Nate's Story

by Kitson Jazynka

  Nate felt embarrassed when Simon said, “That horse won’t hurt you, Nate. She just wants her breakfast.” Simon reached through the fence and rehung the bucket on its hook. Then he picked up the scoop and offered it to Nate. Nate hesitated.

  Quickly, Vik took the scoop from Simon, saying, “Can I do it now?”

  “Sure thing,” said Simon.

  As Vik refilled the gray horse’s bucket, Nate noticed Herschel was looking right at him. So, are you sizing me up, Herschel? Nate thought. Can you tell that I am uncomfortable? Herschel shifted his gaze to Vik as Vik filled Herschel’s feed bucket with grain. Herschel pointed his ears toward Vik with a hopeful look.

  “You are one skinny horse, Herschel,” said Vik. He scooped a little extra feed for Herschel. “Doesn’t anyone ever feed you? C’mon you bag of bones. Here’s your food.”

  The horse plodded toward the bucket. Nate watched him eat. The other horses had gobbled their food. Not Herschel. Herschel lifted his head out of the bucket now and then, grain drizzling out of the sides of his mouth with every slow chew.

  “You’re a good boy, Herschel, ” Vik said as he patted the horse’s neck. “Even if you are a mess.”

  Chapter Six

  “Hey,” Nate said to Vik, when no one could hear him. “Thanks for taking over with the feeding. I don’t know why, but being close to these horses gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Like me and the spider,” said Vik.

  “I guess,” said Nate. He felt sheepish, especially after Vik had praised him for being brave after the owl hunt. “You’re doing great with the horses, though.”

  “Yeah, I’m surprised. I didn’t think I would,” admitted Vik. “Especially when I first saw them. I mean, horses are so much bigger in real life than you think they’re going to be, and they smell so much worse!”

  Nate laughed.

  Vik continued: “I especially like old Herschel here. I was wrong about him. He’s not stupid. He’s just laid-back. What do you think Joe meant when he said Herschel was done for?”

  Nate shook his head. “No idea,” he said. He reached out tentatively to pat Herschel’s neck, then changed his mind and stuck his hand in his back pocket, next to his bird notebook. “What’s the matter with me?” he muttered under his breath, disgusted at the discovery he’d made about himself. “Why am I scared of a horse?”

  “Hey, don’t sweat it,” said Vik. “You’ll get used to these horses, even Herschel. He’s ugly, but that’s part of his charm. Right, Herschel?”

  Herschel snorted, but in a friendly way.

  “Okay, everybody,” Joe said. “Next thing on your list is the water trough. Empty it, scrub it out, rinse it with water from the hose, dump that water out, and fill it with fresh water.”

  “Be careful,” said Simon. “Don’t waste the water. Remember, we’re having a dry spell.”

  “I get the hose!” said Will.

  “I call the sponge!” said Zee and Yasu at the same time.

  When the boys shouted and ran to get the hose and the sponges, all of the horses startled at the commotion—all except for Herschel. The horses left their buckets and rushed to the other end of the paddock.

  “See what I mean?” said Joe. “They spook easy.”

  Birds spook easy too, thought Nate. Maybe horses and birds aren’t so different. So how come the horses spook me?

  “What about that horse?” asked Zee, pointing to Herschel, who hadn’t left his bucket.

  “Herschel is a really smart horse,” said Joe. “He’s an old, experienced kind of guy. A steady Eddie.”

  After the boys had been quiet for a few seconds, the other horses came back. Trying to move slowly and carefully, the boys set to work scrubbing out the water trough.

  “Are all of these horses yours, Joe?” asked Nate.

  “No,” said Joe. “My horse, April, is back at my house. These other horses here, I’m taking care of temporarily, while I try to find them homes.”

  “So, who owns them?” asked Nico.

  “Nobody, yet,” said Joe. “These horses were all homeless for one reason or another. I run a horse rescue operation. People who can’t take care of their horses anymore give them to me, and I buy horses at auctions that no one else wants. I met your camp director last winter and we came up with a plan to have you Wolf Trail campers work with the horses. Good for the boys, good for the horses.”

  “Where did Christmas Wish come from?” asked Zee.

  “Family up the road,” said Joe. “Had to move and couldn’t keep her. She’s pretty. She’s sure to get adopted soon. And the chestnuts—those are the reddish ones—will get a home before Labor Day, that’s what I predict. The gray horses I found at an auction, which can be a really bad place for horses. But the grays are in good shape, and so’s the big bay. That’s the brown one with the black legs. Somebody will come along and adopt them.”

  “What about Herschel?” asked Vik.

  “Well, I thought I’d found him a home, but the folks just changed their minds,” said Joe. He shook his head. “Herschel’s not much to look at. He’s not young. He’s not sleek. So far, nobody wants him.”

  Nate and Vik didn’t even need to look at one another. Now they understood what they’d overheard Joe saying on his cell phone. He must have been talking to the people who’d changed their minds about wanting Herschel. Everyone looked at Herschel, who had gone back to the corner of the paddock. Joe went on: “Herschel was at that same auction as the grays. He was for sale with a bunch of other scared, homeless horses. I took Herschel and the grays because I didn’t want them to get sold for meat.”

  “Meat?” a few boys asked, all at the same time.

  “Yeah, meat,” said Joe. “For exotic animals, even for people in other countries to eat.” Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked the fence. His voice sounded angry again, the way it had when he was talking on his cell phone. “Bad things can happen to unwanted horses.”

  “But someone will adopt Herschel eventually, right?” asked Nico.

  “Who knows?” said Joe. “So far, it’s not looking good.”

  All the boys were quiet.

  “Hey, but there’s still hope,” said Joe. He settled his hat on his head and spoke cheerfully, saying, “Okay, boys. Thanks for your help. You better hightail it over to the dining hall for lunch now. I’ll see you tomorrow morning bright and early.”

  As Simon walked the boys back to camp, Zee tried to lift their spirits by leading them in singing another one of his cowboy songs:

  Happy trails to you

  Until we meet again.

  Happy trails to you

  Keep smiling until then.

  Nate looked over his shoulder at Herschel, thinking, Will there by happy trails for you, Herschel?

  The old horse pawed at the ground with one hoof, raising a small sad cloud of dust.

  That night, in his bunk with his covers pulled up over his head and his flashlight on, Nate sketched two little brown-headed cowbirds in his notebook. Then he wrote:

  Chapter Seven

  Nate woke to the chatter of a very talkative cardinal. He flopped onto his stomach so that he could look out the screen and he caught a fleeting glimpse of bright red flash as the cardinal flew away. Wish I had my colored pencils with me, Nate thought. I’d sketch that cardinal just as a streak of red. For some reason, Nate always thought of cardinals as signs of good luck. And I’ll need good luck today, he thought, with a twist of dread in his stomach. Today, I have to ride a horse.

  After breakfast, Nate and the other Isabels walked down the dusty dirt path to the paddock for their first riding lesson. Nate’s jeans felt stiff and heavy and hot. Wearing nothing much else than a bathing suit for two weeks at camp is a much better way to go, Nate thought. He sure did wish he was going swimming right now. The other guys were practically running toward the paddock, jostling one another out of the way to be the one to get there first. Yasu, as usual, was in the lead, and Nate brought up the rear, with V
ik just ahead of him.

  Joe and Simon had lined the horses up along the paddock fence. Now the two men moved among the horses, putting on saddles and adjusting the bridles on the horses’ heads.

  When he saw the boys, Joe said, “Morning, cowpokes! I’ve got helmets in the back of the truck. Find one that fits. When you’re ready, come on over, and Simon or I will help you get on your horse.”

  “You okay?” Vik asked Nate as Joe rattled off the names of which boy would ride which horse.

  “Uh, yeah,” Nate said as he grinned a weak grin. “Sort of wish I hadn’t had so much sausage for breakfast, though, or any breakfast at all, come to think of it.”

  Simon helped some of the boys get on their horses, and other boys stood on an old cement block and mounted their horses themselves.

  “Vik,” said Joe. “You’re on Christmas Wish.”

  Nate watched as Vik stood on the cement block and then swung himself into the saddle as easily as if he’d done it every day of his life. Christmas Wish started to walk sideways, but Vik leaned forward, patted the horse’s neck, and murmured calming words. Christmas Wish swiveled her ears back toward Vik and stood still.

  “Son, you are a born horseman!” Joe said to Vik. “Okay, walk on over to the shade with Christmas Wish.” Joe turned. “Nate, you’re up next,” he said. “I’m gonna put you on Herschel, okay?”

  “Sure,” said Nate, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about this arrangement. But he supposed that if he was going to ride, he might as well be on Herschel, who didn’t look capable of any fast, sudden movement. Slowly, Nate came and stood next to Herschel, who stood still as a statue, not even swishing his chewed-looking tail at flies.

  “Lift your foot back,” said Joe, showing Nate how to bend his leg.

  Nate squared his shoulders and forced himself to push down his fear. Do this, he ordered himself.

  Nate reached up and grabbed a kind of handle on the saddle, the pommel. Joe pushed him up and Nate swung his leg over Herschel. It wasn’t pretty, but Nate landed—plonk—astride the saddle. Nate held on for dear life, but Herschel didn’t move a muscle while Joe adjusted the stirrups. It was as if Herschel knew how uneasy Nate felt, and the horse wanted to help Nate get used to being way up there on his back.

  “Take the reins, son,” Joe said.

  Nate held the reins, but he still held onto the pommel too. He sat as if he were frozen stiff. Man, the ground looked a long way off!

  “Horses are big creatures,” Joe said in a conversational tone as he refastened a buckle under Herschel’s hairy chin. “It’s smart to be aware of that. Makes you more careful, more respectful. Herschel here, he’ll be a real gentleman for you if you treat him politely.”

  Nate swallowed. He was grateful for Joe’s reassurance, and he was grateful that Joe continued to stand next to Herschel and him as he instructed the boys.

  “You have several ways to ask your horse to do what you want him to do,” said Joe. “A squeeze with your legs—not a kick with your heels—asks him to move forward. A gentle pull on your reins asks him to move left or right. Pull back a bit to stop. Your voice can ask him to ‘whoa.’ When we’re on the trail, these horses will just follow my horse. But for now, you’re going to stay in the paddock and get to know each other.”

  Joe led Herschel forward and Nate held his breath, certain that he’d fall, crashing to the ground in a big thunk, looking like a total stooge.

  But even though Herschel was bony, and knock-kneed, he had a surprisingly smooth walk; it was slow, easy, and comfortable. Once Nate got used to the way the saddle rocked a bit from side to side with every step, he began to breathe, though he sure didn’t try to make Herschel trot, like some of the other boys did with their horses. Nor did he loosen his death grip on the pommel. Nate rode Herschel in circles around the paddock. He tried to imagine that he was a cowbird on Herschel’s back. But if I were, I’d take off and fly away and never look back, he thought.

  “Hey, man, look at you, riding,” said Vik, easing Christmas Wish to fall into step with Herschel, “Great, huh?”

  “No,” Nate corrected him, serious but grinning. “First of all, I’m not riding just any old horse. I’m riding Herschel, the world’s slowest horse. And I’m still shaky about it.”

  “How come?” asked Vik.

  “Ya got me,” said Nate. “I mean, I’m big and smelly myself, with huge feet, so you’d think I wouldn’t mind the horses. I think it’s that they’re unpredictable. That’s what scares me.”

  “Well,” Vik said, “the way I see it, it’s easy to do stuff you’re not scared of. Doing what you’re scared of? That’s brave.”

  “Thanks,” said Nate. “And thanks for not telling all the other guys I’m a horse-a-phobe. Thanks for not blabbing about the birds, either.”

  “When’re you going to be brave about that, and tell everybody about your bird notebook?” Vik asked.

  “Not yet,” said Nate. “Still chicken.”

  “A chicken’s a bird, so I guess that’s appropriate,” said Vik. “But I gotta tell you, I think you’re wrong about the guys. I don’t think any of them would tease you about the horses or your bird notebook. But it’s up to you to spill or not spill.”

  It seemed like forever, but really, it was only about an hour that the boys practiced asking their horses to walk forward and turn left and right, or turn in a half-circle to change direction. Nate was very glad when Joe told the boys to dismount. He was the first to slide off and put his two feet on the ground again. His legs felt wobbly.

  “So?” Simon asked Nate. “Yesterday, you didn’t even want to feed the horses, and today you’re a rider. Whaddya say?”

  “I’d say horseback riding is not my favorite activity,” said Nate honestly. “But it definitely fits right in the category of things that eventually may possibly be not as totally terrible as I thought.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Simon. He thumped Nate on the shoulder.

  Simon and Joe showed the boys how to take the saddles off and hose the horses down. Before heading back to camp, Nate reached through the fence to pat Herschel and this time, he didn’t pull his hand back. Nate touched Herschel’s warm, whiskery muzzle.

  “Thanks, Herschel,” Nate said.

  All the boys were hot, thirsty, and tired as they walked back to camp.

  “I’m as dried up as an old raisin,” complained Tyler.

  “My legs are so achy, I can hardly walk,” said Wu-Tsing.

  “My legs are so bow-legged, I can hardly walk,” said Will.

  Zee was the only one with enough energy to sing. And even he wasn’t very loud as he sang:

  I’m an old cowhand,

  From the Rio Grande,

  And I learned to ride

  ’fore I learned to stand . . .

  Then Yasu came alive. “Who’s for a plunge in oh-man-it’s cold O’Mannitt’s Cove?” he hollered, naming a part of Evergreen Lake where the water never warmed up. Without waiting for an answer, Yasu started to jog so that he’d be the first one back to the cabin to change into swim trunks, and the first one into the lake. The rest were close behind.

  Later, when Nate dove into the smooth, cool water under the watchful eye of Simon, and the water washed away the dust and smell of sweatencrusted, sun-baked horse-hair, Nate felt relieved. No more horseback riding—at least not today! And he could face it tomorrow, as long as he was facing it with Herschel.

  “Guys, wake up. Wake up!” Carlos yelled as he stood in the middle of Birch Cabin in the middle of the night.

  “What? What’s going on?” Jim asked as he disentangled himself from his sheets and flicked on his flashlight. Zack sat up in his top bunk so quickly that he practically bonked his head on a beam, and Kareem rolled over and fell off his bottom bunk onto the floor.

  Nate opened his eyes, confused. He took a deep breath. Why did he smell warm, cheesy tacos?

  “What’s that smell?” asked Yasu. He was sitting up and his hair stuck out in all diff
erent directions.

  “What’s in the bag, Carlos?” Vik asked.

  “Tacos!” said Carlos. “Wake up or I’ll eat ’em all myself.” He turned on the lantern and pulled wrapped tacos out of a bag, tossing one taco to each boy, saying, “Think fast, buddy! Catch!”

  Nate sat up, snagged a taco in mid-air, and looked down at Carlos in the dark. “Thanks,” Nate said. “What time is it?”

  “Taco time!” said Carlos. “It was my night off, so I went to town and brought back tacos for us all. I also got beans, sodas, chips, and guacamole. Get up and dig in, my friends.”

  “Yahoo!” cheered the boys. They jumped out of their beds and crowded around Carlos to get beans and sodas and to scoop up handfuls of chips to dip in the guacamole.

  Holding his sloppy taco in one hand, Nate slipped off his bunk. His bird notebook slipped off at the same time, dropping into the darkness. He felt around for it with no luck, and decided to look for it later.

  Now all of Birch Cabin was awake—except Simon, who could sleep though a train wreck. Vik, Jim, and Erik lounged on their beds, eating tacos and swigging sodas. Sean was doing a sleepy solo moonwalk, shuffling and kicking backward through the mess on the floor, waving one arm and crunching a taco all at the same time. Kareem was balancing a can of soda on his head as he walked heel-to-toe, as if he were on a tightrope.

  “To Wolf Trail and its awesome campers,” said Carlos, holding up his taco for a toast. He sat on Nate’s trunk and plunked the greasy taco bag down next to him.

  “What are we celebrating?” asked Yasu.