Moonrise (10 page)

O
h no.
Sam didn't gasp aloud.

Trying not to spook Ace and Silly, she joined Jen in a scrabble across the bare rock.

“Oof!” Both girls knocked the wind from themselves as they tackled the trailing reins before either horse got very far.

Moon's head rose, showing the long line of his midnight throat. He neighed his disappointment and Silly whinnied back.

“No you don't,” Jen snapped, as she stood up.

Then, for better control, Jen gripped the reins just beneath the palomino's chin.

All the wild horses startled at Jen's sudden height.

The bald-faced mare nipped the bay, herding her.

So, you're the lead mare
, Sam thought. With the delicate black foal tucked against her side and Moon at her heels, the bald-faced bay took her few followers away.

“That could have been bad,” Jen sighed.

“Losing our horses on the morning of our first day?” Sam joked. “Naw, I'm sure our dads would understand.”

They laughed, promised each other they wouldn't make that mistake again, then got serious about searching for cattle.

As they rode, staring in opposite directions so that they missed nothing, Sam thought about the black foal. It had been older than Tempest, with a blockier head and bigger bones.

Moon couldn't have fathered it, because he'd had no herd of his own last year. And she didn't remember seeing the bald-faced, blue-eyed mare in the Phantom's band.

For a minute, Sam concentrated on whose mare Moon had stolen, but then she smiled. There was a more important, more exciting aspect to the wild black colt.

He wasn't Moon's, but Moon had obviously adopted him.

“Yeah!” Sam muttered under her breath.

“See one?” Jen asked. The lenses of her glasses looked cloudy with dust as she peered past Sam.

Then, before Sam could explain Brynna's awful
lecture on murderous stallions, Sam saw the cattle.

Just yards away, two big white faces rose above a stand of sagebrush. Jaws suddenly still, the Herefords quit chewing and stared. Just below the cows' chins, two tiny white faces did the same.

Oh my gosh!
Sam thought, but she mouthed the words, “Right there.”

Afraid the wild cattle would stampede, Sam didn't raise her arm to point. She hardly breathed.

They were River Bend cows. Somehow, Sam recognized them from a winter hay drop, even before the cows' ears, tagged in blue, flickered her way.

Their pink-rimmed eyes looked bloodshot. Brush and stickers had snagged in their coats, but they were River Bend cows, and their calves were worth at least a thousand dollars apiece.

Now what? Sam knew she and Jen had decided to gather all the cattle they could, pen them with the plastic fencing, then brand them tomorrow afternoon.

But the reality of these cautious cattle made her wonder if that was possible.

The cattle she'd driven before had already been milling in a herd. Now, staring into eyes that were not only wild, but fierce, Sam wasn't sure how the “gather” part would work.

“Hey there, bossy,” Jen crooned to the cows.

Sam stared at her friend. Jen's voice was as melodic as birdsong.

A quick bawling moo came from one cow. The others shuffled in place, but Jen kept talking. The cattle seemed fascinated and finally Sam realized Jen wasn't just babbling bovine flattery.

The cows must remember the winter hay drops that had kept them nourished when snow covered the sparse grass. To them, human voices meant food.

“Hey, Sam, remember that box canyon Linc mentioned? Oh, yes, you sweet-smelling, bug-eyed beauty, I see that brindle baby. Wow, mama cow, how did you ever come up with that Halloween peanut-butter swirl coat and that pure white face for your baby? Well, I'm thinking, Sam, I'm talking to you now. Sammy, pal, stay with me.”

“Mm-hm?” Sam hummed, trying not to distract the hypnotized Herefords.

“If we can ease this bunch back down to the box canyon, we can put the plastic fencing across the mouth of it. Then we'll have a perfect place to hold them and brand them—Oh no, mama cow, I didn't say brand. No, no, no. Easy. Okay, you want to start back that way? What a good idea.”

Jen's eyebrows lifted above her glasses as the cows shuffled out of the sagebrush and headed downhill.

Ace trembled with excitement, eager to chase after the cattle, but Sam held him in.

Jen let the cattle get well ahead, so they wouldn't feel pressured. Silly must have forgotten the mustangs,
because she followed calmly at an uncharacteristic, flat-footed walk.

The trail was more than a deer path. It was about two horse widths wide and flanked with sagebrush.

Jen moved to the right of the trail, so Sam aimed Ace toward the left.

The cow with the brindle calf looked back over her shoulder with a cautious moo. When she took a few steps left, Ace mirrored her movements. Even though they were half a football field behind, the cows and calves returned to the center of the road.

“Good work,” Sam whispered, but she'd known this would happen. She wasn't the cattle expert; Ace was.

Hazing the cattle into the box canyon was easy. Three of the four animals trotted in as if they'd been headed this way all day, but the brindle calf looked up, startled, as if the canyon walls were closing in on her.

With a cry, she sprinted past Jen.

“Hold 'em.” Jen snapped. Silly pivoted and set off after the calf.

Three anxious faces, one bawling to the brindle calf, looked after the runaway.

Lowering himself into his cutting horse stance, Ace advanced on the cattle and they backed away.

Ears flattened and head lowered, Ace held the cattle until the brindle calf galloped past. Headed for her mom, the calf kicked her heels, lashed her
tail in a corkscrew, then straightened it, as if it propelled her dash.

Sam and Jen didn't take time for celebration. They unrolled the plastic fence and erected it across the mouth of the box canyon.

“Okay!” Jen cheered once the cattle had raced for the far end of the canyon, away from the commotion of fencing. “Time to find some Gold Dust cows.”

“I guess we'll have to take turns,” Sam said as they both took long drinks from their canteens.

“Yeah, they'd probably be okay if we left them,” Jen said slowly. “But if those hounds returned, they'd run right through that fencing.”

“So, one of us stays with the herd here, while the other goes out brush-poppin'?”

Jen nodded. “But we both have to promise, absolutely, to go where we say we will. Like if I tell you I'll ride to the top of that ridge and stay between that big black rock and that deformed-looking pinion pine? I'll stay there.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed.

“That way, if Silly comes running down without me because she saw a rabid butterfly or something, you'll know where to come looking.”

“What about my herd?” Sam asked. “You know, my dad says the ranch comes first and those cows—”

“Sam!” Jen stretched the word out in surprise. “I'm more important than—yeah, very funny,” she said as Sam began laughing.

Jen swung Silly's head to face the trail. “Just for that, I go first and you have guard duty.
Adios
,” she called over her shoulder, and then she was gone.

 

The day seemed to get hotter every minute that Jen was gone.

Sam stared up the hill. She knew where Jen had gone, but they hadn't agreed upon how long she'd be there.

Sam took a packet of jerky from her saddlebag and munched on it as a horseback lunch. After all that cake, she really didn't want much else.

After nursing their calves, the River Bend cattle had folded their legs and lay dozing. Sam relaxed with them, hoping Slocum had gotten his hounds safely home. If dogs were trained to chase a buck as big as the one they'd seen, they'd have no qualms about tackling Moon's little black colt. To herself, Sam had already named the colt Night.

Ace snorted and looked up the hill. Sam followed his glance. Two cows with purple ear tags trotted down the trail. One had a calf.

That made three, Sam thought. There were three calves to vaccinate, earmark, and brand.

Sam's hand closed as if she were squeezing the earmarking gun.
Not 'til tomorrow
, she told herself. That was soon enough.

The cows Jen was herding stopped when they saw Sam. She backed Ace. Step by grudging step, he
moved away from the entrance to the box canyon, but he didn't like it.

Head lowered, Ace kept an eye on the cattle inside, even though they gave no sign of rising to their feet when Sam jumped down and opened the plastic fence.

“Amazing,” Jen sighed once the fence was fastened back in place. “How's that for a Father's Day present?”

“Better than a card and a box of peanut brittle!” Sam crowed.

 

Until dusk turned the range purple-gray, the girls took turns riding out and searching. Their good luck had peaked early, though, because they found no more strays.

The two River Bend cows, two Gold Dust cows, and three calves milled uneasily in their box canyon corral while Sam and Jen built a campfire for warmth.

“They're sure noisy,” Sam said as the cattle bawled at each other.

“Dad told me when they haven't run together, cattle aren't always friendly to each other,” Jen said.

The girls ate bread, cheese, and salami, not bothering to assemble sandwiches, as they watched the two Brangus stare and moo at the River Bend Herefords.

“I hope they stop grouching at each other before
we bed down for the night,” Jen said.

“I bet they'll be friends by tomorrow,” Sam said. “I hope we can find some more.”

“It's Slocum's section,” Jen reminded her. “You might not find any more from River Bend.”

“I know,” Sam said as she unrolled her sleeping bag. “I'll be satisfied with what we've got.”

“But not happy?” Jen asked, untying the knots on her bedroll.

A cricket's chirp interrupted their conversation and Sam smiled. “I'm happy already, just because we got to do this.”

“Me too,” Jen said.

Once they'd wiggled into their sleeping bags, the cows limited their complaints to loud snuffles. The fire crackled from inside the circle of rocks they'd built to contain it.

Staring into the star-studded darkness overhead, Sam decided to ride back to the plateau tomorrow. She wanted to see Moon again, but more than that, she hoped to see the Phantom.

With luck, the two stallions would keep their bands apart, but she'd still get to see them.

The stars were blurring in her sleepy gaze when Sam gradually became aware of howling.

“They don't sound like coyotes,” Sam said.

She raised up on one elbow and looked at Jen.

Jen's face looked strangely bare without her glasses.

“They're not,” Jen said, sounding wide awake.

“Could we hear those hounds from here if they were at the Gold Dust?”

“I don't know,” Jen said. “Sound travels in weird ways.”

The hounds stopped howling. For a minute, Sam heard only the hobbled horses, pawing and chewing grass.

Sam lay back down. She stared at the sky again, not turning to face Jen as she asked, “How do you stand him? Living there on that ranch and seeing him every day…. You're a stronger, nicer person than I am. I'd go crazy.”

She didn't tell Jen her ugly hope, that somehow Linc Slocum would fall into a situation he couldn't buy his way out of.

“I think of how I felt when I thought we were moving back into town,” Jen said.

Sam shivered and wiggled farther down into her sleeping bag until her toes touched the bottom. She took a deep breath of high desert air perfumed with sagebrush and pine.

A city campout would be scented with car exhaust and the contents of the nearest Dumpster.

“That'd work for me, too,” Sam said.

When Jen said nothing else, she thought her best friend had fallen asleep.

Sam was drowsing, too, when Jen whispered, “Sam?”

“What?” She jumped.

“I didn't mean to scare you, but do you want any dessert?”

“We didn't have much dinner,” Sam said, yawning. “But no, I think that the cake and the salami pretty much filled me up.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jen said. “But those chocolate chip cookies have walnuts, right? And nuts have lots of protein.”

“I see what you're saying.” Sam giggled. “They're good for us. We really should have just one before we fall asleep.”

C
louds lay like snow on the plateau as Sam rode up the cattle path the next morning.

Sam looked back over her shoulder to see Jen's legs braced far apart as she stood with her cup of cocoa in the mouth of the box canyon. She waved as Sam rode away.

They'd camped out alone and held a herd of cattle all night long.

Okay, so it was a small herd, but the cattle hadn't pushed down the fence to escape overnight, and that was an accomplishment. Sam felt proud.

Above her, the clouds were drifting from the plateau.

Good
, she thought. Clear weather would make it
easier to spot what she was looking for—not just cattle, but mustangs.

Sam pushed up the sleeves of her green sweatshirt. The morning was warm and Ace frisked like a yearling. Sam felt so good, she let him swing into a lope.

Wind stirred by his gait snatched Sam's Stetson from her head. Held on by its stampede string, her hat bounced against her back as she swayed in the saddle, forgetting Slocum and his dogs, absorbing the green-and-gold scenery as it slipped past.

Dew revived the wet clay smell of the plateau. Sun awakened the tang of sagebrush. Sam drew the scents of home into her lungs, smiling until Ace sensed the mustangs.

His sudden, jolting trot sent shocks through Sam's spine, which was sensitive from sleeping on the ground.

Ace clambered up the incline, then stopped without warning on the plateau.

Sam's elbows drew close to her body. In fact, every muscle and tendon hugged closer to her bones as she tried to make herself smaller.

She felt as if she'd stepped onto a stage while a play was in progress.

Moon and his mares stood off to her right. The Phantom's band grazed and milled to her left. The Phantom's big honey-brown lead mare flattened her ears at a bay horse within her band. The bay looked familiar even before he turned to show Sam the patch
of white over one eye.

Pirate! Sam smiled, remembering the colt she'd first seen on Dad and Brynna's wedding day. He'd come through the winter strong and tall.

Ace snorted, arched his neck, and pawed. Sam's fingers curved around the reins, pulling them snug. She wouldn't blame the little gelding if he bolted. He'd been wild, and the temptation to run toward one of the herds might be too much.

But then Sam understood Ace wasn't agitated by the mustangs; he just recognized a friend.

“It's him,” Sam whispered.

The silver stallion moved through his band until he stood in front of his mares. He was the most beautiful horse in the world. And for one instant, he saw and greeted her.

Prancing forward, the Phantom tossed his head. Muscles sculpted the brightness of his neck. His mane and forelock rayed around him. Touched by the rising sun, he was a magical beast wreathed in a sun-burst.

My Zanzibar
, Sam thought. In all the world the stallion recognized just one human as a friend, and it was her.

His single whinny was for her, but then he turned his eyes on New Moon.

Moon's neigh rung out, only to be covered by the Phantom's. In the silence that followed, the stallions faced each other, ears tilted forward. Then each
snorted. Each struck out a front hoof at the same moment.

Sam held her breath as, together, the stallions squealed loudly and rose into half rears.

Last fall, the Phantom had tried scolding his son with the snaking gesture he used to herd mares and foals.

Last fall, Moon had hesitated, lowered his head, and lost.

Since then, Moon had grown up.

When the silver stallion bobbed his head, higher with each movement, the black stallion did the same.

Moon was taller than his father, Sam realized.

The young stallion arched his tail and flexed his neck as if he knew his black head was inches closer to the sky.

Sam's fingers froze to her reins. She couldn't turn Ace away from the fight and go looking for cattle. She had to see this battle through.

Moon was more muscular, stronger than the last time he'd challenged his sire, and though Brynna insisted fights between stallions were mostly play-acting, these two looked serious.

The Phantom trumpeted an arrogant neigh that gave Sam chills.

Look at me, king of kings, mightiest of mustangs!

The silver stallion trembled with his own power. He wasn't bluffing. He'd just given his son a chance to walk away, unbeaten.

Moon didn't take the Phantom's offer.

Black knees silvered by sunshine, he trotted forward until he reached the Phantom. Moon snorted so loudly, a red roan mare with white sprinkling her back sprinted past the Phantom's lead mare to watch.

Moon was so close now, the stallions sniffed each other's ears, smelled each other's nostrils and breath.

This could end happily, Sam told herself. It could be a reunion, not a fight. But Moon hadn't forgotten he'd once, however briefly, ruled the Phantom's herd.

The black rose on his hind legs, but came down at once. With a forceful snap, his chin pounded the Phantom's withers.

Sam curled forward in the saddle. She gripped her reins with one hand while the other braced across her stomach. This would not end well.

Moon was exerting dominance he didn't have.

Surprised but unhurt, the Phantom stepped back, standing eye to eye with Moon. Sweat showed white on the young stallion's black coat as the Phantom pressed his forehead to Moon's.

When Moon didn't back down, the Phantom swerved as if to bite his son's glorious tail.

Moon mirrored the gesture and the stallions circled, head to tail, for what must have been a full minute. At last, Moon bit the Phantom's right heel, drawing first blood.

A scream of outrage erupted from the silver stallion.

He reared like a monster, mouth agape, tidal wave of mane cresting against the sky.

Moon was brave—no,
foolhardy
, Sam thought—ducking threshing hooves, going in low, trying to bite and grab and pull his sire off balance—but he failed.

The Phantom crashed down on Moon's back.

Did the plateau quake as the black stallion fell to his knees? It felt like it, and Sam ached for Moon. He was trapped there, until the Phantom struggled loose and backed off a step.

Silent and determined, Moon staggered to his feet.

The Phantom was taking no chances of a second assault. When Moon curved his neck and tucked in his chin, protecting his jugular vein, the Phantom bumped his shoulder, making the young stallion stumble. When Moon lunged with a wide-open mouth, the Phantom wheeled and released a kick into his son's hind legs. Each time Moon moved, the Phantom kept him off balance, reminding him he was not the ruler here.

Then both stallions grew alert. Arched necks flew up to their full length. Flattened ears pricked to listen. Snorting nostrils distended, drawing in the scent of trouble.

At first Sam didn't understand. Unconcerned, the mares grazed, nursed their foals, and stood head to tail, swishing cool air on each other's faces. Only the honey-colored mare seemed distracted.

Pirate and the roan filly had ambled away from their herd.

Night, Moon's adopted colt, had done the same. Noses touching, the three young horses made a truce.

The stallions didn't notice the disobedience within their bands. Front hooves stepping with spirit, panting from their battle, the black and silver stallions shifted to face the cattle trail.

Brush shook. Dirt scattered. Something was coming up the path to the plateau.

Was something wrong? Sam wondered. Could Jen be coming after her?

This time, the dogs didn't burst baying from the sagebrush. Their tails were straight up, wagging with excitement as they sized up the horses.

The herds stood, trembling with curiosity as the predators crouched lower, bellies almost touching the ground as they considered the strange, deer-like prey.

Should she yell at the dogs, or would that startle the herds, start them running, and begin the chase?

A dun mare gave a nervous nicker and backed with stuttering hooves into the safety of the Phantom's herd. Another mare called to her foal, then bolted forward, batting it with a swing of her head when it didn't move fast enough. The bald-faced mare neighed to Night.

Startled, maybe afraid he'd been caught playing with the young horses from the Phantom's herd,
Night bolted. He ran away from both bands and headed across the plateau alone.

Fleeing, he might have been a fawn.

His flight worked like a match to gasoline, setting the hounds into an explosion of barks, and then baying as they ran after him.