara noticed a few dogs still lingering at the edges of the rocks. She rose and yelled at the dogs one more time, jumping up and down and shouting at the top of her lungs. They ran far into the distance, giving Sahara time to think. The baby horse wobbled close to Sahara on awkward legs, stumbling on the rocks.
Sahara knew the little thing must be hungry. How could the baby nurse, when its mother seemed unable to stand? Sahara crept back to the old brown horse. She watched as the horse’s sides lifted just a time or two more and then stopped altogether. Sahara shuddered involuntarily as she thought of Grandfather, still and lifeless on his cot. Because this horse, also, was now dead.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A TINY NICKER ESCAPED from the baby horse, and it snapped Sahara to action. She knelt down, placing her hands on the downy coat. Just like in my dream. The warm breath of the newborn animal touched her face like a kiss. The baby nosed against her, pushing, insistent.
Sahara glanced down at the dead mother. Its bag was tight and distended, with drops of milk showing on the end of its teats. Thinking fast, Sahara emptied her container of drinking water into the dust. She knelt before the old horse and stroked the animal’s belly, still warm. Sahara’s hands ran in practiced ease over the bag of milk. How different was it from a goat?
The difficulty was two-fold. One, the horse was dead already. Sahara would have to act quickly. Second, the horse was not in an upright position, but lay sprawled where she had given birth. Still, Sahara knew the baby needed its mother’s first milk. Evan had taught her that.
Sahara pretended she was milking a goat lying sideways. There was no time to waste, or to think of the gruesome details, for the baby became more frantic with the smell of its mother’s milk. Sahara pulled gently, holding the jar near the dead horse’s udder, but only a tiny amount came forth. Frothy and rich, Sahara hoped it would be enough. But how to get it into the baby?
A baby couldn’t drink from a jar. A baby only knew how to suckle. Sahara stewed on this for a moment. The sun rose higher in the sky, drying the newborn’s coat completely. It appeared a dun color now, like dried leather. It stood awkwardly on its thin legs, and Sahara saw that it was a girl.
Sahara moved toward the baby, which appeared strong and healthy, even if only an hour or two old. She dipped her fingers into the small amount of milk and held them to the tiny horse.
The tiny horse sucked greedily on Sahara’s outstretched fingers, getting a few drops. How it tickled! Sahara dipped her fingers into the jar again, and again, the baby suckling with gusto. In no time, the milk was gone.
Sahara wrapped her arms protectively around the little horse. Flies were already swarming into the pool of blood beneath the dead mother. There was nothing Sahara could do for the old horse. But certainly she could try and save the baby. It needed milk, and Sahara knew where she could find some.
There was milk back at camp — goat’s milk — from Farina. Sahara just had to get the baby back down the trail and to the camp.
Sahara tried lifting the baby horse, but it weighed almost as much as she did. No use. Would the baby follow her? She picked up the empty jar of horse’s milk again, and the baby lunged against it, wanting more.
“Come on, then,” said Sahara, taking a few steps down the hill. “I know where there’s more of this.” And we need to get away from here, she thought, before those dogs come back.
Sahara spoke gently, trying to reassure the helpless thing. The steep bank was treacherous, and Sahara almost lost her footing on the rocks, but sure enough, the little horse was following her. Unsteady on its four legs, it nose-dived on the slippery slope, and lay in a heap at the bottom of a rock pile, catching its breath. It would take them forever at this rate.
“You can do it,” Sahara said. “Your legs are just a bit wobbly, but once you get them under you, I’m sure they’ll work.”
She pushed on the baby’s rear, and then the front, until it had all four feet under it. Reassured, the baby bounced a few more steps and made it to a level spot at the bottom where it stood catching its breath.
Sahara stroked the soft coat. I am running my hands across a real, live baby horse. This is not a dream. This is really happening. It seemed like a miracle, and Sahara knew at that moment she would protect this special baby with her life if she had to.
“Let’s go,” she cooed softly. “It will be easier when we get into the shade.”
Out of sight of its dead mother, the baby now seemed to recognize Sahara as its caregiver. The newborn instinctively followed something larger and protective, and this strange two-legged creature had given it milk. So when Sahara ducked under the willow branches and found the faint trail along the stream, the baby followed willingly, stopping to figure out how to make its legs work from time to time.
“Good,” encouraged Sahara. “I am so proud of you. You will grow big and strong one day, with all the milk you will get soon.”
The process seemed to take forever. The baby had no problem following her new “mother,” but she did have a problem getting all four legs to work at once. Occasionally they would collapse and the baby would fall into a bundle of fluff on the soft earth. Sahara waited patiently for her, and then off they would go.
Sahara was so intent on getting the baby down off the mountain, she barely gave a thought to what would happen when she arrived back at camp. As it became clear that they would actually make it, reality set in. She could not parade through camp with a baby horse. Dojo would immediately try to kill it. How could she be sure the baby horse was pr
otected?
Her anger at Dojo rose like bile in her throat. The book on horse training was gone now — burned as kindling in the fire. She needed the book. How would she ever learn what to do with this baby horse, without studying the pictures in the book? Worry rolled around and around in her mind, with no good solution.
They were closer now, past the small meadow, following the stream where she had first found the tracks of the mother horse. The baby, gathering strength, tried to run, but after several lunges forward down the path, its feet splayed out and it fell in a pitiful lump. Sahara didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The foal was adorable.
I have a real live baby horse. And it belongs to me.
The baby lay in the warm sun, regaining its energy. Sahara stretched out full length alongside, stroking the tiny horse’s downy neck, rubbing her fingers lightly along its soft mane.
She heard a sound, movement up ahead…Startled, Sahara bolted to an upright position. Someone was coming up the trail from camp.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A HEAD POKED THROUGH the branches. “Sahara, is that you?”
“Ash!” Relief flooded over her. “You scared me. Are you alone?”
“Yes. Except for Rowdy and Farina,” he said, glancing back toward the meadow. “I’ve been grazing them, just like you told me.”
The baby horse gathered her feet under her now, standing next to Sahara for protection. It was obvious she had adopted Sahara as her new mother.
“What’s that?” asked Ash. “It looks like the wild horse Dojo shot, only smaller.”
“It’s a baby horse,” said Sahara. “Her mother died, up there.” She pointed toward the rocky top of the mountain.
“It’s cute,” said Ash, his voice full of wonder. “It’s a girl?”
Sahara nodded.
“Can I touch her?” He took a step forward. The baby, unsure of this new creature, skittered backward, behind Sahara.
“She might let you. Maybe later. But she’s really hungry now. Does Farina have milk?”
“I — I think so. She nursed the kid goats this morning, but her bag is fuller now.”
“Okay, good. Here’s what I want you to do. Go get the goats, and bring them here. Under the trees.”
“Both of them?”
“Well, I only need Farina. But bring that loud-mouth Rowdy, too, so he won’t make any noise.”
Sahara looked around for a good place to milk Farina. She found a level spot between two large rocks. The baby horse, becoming frantic with its need for milk, followed Sahara, pushing its tiny muzzle against her, making sucking sounds.
Ash appeared shortly with the two goats in tow. The tiny horse startled at the sight of the goats, but did not run off.
“Tie Rowdy just out of reach to that willow branch,” said Sahara. “And then bring Farina here and hold her for me, would you?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to milk her,” said Sahara. “And I hope she holds still.”
Farina squirmed. Sahara normally milked her back at camp, and the change in routine, along with the presence of a strange young animal buck-jumping around the meadow seemed to make her nervous.
“But you don’t have the milk jug,” continued Ash, still puzzled.
“I know,” said Sahara, feeling frustrated as the goat wiggled this way and that. “I’m going to try and get a little milk into this water jar, to give to the baby horse. Hold still, Farina.”
“How ’bout if I hold the jar with one hand, and you can use both hands to milk.”
“Thanks, Ash.”
The smell of warm milk pulled the tiny horse forward, and it pushed against Sahara as she knelt under the goat.
“Just a little bit longer,” she said. Farina was not cooperating. Becoming more nervous by the minute, hardly any milk came out at all. “Farina, stop it.”
It wasn’t working. Sahara needed to get milk into the baby horse, soon, especially after the long trip down the mountain. And who knew how long the baby had hid there in the rocks without food, while the wild dogs attacked its mother?
Frustrated, Sahara took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Then she remembered Evan, and the songs he sang to the goats while he milked. It was worth a shot. Something else flashed once across Sahara’s mind, quick as a hummingbird, and then was gone. A woman singing to me, holding me. My mother? Sahara had no time to dwell on these memories, but they somehow gave her strength.
The baby horse folded its front legs and stretched out in the grass, clearly exhausted. The sun climbed higher in the sky, sprinkling shafts of warm light into dapples against its downy coat. You can do this, Sahara told herself. You can do this.
With a nod of determination to Ash, she approached Farina one more time. “Farina, my sweet goat, you dear goat of mine,” she sang. “I’ll give you grain and wild oats of the very best kind.” She had no idea what words she used, she just made them up. But the tone of her voice changed, and Farina relaxed and allowed Sahara to milk her. In short time, Sahara filled her jar with thick, warm milk. And Farina still had milk to spare.
“Now what?” asked Ash.
“Now we try to feed the baby.”
“Does it know how to drink?”
“No,” said Sahara. “That’s the next problem.” Sahara knelt with the jar of milk in front of the baby. Roused by the scent, it lifted its head in anticipation. “Come on,” said Sahara. “Get up.”
The baby gathered its feet under it and stood unsteadily. As before, Sahara put her hands in the jar, drawing out a few drops. The baby sucked eagerly on her fingers. Sahara did this repeatedly, but the horse became more and more insistent. It was only getting a few drops at a time, and most of it was dribbling down its muzzle, wasted. It needed more.
Sahara looked at the sun’s placement in the sky. Mid-morning. Surely someone would come looking for her soon. She had no plan except getting the baby horse fed. And that was proving more difficult than she thought.
“Ash,” she said. “Would you take the goats back out onto the meadow, and wait there for me? Stand guard, and let me know if anyone is coming. But wait out there, all right?”
Ash nodded. He grabbed the goats’ ropes and ducked under the branches.
Chapter Thirty-Five
SAHARA NEEDED SOME WAY to get more milk into the baby horse. She remembered an old grandma helping a small baby get to sleep one wintry evening. She had used a cloth filled with warm water to suck on. Would it work with a baby horse?
Sahara peeled off her shirt, rustled inside her pack for her jacket, and fastened it against her bare skin. The thin shirt she held in her hands was already wet, doused with milk from her clumsy efforts at milking and feeding her new charge. Sahara knotted the shirt and poured a little milk into the pocket it made. She held it out to the baby, who began sucking earnestly.
Frantic now, the horse pulled with its mouth against the shirt, but no milk came through. The little horse anxiously nosed against her. It was hungry!
Sahara broke off a sharp willow branch nearby. She poked and wiggled the branch, making a small hole in the shirt. Offering the new feeder to the little horse, Sahara watched it suckle noisily. It worked!
Moving fast, Sahara filled the makeshift feeder several times. The baby horse nursed greedily, until the jar of Farina’s milk was empty. Finally satisfied, the baby horse closed its eyes and wobbled unsteadily on its long legs. Folding them carefully, it gave a large sigh and lay down for a nap. Sahara let out a long breath of relief.
She crept to the opening in the bushes and motioned Ash to her, holding her finger upright to her lips so he wouldn’t make a sound.
“I need you to do something important now,” she whispered, so she wouldn’t wake the baby horse.
Ash’s eyes widened. “What?”
“First, I need you to swear.”
“Swear?”
“Yes. Swear that you’ll tell no one, not one person, that you have seen this horse. Do you understan
d me?” Sahara’s voice was more forceful than she meant to be. “Give me your word.”
Ash nodded gravely.
“No, I mean it. Make a solemn oath.”
“Okay.” Ash gulped, spitting into his open palm, and placing it against his chest. “I swear.”
“Good. Because we have to protect her. We have to save this baby’s life.”
Ash stood stark still, as if suddenly realizing the importance of this thing he agreed to.
“Take the goats back to camp as if nothing has happened. Tell no one that you have seen me,” said Sahara. “Then go directly to your grandfather, Nehalem. Tell him that I need to meet him in private.”
“Grandfather?” Ash squirmed.
“Yes, tell him to meet me here privately. You can show him the way.”
Sahara knew this was a big job for a young boy. Ash was not yet ten years old. “You can do it. I trust you.” Quickly, she took the silver medallion from around her neck that her mother had given her. She had never removed it, not once in her entire life. “Give Nehalem this,” she said, placing the treasure in Ash’s small hand, and folding his fist around it. “Now go. Hurry.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
SAHARA CHOSE A PLACE by the edge of the trees. From this vantage point she could see her horse, still sleeping peacefully. She could also see across the meadow, to the thin line of tents which made up her camp. She sat cross-legged and waited.
She had never sent for Nehalem before. Not ever. Would he come? And would he come alone?
Sahara didn’t know what else would work. She thought of hiding the baby horse, and bringing it milk from Farina every day. But surely the baby would be scared by itself, and the wild dogs might find it. No, it was better to have Nehalem’s help. He was the leader of Trader’s Clan, and the decision maker. She only hoped she was making the right choice in consulting him.
