Meg had had him for three months. He’d been one of hundreds of wild horses caught up in last year’s Bureau of Land Management’s gather in Wyoming. A man had adopted him, but he and Amigo never took to each other. So he’d put him up for sale.
Meg’s parents agreed to let her buy the horse, with her own money, if he looked good. Just the fact that the horse was unwanted made her want him.
Her brother Jacob drove her over.
“You’ll never tame that one,” the owner said. “He’s wild as a wolf.”
The mustang was in a small pen. Meg and Jacob stood at the fence and watched it awhile. It was wild-eyed, scarred, and snorty. Its ribs showed, with nicks all over his legs. The horse tried to climb the enclosure, banging and kicking the rails.
Jacob winced. “I don’t know, sis. That horse might not let you or anyone else get near it.”
“He’s not used to being penned up.”
Jacob looked at the owner. “You ride it yet?”
“Ride it? I can barely put a rope around its neck. I thought I could break him, but I don’t want to get killed trying.”
“I’ll take him,” Meg said, pulling out a wad of cash. “This enough?”
The guy grabbed the money and stuffed it into his pocket without counting it. “More than enough.”
Now, Meg called over to Amigo as she got out of the Jeep. “Hello, my sweet. Did you miss me today?”
Her dad laughed. “Sweet?”
“You’ll see.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Meg had another horse, a ten-year-old mare named Molly Montana. Didn’t flick an ear when you put a saddle on her.
This was the day Meg would risk introducing Molly to Amigo. You never really knew, but she believed the two horses would get along.
An hour later, Meg brushed Molly’s sleek, silky black coat in the cool interior of the barn. “Amigo’s going to think he’s died and gone to heaven when you walk into that pasture to meet him.”
Meg hugged Molly’s neck, hoping that was true.
So far the day had gone well. At the demonstration, a woman had jokingly told her that from here on out, she’d be known around town as the Ornery-Horse Whisperer of Sisters. Meg smiled, though she believed that ornery just meant uncared-for or misunderstood.
“How ’bout it, Molly-girl?” she said. “You want to meet a handsome guy?”
Molly cocked an ear.
“You do, huh?”
Molly huffed and nudged Meg with her feathery muzzle.
Meg kissed Molly’s nose. It was so unfair that such magnificent animals couldn’t talk to humans. Or maybe they did, and humans just weren’t very good listeners.
A gunshot startled them. Molly tossed her head and stepped back.
“Easy,” Meg whispered, holding her by the cheek strap. “We’ll be out of here in a minute.”
She led the horse out into the sunlight.
“Hey, Meg! Come try your hand at a pop can.”
Her brother Jeremy and his best friend, Dex, were target practicing with tin cans lined up on a few bales of hay.
“Can’t. Got to take Molly out.”
Just then, one of the barn cats darted out from the stacked hay behind the targets.
Dex raised his rifle.
“Don’t!” Meg shouted.
Bam!
The bullet blasted the dirt just behind the cat’s tail. The cat leaped straight up, then landed, stumbled, and raced around the side of the barn.
Dex and Jeremy laughed as Meg yelled, “What are you doing?”
“What?” Dex said, his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t hit it.”
“You’re sick! You scared her half to death!”
She grabbed a hank of mane, jumped up onto Molly’s bare back, and loped away.
8
Meg rode toward the arena, where Amigo was. She knew horses had a pecking order, and if that order was disturbed, things could get nasty.
But today, Meg figured it would come down to how well Molly and Amigo liked each other. Kind of like humans.
Amigo was alone in the far corner of the 160-by-100-foot arena where she’d been keeping him.
Meg loped Molly twice around the paddock, hoping to spark Amigo’s curiosity.
Amigo pranced over to the fence.
Meg slowed and walked Molly toward him, pulling up close but not too close. “Amigo,” she said softly. “Meet Molly Montana.”
Amigo shook his head and snorted.
Molly whinnied in return.
“Well, that’s good news.”
Meg dismounted, took Molly over, and unhitched the gate that separated the pasture from the working pen. She pushed it open and led her horse through. Even before she could close the gate, Amigo came up to Molly. They touched noses and sniffed, huffing low and nodding.
Meg slowly reached up to touch Amigo’s cheek. He jerked his head and backed off. She cupped Molly’s feathery chin. “I didn’t think it would be this easy, Molly-girl. What do you know about this guy that I don’t?”
Meg removed Molly’s halter.
When Amigo stepped away, Molly followed him. When Amigo bent low, Molly did, as well.
“Wow,” Meg whispered.
The two horses stood head to head. Amigo sniffed Molly, moving from cheek to shoulder.
Molly lazily sniffed Amigo back.
“What do you say I leave her in here for a while, Amigo?”
Amigo threw his head and raced away, then turned and pranced back, ears cocked forward. He wasn’t even a shadow of the horse he was when she’d gotten him, and she’d been working hard for that.
Meg reached around Molly’s chin and pulled her close. “Think you can handle being in here for a while with a guy like that?”
Amigo stopped abruptly a little ways off, as if taunting Molly to follow him.
Molly just looked at him.
“Oh, go on,” Meg said, nudging her. “I think he likes you.”
But Molly just bobbed over to scratch her neck on the fence.
“Guess I don’t have to worry about you two.”
Meg laughed, and headed back to the barn.
9
After Mr. Brodie left and Danny had finished his chores, Ricky rode up to the barn on his bike.
“Hey,” Danny mumbled.
Ricky frowned. “What’s up? You look like roadkill.”
“Billy Brodie shot Banjo.”
“What!”
“I can’t find him. But I think he’s still alive.”
“How do you know he’s shot?”
“Mr. Brodie came over. He said Billy winged him because he was chasing their sheep.”
“No way,” Ricky said. “Banjo doesn’t chase sheep…or anything else.”
“That’s what I tried to tell Mr. Brodie. But he didn’t believe me.”
Danny filled Ricky in. His voice trembled, and he couldn’t stop it. “He’s gotta be holed up somewhere. I was just going out to look for him. He’s not dead…he can’t be.”
Ricky spat. “Those Brodie boys live off ants and stinkbugs. I never liked either one of them.”
“Ben’s okay, at least when he’s not around Billy.”
“Maybe.”
“Want to help me look?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to pick up something for my mom…but that can wait. Where do you want to start?”
“The gully.”
Ricky dropped his bike. “Let’s go.”
They ran across the pasture toward the ravine. The Macks’ calves and steers looked up from where they grazed.
Ricky picked up his pace. “That crazy big one isn’t going to chase us, is he?”
“We’ll see.”
“Comforting.”
The sun was full
up. Danny tugged his hat low as the two of them stumbled down the trail, slipping on loose rock and half sliding to the bottom of the gully.
“Haven’t been down here since we snuck out and cooked steaks in the middle of the night,” Ricky said. “We should do that again.”
“Yeah,” Danny said. “But first we have to find Banjo.”
The cave was down around the bend, hidden from view by scrub brush and juniper. Danny and Ricky pulled the weeds back and peered into the opening.
“Banjo,” Danny called. “You in there?”
“Here,” Ricky said, handing him a stick. “For snakes.”
Danny took the stick and, with a deep breath, slowly duckwalked into the dark cavern. Four turns and it ended. But past that last turn, the cave was flat-out pure dark. Danny’s sun-filled eyes could not adjust.
He felt his way deeper, the stick shaking in his hand, praying there were no rattlers in there.
His throat burned when he heard the familiar sound of a dog panting.
“Banjo?” he whispered. “That you?”
Danny banged his elbow on the side of the cave. He reached out blindly, found the rugged wall, and inched forward on hands and knees.
When he touched something furry, he gasped. “It’s me, boy. I’m here. It’s okay now, it’s okay.”
Banjo licked Danny’s hand. His fur was hot, his heart racing. He yelped when Danny’s fingers touched a sticky, metallic-smelling patch.
Blood.
“Aw, man.”
Danny dropped the stick and lay down in the dirt with his arm around his dog.
Banjo’s trembling made Danny’s heart ache. “Let’s get out of here, boy.” He tried to get Banjo to stand, gently prodding him, staying clear of the wound. “Come on. Let’s get you home and cleaned up.”
But Banjo wouldn’t budge.
Danny got down closer and tried to relax so the peace of his own body would take hold in Banjo’s. In a moment, Banjo struggled up. “Good boy. Let’s go home.”
Out in the sun, Ricky gasped at the bloody gash along Banjo’s hip.
“I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks,” Danny said. “The bullet just grazed him. It doesn’t look that deep.”
Banjo licked Danny’s face, his tail tucked up close, guilty.
Danny’s eyes watered. “You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?”
10
Danny and Ricky carried Banjo back to the hay shed, gave him water and food, and cleaned his wound. “He doesn’t seem to be in much pain,” Danny said.
“Maybe he’s in shock.”
“How could they shoot my dog, Ricky? That’s just mean.”
Ricky pressed his lips tight and shook his head. “Moles. Both of them.”
Danny pulled Banjo’s collar all the way around. “Where’s your tag, boy? There’s only the one with your name on it.”
Ricky stood. “I gotta go.”
Danny looked up. “Thanks for staying, Ricky.”
“No problem. At least your crazy steer didn’t chase us.”
“Maybe next time.”
Ricky grunted, grabbed his bike, and took off.
* * *
• • •
A while later, when Danny went out to dump the water he’d used to clean Banjo’s wound, he saw Billy and Ben Brodie prowling around the ridge. On Mack property.
When they spotted Danny, they stopped and stared.
Danny glanced behind him, relieved to see that Banjo was out of sight.
Billy Brodie was fifteen. Ben was Danny’s age and in his class at school. They’d been friends for a while but had drifted apart. He was okay, but his brother had a mean streak and made it hard for Danny to be around the Brodie house. Other than ranch life, Tyrell and Danny and the Brodie boys didn’t have much in common.
Billy and Ben gazed down on Danny from the ridge, like poachers who couldn’t care less about getting caught trespassing. Danny’d never cared about them being on this side of the fence…but it was different now.
His eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t put it past Billy to take another shot at Banjo if he spotted him. He shot at any and all critters that hadn’t been given a name.
Danny went back into the shed and tied Banjo up.
The Brodie boys poked around on the ridge until they spotted the steer Ricky called crazy. When it started over to them, they took off.
* * *
• • •
Later that afternoon, Danny was in the barn with Banjo, cleaning Pete’s feet with a hoof pick, when he heard someone drive up. He looked out.
Dad.
“Got to hide you, boy. Hurry.” He led Banjo into the tack room. “Keep quiet, okay? Don’t. Bark.”
Banjo’s tail thumped on the floor.
“Shhh.”
Danny gave him a hug, then went back out and picked up Pete’s hoof.
Dad poked his head into the barn. “Danny?”
“Over here.”
Dad watched Danny work. “You’re getting pretty good at that.”
“Done it enough.”
“That you have. So how’d it go, today? The fence good and sound?”
Danny nodded.
“Perfect.”
For the first time in his life, Danny felt uncomfortable around Dad. He’d never hidden something from him before. But if he didn’t…and Mr. Brodie was right….
Danny listened for Banjo. Quiet.
“Well,” Dad said. “I’m going in.”
A few minutes later, someone else drove up.
Mr. Brodie…had to be.
“This is not good,” Danny whispered. Mr. Brodie must have been out by the road in his truck. Waiting for Dad.
A door thumped shut.
Then another.
Danny kept working.
A minute later, Dad called to the barn. “Danny, would you come out here?”
Danny took a deep breath and went out. His stomach tightened when he saw the county sheriff’s cruiser.
They were standing in a semicircle, arms crossed—Dad, Mr. Brodie, and the sheriff. Billy and Ben sat in the bed of their father’s truck, alert as hunting dogs.
Dad looked at Danny. “You didn’t tell me Harmon was over today.”
“No, sir.”
“Why’s that?”
Danny shrugged.
Mr. Brodie shook his head.
“You find Banjo?” Dad asked.
Danny put his hands in his back pockets. He could say no to Mr. Brodie and the sheriff. But he couldn’t lie to Dad.
Could he?
“Danny?”
“He’s in the tack room. I got him locked up.”
Mr. Brodie snorted. “At least that was smart.”
“Get the dog, son,” the sheriff said.
Danny brought Banjo out and stood shielding him.
Billy and Ben jumped out of the truck, Billy with a rifle. Danny tried not to look at them.
The sheriff turned to Mr. Brodie. “This the dog?”
“Yep. See where my boy grazed him?”
Danny glared at Billy.
The sheriff turned and squinted at the rifle. “Why don’t you put that away, son.”
Billy glanced at his dad, who tipped his head toward the truck.
Billy put the rifle away.
The sheriff bent down and called Banjo. Danny let him come around but squatted and kept his hand hooked under Banjo’s collar.
“Not such a big dog,” the sheriff said, letting Banjo sniff his hand. “You’d never take him for a sheep killer looking at him, would you?”
“That’s because he’s not a sheep killer,” Danny said. “There’s just no way.”
Mr. Brodie said, “Don’t matter what he looks like, Sheriff
. That dog was chasing down my young sheep. Billy and Ben saw it. That right, boys?”
“He was chasing a ewe right across the hillside,” Ben said. “Him and a bunch of wild dogs. Billy shot and clipped him. We scared the others off, right, Billy? He might have hit another one, too. I heard a squeal.”
Billy nodded. “That’s right.”
“Banjo doesn’t chase sheep,” Danny pleaded. “And how do you know he wasn’t chasing the other dogs off?”
Billy grunted. “He was with ’em. That’s all you need to know.”
Danny glanced at Dad, then away. Dad looked grim.
“I’m not here to see anyone shoot your dog,” the sheriff said. “But I am here to enforce the law. Mr. Brodie’s charging this dog with attacking his sheep. I have no choice but to impound him. I’m sorry.”
Danny looked at Dad, wanting to yell: Don’t let them take him!
“Dad—”
Dad raised a hand. “How long have we been living here, Danny?”
What kind of question was that? They’d never lived anywhere else.
“All your life,” Dad said. “And in all that time what have we done about wild dogs and coyotes that chase down our livestock?”
Danny held Banjo close. “We shoot them. But Banjo—”
Dad stopped him again. “Maybe you need to thank Billy for not shooting clean and killing him, like he could’ve. There’s a humane way to put a wayward animal down, and they’ve given you that choice.”
Silence.
Ben’s eyes darted between Danny, the sheriff, and Billy.
No way they’d meant to spare Banjo, Danny thought. They just can’t shoot straight.
Mr. Brodie softened. “Livestock come first, Danny. You know that.”
Danny didn’t know what to say. His hands trembled. Banjo was being tried and convicted, right here, right now, and he was the only witness against five judges who’d already decided his guilt.
“I’m not here to kill your dog, son,” the sheriff said. “Only to impound him.”
“For how long?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Weeks. Months. If he’s guilty, well, you may never see him again.”
“No,” Danny said. “You can’t do this. He’s a ranch dog. He’ll die in a cage. It’s cruel, it’s—”
Banjo Page 3
