The Renegade

by Terri Farley

  Sam stared at her glowing watch dial, trying to guess when it would be light enough to see the entire herd and know for sure the Phantom wasn’t there.

  She knew the charging stallion hadn’t been him, but what if the horse had defeated the Phantom and left him injured?

  Sam rubbed her cheeks to keep them warm. Rain was pelting down again. She sat under a shelf of rock as she made a plan.

  If the Phantom wasn’t there, Karla Starr probably had him. Sam tried to accept that fact without imagining details. Her job was to hurry home, phone the number Gram had given her for their motel, and put Brynna on Karla Starr’s trail.

  If that failed, she’d call the telephone number on Karla Starr’s business card and find out which rodeo--if any--the woman had supplied stock for this weekend.

  “And then--” Sam saw Ace look her way.

  Intimidated by the new stallion, the gelding had stayed nearby, even after Sam turned him loose.

  “--I’ll get Dallas to drive me to her ranch, or the rodeo, and I’ll get the Phantom myself.”

  At last morning was brightening the sky, and though her horsewoman’s heart rejoiced at the beautiful animals before her, Sam closed her eyes.

  He wasn’t there. Sleek and wet, dozens of horses moved through the grass with their foals. Brown, red, gray, and tan coats shone darker from days of rain. The tiger dun mare stood guard, watching the new stallion. Her caution said she didn’t trust him completely, and Sam realized why.

  He was one of the bachelors, the young black horse that Mrs. Coley had called New Moon. A son of the Phantom, he’d returned to the herd and discovered his father gone. Without a fight, he’d taken over.

  Sam tacked up Ace and hurried toward the tunnel. Before she left the enchanted valley, she looked back.

  “Don’t get too comfy, Moon. I’m coming back, and when I do, I’m bringing your dad.”

  Going back through the tunnel was even scarier than usual. Sam imagined the tons of rocks overhead. An earthquake could bring them crashing down or an avalanche could sweep the entire tunnel off the mountain’s face.

  When she reached the mouth of the tunnel, she couldn’t believe the water. It was like facing a waterfall.

  Sam looked back into the tunnel. Should she stay until the downpour slacked off or risk Ace’s legs on the shale-shingled mountainside?

  If Dallas had come over to the house, he’d see the lights she’d left on and hear the television. If she didn’t answer his knock at the door, he might think she was sleeping. Or he’d notice Ace gone and know she’d ridden out.

  “What do you think, Ace?” Sam stood next to him, arm slung around his neck. His body warmed her, even through the slicker. “You know the desert better than I do. I sure wish you could talk.”

  Since he couldn’t, Sam swung into the saddle and tried to read each movement. His ears pricked forward, seeming eager to go, and he moved out. For a few steps his head lowered, trying to escape the pelting rain. When he found that impossible, he ignored it, picking his way down the hillside on a path only he could see. Somehow, he seemed to miss most of the plate-size disks of slate that could slide them in directions they didn’t want to go.

  Far below, she saw the river. It looked wrong. Not placid and blue-green, but squirming across the range like a chocolate-brown anaconda.

  Sam looked away.

  About halfway down, Ace couldn’t sidestep the storm’s damage. Water had run in the mustang trails, making them into channels, then overflowed, branching into many-fingered streams and connecting the paths. Lower down, water had cut through shelves of dirt and crumbled them off in chunks.

  They were almost down when the trail began collapsing at the touch of Ace’s hooves. Just ahead lay War Drum Flats, but it didn’t look right. The water hole was filled. It had overflowed its banks and washed out the dirt road leading down from the highway.

  “Back up,” Sam told Ace. “We’ll just have to forget about the path. We’ll go along the hillside and look down for a place that’s not too steep.”

  When they crashed through the brushy ravine where mustangs hid, they found it full of cattle. Ace tossed his head up, and balked, but the white-faced animals didn’t spook. In fact, when Sam reined Ace aside, they followed him.

  If he hadn’t been so tired, Ace would have resisted as more lowing cattle and their calves fell in around them. He snorted, knowing he should be chasing them, not the other way around.

  Sam understood. Riders not only herded the cattle to better pastures, they’d brought the Herefords out of dangerous situations before. These cattle were insisting--in loud, bawling voices--that she should get busy helping them, now.

  One heifer with a face splotched brown and white made a panicky sound like a cuckoo clock.

  Ace pinned his ears and lunged at her, teeth bared, before Sam could rein him around.

  “Whoa, darn it! We’ve got bigger trouble than her. Aren’t we right across the river from the ranch, Ace? Where is it?”

  Sam stared into the rain, which had softened into a wet fog. She couldn’t see the bridge or the lights she’d left on upstairs or a place to cross. The flood had washed away landmarks. The one willow tree she thought she recognized had stood on the wild side of the river. Now it stood at midstream.

  There. At last she saw the house and barn. They were on higher ground. If she could just get the cows and calves across the river, they’d be safe--if crowded--in the pens.

  And it looked like there might be a place to cross. Sam tried to understand what her eyes saw. Just upstream from where the bridge should be was a spit of land. It was shaped sort of like a cooking spoon, except with handles on both sides. And the farthest one--’the bridge of ground leading home--was skinny.

  As they rode closer, Sam was amazed. The water was so churned up it really looked like cocoa covered with foam. Uprooted sagebrush rode the waves. A board, painted yellow and hinged, hit a submerged rock and launched into the air.

  Sam pulled Ace back a step. His hooves splashed. Water was everywhere.

  Suddenly, the brackle-faced heifer dashed past. Ace was still gathering himself when the cow belly flopped into the river.

  Sam jerked Ace around, using his brown body to keep the other cattle from following. She flapped her hat toward the eye-rolling white faces. They didn’t follow, only looked after the heifer. She wasn’t swimming. She was being swept downstream by a surge of muddy water.

  “Poor silly thing.” Sam blinked then, suddenly aware of what she was seeing.

  She was a rancher’s daughter, and the ranch was already in trouble. One heifer lost was a heifer who wouldn’t calve, who wouldn’t go to market, who was a loss the River Bend could not afford.

  All week Dal and the hands had herded cattle to higher ground. But this contrary bunch had returned to the riverfront pasture.

  Now, no matter how much she wanted to get back home, it was Sam’s turn to herd. For the animals’ own good, she must scare the heck out of them and hope they ran for the mountains.

  Sam loosed the rope on her saddle and shook out a loop: She had no intention of lassoing a single cow. She couldn’t, with all her shivering. But the cows didn’t have to know that.

  Sam whooped. She flashed the rope at the cows’ pink noses.

  “Git, git, git!” she shrieked.

  The cattle understood exactly what this meant, and so did Ace.

  “Go on, cows!” Sam yipped like a coyote and snapped the rope at furry red haunches.

  The cattle crowded away, rolling their eyes and making short, hooting bellows.

  Ace grunted, shoving the cattle before him while Sam wielded the rope like a bullwhip.

  They bolted and ran. One calf slipped, righted herself, and crashed into her mother in her rush to escape the wailing human on her heels.

  Ace chased the herd until they were running toward the Calico Mountains.

  I should follow them. That would he the safest move. But even as Sam thought it, she was pulling Ace
into a wide turn back toward the river.

  If Pepper, Ross, and Dallas thought she was in danger, they’d come after her. For their safely, if not to stay out of more trouble, she must try to cross that spoon-shaped spit of land.

  She wasn’t the only one with that idea.

  Dead ahead were more cows. While her back had been turned, a handful of cattle had tried the same thing, then stopped.

  “We’ll take them home,” Sam told Ace. “B-B-Buddy will enjoy the company.”

  Not only was she shivering, her head hurt as if she were getting sick, and icy rain sluiced down her neck. She should put her hood up under her hat, but her hands were so numbed with cold, she was afraid she’d drop her hat.

  What was that sound? As Ace poised to step on the land bridge, Sam thought the bumpy brown earth looked like the spine of a sunken dinosaur. And that grinding sounded like something with stone teeth. …

  Stop it, Sam told herself. She clucked to Ace and he walked calmly toward the milling cattle crowded on the little hilltop that had turned into an island.

  Then Sam saw the source of the sound. There was no dinosaur in the river, but the truth was almost as bad. The mighty current had scoured the range and swept everything along. Now it was bouncing boulders along like basketballs.

  The River Bend bridge was close; it had never looked more welcoming.

  “Let’s go home, Ace,” Sam said.

  As the gelding moved, two Herefords rushed away from him. Clumsy from fear, they hurried side by side along the dirt tightrope to shore. It crumbled beneath them.

  With the instincts of a great cow pony, Ace tried to go after them. Sam yanked her reins tight. No way in the world would she risk him, no matter the cost.

  A whirlpool spun the heifers until they couldn’t tell which direction to swim. Sam was glad the foggy rain hid them from her before she had to watch them drown.

  She and Ace must weigh less than the two summer-fat Herefords, but should she risk it or go back? Sam looked over her shoulder. The way back was twice as long, and fingers of muddy water were spreading across it.

  She could stay where she was with seven panicky Herefords and her horse. If she stayed, she might still be there when the water covered the little island completely.

  Sam leaned forward and hugged Ace hard. She had to decide for both of them.

  And for the Phantom. If something happened to her, the BLM might not know he’d disappeared for years.

  They had to go on and hope the cattle didn’t try to follow. Once she got across, she’d try to rope each cow and pull it to shore.

  “We can do this, Ace.” Sam gathered her reins and analyzed the path leading home.

  About as wide as her rib cage and two car lengths long, it wouldn’t challenge Ace at all if it weren’t for the roaring river and forlorn cows.

  “We’ll be back for you, ladies.” Sam hoped it was true.

  She balanced in the saddle, trying to make her position perfect for Ace. “Step lightly, boy.”

  Before Sam gave Ace the cue to move, a voice came through the stormy commotion.

  “Samantha!”

  She knew the voice, but she couldn’t see the speaker.

  “Stay put for a second. I’ll toss you a loop and you’ll knot it around your waist.”

  A shadowy horse and rider took shape on the bridge.

  “Tie it right. You know how. Then put Ace to that little dirt trail. He’s a good pony. But if he falls, I’ll pull you to shore.”

  It was Dallas. He sounded young and sure. Sam brushed aside thoughts of his stiff walk, his arthritis, and bad back. She hoped he felt as competent as he sounded. Her life might depend upon it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Alariat sang out of the mist and hit Sam’s shoulder. She grabbed the riata before it could fall.

  Dallas’s braided rawhide rope felt almost alive in Sam’s hands. She flexed her cold fingers before passing the rope around her waist, then tied the same knot she used to hitch Ace. No doubt there was a better knot for this job, but she didn’t know it, and there was no time for Dallas to shout instructions.

  Sam jerked on the riata. The knot held.

  She waved her arm to tell Dallas she was coming over, then smooched at Ace to go ahead.

  The rain had slacked off, but the wind had picked up. It blew Ace’s forelock straight back, out of his eyes.

  Good, Sam thought, we need all the help we can get.

  Sam kept her eyes fixed on the opposite shore. Jake had always told her a rider should look where she wanted to go. It was important to do things right. So, though Sam worried about the cattle shuffling behind her, she looked ahead.

  A windblown wave gobbled the last few yards of the path. As it turned to dirt, then slurry, then liquid, Ace leaped.

  Hind legs thrust them forward. Front legs straightened and reached. They touched, but his body was too short. As Ace’s forelegs scrabbled on shore, his hind legs slipped.

  The riata tightened. Sam’s legs and Ace’s hindquarters plunged into a cold tide that yanked and tugged, determined to wash them downstream.

  Ace’s neck whipped forward, straining to bring the rest of his body along. It didn’t help. The mustang refused to give up, but his loud panting said he was exhausted.

  Sam felt Dallas’s riata tighten yet again. The foreman was giving Ace one last try before jerking Sam free. It would save Sam, but the sudden imbalance would surely send Ace spinning down the river.

  Ace’s hind legs kicked. Sam felt his haunches dropping, hooves seeking earth to brace against. He found nothing but fast-moving water.

  The riata closed hard on Sam’s ribs. She grabbed onto the saddle horn. She would not leave her horse.

  “Come on, boy. You can do it, Ace.”

  With a mighty heave of shoulder muscle, Ace rose and hurled his body forward. Something sang in the air and Ace slid forward on his belly. Snakelike, he was gliding on the muddy riverbank, closer to the bridge.

  And then he stopped, beyond the reach of the flood-frenzied river.

  Confused and breathless, Sam rolled free of Ace. She worked the riata over her head before turning to see Ace boost himself to all four hooves and shake like a giant, wet dog.

  Dallas rode toward them, slowly gathering the slack from a second rope.

  “Easy, horse, that’s it.” Dallas clucked as he rode closer. The other end of the rope he was coiling had caught Ace just behind the forelegs, around the barrel. “Surprised that worked.” Dallas chuckled. “If he hadn’t reared up that way, I’d’ve laid the loop over his neck, but …”

  Sam knew what he didn’t want to say. With the river pulling one way and Dallas the other, Ace might have strangled.

  Black dots swarmed over Sam’s field of vision. Her knees unlatched and her legs wobbled.

  “Sam!” Dallas shouted. “Stay with me, girl.”

  She straightened and stared at him. Dallas’s blue eyes were the only color in the gloomy day.

  “Take this knife.” He extended it toward her. “Open it, and cut that rope.”

  Sam took the knife and staggered toward Ace. She would have steadied herself against him, but Ace pinned his ears back, warning her away.

  “Just cut it, Samantha. That pony’s had enough aggravation.”

  Sam sawed at the rope. A few strands twisted loose.

  “Don’t give up on hacking that,” Dallas said. “If you reach down and try to take that loop off, he might just decide to give your head a kick for getting him into this mess.”

  Finally freed, Ace trotted toward the barn. He glanced back only once, shaking his ears at Sam as if he’d understood Dallas’s idea and liked it just fine.

  “Dallas, I’m sorry.” Sam’s words came out on a shaky breath.

  “Wait.” Dallas urged Amigo toward the raging water, though the old horse was shaking from the exertion of pulling Ace and Sam up the bank.

  Milling and mooing, the cattle were wondering what to do. Dallas frightened them into acti
on.

  “One more time, old friend.” Dallas spun his riata at the cattle. “Hunt ‘em down.”

  The words were a signal. Amigo crouched, head level and threatening. He looked vicious, as if he’d savage any stragglers that didn’t run.

  The cattle burst into a rocking, splashing gallop. Like tightrope walkers, they balanced side to side, heading for the safety of the wild side of the river.

  As soon as the cattle ran, Dallas spun Amigo on his hind legs, then dismounted. He set the reins over the horse’s head.

  “Go on home, ’Migo.”

  The old horse moved off at a shambling trot and Dallas watched every step.

  “Now,” the foreman said, “tell me about that ‘sorry’ part while we walk back to the ranch.”

  After they rubbed down the horses, Dallas went to the bunkhouse to change and told Sam he’d meet her in the ranch house kitchen as soon as he had.

  It was only one thirty in the afternoon, but overcast skies and a power failure made the house feel as if night were coming on.

  Sam grabbed a flannel shirt, fresh jeans, and turned the shower on full blast. She took off her muddy clothes and stepped into the shower, turned her face to the spray, then lathered her hair.

  It might be her last peaceful moment for a long time. Even if Dallas didn’t know she was grounded, he had to tell Gram and Dad she’d almost drowned. Or did he?

  A flash flood was an act of nature, totally unpredictable, right? She sighed. She knew the answer was no.

  Sam was ready to rinse the suds from her hair when the water slowed, dwindled to a stream no bigger than a pencil, then stopped altogether.

  Why? She’d never been alone when this had happened. She’d left this sort of problem to Dad. She concentrated.

  Their water heater ran on propane, but …

  “The pump runs on electricity, stupid!” Sam’s voice echoed around her.

  Only the water left standing in the pipes had run out in the shower, and she’d used it up fast. She was clean enough, but what was she supposed to do with her soapy hair?

  “How long have you lived here?” she muttered to her foamy-topped reflection in the mirror.