by Holly Hughes
Mr. Dawson ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s a girl who lives up the mountain just west of here. I reckon she’s sixteen years old or so. Her pa’s a mountain man, her ma’s a Shoshone. The Shoshone grandpa is a healer. He’s been teaching Redbird.”
The guard looked shocked. “You’d let an Injun doctor that horse, Dawson? Why, you know the Injuns have been trying to shut down the Pony Express ever since it started. They attacked your rider this morning, didn’t they?”
All eyes turned to Billy. He pulled back uneasily. “Well, yeah, sure they set on me. But those were Blackfeet, not Shoshones. And they were just shooing me off their hunting ground—”
The coach guard clapped Nate Slocum on the shoulder. “You’ve been a jehu on this route for years, Nate. How many times you been attacked by Injuns?”
Nate Slocum frowned. “So often I’ve lost count.”
The guard nodded and went on. “I haven’t been working for the Overland long, but I do know the ways of the West. And one thing I can tell you is never trust an Injun. Blackfoot, Paiute, Apache, Sioux—they’re all the same. They’ll do anything to keep white men from settling the West.”
Nate Slocum turned gravely to Mr. Dawson. “I’m of the same mind. Asking an Indian for help is just plumb foolish. I won’t report this to headquarters, Dawson—but if I did, you’d get fired, sure as shooting.”
The driver pushed past Annie and went inside to finish his supper. The guard followed close behind.
Annie, Billy, Pa, and Jeremiah faced each other under the dripping eaves. Annie fought to keep her voice from trembling as she said, “Pa, forget what they say. You know Redbird could help—she’s got the healing touch. She nursed that billy goat for two weeks—”
“I ain’t going against Nate Slocum, Annie,” her father said firmly.
Annie raised her chin. “But he’s wrong, Pa! Redbird wouldn’t do us any harm.”
Mr. Dawson shook his head. “I’ve got nothing against Redbird. But if anyone knows how the company bosses think, it’s Nate Slocum. If he says they’d disapprove, I ain’t taking the risk. Not with my job on the line.”
“But if Magpie needs doctoring—” Annie began.
Her father cut her off. “Jeremiah’s right—there ain’t no doctoring for a horse that’s turned loco. And a loco horse is too dangerous to keep around. A bullet to the brain is standard treatment.” He studied her anguished face and sighed. “I’ll grant you this much, Annie—I won’t shoot her tonight.” Annie’s heart rose, and she flung her arms around her father. He awkwardly laid a hand on her hair.
“But look here, Annie—don’t get your hopes up,” Pa added uneasily. “If she’s still acting crazy by daybreak, I’ve got no choice but to shoot her. I won’t let Nate Slocum report me for being slack.” He turned away and, shoulders hunched unhappily, walked back to his forge.
Annie watched him go. Billy tugged on her arm, urging her into the station house, but she shook her head. “I can’t leave Magpie alone,” she said in a choked voice.
Billy sighed. “You’ll catch your death out here, Annie. Next thing you know, we’ll be fetching Redbird to save you.”
Annie hugged herself, feeling the chill of the raw, wet night. But she refused to give in. “I’ll be all right,” she declared hoarsely. “Just leave me be.”
Billy shook his head and left with Jeremiah for the barn.
Annie stood alone under the station-house eaves for a few minutes, listening to the raspy snorts and whinnies coming from the corral. Those strangled noises didn’t sound like Magpie—and yet it was as if Magpie were trying to tell her something. But what?
A faint light flared across the yard from the barn as Jeremiah and Billy settled into the hayloft for the night. Annie couldn’t bear to go back into the house yet, but she couldn’t stay outside in this downpour. Head down, she set off across the station yard to the barn, yanking her shoes out of the sucking mud at each step. Hurrying inside, she took a lantern from a hook by the tack room door. She lit it and headed down the aisle to Magpie’s stall.
Pausing on the threshold, Annie stared into the silent stall, so strangely empty now. Her throat tightened, and suddenly she felt her chest heaving with sobs. She dropped to her knees, then threw herself face forward onto the straw-covered floor. Scalding tears brimmed over and ran down her cheeks.
If only Magpie could be here again, her old self! The thought spun round and round in Annie’s mind, swelling into a stubborn hope. As she focused on that vision, Annie felt certainty surge within her. She just knew Magpie wasn’t loco. There had to be another explanation. Magpie was sick or injured, and she needed help, not a bullet to the brain. None of the men understood that—only Annie did. “It’s up to me, then,” Annie said, lifting her head defiantly. “I’ll save you, Magpie—I swear I will.”
Slowly she sat up, caught a long breath, and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. If I’m going to save her, I’ve got to think clearly, Annie told herself. This stall was where Magpie’s trouble began, she realized; maybe there was some clue here to explain what had happened to her. Lifting the lamp, Annie began to examine the straw scattered wildly on the stall floor. She imagined how Magpie’s frantic pawing had tossed it around.
The mare’s water bucket had been kicked over, too, splashing the wooden wall and leaving a pile of matted, wet straw. Annie groaned, sickened by the sudden thought that the feed or water she herself had fetched might have made Magpie ill. Steadying herself, she thought hard for a minute. She had gone all the way to the river to draw Magpie fresh water, rather than giving her the tepid water from the trough in the yard. But the river water couldn’t have made her sick. Annie had also refilled the water barrel at the station house with river water, and none of the people drinking it had fallen ill.
Then what about Magpie’s oats? Annie knew that eating spoiled oats could give a horse a serious, even fatal, case of colic. Warily she knelt down and fingered a few oats scattered on the stall floor. She laid one on her tongue, letting its papery taste dissolve. There was no bitter or moldy flavor, nothing to suggest that the oats had made Magpie ill.
Baffled, Annie gazed around the lamp-lit stall. She noticed a few sharp, fresh gouges halfway up the wall, no doubt carved by Magpie’s flying hooves. Annie felt her heart wrench as she imagined Magpie overwhelmed by pain or fear. What was it, girl? Annie’s thoughts went out to Magpie. What made you act this way? If only she could find some clue.
Rain hammered on the roof, and the wind creaked the barn timbers. She could barely hear Magpie charging around the corral outside. But she knew the horse was still there, wet and cold, probably racked with pain. Annie wearily slipped to her feet and headed out into the rain again.
Pressing against the corral fence, her face lashed with cold raindrops, she whistled to Magpie. The mare gave one startled whinny and made a ragged dash, head down, toward the girl’s figure. She veered aside at the last minute with a wild jerk. Snorting and wheezing, she danced away on stiff legs.
“Magpie! Maggie! It’s me!” Annie called softly.
The mustang came to a wary halt. Trembling and shivering, she faced Annie. The whites showed dangerously around her eyes, but she held still.
Annie bunched up her sodden dress and climbed the rails of the fence. She hopped down on the other side, then edged forward, holding out a hand for the mare to sniff. Magpie quivered and snorted raggedly.
Getting closer, Annie reached for Magpie’s halter. The horse flinched and backed away a few inches as the girl’s hand brushed her coat. Annie, murmuring gently, followed her. This time she got her hand on the cheek strap and took a firm grip.
Ribs heaving, legs trembling, Magpie stood rigidly still. Annie ran her fingers all along the halter. She felt no burr, no twisted bit of rope, nothing that could be irritating the horse. Hope fading, she dropped her hand. Magpie squealed and jerked away, fleeing to the far side of the corral.
Annie stubbornly followed, sloshing through the mud. Reaching Ma
gpie’s side again, Annie laid a careful hand on the mare’s barrel. She felt her heart hammering inside, felt the ragged catch of her breathing. Then Magpie reared away, backing into the fence with a resounding crash of wood.
From the corner of her eye, Annie saw light stream out as the door of the station house opened. Then she heard a sound she knew well—the metallic snap of a rifle being cocked, ready to shoot.
Annie wheeled around. Through the slanting rain, she saw her father’s silhouette in the open doorway, outlined in the yellow glow of lamplight. Her breath stopped. He was raising the long barrel of his rifle to his shoulder—and pointing it directly at Magpie.
CHAPTER 5
COURTING DANGER
Pa, stop!” Annie cried urgently. Uncertainly, her father lowered his rifle. “Annie? What in tarnation are you doing in there? You want to get yourself killed?”
Annie slipped through the fence rails in a flash and raced across the yard. “Pa, I was only trying to calm her down,” she pleaded.
Her father laid his rifle on his shoulder, but his face was grim. “Thank the Lord you’re all right, child. I heard wood breaking—I feared she was busting out. If she’s getting worse, I’ll have to shoot her now, Annie, not wait for morning.”
“She ain’t, Pa,” Annie said quickly.
Mr. Dawson took hold of her shoulder firmly. “Annie, I don’t want you going near that horse again—you hear? You’ve got to stop thinking of her as the old Magpie. If she’s loco, you don’t want nothing to do with her.”
“Why is everyone so all-fired certain she’s gone loco?” Annie asked hotly.
“What else could it be, Annie?” Pa nodded toward the corral. They both turned to look at Magpie, pacing in circles in the rain, huffing and swinging her head wildly from side to side.
Annie tried to swallow the lump of dread that had lodged in her throat. “I’ve been trying to find what’s wrong with her, Pa,” she said, ducking under the eaves of the cabin. “I went out to take a look around her stall. I checked out her feed and water to see if something made her sick.”
Her father studied her, surprised. “And what did you find?”
Annie dropped her head a little. “Well—nothing,” she admitted. “But there must be some reason why she’s acting like this.” She paused, searching for the words that would reach her father best. “If she’s sick, the company would want you to treat her, not kill her—wouldn’t they? You said yourself she’s one of the Overland’s best horses.”
Pa gave Annie a long look, as though noticing for the first time how grown-up she was. He stood silent for a moment, fingering his shaggy beard. Annie looked back at Magpie’s restless shape through the blur of rain.
Her father’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Nate Slocum’s watching every move I make,” he said. “That guard, too—he seems thick as thieves with Slocum. I’ll bet anything they’re under special orders from the company. I feel like they’re just waiting for me to make a mistake.”
Annie held her breath. Her father had never talked to her like this before.
“Why would they want you to get in trouble?” Annie asked, confused. “You’re not their enemy—you work for the same company.”
Mr. Dawson shook his head. “But I’m still new here. And I’m a failed prospector, not an innkeeper or trading-post owner like some of the stationmasters. The Overland took a chance by hiring me, you see, and I’ve still got to prove myself. If they don’t think I’m right for this job … well, I’ve never felt Nate Slocum favored me,” he confessed. “He makes me awful nervous, like he thinks I can’t do nothing right.”
Annie’s eyes widened. Even her father, who seemed so strong and tough, felt scared inside sometimes. It had never occurred to her that someone like Nate Slocum could have the same effect on her pa that her pa had on her!
“And that new guard, Ambrose,” Pa went on. “He seems a friendly sort, but he was sure asking me a lot of questions in the barn earlier. Wanted to know how we do this, where we keep that, all sorts of things. Every time I turn around, I feel his eyes on me, checking up on me—”
Just then, the guard’s stout figure swung into the doorway. “Dawson?” he called out. “No point to standing around in the wet, my friend. I hope nothing’s wrong?”
“I’m just on my way back to the forge—got to work on that wheel,” Annie’s father replied.
The guard shrugged. “Well, let me know if you need any help. I’ll be happy to lend a hand.” He moved back inside.
“You’d best go see if your ma has any work she needs done,” Pa told Annie, patting her shoulder. “Take my gun back inside. There’s a good girl.” He handed her his rifle and then brushed past, hunching his shoulders as he waded back into the rain.
Annie watched him go with a wondering gaze. Now she understood why her pa often acted gruff. He had trusted her with his worries—and she was determined to live up to that trust. There must be a way to help Pa protect his job, she said to herself. Deep in her bones, she knew that saving Magpie—not shooting her—was the key.
Annie went unwillingly into the station house. How could she bear to stay inside, doing dumb chores, when she should be out searching for a way to help Magpie?
As she entered the house, she felt relieved, despite herself, to get out of the rain. She longed to go near the fireplace, but Nate Slocum and the guard were huddled in conversation by the hearth. She watched them uneasily from across the room, remembering her father’s words. What were they talking about? Comparing notes on how the Dawsons ran the station?
The woman passenger rose to her feet. “If it’s all right with you, Mrs. Dawson, I’ll turn in now,” she announced. “Come along, Horace.” Her son scrambled to his feet, greedily licking crumbs of cornbread from his fingers.
“Annie, show our guests to the other room,” Ma said. Her quick gaze took in Annie’s sodden dress. “And fetch something dry to change into. The barn will be none too warm tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Annie said. She led the woman and her son through a doorway into the narrow, windowless room where the Dawsons slept. A big quilt-covered bed took up most of the space.
The woman gave the mattress an appraising pat. “Feather bed,” she noted with approval. “Well, I surely intend to sleep well tonight. After fifteen straight days and nights in that stagecoach, my bones have been jolted and jounced as much as they can take.”
Annie leaned down to pull out the trundle, a low bed that fit neatly under the bigger one. “Your son can sleep here in our bed.” Horace wrinkled his nose as he fingered the worn patchwork coverlet on the trundle.
Turning on her heel, Annie silently grabbed her brown woolen dress from a shelf and moved behind a standing screen to change clothes. As she peeled the wet dress from her skin, she fought the impulse to make a rude remark to Horace. Her mother had told her time and again, always be nice to the coach passengers. They were paying guests, after all, and the Dawsons depended on the money they brought in.
Once her dress was changed, Annie hurried out of the bedroom, doing her best to avoid talking with Horace and his mother. Back in the main room, the other passengers were getting ready to bed down too. Mrs. Dawson passed out coarse wool blankets. A couple of the men passengers pushed aside the plank table so that they could stretch out on the bare, packed-dirt floor.
One of the older men was going out the front door, headed for the outhouse, no doubt. “Take an oar with you—you’ll need it in this flood,” called out the young blond man with the mustache. “Say, Mr. Slocum, if we all pitch together in the morning, maybe we can turn the coach into an ark.”
The driver looked up briefly from his conversation with the guard. “Might be a good idea—it’d save Dawson the trouble of fixing that wheel,” he joked sourly.
Hearing his remark, Mrs. Dawson flicked an irritated glance at Nate Slocum. She turned to Annie, handing her two blankets. “Take a lantern when you and Davy go to the barn. There’s one by the door. You’re sure you’ll
be all right in there tonight?” A worry line creased Ma’s forehead.
“The barn roof is plenty sound,” Annie reminded her. “And the straw will be warm. I’ll wear Pa’s woolen coat, too. It’s not as if I ain’t slept there before—” Annie’s voice broke off. Before, she’d always slept with Magpie in her stall. Tears welled up as she remembered afresh how different it would be tonight.
Mrs. Dawson saw the tears in her daughter’s eyes and immediately guessed the cause. She slid a consoling arm around Annie’s shoulders. “I’m sorry Magpie’s ailing, Annie. Maybe she’ll be better in the morning. We can hope so, can’t we?”
Annie nodded frantically, struggling not to sob. But her mother’s kind words had opened floodgates inside her. She stumbled quickly to the door, hiding her face with the blankets. She didn’t want anybody to see her crying and feel sorry for her.
Annie paused, staring at the plank door before her, willing her tears away. It won’t do Magpie any good for me to start blubbering, she told herself. Daybreak was still hours away. She might yet be able to find out what had caused Magpie’s illness—but not by dawdling inside the station house. Whatever was wrong with the horse, Annie felt sure there was one person who could help her figure it out—Redbird Wilson. But could she get Redbird’s help in time?
Briskly she pulled a tin lantern off the narrow shelf by the door. It held a thick tallow candle, one of the batch she and her mother had made last week. She lit the candle’s wick from a nearby oil lamp, fit the candle in place, then shut the small pierced-tin door of the lantern. “Davy?” she called to her brother, taking a worn jacket of lumpy black wool from a peg by the door.
Davy rose from the hearth, half-asleep and yawning. Ma, banking the fire in the fireplace, turned to tousle his hair and wish him good night.
Annie stepped out the door, welcoming the chilly wet air. The rain seemed to have slackened, she noticed gratefully. Maybe a trip up the mountain was possible after all, she considered.
