by Holly Hughes
With the passengers milling around the stagecoach, wondering when they might pull out, nobody noticed the boy and girl hurrying to the barn door. Billy quickly fetched a rope from a hook, and then the two headed for the pine scrub behind the barn. Billy gestured toward a gap in the foliage. Judging from the broken boughs and trampled sagebrush, it was a good guess that this was the way Magpie had run—away from the river, toward the open plains.
Billy started down the muddy slope into the scrubby woods. Annie hitched up her brown wool skirt to follow him, wishing as she often did that her mother would let her wear pants. Billy had little trouble scrambling down the slope in his riding boots with the pointed toes. Annie did the best she could in her stiff, thick-soled shoes.
Though the sun was rising ahead of them in the eastern sky, the dense scrub was still dark, the low overhead branches matted and heavy with last night’s rain. Following the trail Magpie had thrashed through the wet pine scrub, Annie called out to Billy, “How can we ever catch her on foot? You know what a speedy little horse she is.”
“The brush and trees will slow her down,” Billy pointed out as he swung around a thorn bush. “And I’m betting she ain’t running her usual pace. You saw how confused and worn out she was. Anyway, we’ve got to try.” He sprinted ahead.
For ten minutes or so, Annie picked her way along, straining her ears for the sound of hoofbeats. Then she saw Billy halt ahead of her. She hurried to his side. He was staring down into a jagged gully.
Annie followed his gaze. There at the bottom of the gully, near the flooded creek, lay Magpie, her legs splayed awkwardly to one side. All around her sprawled a dense thicket of gray-green bushes, climbing halfway up the gully wall.
Holding onto a pine sapling, Annie lowered herself into the gully. To her left, a fresh vertical gash, gouged deeply into the gully wall, suggested that Magpie had come down the same way—and probably by accident. Please don’t let her have a broken leg, Annie prayed silently.
She threw an anxious glance at Magpie, not far below her. The pony seemed to have landed in the densest part of the thicket. For a moment, Annie felt relieved. The mass of tough branches would have cushioned the mare’s fall. Annie charged toward Magpie. But as she reached the edge of the thicket, her skirt tore on a barrier of sharp thorns. “Sticker bushes!” she yelled to Billy, who was dropping down the gully wall behind her. “A whole big patch of ’em!”
As she waded in, the thorns bit cruelly into her skin. Even worse, they hooked the tough branches to each other like a huge springy net. Magpie must have flailed about and tangled herself even further, Annie realized.
Peering ahead to find a gap in the thorns, she saw Magpie shudder in agony as a spasm went through her. Coldness gripped Annie’s heart.
Magpie was trapped in the brambles. She couldn’t move.
Then how was she going to work the poison out of her body?
CHAPTER 9
TRAPPED!
Annie tore her skirt free and then stepped downward hard, trampling the brambles under her thick soles. Though the thorns dug into her ankles and stung her legs, she waded across the briar patch to Magpie. Nearing the horse’s side, Annie held out her hand. But just then, another spasm took hold. Magpie flattened her ears and jerked her head around, trying to bite at her belly. Annie drew back, frightened. Her own stomach doubled up as she watched the pains rack Magpie’s gut.
Billy halted at the edge of the briar patch. “Look at the way her stomach’s heaving—like something’s eating her up inside,” Annie groaned. ‘And her breathing is so harsh. That’s a sure sign she’s sick, not crazy.” Billy nodded grimly.
“We can’t leave her lying still like this,” Annie pressed on anxiously. “Have you got your knife with you?”
“Always,” Billy replied. From his belt he pulled his long hunting knife with the mother-of-pearl handle. Annie knew it was one of his few prized possessions. He’d told her it had been a gift from the great Indian scout Kit Carson, though she suspected that was just another of his tall tales.
Billy leaned over and began to saw at the thickest bramble branches, hewing a path toward the trapped horse. His silver blade flashed as he cut, and Magpie, eyeing him, snorted nervously. “Hush now, girl,” Annie crooned as she began to yank aside snarled branches at her end. The mare quivered but lay still.
Annie and Billy worked swiftly, urgently, both aware of the desperate need to free Magpie so she could move again. Feeling thorns slashing her palms, Annie dug her hands into her skirt and doubled up the rough wool to protect herself as she worked.
Finally Annie ripped away the last brambles snaring Magpie’s neck and shoulders. Without waiting for them to clear any more away, Magpie heaved herself forward, scrambling to her feet and through the narrow clearing Billy had hacked open. Her hindquarters were scored with bloody scratches.
Annie hurried after her, whistling for the mare to wait. Magpie pricked her ears and jerked to a stop. Billy scooped up the rope he’d brought and tossed it to Annie to slip around Magpie’s neck. As Annie leaned toward her, Magpie shuddered with a fresh convulsion of pain and staggered a few steps away. “It’ll be all right, girl. It’ll be all right,” Annie said, trying to calm the anguished horse. She sidled carefully toward her and got the rope around her neck.
Billy approached cautiously as Annie knotted the rope. He thrust out an arm and pointed at Magpie’s flank, his face creased with concern. “There it is! Look on her rump, Annie.”
Annie peered carefully. Amid the fresh scratches from the thorns she saw a deeper cut about three inches long, its blood already dried, in the middle of the white patch on Magpie’s hindquarters. “What’s that?” she asked, her voice tightening.
“Your pa told me he saw it early this morning—I guess Magpie was dozing, and he was able to sneak up and look her over. He said he’d found an arrow wound on her flank.”
“An arrow wound?” Annie wondered. “How can that be? There wasn’t a single mark on her coat when I groomed her yesterday afternoon. I’d’ve noticed.”
Billy nodded. “Your pa figured she got it yesterday, when those Blackfeet attacked me.”
Annie’s shoulders sagged. “You mean … he thought the Indians made Magpie sick? Tipped their arrows with poison or something?”
Billy sighed. “Something along those lines. ’Course, I insisted she hadn’t been hit. But he didn’t believe me. He thought I just hadn’t noticed the wound.” He hung his head. “You know, Annie, those braves didn’t really shoot any arrows at me at all. They just shouted from afar. I guess I exaggerated when I told the story later. I was just making up a brag—trying to look like a hero.”
Annie frowned. “Your stories are always right entertaining, Billy,” she said, “but it looks like this one’s backfired. It could even lead to bloodshed.”
Suddenly they both noticed that Magpie was standing still and swaying dizzily. Annie gave a gentle tug to the rope around the mare’s neck. Magpie grunted and skittered a few steps, and then Annie began to pace her up and down along the creek bank, leading her by the rope. Magpie followed, trembling and wheezing roughly.
Keeping a watchful eye on her, Annie considered what they knew about Magpie’s wound. “All right, we know for certain Magpie wasn’t shot by an Indian arrow yesterday afternoon. But how do you explain this wound on her flank now? She was inside the barn from the time I finished grooming her to the time she started acting up.”
“She was out in the corral during the night,” Billy pointed out. “But it ain’t likely any Blackfeet crept up in the night and shot her then. Not in a rainstorm, with a dozen people staying at the station.”
“Even if they did, it wasn’t the thing that made her go loco,” Annie reminded him. “She was already acting crazy by then.”
Annie watched another spasm grip the weary mustang, her own body shuddering in sympathy.
“I didn’t have a chance to check out the wound this morning before she ran off,” Billy said. He cautiousl
y came closer to Magpie and peered at the wound. Then he gave Annie a grim look. “That’s no arrow wound, Annie. Look at it yourself.”
Annie held out her open hand until Magpie nuzzled it, her hot breath warming Annie’s palm. Then Annie gently ran her hand along Magpie’s side, moving cautiously to her sore flank. She delicately fingered the wound. Magpie flinched from her touch.
“It isn’t deep enough for an arrow wound,” Billy pointed out, “and the edges are too clean. They were cut with something sharper—a knife, maybe.”
Annie saw that Billy was right. “But why? Who would take a knife to a horse like that?”
“It had to have happened in the barn yesterday, sometime after you groomed her,” Billy said somberly. “But before she went crazy—nobody could have got near her then. That means it must have been somebody from the stagecoach. Or somebody from the station, Annie.”
Before Annie could reply, Magpie made a strangled wheeze as another spasm shook her. Annie swallowed hard. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed. “Oh, Billy, what if she gets worse? What if … what if she dies?” Her eyes welled with tears and her mouth began to tremble.
Billy reached over to give Annie’s shoulder a squeeze. “As long as she’s got strength enough to keep walking, she’s got a chance. And as long as we can keep her here, away from folks who’d like to shoot her—”
The image of her father crumpling to the ground flashed into Annie’s mind. She shut her eyes tightly.
Billy sighed and went on. “My guess is that somebody planned that cut to look like an arrow wound. Maybe he overheard me last night bragging about being attacked—that could have planted the idea in his brain.”
Annie pressed a weary hand to her forehead. “But why? What purpose would it serve?”
Billy shrugged. “It would sure enough make the Indians look bad. Maybe it’s someone who hates Indians. Or somebody who’s bent on stirring up trouble between the Indians and the Overland.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Remember when the Paiute attacks shut down the Pony Express this summer? If the company thinks the Indians are interfering again, we could have a whole heap of trouble break out.”
Just then Annie heard a rustle at the top of the ravine, and she ducked low All this talk about sabotage and attacks was making her jumpy.
Glancing up, Annie saw Redbird peering down at them from the bank above. “Annie?” she called down. “Is everything all right?”
Hearing a new voice, Magpie shied and bolted a few yards down the gully, nearly pulling the rope out of Annie’s hands. As Redbird joined Billy and Annie, Magpie shivered and lowered her head to drink thirstily at the creek. “We found Magpie all tangled up in the bramble patch,” Annie told her friend. “Billy and I cut her loose.”
“We’re doing everything we can to keep her moving around,” Billy added.
“How’s Pa?” Annie asked Redbird anxiously. “He must be better or you wouldn’t have left him, I know.”
“He’s resting easy now,” Redbird said, “but he’s still blacked out. We won’t really know how bad he got hurt until he wakes up. Your mother’s with him.”
“Looks like Magpie’s having terrible stomach cramps,” Billy put in. “And look there.” He pointed to the wound on Magpie’s flank. “Someone cut her with a knife.”
Redbird pulled out her remedy pouch, which was hanging on a leather thong around her neck. “I’ve got a little pot of salve in here that’s good for flesh wounds. It’ll help heal all those scratches from the sticker bushes, too.”
She inched forward, approaching the fretful horse. Magpie watched with an uneasy eye, but stood still, as if she sensed Redbird could be trusted.
“Does it look like someone rubbed poison into that wound?” Annie asked as Redbird deftly worked the ointment into the pony’s twitching flank.
“I just can’t say for certain,” Redbird said. “I hate to think anybody would do such a thing.”
“I hate it, too,” Annie declared, “but it’s looking more and more likely. And what if other horses are hurt next?” She rubbed her dirty hands on her skirt. “My pa’s job is on the line already—we don’t need anything more to go wrong. I can’t just sit here. I’m going back to the station to see what I can find out.”
“What about Magpie?” Redbird asked. “I can’t stay here with her—I have to get back to your pa.”
“You two go back. I’ll stay,” Billy offered.
“But Jeremiah expects your help in the barn,” Annie reminded him. “You’ll get in trouble if you’re gone from the station much longer.”
Billy dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “It’s more important to me to take care of Magpie. I’m bound to get fired from this job soon, anyway. I’m not much of a company man.”
Annie paused, looking at Billy for a moment in a new light. Suddenly she realized that Billy’s days with the Pony Express were numbered. He’d come to be such a part of her life, she’d never imagined him moving on. But he was bound to—and sooner rather than later. She reached over and squeezed his wrist. “I’m beholden to you, Billy.”
He looked away, embarrassed. “You just go back, girl. You won’t figure out what’s been going on as long as you’re jabbering away here.”
The two girls set off, hopping back over the creek. Redbird hoisted herself up the gully wall, then reached down to give Annie a hand.
They hurried back the way they had come. As they jogged through the pine scrub, early morning light broke through the clouds. Birds sang as if glad the storm was over; Annie picked out the loose trill of a junco, the coo of a mourning dove, and the distinctive mew of a catbird. Sunbeams sparkled on the rain-drenched pine needles. The air was crisp and cool.
They were still some distance from the station when Annie heard the far-off crack of a whip and an ominous rumble of iron wheels. Startled, she jumped up on a granite boulder to look.
The stagecoach was jolting down the eastward track, leaving Red Buttes Station.
She urgently waved at Redbird. “They’re going! Whoever poisoned Magpie could be riding away on that stage right now. We’ve got to stop them!”
Redbird scrambled up behind Annie on the rock. “Forget it, Annie,” Redbird said, her eyes on the departing stage. “You’d never convince that driver to stop. You have no proof that anybody on that stagecoach did anything wrong.”
CHAPTER 10
HARD PROOF
A dread silence hung over the station as the girls entered the empty yard. Things often seemed extra quiet after a stage had left, Annie had noticed. But it was even worse today.
Without speaking, they went inside the station house. The main room was in disarray, with empty porridge bowls, tin mugs, and dirty spoons still sitting on the plank table. Annie set a tipped-over rocking chair back upright. Someone must have knocked it over when the sound of Pa’s accident had first drawn everyone to the yard. In the distress ever since, no one had thought to right it again.
Redbird gave Annie a quick hug. “I’ll be by his bedside if you need me,” she said softly. “Good luck—I hope you can figure out who poisoned Magpie.” She headed into the Dawsons’ sleeping room.
Annie hung back, peering hesitantly through the half-open door. She could see her father’s still form under the tattered quilt, and her mother seated on a wooden stool, her lips moving as she read the Bible.
Annie turned her face away. She’d seen her share of illness and death; disease had often raged through the poor, makeshift homes of the California mining camp. But she was still stunned to see her own father struck down. He had always seemed so strong, so hard, so tough.
“Annie?” came a small voice by the fireplace. Surprised, Annie noticed Davy, seated forlornly on the woodbox.
Her heart went out to her little brother. The best thing she could do for him was to keep matters as normal as possible, she figured. She took a deep breath, suddenly feeling bone weary from grief and strain—not to mention spending all last night riding in the rain. But the time t
o rest had not yet come.
“Heavens, who let that fire go out?” Annie asked briskly. “Have we got any kindling, Davy?”
Davy unfolded his tightly curled limbs. “Th-there’s kindling here in the woodbox.”
“Well, pile some on, and maybe add a couple new logs,” Annie directed him. “I’ll get the tinderbox to light the fire. Let’s get this mess cleaned up before Ma comes out.”
For once, Davy seemed glad to be told what to do. He and Annie bustled around the room, making up the fire and then clearing the table. She yearned to head out to the barn, to try to solve the riddle of what had happened to Magpie. But for the moment, Magpie was safe—nobody was going to shoot her right now. And Annie was badly needed here.
Once the fire was blazing, Annie heated water in an iron kettle over the flames. She dipped each bowl in the kettle, scraped off the dried porridge with a stiff little bundle of straw, swirled the bowl around, and then handed it to Davy to dry.
“Annie?” Davy frowned at the bowl he was wiping dry. “How long do you figure it’ll be before Pa gets better?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Annie answered. “But say, wasn’t it lucky that Redbird was here already? Can you imagine if we’d had to ride up and fetch her after the accident? But instead she’s right by his side, fixing him up as good as new”
Davy thrust out his chin doggedly. “Jeremiah said that was a powerful hard kick Magpie gave Pa,” he said. ‘At first I was afraid she’d killed him. He still could die, couldn’t he, Annie? Don’t lie to me.”
Annie paused, brought up short. She realized she’d been talking down to Davy. Her brother deserved more respect; he wasn’t a baby anymore. “I reckon that’s true, Davy,” she admitted quietly. “I’m awful scared about him dying. You are too, aren’t you? But all we can do is hope and pray.”
Davy’s blue eyes filled with tears. “I just wish I hadn’t thought so many mean thoughts toward Pa,” he mumbled. “I wish I could take them all back, right now!”
