Moon Racer

by Constance O'Banyon

  "Christmas, I had this same argument with Frances this morning, and I don't intend to have it with you. I'm going to ride that bay, and neither you nor anyone else is going to stop me!"

  Curly had walked into the barn in time to overhear their conversation. He was tall and muscular, and Abby watched him scratch his head, then shake it before he spoke. "Don't guess it would do any good for me to try and talk you out of ridin' that horse if Frances couldn't. That woman is so cantankerous she could curdle cream."

  "I would not think to argue with you, Senorita Abby. I am only asking you, do not do this," Navidad implored, the worry lines deepening in his forehead. "Senor Brent will not be glad with me if you ride that horse."

  "Yep," Curly added. "Brent's already told me to take the gelding back to the Circle J this very day." He gave Abby a guarded look, and then he went even farther. "Brent gets plumb mad when you put yourself in danger. You know how he is."

  Yes, she knew how Brent was. He had taken care of her when everyone else had gone away he was the one person who had remained constant in her life, until he had moved to the cabin by the creek so he wouldn't have to be near their father. When he had first departed the family home, she had felt betrayed and deserted but had finally come to understand why Brent had left. Although she herself could never leave, she had discovered that by keeping busy, she could avoid being in her father's company for days at a time.

  Her thoughts went back to the Johnson horse. "Neither of you has anything to worry about; I'll take the blame if Brent gets mad. Besides, I don't think that horse can throw me." With a determined resolve, she shoved her hat more firmly on her head and poked her thick, dark braid underneath the brim so it would stay in place. "Do either of you have any more objections?"

  Navidad seemed to want to say more, but instead he looked away from her.

  Curly, however, threw his hands in the air as if surrendering and shook his head. He knew that when a Hunter got set on something, there was no point arguing, and Abby was the most stubborn of them all. "No, ma'am! No, sirree. Not me. I just work here."

  She stalked to the tack room, where she found her well-worn tan chaps hanging on a peg. With expert ease she fastened the belt around her waist and hooked the buckles about her trouser-clad legs. When she reappeared, Navidad was leaning against the pitchfork. He watched as she grabbed the bit and bridle from a hook.

  "Christmas, will you help me saddle him?"

  Resigned, the Mexican nodded and followed her out into the sunlight while Curly ambled along behind them.

  Abby paused at the fence to admire the reddishcolored gelding as he defiantly tossed his black mane. She placed her folded arms on the top rung and rested her chin on her sleeve, studying the bay's movements in an attempt to take his measure. He had a wild look in his eyes and a proud tilt to his head as he went on a quest to find an opening in the fence. She considered his stride and even the twitch of his muscles.

  "Why did Brent decide the horse can't be broken?" she asked.

  Curly scratched his head ponderously, a habit he had developed over the years. "'Cause he throwed me and Red afore we could even settle in the saddle. I gave up on the third try; Red stayed for four."

  "So," she observed, her eyes never leaving the horse, "he is a spinner."

  "You got that right ain't no one gonna get in the saddle, much less break that devil." Curly nodded at her. "Not even you."

  Abby watched the horse for a few moments more, then climbed over the fence and dropped down on the other side. "I'll just see if I can take some of the fight out of him."

  Navidad hoisted her saddle on his shoulder and followed her over the fence. "I will be sorry when Senor Brent hears of this."

  "I told you not to worry."

  Abby approached the horse cautiously, but he still flared his ears and backed away from her. After several tries she finally managed to slip the bit between his teeth and loop the bridle over his head. The horse kicked his hind legs when Navidad attempted to throw the saddle blanket across his back. Abby grabbed and held the animal's ears so Navidad could land the saddle and fasten the cinch.

  She nodded, and Navidad covered the horse's eyes with his battered hat, giving her time to slide her boot into the stirrup. Just as the gelding had done with Curly and Red, he started spinning before she had a chance to settle into the saddle. But she slid her legs around his belly and tugged on the reins.

  Navidad wisely ran for the fence and found a safe seat on the top rung beside Curly.

  "I've watched her grow up;' Curly said. "I've seen her ride many a wild horse, but this one might be too strong for her to handle. There's gonna be hell to pay when Brent finds out."

  "Si. That is so."

  "I've always admired that little gal's grit, but I worry 'bout her high spirit. One day she's gonna come up against a situation she cain't handle."

  The Mexican frowned. He was afraid Curly might be right.

  Quince Hunter greeted Jonah Tremain with a warm handshake. "Now, this is an unexpected pleasure, Major. What brings you out my way?"

  I had business in Diablo and thought this would be a good time to visit an old friend."

  Even though Jonah stood six-foot-one, Quince Hunter still had a good two inches on him. Quince liked the man in spite of the fact that he was a Yankee and an officer.

  "Welcome to the Half-Moon Ranch." Quince grinned and shook his head. "You're still at Fort Griffin, aren't you?"

  Jonah raised an eyebrow. "No, thank God. I didn't sit comfortably in that command chair. Of course, as it stands, I may be worse off now." Jonah frowned. "I was given command of Fort Fannin."

  "I would congratulate you, but I heard about the corruption involving Captain Gregory. Has that all been straightened out?"

  Jonah worked his hands out of his gauntlet gloves and tucked them into his belt. "Not yet." He looked at his friend. "Of course, if you would agree to scout for me again, you could help find the men I'm searching for. I'd like to have you with me."

  "Not a chance, Jonah. I like itjust where I am."

  "I thought that would be the way of it, but I had to ask. Don't think I have forgotten that you saved my life. I am here now to repay that debt."

  "You owe me nothing, Major. I was just doing what the cavalry paid me to do."

  Jonah shook his head. "You warned me that Geronimo was leading us into a trap, but I was more interested in capturing him than in watching for an ambush."

  Quince nodded, indicating Jonah's leg. "It looks like you still carry a little souvenir from the encounter."

  "The limp, yes. I can usually tell when it's going to rain by the ache. The doctor assures me that the limp will probably go away in time, but I should be able to forecast the weather from now on."

  Quince looked puzzled. "Next week we'll be driving twenty head to Fort Griffin." He smiled. "Have you come to check up on the cavalry's investment?"

  "Not at all. Your word has always been good with me." Jonah's expression became serious. "Other than wanting to see the Half-Moon, I have an altogether different motive for being here."

  Quince clapped Jonah on the back. "You can't know what that army contract has meant for me and my family. Everyone has been wanting to meet you and thank you personally."

  Jonah's mouth curved into a smile. "I am here to offer you a new contract." He patted his front pocket. "I had it drawn up before I left. I need you to supply horses for Fort Fannin, and I need them fast."

  Quince looked stunned. "I don't know what to say besides thank you. You have already done so much for us, and now this..."

  Jonah shook his head. "Dammit, will you quit complimenting me and let me get on to the other reason I'm here?"

  "All right shoot."

  "I know how well you train horses for the cavalry, but I wonder if you can also train one suitable for a delicate lady?"

  Quince raised his brow. "And who would the lady be?"

  "Miss Patricia Van Dere."

  "Sidesaddle trained?"

>   "Yes, of course. I did say lady."

  Quince didn't need to think before he answered. "Sure. We can do that for you."

  Jonah glanced about him. Quince had once told him that the Half-Moon was run-down. But the house had a new coat of paint, and the barn and stable looked like they were in good repair. "You have quite a place here."

  "Actually, I don't live here anymore. My wife has a nice spread, the Diamond C, and I moved there after we were married." Quince watched his friend's face. "You did know I'm married, didn't you?"

  "Yes. I had heard that. Congratulations!"

  "I'll tell you about my w e later. Right now I want to hear about this lady you mentioned."

  "I don't think I ever told you about Patricia. She is my fiancee."

  "That's what I thought you were saying." In a teasing tone Quince said, "If you've ridden all the way out here to invite me to your wedding, a written invitation would have sufficed, but it would have denied me the pleasure of seeing you again."

  "The wedding isn't until next June, but you'll get an invitation."

  "I'm sure we can find your lady a suitable mount. All you have to do is decide if you want a gentle horse or one with spirit."

  "Gentle, I should think." Jonah thought about the times Patricia had dutifully ridden beside him, until one day he realized she was not enjoying herself. After some tactful prodding, she had admitted that she was not fond of horses. "Yes, definitely gentle."

  "We have two that might be suitable. When do you need it?"

  "The general will be accompanying Patricia to Fort Fannin for a visit next month. I had hoped to present her with the horse at that time."

  "Your father is coming west?"

  "So it would seem."

  Quince knew that Jonah always referred to his father as "the general," and he had often wondered why, but was too polite to ask. "It's too late to ride to the north pasture today. Of course, you'll be staying here at the ranch for a few days."

  "If it wouldn't be an imposition."

  "Major, no one is more welcome on the HalfMoon than you are. When my family learns that you have awarded us the contract for Fort Fannin, they'll be even happier to see you."

  "Nonsense. Don't mention it. I chose you for the contract because I need someone I can depend onyou have already proven that you can deliver saddle-ready horseflesh on time."

  "Thank you anyway. Now, what would you like to see first?"

  Jonah could almost feel life pulsing around him: he heard the whinny of a horse, the wind in the branches of a tree, and it stirred a strange excitement within him. "Actually, I want to observe the operations of a working ranch. I want to see everything."

  Quince laughed. "Now, that will take some showing, but I think we can manage it."

  Jonah looked up at the sun to gauge the time of day and judged it to be midafternoon. "Who trains your horses for the sidesaddle?"

  "My sister, Abby. She's one of the best trainers on the ranch."

  Jonah watched Quince for a moment before he spoke. "I heard your father is out of prison."

  "Looks like bad news travels fast."

  "I wonder if you remember telling me about your family that night we got roaring drunk in Tucson?"

  Quince remembered the incident all too well because it was the first time he had ever seen Jonah drink. They had been tracking a band of banditos for two grueling weeks across the Arizona desert. It had been about dusk when they came upon a small ranch situated a few miles from the Mexican border, where they were met with a gruesome sight. The banditos had murdered a whole family, including three children. After burying the bodies, the soldiers had ridden back to the fort, where Jonah had demanded permission to track the raiders into Mexico. He had been incensed when the commanding officer had forbidden him to pursue them across the border.

  "It's funny what a man will talk about when he's drunk," Quince said. "As I recall, we drank for three days. Otherwise I would never have shared my family secrets with you or anyone."

  Jonah expressed indifference with a shrug. "Why not? I told you about my family."

  "Oh, yeah," Quince said' with irony. "As I remember it-correct me if I'm wrong your greatgrandfather served under General Washington and distinguished himself at Yorktown. Your grandfather graduated from West Point with the highest honors ever achieved and went on to serve in Congress. Oh, yes, I almost forgot your father was one of General Grant's officers and was decorated by Abe Lincoln himself and is now a retired general."

  "As I recall," Jonah said, "I bared my soul to you, somewhere between the good brandy we started out with and the foul-tasting swill we ended up buying from the trading post. I have a vague memory of confessing that the general had my life all planned out for me before I had even taken my first step." He imitated his father's voice," `All Tremain men go to West Point and pursue a military career.'"

  "Until that night I thought you liked being in the cavalry. You're certainly good at it look how high you've risen in rank in just the last two years."

  "I might have chosen to join the cavalry on my own, but I'd have liked to have been given the choice."

  Quince nodded in agreement. "I know what you mean; life sometimes has a way of choosing for us."

  Jonah decided to move on to another subject. "You look fit and hearty for a man who's just become a husband."

  "Jonah, my friend, you are looking at a happy man. But then, you've already met my Glory, so you know how fortunate I am that she chose a saddle bum like me."

  "Wild, untamable Quince, his wings clipped by a woman." Humor twinkled in Jonah's eyes. "I'll venture to guess you haven't told her everything about your past, such as how the women at the post always gave you... the eye."

  "Sometimes, when you're dealing with women, the past is better left to the past." Quince leaned against a fence and crossed his arms. "I'm anxious to meet the woman who's about to clip your wings."

  Jonah didn't want to talk about Patricia-today. Sometimes, like now, he had difficulty even remem bering her face. But she was the woman he would marry... because it was expected of him, just as he had been expected to go to West Point. He had no objections to Patricia; she would make an admirable officer's wife. "I suppose we all surrender to the inevitable in the end. Look at you, choosing marriage over scouting."

  Quince shook his head and held his hand out at shoulder level. "The reason is about this tall, and has red hair and dark eyes." Then Quince motioned, indicating that Jonah should follow him. "No offense, Major, but I don't miss eating dust and spoiled food, and fighting heat, renegades, and snakes."

  "I feel a -calmness in you that only a good woman can bring out in a man. You are fortunate, my friend," Jonah told him.

  Quince knew there was certainly no calmness in Jonah. It had always mystified him why the major never spoke of the woman he was to marry when everyone down to the newest recruit knew he was soon to marry. "What is your business in Diablo?" he asked curiously.

  "It has to do with the missing payrolls meant for Fort Fannin. Both times our payrolls were hit, the shipment originated in Diablo. It could be a coincidence, but I am looking into every aspect of the robberies, no matter how small the lead."

  "You don't have much to go on, do you?"

  Jonah unbuttoned the top button on his uniform jacket. "The trail gets colder with each passing day."

  "What about Victorio? I know you were tracking him up in New Mexico territory."

  "Colonel Grierson is on his trail at the moment. At last report he had driven him back into Mexico. But we all know you can't keep Victorio where he doesn't want to be. He has sworn that he will fight to the death, and I believe him."

  Quince was glad he didn't have to go chasing after the Apache chief. "Such is the life of a soldier."

  Jonah nodded in agreement. "You sign up for the glory; you stay for the fight."

  "Yeah. That's one reason I quit. There was no glory, and there was always a fight."

  "Quince," Jonah asked, changing the subject
, "have you heard of a man named Norman Williamson?"

  Quince frowned thoughtfully. "I have heard that name... somewhere. Isn't he the Indian agent at Fort Fannin?"

  "Yes, that's him. The word whispered about the state is that he gives tainted meat to the Comanche, although no one has caught him at it. I only encountered the man once, but he wouldn't meet my eyes when we spoke. It irritates the hell out of me when someone does that."

  "I've heard nothing good about him. If I were you, I'd certainly keep an eye on him."

  "I intend to delve into his background, and I have someone watching him."

  "Do you think you'll be called on to go after Victorio?"

  "It's almost a certainty. As far as he is concerned, the die has been cast, and there is no turning back for the army. Victorio and his band recently killed eight soldiers of the Ninth Cavalry and took their horses. If I encounter him, my orders are to either capture him, kill him, or force him back into Mexico so the Mexican government can deal with him. I can assure you that if I have a choice, I'll drive him back into Mexico. It doesn't sit well with me that I have to fight a man who is only trying to preserve his way of life."

  "I don't envy you." Quince understood very well the turmoil brewing inside Jonah, whose main concern was to protect the settlers in the area. "You may not have a choice in the matter."

  Jonah removed his hat and blotted his forehead with his sleeve. "Show me your horses, and then you can feed me."

  "Come on; I'll show you a bit of horseflesh that'll rival any you've ever seen. But this horse is meaner than hell, and I won't be recommending him for your lady."

  Abby's entire attention was centered on the horse beneath her, so she was unaware that Quince and his visitor had joined Navidad and Curly at the fence to watch.

  Jonah propped a booted foot on the rail, his gaze touching for a moment on the rider before his attention was drawn to the horse. The gelding was spirited, with an untamed streak of rebellion-its muscles contracted and rolled with each lunge it made.