Smoketree

by Jennifer Roberson

  “What is it?” I interrupted. “Harper—what are you talking about?”

  He took his hand away and looked down at me. One hand went around the post. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for you to hear it this way. I was going to come down and tell you, but I got tangled up with Cassie—”

  “Why?” I asked flatly. “What’s going on?”

  He looked tired. “The police called a short while ago with results of the autopsy on your friend.”

  Goosebumps rose up on my arms. I felt the skin of my scalp contract, and my face went tight against my skull. “It was Preacher?”

  “It’s what they’re saying.”

  Almost without volition I finished climbing the stairs. When I reached the porch I turned and sat down awkwardly, and a moment later Harper sat down next to me.

  “A stupid, stupid accident,” I said tightly. “And now he’s dead—”

  “I know.” He set one hand at the back of my neck, massaging gently. “They think he got into the pen somehow and scared Preacher. If he reared, even out of fear, a hoof could have struck your friend. Nobody says the horse did it intentionally.” The fingers eased the tension out of my neck. “I’m sorry. You know that.”

  I tried to erase the vivid picture of Drew’s blanketed form lying in the dust. “Then that’s why Cass is so upset.”

  “She thinks they’ll order Preacher destroyed.”

  I looked at him sharply. “But why? You yourself said it was an accident. I can’t imagine Preacher would have intentionally killed anyone.” But I knew why almost the moment I asked the question. I’d heard the horror stories about dogs turning on their masters, or killing children. A horse wasn’t the same, but the results might be. “Oh no,” I said softly.

  “That’s why Cassie’s upset.”

  “They wouldn’t,” I said.

  “I don’t think so,” he agreed. “But when Cassie gets an idea in her head, it’s hard to shake it out of her.” He stared out across the flatlands beyond the black skeletal barn. “She’ll ride for hours, working it out. Probably come home later tonight… I hope.”

  “You won’t leave her out there!”

  “Not through choice,” he said dryly, “but I don’t have much. What good would it do to go after her? She’d just run, and there isn’t a horse on Smoketree who can catch Preacher. Not even Sunny.”

  I opened my mouth to ask another question, but footsteps hurried to the screen door. I turned as Harper did and we saw the cook, Maria, framed in the doorway.

  “Harper!” she cried, face alight with fear. “Come now! It’s Señor Reynolds—” Her hands clutched at her chest as if to mimic Nathan’s condition, and the message was perfectly eloquent.

  Harper was up at once, reaching to wrench open the door. Then he turned back sharply. “Damn it! I’ll need Cassie—”

  “Just go,” I ordered, pushing him. “I’ll get Cass.”

  “You can’t—” But he broke off, knowing it was not the time for protests. He went into the foyer and through the Lodge at a run.

  I ran in the other direction. I was bound for the tack room, and then Hornet.

  I grabbed a bridle and went into the pen after the palomino mare, blessing Harper for having spent some time improving my skills. I had yet to catch, bridle and saddle a horse completely on my own, but now was the time to discover if I could. And I was determined to bring Cass back to the ranch.

  Hornet was cooperative. I bridled her as I had been shown, sliding the bit between her teeth and feeling the soft dampness of her lips as she accepted it. It dropped into place inside her mouth; I removed my fingers and worked at slipping the headstall up over her ears. I buckled the throatlatch, then led her from the pen and shut the gate behind us. Hornet followed, ears twitching, and waited patiently as I tied her by the tack room.

  The hardest part was saddling. I dragged out blankets and saddle, slapped the blankets across her back and tried to thrust the saddle into place upon them. It was a heavy thing, but I was tall enough to find the proper leverage. I settled it down on top of the blankets, then wrestled with cinch and buckles and D-rings, as Harper had shown me. First the cinch, snug around her barrel; then the back-cinch, buckled loosely; then the breast collar fastened across her chest and buckled to the saddle. And finally, when Hornet thought she had been clever, I kneed her in the ribs to startle her into expelling the breath she held to keep the cinch loose, pulled it tighter still and wrapped the final knot. I was done. I threw the reins over the mare’s head, climbed on, and went after Cass at a gallop.

  I had seen Cass take Preacher across the high trail that wound through the trees. All trace of her was gone now, but I did see a fainter trail that led toward a portion of the Peaks I didn’t know. When I saw fresh horse droppings I felt certain I had found the proper way.

  The sun had dropped low on the horizon. Sunset was only a half hour or so away, and with it would come the cold night air. I wore only a bulky pullover sweater that bunched around my hips, fairly new jeans—real jeans, for warmth and protection—and shoes. The shoes were unfortunate because they allowed the stirrups to rub through my socks onto the bare flesh of my ankles, which would be blistered shortly. But I hadn’t come out with the intention of riding at all.

  Hornet and I skirted the bottom of the slopes, heading toward the highway, then cut back. The trail began a smooth ascent that gained altitude quickly, then circled back unexpectedly. A fence stretched across the trail, a familiar four-strand wire fence posted with Forest Service signs. But there was also a cattle guard with a gate, and the gate hung open, as if someone had been in too much of a hurry to close it. I knew Cass would never allow a fence to stop her; I didn’t let it stop me, either.

  Finally I saw her. She was well ahead of me, above me, leaning forward in the saddle as Preacher climbed straight up the mountain. He was a dark shape in the darker trees, but the setting sun glinted off the metal at his mouth.

  “Cass!”

  She half-turned in the saddle, though Preacher continued to climb. Her face was a blur in the shadows, too distant for me to make out her expression, but I saw the motion of her hand as she halted the horse. She swung Preacher around to face me as I urged Hornet upward.

  “What do you want?” she demanded curtly.

  “It’s Nathan,” I said breathlessly, somewhat winded by the exertions of the ride. “You’d better come back to the ranch right now.”

  She sat rigidly in the saddle. “Uncle Nathan?” she asked on a startled note. “What's wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Cass—you’d better come.”

  She cast a quick, frightened glance at our surroundings. Her escape had suddenly become her prison; I could see it in her eyes. Then she shook her head. “Come on, then—we’d better take the short-cut.” She hesitated a moment longer. “Can you keep up?”

  I urged Hornet further up the mountain, guiding her toward Preacher. “I’ll keep up. Just go.”

  She went, urging Preacher quickly through the trees. We left the trail behind entirely; I followed as best I could, but Preacher moved like a wraith. Hornet, chugging along at a slower pace, grunted with the effort. I hung on and urged her to go faster yet.

  I was completely lost, until I realized what Cass was planning. She was taking a higher route through the trees, then would drop straight down off the mountain onto the meadowlands below. No switch-backs to slow us down; we would shoot directly for the ranch. It was a more treacherous route, perhaps, but it would undoubtedly save time.

  “When we get to the short-cut,” I called, “you go on. I know my way down from there.”

  Cass half-turned in the saddle. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you behind.”

  “Nathan’s more important,” I told her. “I know the trail down from the short-cut; I’ll be fine. You just go.”

  She started to say something more but Preacher suddenly stumbled, caught himself awkwardly, then stumbled again. I saw Cass’s body whipped forward in the sadd
le; like Preacher, she caught herself, but as he stumbled again she jumped down from the saddle.

  “No, no!” she cried. “Oh no, baby, not now—”

  I knew at once the horse was injured. The note in Cass’s voice was enough to shoot cold apprehension through me, but the stance of the horse also told the story. As I pulled up beside him I saw the lowered head; the trembling right foreleg.

  Cass knelt by the leg, gripping it with both hands. She worked her fingers into the flesh, eyes huge and frightened in her face. Preacher stood quietly, but I saw the leg caused him pain by watching the restlessness in his attitude. Each time Cass probed his leg his head bobbed lower, as if to ask her to stop.

  Oh God, I thought, if that leg is broken…

  “Oh, baby…” Cass whispered. “Please don’t be broken—” She rose, urging Preacher to walk a few steps. He put the leg down firmly enough, as if he meant to walk normally, but it was obvious the thing was very painful.

  Cass stopped him, sighing. “No,” she said. “I think it’s whole. It looks like a pulled tendon to me.” She scrubbed a forearm across her forehead in an effort to remove some of the tension from her face. “I think he’ll be okay. But I don’t dare ride him…”

  “Why not climb up behind me,” I suggested. “We could lead him down from here.”

  “It would take forever,” she said wretchedly, “and I want to get to Uncle Nathan.” She tried to keep the trembling from her voice. “Oh you big, clumsy fool, why now?”

  “Then take Hornet,” I said. “I can walk Preacher down.” Cass stared up at me from the ground, one hand stroking Preacher’s face. “Do you know where we are?”

  I looked around. “No,” I admitted. “But you can give me directions, can’t you?”

  “Not to the ranch,” she said abstractedly. “It’s too treacherous from here. Preacher could do his leg permanent damage.” She stopped. “There is another way…”

  “Just tell me what it is,” I said firmly. “You need to get home. Let me worry about your horse.”

  “Hah!” she said, mostly under her breath. Then she shook her head. “Okay. Look, it’ll take a while for you to get there.

  He’ll be going very slowly. You don’t dare rush him, or he’ll hurt the leg even more. ” She pointed. “That hill there; go over it, then straight down. Keep walking. You’ll come across Snow Crest.” She smiled grimly. "It’s a little hard to miss a ski resort, even at night. ”

  “Then what?”

  "There’s a parking lot, and relatively easy access for a horse trailer. We can haul him down from there.” She rubbed his face again. “I’ll send someone up as soon as I can.” Her face was a mixture of tension, fear and impatience. “Oh God, do you think you can do it?”

  “I can do it,” I assured her. “But what about you. Aren’t there fences between here and Smoketree?”

  She slapped a back pocket. “I have my wire clippers on me. Hornet and I will do just fine.” She gestured. “Climb down so I can give you my clumsy child.”

  I dismounted and ducked under Hornet’s nose. Preacher stood quietly, nosing at Cass as if asking her to relieve his pain.

  She handed me the reins. “Straight down the hill,” she said. “You’ll come across a wide ski run. Cross that, and you’ll see a catwalk. At the end of it is the flat in front of the ski lodge.” Her face was pale and strained. “Take care of him for me. And I’m sorry you have to do this.”

  “It’s okay,” I said gently. “You just see to Nathan.”

  Cass turned and swung up on Hornet, making the motion look effortless. She walked the mare a few steps away so she wasn’t crowding Preacher, then set her into a fast trot. She didn’t dare gallop, not in the darkness. I watched the pale flash of Hornet’s rump fade into the shadows, and then she was gone.

  I turned to Preacher, putting out a hand to stroke his face as Cass had done. But I stopped before I touched him. It was this horse who had killed my friend.

  For a moment I nearly dropped the reins. My hands trembled, transmitting my apprehension, and Preacher responded. He shifted uneasily; his ears flicked up, then forward. He stared at me, and the injured leg was lifted from the ground in an attempt to ease the ache.

  My breath hissed as I exhaled through taut lips. I had promised Cass, and she already had enough to worry about. I had to get Preacher to the ski area, or she would never forgive me. And I wasn’t certain I’d forgive myself.

  Slowly I put out my hand and touched his face. My fingers shook; it irritated me, but I couldn’t stop it. I felt the stiff, short hair beneath my fingertips; the unyielding bone beneath that. I wondered what thoughts went on in the brain within the skull. Horses, I had heard most of my life from various sources, were stupid. They had no sense.

  Preacher nudged my shoulder with his nose. He resembled, suddenly, nothing so much as a large dog, and I felt ludicrous in my apprehension. And yet the knowledge wouldn’t fade.

  This horse had killed a man.

  And now I was all alone with him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I led Preacher up the hill, down it, then on toward the ski resort. The big horse moved slowly; no doubt he would have preferred to stand still, but I gave him no choice. I knew well enough that if I thought about it, I would not do what I said I would. And so I took him through the forest, wondering the entire time what might set him off.

  At times, when he lagged, I felt the reins tighten against my hand. I tugged, urging him onward, and after a moment he continued. I did notice that as we went on his gait improved; perhaps he had not injured himself as badly as Cass feared. He began to move more willingly, if still somewhat stiff and hesitant, and our pace improved. Perhaps it wouldn’t take hours to reach Snow Crest after all.

  Patches of snow remained beneath the night-blackened trees, luminescent in the moonlight. To minimize the distance we had to cover, I kept myself to a straight line. This meant most of the time I had to walk through the snow patches, which crunched and mushed beneath my shoes. I disliked the slimy, slippery feel. Preacher, following behind me, did not seem to care, but then his weight was significantly more substantial. He left black holes wherever he stepped in the snow.

  I was cold. The night air crept through the weave in my heavy sweater and raised goosebumps upon my skin until I shivered and set my teeth. Preacher’s breathing was loud in the silence of the night; hot horsebreath caressed the back of my neck. It was the only warm spot on my entire body. I was grateful for that much, although the thought of his big teeth so near my neck gave me pause. And then I grew angry with myself, because it was pointless, under the circumstances, to dwell on what had happened to Drew.

  When at last we reached the ski run, I couldn’t quite believe it. It was a wide, naked swath of cleared ground, cutting down the mountain in a smooth, precise line. A chair lift hung silently in the moonlight; regimental towers marched up to the top of the run. We were very nearly there.

  I took him across the run and into the trees again, following the catwalk Cass had described. Preacher walked more easily now on level ground. His pace increased; so did mine. I had no wish to be run over.

  A black shape loomed on my right as the catwalk opened onto a wide, flat area cleared of trees and rocks. The ski lodge. As we moved closer I saw an odd flickering glow from the lodge, throwing dim light into the surrounding trees.

  Cass? I wondered. No; too soon. And she had said she would send someone, not come herself. Harper? Probably not. He would be with Nathan.

  But that left no one to meet me. I would have to wait until someone was free to come, and no doubt it would be a while. A long night lay ahead. But so did a lodge, and perhaps a care-taker. There would doubtless be a phone; I could call the ranch and find out about Nathan’s condition. At least I could wait without the added burden of not knowing how he was.

  We came out of the trees into the clearing. The chair lift dangled a hundred yards upslope, double chairs hanging from a cable made invisible by the darkness. T
he wide run stretched beneath the chairs, driving upward, losing itself at last in the trees.

  The lodge, on my right, was a dark, lumpy building in the moonlight, resembling an appropriately Alpine structure. A sundeck stretching from the second floor provided a roof to the entrance. It was jammed with stacked wooden tables and benches. The lantern light glowed dimly through the broad expanse of mullioned windows.

  Preacher stopped short, jerking backward on the reins. I turned to him in consternation, then took a step back, suddenly afraid. His eyes rolled in his head and he exhaled his breath in a heavy snort. I thought he might rear, and it frightened me badly.

  “Let go of the horse.”

  I jumped, almost screamed. Preacher backed up, but now I understood the reason for his reaction. It was much like my own. “Wait—” I said. “He’s injured.”

  “Let go of him now.”

  A powerful hand closed on my upper arm and jerked me away. Preacher’s head shot upward in alarm; his eyes rolled again. I lost the reins without warning as the horse snapped his head away. I turned angrily to find out just who had such a firm, unrelenting grip on me.

  “Hey—” I began.

  The man had a gun in his hand.

  I stared at him. He was a complete stranger to me. He jerked my arm again. “Come with me.”

  “Wait a minute—”

  He put the gun to my head. He never said a word. I shut up instantly and made no protest as he shoved me toward the ski lodge.

  He swung open one of the heavy wooden doors and pushed me inside, directing me toward a flight of stairs. I stumbled over the first step and nearly fell; he jerked me up roughly and gave me a hefty push in the rear with his knee as I faltered.

  I climbed.

  The stairs were battered and scarred from hundreds of ski boots that had pounded up and down them. I reached for the handrail, needing support, but a hand pressure in the small of my back convinced me I needed nothing more than speed.

  As I reached the top of the stairs I hesitated, staring through the shadows of the second floor. Gloomy lantern light lent an eerie color to the room, though I was unable to appreciate it.