Forbidden Spirits (12 page)

On seeing
that the mustang was standing with most of his weight on three legs, with the forth leg at rest, and his teeth were hidden behind his lips, and no white was evident in his eyes, Tyler curved his arms around the mustang's neck and carried on a monolog. When the mustang stood listening, yet not bolting, Tyler removed the saddle and hefted it onto the railing, then removed the bridle and hung it on the saddle horn, and lastly, tossed over the railing an orange plastic traffic cone that he'd seen the mustang shy away from earlier.

After
giving the mustang a few minutes to adjust to this new feeling of being in contact with a human, but free to run off, Tyler said to him, "I'm going to get on your back now." When the mustang flicked his ears in curiosity, not fear, Tyler launched himself onto the his back and immediately leaned forward while encircling his arms around mustang's neck, and saying to him, "Good boy, you're a very good boy. We'll go for a ride now." He felt the mustang tense and step around, but he didn't buck, so moving to a sitting position, Tyler clicked his tongue and the mustang took a couple of steps forward.

"You've got the idea
," Tyler said, while patting his neck. "That's all there is to it. We're a team now. You'll take me around the arena a few times, and I'll make sure you're safe from harm when you do." After the mustang made several passes around the arena without bucking or balking, but simply walking at a calm pace, Tyler slipped to the ground, patted him on the neck and walked away from him.

"He'll be a good horse if you handle him right,
" he said to Preston, "but he's afraid of his new surroundings and he's afraid you, so you'll have to go back to the beginning and win his trust, but when you do, you'll have a horse that will do what you want because he wants to please you. Otherwise he'll never connect with you and you'll end up with a sour horse."

From the look on Preston's face, Tyler sensed that he had a new respect for the stranger who took on a challenging mustang, while
also demonstrating a better way to break a horse.

"
I take it you work with horses a lot," Preston said.

"Daily," Tyler replied. "I haven't worked with mustangs though, but gentling any horse is more about using the horse's natural way of thinking and behaving than maintaining control of him through fear. That's what breaks a horse's spirit. Basically I talk to them a lot. Initially it doesn't matter what you say, but they'll soon understand
good boy
and
that's right
, then as the training progresses, the words alone become rewards. Before you're done, you end up teaching each other. I've learned a lot from my horses. You have an advantage with a mustang though. He has no bad habits from years of inept riders, poor handling, or harsh, impatient trainers, so you have a blank slate to work with."

"
That may be so," Preston said, "but a mustang's brought up in different surroundings and under different circumstances than a domesticated horse, which makes them more dangerous and less responsive."

"Not really," Tyler replied
. "A horse growing up in the wild learns to problem solve from an early age, and once gentled, they're safer than most domestic breeds because they've learned in the wild that it's not useful to spook at rocks when there are mountain lions to worry about."

"
I see your point," Preston said. "You live around here? I know you don't live on the reservation."

"I have a place about
fifteen miles from here," Tyler replied.

"Then you're visiting friends or relatives?" Preston asked.

"No," Tyler replied. "I'm here with Rose."

Preston
looked at him with uncertainty. "She's never mentioned anything about you. Do you have something going with her?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tyler replied. "
I like her. More than like her. If I marry her, I'll be a squaw man."

"You can't be a squaw man
," Preston said. "You're an Indian."

"
No, I'm a genetic throwback."

"Are you talking
to me in circles?" Preston asked.

"No, I'm telling it straight
," Tyler replied. "You know that guy Rose works for?"

"The archaeologist at the Dancing Moon Ranch?"
Preston asked.

Tyler nodded. "He's my brother."

"Then you're adopted?"

"No,
like I said, I'm a genetic throwback."

"A throwback to what?"

"My great-grandmother," Tyler replied. "She was Nez Perce. I got the gene."

"Is that why you know so much about gentling
horses?" Preston asked.

"No, I figured that out on my own
," Tyler replied. "My animal guide's a horse." He said the words in jest, but oddly, they resonated. He'd had an affinity for horses from as far back as he could remember, but he never understood why, other than he found them easy to understand, when humans made no sense.

Preston eyed
him with skepticism, like he didn't know what to make of him, which Tyler found amusing, though what he was doing by messing with the guy's head could definitely come back to bite him. But he could tell, from the subtle changes in the man's expression, that he held a certain amount of respect for the stranger who gentled the mustang in less than ten minutes.

"So
then, what's the real deal with you and my sister?" Preston asked. "You think you're going to marry her?"

"
I will if she'll have me," Tyler replied, "but we have some issues to work out first."

Preston's brows drew together as an awareness of exactly who Tyler was began to
dawn. "Wait a minute," he said. "If you're the archaeologist's brother, you must be the guy who's chiseling away at Whispering Springs."

"Not for much longer," Tyler
replied. "I'm trying to prove a theory."

Preston's
face hardened. "You're right. If you marry my sister you
will
be a squaw man," he said, then turned abruptly and walked into the barn, leaving Tyler standing and staring after him.

When Tyler
started for the house, he saw a middle-aged man, who he assumed was Rose's father, standing outside the back door, watching him. He knew the man had been far enough away that he hadn't heard the exchange between him and Preston, but he would have seen the body language when Preston left abruptly. He hoped he wouldn't be obligated to explain.

As
Tyler walked toward Rose's father, having no choice because the man was standing between him and the house, Rose's father met him halfway, and offering his hand, said to Tyler, "Edison Starbright."

"Tyler Hansen," Tyler replied, clasping the man's hand.

Edison Starbright looked in the direction of the barn, and said, "I don't know what prompted that, but Preston can be hotheaded at times. He doesn't like it when someone disagrees with the way he handles things."

Tyler nodded vaguely, allowing Edison to believe that Preston's abrupt departure had to do with horse handling. "The mustang has the potential of becoming a good horse
, but Preston's handling him wrong," Tyler said. "All the mustang sees is a human out to kill him, and everything around here is the enemy, even that plastic cone that was in the corner of the corral. The mustang needs to be introduced to everything around here systematically, and on the mustang's terms, which means with patience, because in a horse's mind everything new is potentially lethal. All I did was let the mustang know through my voice and body language that I understood what he was going through, and that he could trust me."

"
Which he did," Edison said. "After watching the way you were working with him and seeing how quickly he responded to you, I can't help thinking that you're keeping your hair long for reasons other than vanity."

Tyler eyed the man with curiosity. It was an odd
statement, but a perceptive one. "Maybe," he replied. "What reasons are you thinking?"

"Communicating," Edison said, "Do you know anything about the Indian scouts during the war in Vietnam?"

"No," Tyler replied. "What about them?"

"Special Forces in the war department sent
agents to comb Indian Reservations to find outstanding scouts, men who'd been extensively documented as experts in tracking and survival, but once enlisted, whatever skills they had on the reservation seemed to mysteriously disappear. When questioned, the recruits claimed that after getting their military haircuts they could no longer access a sixth sense, their intuition was unreliable, and they couldn't read subtle signs like before. More Indian trackers were recruited, but that time the military sent the men out in pairs, one with long hair, the other with a military cut. Time after time the men with long hair retained their sixth sense and tracking skills, while those with short hair failed, so after that, Indian trackers were not only exempt from haircuts, they were required to keep their long hair."

"
I never heard about that," Tyler said, "but from my experience, the longer I grew my hair, the more aware I became of what my horses were struggling with, and the more responsive they were to what I was trying to tell them, so I suppose it's logical that it would work for scouts too."

"It's interesting to hear you reaffirm it because until now I wasn't sure I believed it
," Edison replied. "There's some talk that the story was fabricated."

"My father would be the first to think that way," Tyler
said. "He probably still believes I'm claiming it helps me connect with my horses as an excuse to look like a rock star. His rule when we were growing up was no hair below the collar, but when my brother, Marc, returned after being gone for four years, after a falling-out with my parents, he'd grown his hair out and my father said nothing. That was around the time I read about hair being an extension of the nervous system, so I decided to give it a try, but I never thought it would help in handling my horses."

"
Or maybe you're more Indian than you think," Edison replied.

"I
'm no more Indian than my brothers, who don't look Indian at all," Tyler said.

"
Then I guess you just got lucky," Edison replied, and offered a broad smile.

Tyler liked the smile. In fact, he liked the man.
"Maybe," he said, but he'd never considered himself lucky to look different from his brothers. At school the kids teased him when his features started changing, calling him a shapeshifter, and not in a friendly way.

"
Rose mentioned that you don't know anything about your native background," Edison said.

"I don't," Tyler admitted. "I've only recently become interested."

"Then since you're a horseman, you might start with your own roots. The Nez Perce were one of the first tribes to breed horses selectively and they developed the appaloosa into a horse capable of catching a running herd of buffalo and putting its rider in place for the kill, and when the horse heard the twang of the arrow leaving the bow it would cut the wounded animal from the herd. It was only due to the appaloosa's speed, agility, strength, and intelligence, which was bred into them, that the horse kept himself and his rider alive during this maneuver."

Tyler listened with interest. "I use Lusitanos for their strength, agility and intelligence," he said, "but the pair I'm looking to buy right now is priced out of my range, so I might consider
buying a pair of appaloosa instead."

"If you do, you might
also consider changing your act from a Roman soldier to a Nez Perce," Edison said. "It would be equally as impressive and would definitely connect with the rodeo crowd."

Tyler
eyed the man in curiosity. "Are you by any chance on the rodeo committee?" he asked.

"No, but my brother is," Edison replied. "Rose said you were here about getting a contract with the rodeo for your Roman riding act, so I figured you were the
guy in the video I viewed with the committee, but none of us knew you were Indian."

Tyler gave a little ironic snort. "Me
, included," he said, "but it seems I don't have much choice. Everything keeps shoving me down a path to my ancestry. It's a little eerie."

"
Well, if you decide to take that path you might want to read about the last Nez Perce chief," Edison said. "There's a lot to learn about the man and his horse,
Ebenezer
. The horse was so famous, newspapers always referred to him by name when Chief Joseph rode into town, but when Chief Joseph finally surrendered, he rode a black horse instead. But before he surrendered, he proved to be one of the finest chiefs of any tribe. You might want to find out why."

Tyler let out a soft laugh. "
Okay, you've got my curiosity. I guess I'm destined to learn about my Indian forebears whether I want to or not. Things keep sending me in that direction."

"
Things like my daughter?" Edison asked.

"I won't deny she's a big part of it," Tyler replied, "but there are other things too. People keep suggesting I do things I wasn't planning on doing."

"Like
transforming your act from Roman to Indian," Edison said. "The thing is, the Nez Perce were superior horsemen and you do naturally what it's taken the American cowboy three centuries to begin to figure out, my son included, since the Kalapuya never had horses and Preston learned what he knows from cowboys." He smiled again, and Tyler got the impression that the man might tolerate a long-haired, Indian look-alike in Rose's life. But for Rose's mother and brother, he'd be facing an uphill battle, and he hadn't yet met the matriarch of the family. But that would happen when he walked through the door, because he saw an old woman watching from the window, and she didn't look friendly.

Shifting his gaze
back to Edison, he said, "I suppose I'll be doing some reading."

Edison laughed and gave Tyler a light rap on the shoulder. "With a little research, you might find that you're not as far from
your roots as you think. Meanwhile, I'll turn out the mustang and see what's got Preston so hot under the collar."

The men turned away from each other and headed in opposite directions, and as Tyler walked toward the house, he couldn't help thinking that
, even though Edison Starbright was giving him the benefit of the doubt, once he learned from Preston that the guy with the sixth sense about horses was also the guy who was drilling into their sacred mountain, he'd change his tune. He could end the whole controversy by abandoning the project and selling the drill to prove to Rose and everyone else that he was through, but he was too close to quit now. A couple more hours and he might find his answer…

That
thought was interrupted by the shrill, piercing sound of a hawk high above along with a shadow crossing on the ground in front of him. He looked up to see a red-tailed hawk making a wide circle. Cupping his hand over his eyes to block the sun, he watched as the hawk completed the circle and landed on a fence post at the far side of the pasture. It would be ludicrous to think it was the same hawk as the one at his place because red-tails were common in the area. Still, it seemed oddly coincidental, because the hawk was also a young female.

When
he looked toward the house again, Rose was standing just outside the kitchen door, looking at the hawk. As he approached, Rose said to him, "That looks like Diana. It's big like a female, and it's sitting on a fence post, watching you."

"
The sun's at her back so she's facing this direction, not because she's watching me," Tyler said, "and fence posts are natural perches where hawks can watch for mice and voles. That hawk's also got a red tail and they don't get red tails until they're two." He said that to throw Rose off track so she wouldn't jump to erroneous conclusions.

Rose looked at the hawk again, and seeming satisfied with his explanation, said to him,
"How did it go with Preston?"

Tyler glanced toward the
corral, where Rose's father was opening the gate to the pasture to let the mustang out, then he looked at Preston who was standing in the doorway, glaring at him. "I take it you weren't watching," he said, while continuing to hold Preston's gaze. It was a momentary male power struggle, which was broken when Rose's father walked up to Preston.

"No
," Rose said, glancing toward the men. "Why? What happened?"

Tyler let out a short, sardonic laugh
. "You were right. I'm a squaw man."

"
Preston actually called you that?" Rose said, clearly surprised.

"Not without encouragement," Tyler
admitted. "I'm thinking it's about time to go."

"
Preston's five years older than me, which he thinks gives him a right to chase off any prospective boyfriends, so don't take to heart anything he says. Besides, he says things he later retracts when he's had time to think things through."

Tyler could argue that Preston
had
thought things through, and it was because he held the same view as Rose about the spring that he called him a squaw man, which also implied that the man chasing after Rose didn't know squat about native beliefs, though he was slowing learning. He was actually curious about the Nez Perce, especially about the way they handled horses. Maybe he
was
a genetic throwback. It was plausible.

He looked toward the barn again
. "If nothing else, maybe your brother will handle the mustang more gently. He watched how I worked with him and what I said and did, and I know he understood."

"I'm betting he
will
handle him differently," Rose said. "Preston's that way, though he won't work with the mustang again until after we've gone."

"Fine then, let's go," Tyler
replied. "I think I've about worn out my welcome here."

Rose put her hand up to Tyler's chest to keep him from walking around her and
heading for his truck, and said, "No one here is against you. We're against what you're doing at the spring, and for reasons that are not clear to you, you'll continue doing it, but I'm hoping that somewhere along the way you'll open your heart, and your mind, to the idea that there could be something happening in the mountain that defies scientific explanation."

Tyler looked into a pair of eyes that held
such promise, if he'd just give up his quest, that he found himself saying, "Okay, give me a couple more hours to finish opening the fissure I'm working on now and I'll quit."

"Even if the sounds in the mountain change?" Rose asked.

Tyler had to think about that. He was tempted to lie, if only to watch Rose's eyes brighten and see her smile, but the reality was, if the sounds in the mountain changed, he'd want to explore further. "I don't think the sounds are going to change," he said.

"Which is an evasive answer," Rose pointed out.
She waited, and when he offered nothing more, she sighed heavily, and said, "Meanwhile, before we go I'd like you to meet my grandmother."

"What's the point?
" Tyler asked. "I'm sure she's already formed an opinion of me that's not likely to change by meeting me."

"My grandmother doesn't judge people
," Rose replied. "She reads them and offers her opinion about what she reads. You can do with it what you want."

"I saw her watching through the window," Tyler said. "She
didn't look friendly."

"That's just her look," Rose replied. "She has sharp eyes that sees things others miss, subtle things that have meaning to her because of the way she interprets them."