“Why am I dreaming about him, of all people?” she began to wonder out loud. She frowned. “I don’t even like him. And if I’m dreaming about somebody I don’t even like, then who in the world is Phil dreaming about?” Ever since the trip had begun, Stevie had fought a niggling worry that Phil might have met a new girl on his rafting trip—a cuter, smarter, more fun girl than she was. Even though Carole and Lisa had told her that she was being silly and that it was just not possible, she hadn’t been able to shake the uneasy feeling from her mind.
She yawned, then clucked to Yankee and Doodle. “If I’m dreaming about somebody I can’t stand, then Phil must be having cyberoptic, digitized visions of his dream girl,” Stevie said grumpily. “He’s probably so sleepy every morning, he can barely stay on his raft!”
THE WAGON TRAIN rolled into Clinchport late that afternoon, making its usual wide circle on a grassy plateau that overlooked the rodeo grounds. Stevie drove Yankee and Doodle up just behind Mr. Cate’s wagon and pulled on the parking brake.
“I guess that’s where the action’s going to be.” Mr. Cate hopped off his wagon and shielded his eyes as he gazed down at the flat plain where a wide horse-racing track adjoined a large arena. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the grandstand and American flags fluttered festively from every available pole. He grinned over at Stevie. “Are you excited about the rodeo?”
“I sure am,” Stevie replied as she began to unhitch Yankee and Doodle. “But right now I’m more excited about not having to drive that bumpy wagon anymore.”
“They could use some shock absorbers, couldn’t they?” Mr. Cate drawled in his soft Alabama accent. He rubbed his back. “Maybe the pioneers were just better padded than we are.”
The wagon train made camp. Working smoothly as a team, The Saddle Club soon had their horses unhitched and their campsite ready for the night. Carole unsaddled Nikkia and helped Stevie take Yankee and Doodle to the makeshift corral, while Lisa gave Veronica some hay and brought a fresh bucket of water from the creek. They had just finished their chores when Jeremy’s voice rang out from the center of the encampment.
“Congratulations, all you pioneers!” he said as everyone gathered around him. “We’ve made it to the end of the trail, and our worst catastrophe was the dousing of one teddy bear!” Everyone laughed except Eileen, who crossed her arms and pouted.
Jeremy continued, “We can relax and enjoy ourselves now, but I wanted to remind you that the day after tomorrow the town of Clinchport is hosting a rodeo. If some of you now expert horsemen want to try your luck at calf roping or steer wrestling—well, as part of your Wagons West experience, a local stable will provide horses to anyone who wants to give it a try.” He grinned. “I would suggest first, though, that you check out what events they’re having. If you still want to participate, the Rocking S stable is directly behind the west grandstand. Just tell the head wrangler you’re with Wagons West, and he’ll help you choose a horse. Any questions?”
Karen Nicely held up her hand. “What if we don’t want to ride in the rodeo? I’m still sore from riding all day on the trail.”
Jeremy chuckled. “Then you can join me in the grandstand and watch while your fellow pioneers bust some broncos.”
“Or some other parts of their own anatomies,” Mr. Cate added with a smile.
Everyone laughed again, and then the crowd broke up. Though there would be several more hours of daylight, most people returned to their wagons. The Saddle Club, however, headed straight for the rodeo grounds.
“Let’s go choose our horses first,” said Stevie, pulling up the hem of her long brown pioneer dress and hurrying down the grassy slope.
“Why?” asked Lisa as she jogged along behind. “We don’t even know what events they’re having.”
“Because if we get good horses first, we can win anything. If we sign up for the events first and wind up with plugs, then we’re doomed before we’ve even started.”
“Oh, Stevie,” Carole laughed. “Only you would come up with a strategy like that.”
They hurried across the large arena, which had been covered with loose, fine dirt. Though it was dusty to walk on, the dirt would cushion the falls the rodeo riders took from the bucking broncos and gyrating bulls. The girls threaded their way through the west grandstand, then crossed the racetrack over to the Rocking S ranch, a long log building that had several horses tied in front.
“Howdy.” A tall cowboy wearing short-fringed chaps greeted them as they entered the piney-smelling stable. “I’m Pete Parsons,” he said, his thick black mustache drooping over his mouth as he talked. “Can I help you?”
“We’re with Wagons West,” explained Stevie, “and we’d like horses for the rodeo.”
“You would, eh?” The cowboy smiled. “You ever ridden horses before?”
“Yes,” replied Carole. “Back in Virginia we ride practically every day.”
“And we’ve all ridden Western before, too,” Lisa added.
“Well, then I guess you know what you’re doing. Come on back here with me and I’ll show you what we’ve got. We raise mostly quarter horses at this barn.”
The girls followed Pete to a small corral behind the stable. Half a dozen muscular quarter horses grazed contentedly in the long green grass, their tails lazily swishing at the few flies that buzzed around them. About twenty feet away two other cowboys leaned against the fence, looking over the same horses. Stevie made a choking noise. One of the cowboys was Gabriel!
“I don’t believe it,” she muttered in frustration. “It’s like wherever we go, he’s there first!”
Gabriel glanced over and saw the girls. “Hi, ladies.” He smiled and tipped his hat again. “Are you here to choose horses for the rodeo?”
“We are,” said Stevie. “How about you?”
He nodded. “I can’t decide between that sorrel with the blaze and the palomino.”
“Unless you’re a mighty good rider, I wouldn’t choose the sorrel,” the other cowboy advised. “Tumbleweed’s a handful.”
“Then I’ll take Tumbleweed,” cried Stevie, flashing a triumphant grin at Gabriel.
“Are you sure you’re that good a rider, miss?” Pete Parsons frowned with concern.
“I’m sure I’m just as good as he is,” Stevie replied, nodding at Gabriel.
“Hey, whatever.” Gabriel shrugged. “I was going to choose the palomino, anyway. In a rodeo you need a horse you can depend on, not one that might go loco on you.”
“Oh, I don’t think Tumbleweed will go loco on me,” Stevie assured him as she eyed the horse’s powerfully built hindquarters. Tumbleweed looked at her and tossed his head as if he knew she was talking about him. “Maybe he would with someone less experienced, but I think I can handle him.”
Pete and the other cowboy shook their heads while Lisa and Carole just rolled their eyes. A few minutes later, they decided on horses of their own—Lisa chose a tall gray horse named Ghost, and Carole decided on Pogo, a husky black-and-white pinto mare. After that the girls hurried to the arena to sign up for the events they would ride in.
“I hope they have barrel racing,” said Lisa.
“Me too,” Carole replied. “That’s the one rodeo event we’ve done before.”
“And we know how good we are at it,” laughed Stevie.
The sign-up area was in the office under the grandstand. Various sheets of rodeo information lay on a long table. The girls studied the lists of events carefully. Everything was divided by age, and anyone between twelve and eighteen could ride in the five junior events.
“Let’s see.” Carole peered at the lists. “We’ve got barrel racing, calf roping, pole bending, goat wrestling, and a quarter-mile race.”
“And a barbecue dinner with awards for the top riders afterward,” Lisa read over her shoulder.
“And no all-girl cow chip tossing!” crowed Stevie. “Great!”
“What shall we sign up for?” Carole grabbed the pencil that was tied to the table and looked
at her friends.
“Let’s sign up for everything,” suggested Stevie. “I can see the headlines now: ‘Pine Hollow Riders Sweep Clinchport Rodeo!’ ”
Carole laughed. “Come on, Stevie, that’s impossible. We can’t do all five events. In the first place, we’d spend the whole day just running around the grounds, and in the second place, no single horse could do all those events. Most cowboys ride several horses in a rodeo.”
“I guess you’re right,” Stevie agreed reluctantly.
“Let’s all do barrel racing, since we’re good at it, and then let’s each sign up for one other event, just for fun,” said Lisa. “That way we can still hang out with the pioneers some and watch the adult events.”
Stevie shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” She looked at the sign-up sheets. “I think I’ll do barrel racing and the quarter-mile race. After all, we’re riding quarter horses. That’s what they were bred to do.”
“Then I’ll take barrel racing and pole bending.” Carole laughed. “I’ve never bent a pole before. It should be fun.”
Lisa frowned. “I guess I’ll take barrel racing and goat wrestling. After wrestling with Veronica for the past week, I should be able to take care of one measly little goat.”
“Well, let me tell you that goat wrestling is a little different than leading one old milk cow across the prairie,” a voice said behind her. They turned to see Gabriel, smiling smugly, a lariat slung over his shoulder.
“What do you know about it?” Stevie said, crossing her arms. “How many goats have you wrestled?”
“Enough to know that you have to be fast and strong and not afraid to get dirty,” snapped Gabriel. “It’s a whole lot different from old girly barrel racing. Anybody who’s smart enough to hang on a horse could do that.”
“And I guess you think we’re just that smart?” Stevie asked.
Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe. I have my doubts about the other events, though. Girls always worry that they’ll fall off and mess up their hair or tear their clothes or that they’ll hurt their horses if they make them go fast.” He snorted and shook his head. “Girls just aren’t strong enough or fast enough to do well at rodeoing.”
Stevie’s eyes flashed. “You want to bet on that?” she cried.
“Sure,” said Gabriel, his cheeks suddenly growing red. “I’ll make a bet with you. We’ll go one on one. You enter all five events on Tumbleweed and I’ll enter all five events on my palomino, Napoleon. That way we’ll find out who the better rider is once and for all.”
“Hey, that’s crazy,” said Carole. “That’s not fair to the horses. They’ll be exhausted.”
“Sure it is,” replied Gabriel. “These aren’t your pampered little English hunters. These are tough Western quarter horses.”
“But wait, you guys,” Lisa protested. “Remember we’re on this trip to have fun and re-create some history, not kill each other at a rodeo.”
Gabriel smiled at her. “Your buddy here is the one who wants to bet.” He turned back to Stevie. “Well?” he asked again. “How about it?”
“You’re on!” cried Stevie. She stuck out her hand to seal the bet. Gabriel shook it as Lisa and Carole looked on in horror.
“All five events on the same horse,” Stevie repeated. “And may the best rider win.”
“I CAN’T GET over how he thinks we’re scared we’ll mess up our hair!” Stevie fumed the next morning as she pulled on her regular blue jeans. The girls were dressing inside their wagon, and for the first time all week they were not putting on pioneer clothes but their everyday riding gear.
“Stevie, you need to calm down about this,” said Carole. “You tossed and turned all night, always muttering something about Gabriel.”
“I did not!” Stevie cried.
“Yes, you did, Stevie. I heard you.” Lisa dipped her toothbrush in their bucket of water. “Just listen to yourself right now. We haven’t even had breakfast yet and you’re already grumbling about him.”
“He is just such a jerk!” Stevie jammed her shirttail into her jeans.
“Yes, he is,” Carole agreed. “But you can’t let jerks talk you into doing things that are crazy and maybe dangerous. You’ve only been in one rodeo event in your entire life, and now you’re betting that tomorrow you’ll win everything from pole bending to goat wrestling. I wish you would just calm down and think about it a minute. You could get hurt doing all those things.”
“I know, I know,” said Stevie, raking a comb through her tousled hair. “It is crazy, but I just can’t stand the idea of that nitwit guy thinking he’s a better rider than me.”
“Stevie, he may not be better than you, but admit it— he is an awfully good rider,” Lisa said. “Remember how he jumped that horse bareback, and in the dark, the night of the stampede? Why don’t you go find him this morning and just tell him you’ve changed your mind?”
“I could never do that!” Stevie said. “Anyway, he just got lucky over that fence. It wasn’t all that high.”
“Okay, okay.” Lisa returned her toothbrush to her backpack. “I give up. Let’s go eat breakfast now. We can discuss what a lucky rider Gabriel is over a nice bowl of hot mush.”
A few minutes later the girls were sitting by the campfire, eating their mush. Shelly Bean had greeted them warmly as they came through the chow line, and for once Gabriel was not in sight.
“Why don’t we go for a ride after breakfast?” suggested Lisa. “We need to get to know our horses before the rodeo tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” Carole said. “It’ll be great to do some fun riding again. Nikkia’s a good horse, but he and I mostly just plugged along with the wagon train.”
Suddenly little Eileen appeared, still dressed in her pioneer outfit. “How come you’re not wearing your pioneer clothes?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. “That’s against the rules.”
“Because we’re going to be in the rodeo,” explained Stevie. “You can’t ride in a barrel race wearing a pioneer dress.”
“I’m going to tell Jeremy!” Eileen wagged her finger at them. “It’s against the rules for you not to wear pioneer clothes at all times, and it’s not fair to everybody else!” With that she turned and ran toward her own wagon, shrieking for Jeremy at the top of her lungs.
Carole shook her head as she watched Eileen run away. “That kid is unbelievable.”
“I feel kind of sorry for her,” said Lisa. “I mean, if she’s this obnoxious now, just think what she’ll be like when she grows up.”
“Ugh.” Stevie shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about it. Let’s go ride.”
They washed their breakfast dishes and headed toward the stable. They were just strolling down to the rodeo grounds when Stevie suddenly stopped. “Look!” She pointed to someone bent low over a horse that was thundering down one side of the track. “It’s him! He’s practicing already! He’s racing the quarter-mile on Napoleon and it’s barely sunup!”
Carole and Lisa looked where Stevie pointed. Sure enough, Napoleon was galloping around the track, his long flaxen tail flying in the wind.
“Do you believe that?” Stevie cried, running down the hill. “He must have started practicing at dawn!” She turned to Lisa and Carole. “Come on! There’s not a moment to lose!”
The girls hurried down to the stable. Pete, the cowboy they’d met the day before, had put the horses they’d chosen in three separate stalls, so all the girls had to do was brush them and saddle them up.
“They’re down thataway.” Pete pointed to the left side of the stable. “And their gear is in the room next to the hayloft stairs. You’ll see their names above their saddles.”
“Thanks, Pete!” the girls called as they headed to their horses.
“You girls be careful.” Pete looked at Stevie and frowned. “Don’t use your spurs on Tumbleweed unless you want him to take off like a rocket.”
“I’m going to need a rocket for that quarter-mile race,” said Stevie.
Pete chuckled. “Then I t
hink you may have gotten just what you need.”
When they reached their horses, Ghost and Pogo were busily munching hay, and Tumbleweed had stuck his head over the stall door.
“Do you think Tumbleweed might bite or kick you, Stevie?” Lisa asked.
“I don’t care what he does to me,” Stevie said, “as long as he wins those events.”
Lisa and Carole exchanged worried frowns. Then each girl entered her horse’s stall and began to get acquainted.
Stevie opened Tumbleweed’s door quietly, looking down at the stable floor and speaking to him in a soft voice. She rubbed his nose only after she’d heard him give an inviting whinny, and then she looked up and smiled at him. His brown eyes seemed to twinkle back at her, and soon she was rubbing his back and legs, getting him accustomed to her touch.
“How are you doing, Stevie?” Carole called as she gave Pogo a good scratch behind the ears.
“I’m doing fine,” Stevie said, gingerly lifting Tumbleweed’s front hoof. “Tumbleweed seems like a real sweetheart.”
“No kicking? No biting? No foaming at the mouth?” Lisa asked as she began to comb Ghost’s silky gray mane.
“Not so far,” Stevie replied. “Like Pete said, I guess it must be a spur thing.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” someone laughed outside the stalls. “Maybe it’s a spur-of-the-moment thing!”
The girls looked out to see who was talking to them. A tall woman with bright red hair stood there. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a bright tie-dyed T-shirt with a green sequined vest that read “San Antonio Sal” across the front.
“Sorry,” she said, grinning broadly. “I guess I couldn’t resist a pun like that.”
“It’s okay,” laughed Carole. “We’re just used to Stevie being in charge of the pun department.”
“Stevie?” The woman frowned.
“Yeah, me.” Stevie smiled. “I’m Stevie Lake. These are my friends Carole Hanson and Lisa Atwood.”
Quarter Horse Page 2
