Horse Whispers (7 page)

“But don’t worry,” Phyllis hurried on, “because I haven’t even showed you the best method.”

“You haven’t?” Stevie and Lisa said in unison.

Phyllis shook her head. “Nope. It’s right over there.” They looked to see where she was pointing.

“A food processor!” Lisa exclaimed, scandalized. “But I thought with cooking and baking you had to do everything from scratch, and by hand, or else you were cheating!”

Phyllis raised her eyebrows. “A nice idea. Actually, the more you can cheat, the better. And now I’ll show you how to make perfect, instant crust with a flick of the On-Off button.”

In a matter of seconds, Phyllis had used the electric food processor to mix the flour and butter. Then she moved on to the next step: adding tablespoonfuls of ice water so that the crust would stick together. A quick pulse of the machine and the dough was ready to be gathered into a ball. “Now we’ll let it chill for an hour. Meanwhile,
you can both try the ‘cheating’ method. I’ll help my poor, overworked daughter peel apples.”

Before the girls could trade places with Phyllis, there was a loud knock on the front door. “I’ll get it!” Kate cried, tossing the peeler aside. She ran out of the kitchen. A moment later she was back. “Company!” she announced.

The girls turned to see their old friend Christine Lonetree in the doorway.

“Christine!” cried Stevie and Lisa. They ran to embrace her. Christine was a close friend of the Devines and, like Kate, was an out-of-town member of The Saddle Club. She lived close enough to the Bar None to ride over, and often did, on her horse, Arrow.

“I was out on Arrow when I remembered you guys were here on a visit. So I stuck him in an empty stall and stopped in.”

“We’re so glad you did, Christine,” said Phyllis.

“How is it out there?” Lisa asked anxiously.

Christine shivered. “It’s cold—and I mean
cold
,” she said. “It’s a good thing I ride bareback. Arrow has better circulation than I do and he keeps me warm.”

That was not the weather report Lisa had hoped for. Quickly the girls explained the situation with the black mare to Christine. “Gosh, I didn’t see any sign of a loose horse.”

Phyllis looked at the clock. “They’ve been out a couple of hours already,” she noted. Then her face brightened.
“Listen, Christine, why don’t you help us make pies and stay for dinner tonight? We’d love your company.”

Christine had barely said yes when Kate thrust a paring knife into her hand. “Peel,” she ordered. “Peel, peel, peel, peel, peel.”

C
AROLE WILLED HERSELF
to ride on in silence. She had begged to come, despite Frank’s warnings. She couldn’t start complaining now. It seemed colder than when they had started six hours earlier. The sun had come out briefly, then vanished behind clouds. Carole wriggled her toes in her boots to make sure they were still there. She held the reins loosely, giving Stewball his head to follow the other two horses. The cold seemed to press in on them. There was still no sign of the black mare.

Up ahead, Frank suddenly reined in his bay. “We’re coming to a split in the trail,” he announced. “We’ve got to make a decision.”

Beside him John shook his head. “I just don’t understand it,” he said. “I was sure my dad would be right.”

“So did I, John,” Frank answered.

“Why would the mare run away if not to go back home—where she came from?” John mused aloud. “And yet we’ve ridden north, northeast, and northwest without seeing a single hoofprint.”

“It sure beats me how any horse …”

Carole half listened to the conversation.
If only I knew where you were!
she thought. Beneath her, Stewball shifted uneasily. The pinto seemed impatient to turn around. He had been trying to go in the opposite direction for a couple of hours at least. “There’s nothing over there, boy,” Carole murmured. “Nothing but desert and wide-open stretches and a handful of wild horses. You’re not going to find—” Midthought, Carole stopped. A lightbulb turned on in her brain. She clapped a hand to her mouth.

“I just thought of something!” she exclaimed, bursting into Frank and John’s discussion. “The wild horses! That’s it! I’ll bet the black mare went to join the wild herd!”

John’s eyes lit up. “Carole, I think you’ve got it!”

As everyone at the Bar None knew, herds of wild horses ran free on the federal property that surrounded the ranch, and sometimes on the ranch itself. Kate’s horse, Moonglow, had come from one of those herds. Kate had adopted the mare as part of a government program that kept the herds small enough so that they could survive. Most of the
time the horses were left alone to graze and forage on the range. It was easy to forget they even existed.

Frank frowned. “You could be right. But why would a tame horse go wild?”

Carole opened her mouth to reply. Then she shut it just as fast. There was no way of explaining it. How could she say, “I just know she’s there. I know it the way I know two plus two is four,” and expect anyone to believe her? She felt John’s eyes on her.

“It’s—It’s just a thought,” she said. “But Stewball seems to want to head in that direction. That is, if the horses still stick to the area around the base of the mountain.”

John spoke up. “They do, Carole. I saw them there last month.”

“Could we at least check?” Carole asked, her fingers crossed. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

Frank looked off into the distance. “That’s a long trek through the snow,” he said doubtfully. He sighed. “I like the looks of that mare, and I’d hate to lose her right after we bought her, but three people are a lot more important than one horse.”

Carole knew Frank was right, and that he had to take responsibility for them. But if it were up to her, she’d risk anything to get the mare back …

“I think we ought to give it a shot, boss,” said John. “We’re not starving out here—or freezing.” He chuckled. “At least, not yet, we’re not. I, for one, can put up with a little more discomfort if it means bringing the mare
home.” Something in the way he spoke made Carole feel that John understood she was going on intuition, and that he trusted her intuition.

Frank squinted up at the sky. He checked the sandwich supply in his saddlebag. He studied John’s and Carole’s faces. Finally he said, “We’ll give it three more hours total, including the hour it’s going to take us to get home. If we wrap around the mountain from here, we may catch the herd on the way back. If we don’t, the black mare is going to have to come in out of the cold of her own accord.”

Carole shivered again, and this time not from the cold. As they started off in the opposite direction, she caught John Brightstar’s eye. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

“No problem,” he mouthed back, giving her a thumbs-up.

Stewball was pleased. Without waiting for a cue, he picked up his pace, from a lagging shuffle to a swinging walk. It was as if he wanted to tell them they had made the right decision. Carole felt her spirits rising. She had been in a daze all morning. She’d almost
known
that their search was going to be fruitless. Now she felt optimistic.

“Hey, let’s sing a little to keep our spirits up,” John suggested.

“Great idea,” said Carole.

John started with “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” Carole chimed in, then went on with “Erie Canal.”

“Hey, you’re not going to forget ‘Home on the Range,’ are you?” Frank demanded.

Carole sat up straighter in the saddle. She lifted her hand off the saddle horn where it had been resting and reined Stewball properly. Singing “Home on the Range” when you
were
on the range was a thrill and a privilege—and it was a moment Carole would never forget. She didn’t want to spoil it by slouching!

The singing was fun, and what was more, Carole thought, it got them breathing deeply, which helped their circulation. Before she knew it, close to an hour had passed. They were approaching the valley sandwiched between the mountain and Two-Mile Creek. The creek was completely frozen. Luckily they didn’t have to cross it. Instead they wandered alongside it. They automatically fell silent so as not to scare the horses if they were nearby.

They didn’t have to wait long to find out. Rounding a large patch of shrub bush, Carole caught her breath. The black mare was standing about fifty yards away. Carole felt her heart soar as she caught sight of Cobalt’s twin. She was struck for a second time by the uncanny similarities. She didn’t trust herself to speak. And it wasn’t just the mare’s resemblance to the stallion that took Carole’s breath away. It was her solitude in the wilderness, and her beauty—night black against white, unspoiled snow.

“She almost looks as if she’s been waiting for us,” John murmured.

Carole frowned. “But where’s the rest of the herd?” It seemed strange that the mare would have separated from them.

Frank gestured toward the mountain trail. “They probably caught our scent and took off,” he said. “I’d put money on it.”

Just then a high, distant whinny pierced the air.

“It’s the stallion!” John whispered, pointing. “He’s telling her to come with them.” The three riders craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the herd, but they were too late. The horses had vanished into the gray afternoon, leaving only a trail of hoofprints.

The mare pricked her ears. She turned her elegant head toward the mountain. A moment later she answered the stallion’s whinny. But she didn’t move. She seemed to be hesitating, wondering which way to go.

“You two cut left and right in case she runs,” Frank said quietly. “I’ve got my lasso ready.”

Carole started in the saddle. She had been so caught up in the scene, she hadn’t been at all prepared for Frank’s order. Obviously, though, that was what they had come for. Fortunately Stewball seemed to know what to do without being told. He jogged left, flanking the mare, as John guided Tex to the right. In a matter of seconds, Frank was close enough to swing his rope. It whistled through the air. Carole fought an instinct to yell, to scare the mare off. The lasso landed neatly around the black neck.

Carole felt herself cringe. The mare had looked so beautiful standing alone in the wilderness. Now she was just another horse in captivity.

Don’t be silly
, Carole told herself angrily.
You didn’t ride seven hours not to catch her!

“Carole, why don’t you hop down and halter her?” Frank suggested. “She must have lost hers out here somewhere.”

Carole jumped off Stewball and took the halter Frank handed her. She could tell the mare was ready to run. Her ears swiveled back and forth. She seemed to be waiting for a sign. For a moment Carole stood stock-still. The mare raised her head warily.
She’s poised between captivity and the wild
, Carole thought,
and it’s up to me to help her choose captivity
.

“Here, girl,” John said from aboard Tex. “Come on, we just want to take you home.”

Turning his horse to face the mare directly, Frank clucked encouragingly through his teeth.

The mare paid them no heed. She stayed focused on Carole, who began to approach her at a snail’s pace. The closer Carole got, the more undecided the mare seemed. Carole spoke soothingly to her. She kept the halter behind her back so that it wouldn’t scare the mare. When Carole was close enough to touch her, the mare looked over her shoulder a final time. Then she blew through her nostrils and lowered her head. She almost seemed to be sighing. Carole encircled her neck with an arm and slipped the halter on. “Good girl,” she breathed. “What a good girl.” She took a lead shank from her pocket and
clipped it to the halter. Now the mare was ready to be ponied home behind Stewball. Carole remounted, keeping the lead in her free hand.

Frank was clearly very pleased. “A happy ending,” he declared. “Nice work, Carole, John. Let’s head for home. I’ll bet my wife’s got something in the oven!”

Nobody talked much on the way back. They were all cold and tired. But it wasn’t just physical discomfort that was bothering Carole. It was strange, but now she almost wished she hadn’t said anything about the wild horses. She felt like a traitor to the black mare. Most horses escaped from their stalls because they were bored, or because they wanted something on the other side—because the grass was greener. But Carole was convinced that the mare had run away to be free.

But if I hadn’t said anything, we wouldn’t have found her, and she might not have been able to survive the winter out here
, she reasoned. She glanced back at the mare. The horse wasn’t making any fuss. She was walking and jogging behind Stewball as calm as could be.

When they neared the ranch, John broke the silence with a question to Frank. “How much is known about the mare’s history?”

“Not a heck of a lot,” Frank admitted. “I do know that the other four are more experienced. I took her as part of a package deal. The trader who sold them to me had only had her for a few weeks. Poor girl’s probably confused. She’ll settle in when she realizes that the Bar None is
going to be her permanent home. This moving around is never good for a horse.”

If only it were just that!
Carole thought. She said a silent prayer that maybe, just maybe, the mare was glad they had caught her.