“Sure.” Lisa brought Lucky up alongside Rocky, and for a while they walked without talking. Their silence brought out the mule deer from the bushes and long, dry grass which grew on the open slopes. The slender, large-eared deer wandered by in groups of five or six, the cautious doe leading her fawns and year-old young to better grazing land below the ridge.
“Lennie made Matt’s day yesterday,” Kirstie told Lisa once they reached the more level, broader track that led to Lone Elm. “He’s sending some people from the trailer park to the ranch. Matt’s had dollar signs in his eyes all morning!”
Lisa grinned. “I heard that. Grandpa says the Santos family drove all the way from New Jersey in a big RV to take their vacation in the Rockies. But I guess they’ve had it up to here with roughing it. Now they want a week in a nice cabin with a fireplace and a porch and someone to do the cooking and the dishes!”
“That sounds good to me, too!” Kirstie laughed. Up ahead, she could already see the entrance to the trailer park, and beyond that the neat, log-built reception building nestled under the tall, solitary elm tree from which the park took its name.
“Hey, that could be Jerry Santos and company moving out right now!” Lisa spotted a high-sided, silver motor home parked by the side of the office. It gleamed in the sunlight: a giant vehicle decked out with big steel fenders, ladders up to the roof, windows with fancy blinds. In the cab sat a woman and three small kids, and down by the office door stood a man in T-shirt and shorts. “Let’s go see!”
Quick off the mark, Lucky broke into a trot and then a lope along the smooth track. Less eager to break the peaceful spell of their mountain ride, Kirstie held Rocky back for a few seconds. She saw more deer and stopped to watch a buck rub his beautiful antlers against a pine tree, listening to the scrape and hollow rattle of horn against bark. In the undergrowth behind, a young, pale brown doe with huge, dark eyes darted from bush to bush.
Glancing ahead, Kirstie saw that Lisa and Lucky had already reached the entrance to the trailer park. She decided to give Lisa time to say hello to her grandpa before she caught up to them. But then she frowned. The fair-haired man in shorts was stepping toward the silver motor home and climbing up into the cab as Lisa arrived. He was turning on the engine. The giant vehicle was starting to move out of the park.
“Lisa, watch out for Lucky!” Kirstie yelled. Her voice was drowned by the engine.
And now she had other things to worry about. The motor home crawled through the exit, beneath the overhead sign that Lennie Goodman had erected only that spring. Thirty feet long, reflecting the sun’s rays, engine growling, it advanced onto the road.
“For crying out loud!” she muttered. Didn’t the driver have enough sense to wait until she and Rocky had ridden by? Though broader than the steep mountain trails, the road couldn’t take both motor home and horse. And anyway, Rocky was beginning to act up.
He saw the square front of the tall cab, the gleaming metal grille, the flash of sunlight reflected on glass, the movement of passengers inside. For a few moments, Rocky stood stock-still.
Kirstie tightened the reins. “Back up!” she whispered. If Rocky would pull back a few feet, she could guide him up a side track, out of the way of the slowly advancing motor home. “Come on, Rocky, let’s get out of here!”
No way was the driver going to stop, she realized. Maybe he thought he had the right of way in his huge motor home and expected a mere horse and rider to automatically give way. Or maybe he just didn’t realize he was giving her a problem. In any case, he kept right on coming.
She felt the mustang flinch. Instead of backing to safety, he chose to advance with edgy, uneven strides. Kirstie pulled on the reins. “Come on, Rocky, what’s going on?” Why wouldn’t he do as he was told?
He stopped. His head was up, ears flat; the old, angry signs. And every muscle was tense, every nerve on edge as he skittered across the dirt road, defying the oncoming driver.
The man at the wheel must have seen the horse by now. He was a hundred yards away and still creeping forward. Either he was mean or stupid. “Stop!” Grasping the reins in one hand, Kirstie made a firm signal with the other.
No response. The giant vehicle kept on coming. There was a roar, a cloud of black fumes from the exhaust, a swing off the road into the gravel and brushwood, as if the driver had momentarily lost control. A screech of brakes, the churn of loose stones under the massive wheels; the inexperienced driver fought to bring the tilting motor home back onto the level ground.
“Easy, boy!” Kirstie knew deep down that she was losing him. He was ignoring her voice, the touch of the reins. His muscles were bunched, his head straining. Still she tried to get him back.
But it was no good. With a toss of his head, Rocky rested back deep on his haunches, then threw himself forward in a terrific buck. Kirstie flew with him in a high arc, grabbing the saddle horn as she went, legs flying from the stirrups, head jerked back in a sudden whiplash movement. Her hat flew off, her hair fell loose as she clung to the saddle and felt Rocky’s back feet land with a thudding jolt.
It was then, much too late, that the driver must have realized she was in deep trouble. He put his foot on the brake and trundled to a halt. The motor home hissed, spouted out blue smoke, then sat motionless astride the road.
With Kirstie still clinging tight, trying to slide her feet back into the stirrups and regain hold of the reins, Rocky arched his back and stamped his feet. A huge fear had him in its grip. His head went up again, his mane whipping against her arms. Then he reared and twisted, throwing her back and sideways. She held on, felt the bunched fury of his muscles.
Then there were footsteps running down the road, two figures appeared from behind the stationary motor home. Kirstie glimpsed Lisa and Lennie Goodman coming to help. But Rocky spun away, rearing once, twice, three times. She was flung backward and forward, biting her tongue hard as her jaw fell open, then snapped shut with the violent rise and fall. There was blood in her mouth, a salty, metallic taste, but no time to feel pain.
The mustang whirled, turned, and reared. It was the wild Rocky; the frightened, crazy Rocky of the rodeo. An old fear had exploded in his brain, making him fight to be rid of his rider, to rage up the mountain to freedom once more.
“Hang on, Kirstie!” Lisa cried.
She gripped the horn, pressed her legs against the mustang’s flanks, her head jerked this way and that. Already dizzy and weak, she felt him veer to the side and charge at the steep slope that bordered the road. There was a boulder in his path that he would smash against unless he took off and jumped…she soared with him and landed, felt him thunder on up the rough hillside.
Rocky had jumped clear of the road and charged on up the steep slope, between trees and rocks, in a mad frenzy to be away from the terrifying, hissing truck. Reins flapping, stirrups crashing against his sides, and with Kirstie slumped forward in the saddle, he raced on.
Tall tree trunks flashed by, branches whipped against her, and she cried out. She recognized the ridge that Rocky had reached and the drop into Dead Man’s Canyon. There was blood trickling from her mouth, a throbbing sensation as the pain set in. And still she must duck and sway out of reach of the blurred branches, gasp for breath, and stay in the saddle…not fall…not land on the dangerous rocks or be flung over the edge of the cliff down the sheer drop into the canyon…
Rocky swerved to avoid a low bush. He stumbled against loose rocks, fell to his knees.
Kirstie felt herself thrown forward so hard that she lost hold of the saddle horn. Rocky was down and she was flying through the air. The world turned and spun. Her shoulder crashed against a rock, there was a shooting pain in her neck and head, then blackness, silence…nothing.
“Kirstie… ? Come on, wake up! Kirstie…please!”
She came around from a dim, distant world, out of a dark tunnel, away from the silent shadows. She opened her eyes to trees, sky, and Lisa’s anxious face peering down at her.
“Where’s Rocky?
” she moaned. Her mouth felt like a dark cave in which the hollow words rolled.
“Never mind the horse. Are you OK?” Lisa knelt by her side, afraid to touch her.
“What happened? Where’s Rocky?”
“He threw you off, remember? You landed badly, you’ve been out cold for more than ten minutes!”
“But where is he?” Struggling to raise herself onto her elbows, she turned her stiff neck to search the empty hillside.
Gently Lisa wiped the blood from her face. “He threw you, then ran off. Grandpa took Lucky and went for help. You lie still until the others get here.”
Kirstie shook her head and struggled to sit up. “I need to find him. Which way did he go?” But the pain in her shoulder was bad, her head swam, and she sank back down.
“Forget about Rocky,” Lisa whispered. “You’re hurt. You’re not going anywhere.”
The trees shook their golden leaves down on her. They floated and drifted onto her face. She felt their feathery touch…
“Kirstie?” Lisa’s echoing voice broke through.
Her eyelids fluttered open again. Forget about Rocky. That was Lisa. He threw you, then ran off. Forget about Rocky. Forget about him…She tried to focus on the trees over her head, but she heard the beat of hooves on rock, saw a dream-horse race along the ridge. Forget about Rocky. That’s what they would all say when they got here, her mom, Hadley, and Matt. He’s a problem horse. He’ll never be any good.
Their voices floated in her head. It throbbed and spun. The voices judged the mustang and sentenced him over and over again: Forget him. From now on, she knew that this was how it would be.
9
The doctor came from San Luis and reassured Sandy Scott that Kirstie’s shoulder was badly bruised but not broken. The cut on her tongue would also heal itself in time.
It wasn’t the cuts and bruises that mattered. Forced to lie in bed while her mom showed the doctor downstairs, Kirstie dismissed the minor injuries she’d sustained when Rodeo Rocky threw her and fled up the mountain. What mattered was the damage to her dream that one day soon he would join the team of horses at Half Moon Ranch. She stared out of the open window at distant Eagle’s Peak, nursing her shattered pride and hope.
“It could’ve been worse, I guess.” Lisa slid quietly into the room while the grown-ups talked over the accident in the ranch-house kitchen. “No broken bones.”
“Have they found Rocky?” Kirstie demanded.
“Your mom sent Hadley and Charlie out to look.” Gazing awkwardly at the floor, Lisa found it hard to meet her friend’s intense gaze.
“But they didn’t find him yet?” She realized the runaway stallion could have traveled miles off the trails and beaten tracks into thick pine forests, or even above the snowline into the icy wastes of the high peaks of the Meltwater Range.
“Nope. They took a two-way radio, so they’ll call as soon as they’ve got news.” Lisa glanced up and tried to smile. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” Kirstie stared hard at Lisa’s flushed face.
“I heard the doc tell your mom you had to stay in bed in case you got a concussion.”
“I’m fine! It’s Rocky I’m worried about.” Kirstie felt a long, embarrassed pause develop between them. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“Nope.” Lisa’s coloring was pale and freckled. When she lied, her face flushed bright red.
Kirstie sat up in bed, trying to catch snatches of conversation from downstairs. “What’s going on down there? What are they saying?”
“I dunno. Grandpa’s telling your mom about the accident. He reckons Rocky went kind of crazy back there and you’re lucky you weren’t hurt real bad.”
“Is that right?” She was all for getting straight out of bed and running down to the kitchen to put them right until Lisa put out a hand to stop her.
“Wait till they’ve calmed down. Arguing won’t do any good right now.”
So Kirstie sat on the edge of the bed and gave her friend a rough time instead. “It’s not Rocky who was crazy; it’s that dumb driver! What on earth was he thinking, driving a giant truck at a horse like that? Doesn’t he know that’s the best way to spook any horse on this planet? Let alone one that’s been through what Rodeo Rocky’s been through!”
“You don’t need to tell me!” Lisa pointed out when Kirstie at last paused for breath.
“Look, how can they blame Rocky? To him that motor home sure as hell looked like the truck they used to drive him down from Wyoming! Big steel fenders, wide, flashing windscreen, loud engine…” To Kirstie it was obvious. “Rocky sees this monster machine coming down the track toward him, and he thinks, no way! Once was enough. He’s not gonna stick around until men with ropes come and grab him again. He’s been there before!”
“Sure, Kirstie, I hear what you’re saying.” Going to look out of the window at the doctor’s car driving out under the Half Moon Ranch sign, Lisa tried once more to get a word in. “And maybe you’re right about Rocky having a good reason not to like these giant trucks, but …”
“But, nothing!” She felt her heart pounding with a fierce desire to defend the horse. “Rocky was only doing what any horse in his right mind would have done!”
Lisa sighed, opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind.
“Go ahead!” Nursing one elbow in the palm of her hand to ease the pain in her shoulder, Kirstie joined her at the window. She winced and frowned to see the very motor home they’d been talking about parked on a flat piece of land beyond the bridge over the creek. It looked like the Santos family had arrived for their week’s stay at the ranch. The sight of it made her stomach churn. “OK, Lisa, give it to me straight.”
Lisa turned her gray eyes to meet Kirstie’s blue ones. “I guess you have to know.”
“Know what?” She heard the door swing open, saw Matt stride out across the yard, heard her mom’s footsteps treading back and forth in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs.
At last Lisa spoke the difficult words. “Sandy’s gonna blame Rocky, whatever you say. It figures. She’s real worried about you. And if Grandpa tells her the horse went crazy, no way is she gonna let you ride him again!”
“Not let me ride Rocky?” The idea struck Kirstie like a physical blow.
Lisa chewed her lip and nodded. “You’d better believe it,” she murmured. “And that’s even if they do track him down and get him back to Half Moon Ranch!”
“I swear, Mom, it won’t happen again!” Kirstie pleaded like she’d never pleaded before.
It was Monday morning, before the wranglers set off from the corral with the groups of new visitors. Hadley and Charlie had returned empty-handed the night before, reporting that there was no sign of Rodeo Rocky in any of the predictable places. They’d ridden through Dead Man’s Canyon and as far as Eden Lake, where they knew the runaway stallion would have found good grass for grazing. But there wasn’t a hoofprint anywhere to show the path he’d taken.
Now Kirstie was confined to the ranch house to help her get over the accident, and though Lisa had promised to call and keep her company, a long, empty day stretched ahead.
“Give me a guarantee.” Sandy spoke quietly but firmly. “Give me a one hundred percent promise that, suppose we do track him down and bring him back, Rocky is gonna be a safe ride!”
Kirstie took a sharp breath through her nose. She tried to frame the words, to explain that the incident with the motor home had been a one-off.
In the tense silence, Sandy turned away. “You can’t. Nobody can.”
Kirstie stepped across her path, blocking the door before she went out onto the porch to collect her hat and set off on the day’s ride. “Look at it this way. There are no roads here on the ranch land; only trails for horses. So if Rocky is spooked by trucks because of what he went through earlier this summer, what we do is make sure he doesn’t go near any roads. No roads: no trucks, see?” Her voice cracked, her eyes shone with tears as she spread her hands to p
lead even harder than before. “No trucks: no problem!”
Sandy shook her head. “Kirstie, don’t!”
“Why not?” To her, it was a life or death issue. No way could they give up on Rocky.
“Because I already made up my mind. It’s too risky.” Gently Sandy pushed past and picked up her hat.
“So?” Once more, Kirstie stepped across her path. “What are you gonna do? Just leave Rocky up there in the mountains?” How long would he survive in the company of dangerous coyotes and mountain lions?
“Nope.” Sandy avoided looking at Kirstie as she put on her Stetson and called across the yard to Matt to say that she was on her way. “As your brother just pointed out, there’s two thousand dollars’ worth of mustang out there somewhere. Hadley and Charlie will ask the other ranchers for help. There’s gonna be a big search party tonight. We’ll find him, you bet.”
Kirstie took this in. She should have been relieved, but somehow she wasn’t. “Then what?” she demanded from the top step of the porch. Her mom was striding away, not looking back.
“I called the sale barn in San Luis,” she replied, her voice muffled as she hurried off. “We send Rocky to the auction at dawn tomorrow!”
“All you have to do is saddle Lucky for me!” Kirstie begged Lisa for help when her friend arrived in her grandpa’s pickup truck. “I can’t lift the weight of it with this shoulder the way it is!”
“No way!” Lisa backed out of the bedroom onto the landing. She put both hands in front of her to ward off Kirstie’s pleas.
“Please! I’ll do anything you want in return! Just this one little favor, Lisa, please!” All morning she’d sat by the bedroom window planning this, waiting for Lisa to show up.
“It’s not a little favor, it’s a mega, mega one! What’s your mom gonna say if I let you do this?” She backed down the stairs shaking her head hard.
“I won’t say a word, I promise. Your story is, you got here and I was already gone. The whole thing was up to me!”
Rodeo Rocky Page 7
