Fool's Gold (9 page)

Things were about to get embarrassing when Rudy took over and started the ball rolling. Hitching up his pants and doing his weather-beaten old cowhand squint, he looked up at the sun and said, “Waal now, pardners, it's goin' to be high noon afore long. How about if we mosey on over to the OK Corral and get goin'.”

“Yeah. Okay. Let's go,” Barney said, looking relieved. He untied Applesauce and led her into the arena and the rest of them followed. And after a little more stammering and shuffling around he finally began to tell Heather how to get on and off a horse.

Heather groaned. “Not again,” she said. They all laughed when she described her washout of a riding lesson at Lawford's, and after that Barney seemed to loosen up a little.

“So,” Rudy said. “Let's see you do it.”

So she did, taking the reins in her left hand and then swinging up, as smooth and easy as if she'd been riding all her life. And when Barney began telling her about neck reining she caught on to that real fast too.

When Heather began to ride around the ring, Ty and Barney and Rudy climbed up and sat on the top rail of the fence. Every time she went past, Barney or Rudy told her what she was doing right or wrong and what she ought to try next. Applesauce was her usual sweetheart self, moving smoothly and evenly and flicking an ear back now and then as if to check to be sure she was doing exactly what her rider wanted.

Heather turned out to be a fast learner and it was easy to tell how much she liked it. Once when she was riding past she gave them one of her killer smiles and said, “I love it. I totally love it. I always knew I was going to—and I do.”

Rudy couldn't help feeling sorry that she hadn't been able to learn to ride until now, just when she was about to go away to college. She'd go away and live in a city where she probably wouldn't have much chance to keep learning. But he felt good that he'd been the one to arrange for her to get the best kind of a start, at least.

Before very long Barney had her riding in figure eights, at a walk at first and then at a trot. Most of the time she remembered to keep her back straight and her heels down, and for a beginner she looked pretty good. Rudy and Barney both told her so.

“You're looking pretty good,” Rudy yelled once. “Just keep easy-knees and your weight in your feet and you won't bounce so much.”

Ty snorted and said, almost loud enough for Heather to hear, “‘Pretty good' doesn't touch it.” Then he rolled his eyes and said, “Especially when she bounces.”

“Shut up, Lewis,” Barney said, and there was something about the way he said it that must have really gotten to Ty, because he didn't say anything more for quite a long time. When he did start talking again it wasn't about Heather. Instead he began to push for Barney to saddle up some of the other horses so that they could all ride.

Barney shook his head. “I don't know if you're ready for any of the other horses.”

“Oh, yeah? Why not?” Ty said. “I'm not a greenhorn anymore. You said yourself I was doing great. Rudy said so too.” He leaned over and poked Rudy. “Didn't you, Chickie-baby?”

“Did I?” Rudy said.

Barney said, “Yeah, we said you were doing all right. But riding all right on Applesauce doesn't mean you're ready for the bucking bronc competition, you know.” Then he leaned over and punched Ty's shoulder—making it look like a real knockout punch was coming, but pulling it at the last moment. “And I
told
you, Lewis, knock off that ‘Chickie' business or I'm going to…” And he threw the pretend punch again.

“Sure, Barn,” Ty said. “No more chicken business. Not even Kentucky Fried or McNuggets. But what's with this bucking bronc stuff? I'm not asking for any bucking bronc. What about that orange-colored dude old Rudy-baby was on yesterday?” Obviously Ty had been impressed by Badger's showy, head-tossing performance. “He didn't act like any bucking bronc. Just kind of lively, but that wouldn't bother me. What about me riding that one?”

“You mean Badger?” Barney said, grinning. “No, I don't think you're ready for old Badger yet.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ty's eyes got their shiny plastic look. “Why not? Because you're saving him for old Ch… Rudy-baby.” He looked at Rudy and curled his lip. “How about a little contest to see who gets the Badger horse, Drummond? How about a little arm wrestling or maybe a push-up contest? Best muscle gets the orange dude. Okay?”

It was about what Rudy expected. Ty was always trying to force him into some kind of physical strength contest. “To prove what?” he said, shrugging. “We already know you're the world's greatest hunk.” Which wasn't the truth, of course. Barney was probably a lot stronger, although it hadn't been proven because Styler was careful never to challenge anyone his size. “Besides,” Rudy went on, “horseback riding is one sport where sheer muscle power doesn't matter all that much. Right, Barney?”

Barney nodded and said “right” absentmindedly with his eyes on Heather and Applesauce. But later when Ty was still carrying on about wanting to ride Badger, and about how he knew he could do anything a little skinny dweeb like Rudy could do, Barney's eyes suddenly narrowed and he said, “All right, Styler. All right. You ride Badger. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

Rudy was surprised. Barney knew better than to let people get in over their heads with horses. And it did look suspiciously like Barney had changed his mind just because he was ticked off at Ty about the “dweeb” remark. But using Badger to put Ty in his place was obviously not the world's greatest idea. Badger might pull one of his tricks and break Ty's neck or something.

On second thought, protecting old Styler's neck was not one of Rudy's major concerns—except that a broken neck was probably too much to hope for. What was more likely to happen was that Badger would totally freak Ty out and bring back his Shetland-Pony-from-Hell complex, which would mean the end of the whole riding school project.

A little later, when he and Barney were saddling the horses, Rudy brought the subject up. “About Styler and Badger,” he said. “You sure you want to risk it? Hadn't you better ask your dad about it?”

“My dad and mom aren't home—as usual. They left this morning for Carson City. Granddad is, but he'd just say for me to do as I see fit. You know. That's what he usually says.”

“Wouldn't it be better to put him on Bluebell, then?”

Barney just shrugged and grinned. “Let him try Badger,” he said. “Maybe they'll get along great. You know, two of a kind.”

“You mean two world-class show-offs?”

“Yeah, that. And cement-brained. Two cement-brained world-class show-offs. And anyway, Bluebell wouldn't be all that much safer. You know how spooky she is. If something wiggled the bushes, she'd be ten feet out from under him before he could catch his breath.”

Barney was right. Bluebell was basically pretty gentle, but she was certainly spooky. She'd be going along nice and easy and then explode sideways at some sudden sound or motion. Once when he'd been riding her, helping Barney and his granddad round up some cattle, a pheasant flew up right in front of them. He wound up sitting in a thistle patch that day, and after that he never forgot to keep his weight in his feet and his eyes wide open when he was on Bluebell.

He quit arguing then and tried to stop worrying too. As he finished the saddling he told himself that if Ty was determined to get his stupid neck broken it would just have to happen and he, Rudy, might just as well relax and enjoy it.

All the time Rudy and Barney were getting the horses ready Ty had been over by the corral talking to Heather. Rudy couldn't hear what he was saying, but he was obviously putting on an “old cowhand” act, slapping Applesauce on the neck and rump, then checking out the cinch and stirrup straps like he was looking to see if anything was wrong with them. As if he would know if anything was. Or what to do about it.

As Rudy untied Bluebell and got on, he found himself wishing that Badger would really do a number on Styler—and then remembering why that wouldn't be a good idea and taking the wish back. He was still taking it back when Styler sauntered over to Badger and swung up into the saddle.

Badger didn't do anything unusual—just what he always did when a rider first got on. Which was to start tossing his head and dancing sideways, lifting his feet up high and snorting every few steps. The dancing bit wasn't anything dangerous if you knew how to handle it. You just had to use the reins and your heels to tell him gently but firmly that you had something else in mind and that he'd better forget about doing the samba and settle down to business. But of course what Ty did was exactly the wrong thing.

The minute Badger began to dance Ty started jerking back on the reins—hard. Real hard, as if he thought muscle power was going to make the difference. But this time he was up against a half ton of horseflesh, and sheer muscle power wasn't going to hack it. Not that Badger was necessarily trying to give him a bad time. It was just that he obviously thought all that jerking on the reins meant that he was supposed to back up, fast and hard. So he started going backward and the faster he went, the harder Ty pulled on the reins.

Barney yelled, “Ease up. Stop jerking the reins,” but Ty kept shouting “Whoa” so loudly that he didn't hear, and Badger kept backing up. He went one way until he backed into the corral fence and then he whirled around and went the other way, still in reverse. And when Barney started running after them trying to grab the reins, he just reared up and went in a different direction.

Rudy would have tried to help, too, but he was already up on Bluebell when the commotion started, and of course the running and yelling and snorting spooked her out too. She shied sideways and tried to bolt and for a few seconds he had his hands too full to worry about what was happening to Styler. By the time Bluebell had settled down, Badger and Ty were clear across the barnyard and heading, still in reverse, straight for the thick hedge that separated the ranch house lawn from the rest of the yard. And when Badger's rump hit the prickly hedge he reared up—and dumped Styler right into the middle of it.

For a moment everything was quiet. Badger whirled around and froze, looking at Styler, or at what you could see of him. He'd landed on the flat top of the thick hedge in a sitting position, and kind of sunk in so that just his legs and head were sticking out. The big sorrel just stood there staring with his head cocked to one side like he was trying to figure out what kind of creature was in the hedge. But when Styler started to yell and kick he snorted and trotted away.

It wasn't easy getting Ty out. Barney had started trying right away and Rudy came to help as soon as he'd taken Bluebell and Badger back to the hitching rack. But the hedge was thick and prickly and when they tried pulling on the parts of Styler they could reach he kept swearing and yelling that they were killing him.

Heather was still up on Applesauce, but she rode over to watch, and when Ty yelled that he was dying, she put one hand up to her mouth and winced. Barney seemed worried, too, but Rudy kept having to struggle to keep from laughing. He felt a little guilty about it, but on the other hand, anybody who really was near death probably wouldn't be making that much noise. They'd finally managed to get Ty down by smashing a kind of channel down one side of the hedge, when Barney's grandfather came out of the house.

Charlie Crookshank came down the path moving slow and easy like always. He nodded at Rudy and touched his hat to Heather. Then he looked at the smashed-in hedge for quite a while and then down to where Ty was sitting on the ground examining his scratched-up arms and legs. Then he took off his beat-up old ten-gallon hat, dusted it with his sleeve, put it back on, and looked around again before he said, “You boys been up in the hedge?”

“No, Granddad,” Barney said. “Not Rudy and me. Just Ty here.”

Charlie nodded for quite a while. “Why's that?” he said finally.

“Badger threw him up there,” Barney said.

Charlie nodded some more before he grinned and said, “Looks like he needs a little patching up. Bring him on into the house.” He turned and headed back down the path. Halfway there he stopped and said to Heather, “You come in, too, young lady.”

Inside the big modern but rustic-looking kitchen, Rudy and Barney and Heather stood around watching while Charlie got out his first-aid kit and doctored Ty's scratches and punctures. He had quite a lot of them on his arms and face, and a few on his legs where some twigs had poked through the stylish holes in his jeans. The medicine in Charlie's kit was just plain old iodine instead of some modern “ouchless” stuff, and Ty did a lot of complaining about it. But by the time the doctoring was finished he was more or less back to normal, enjoying being the center of attention and wising off about how he'd always known that all horses were demons sent from hell especially to get Tyler J. Lewis III. And how he wasn't going to forget it again. Then he insisted on calling his dad's office to get a ride home.

“Your dad doesn't have to come way out here,” Heather told him. “You can ride home with Rudy and me as soon as I'm finished with my lesson.” She looked hopefully at Barney. “I'm not quite finished yet, am I?”

“Finished?” Barney said quickly. “No. Not finished.”

Heather said, “Oh, good,” and gave him one of her killer smiles. But Ty said he didn't want to wait so he called his father, and pretty soon the Mercedes roared into the ranch yard and Ty limped out and got in. And when old Styler had disappeared over the far horizon Rudy and Barney and Heather went for a short ride in the hills.

They only went as far as the gate to the east pasture, but on the way Barney loosened up and the three of them had a good time talking about horses and riding. And there were a few mentions of Tyler Lewis, of course. Every time someone mentioned his name all three cracked up.