Red Feather Filly (11 page)

C
hip trembled, leaning forward to stare in the direction Jake pointed.

Darn, this was just like tracking with Jake. He saw things that were invisible to normal humans.

Placing each footstep precisely, Jake started down. Brush grabbed at his sweatpants, but he moved with a quick and soundless stealth.

Chip tugged at the bit, wanting to follow. Sam kept her reins snug. When Jake did flush the filly from hiding—and she knew he would—Chip couldn't be stampeding over them.

The clink of Chip's bit must have told the filly she was no longer safe.

Black-and-white hide glinted as the filly broke cover and ran. Jake slipped, skidded after her, then
regained his feet and settled into his stride.

Now what?

Jake's secret plan hadn't included directions for this. Sam looked at her watch.

They had plenty of daylight left, but the filly's short rest had revitalized her. She ran full out, raising a rooster tail of dust until she passed a row of black sawtooth rocks sticking up from the desert floor.

When the filly stopped to look back, Sam recognized her strategy.

Prey animals survived by getting out of reach first, then turning to see what was after them.

Jake stopped, too, showing the filly he'd only chase if she ran.

The filly wasn't frightened by him, but she didn't understand, either. Jake wasn't acting like any human she'd encountered before.

She made a prancing path among rocks and gave her mane a playful toss.

It's been a lonely, boring day without the others
, she seemed to say,
so come on and chase me.

She bolted, but Jake didn't rush after her. He kept his stride smooth. Once he'd reached the sawtooth rocks, Sam let Chip go on.

The sky had turned dusky gray when the filly stopped once more and lowered her head.

Jake halted, too. When he did, Sam held up the canteen, hoping he'd look back and remember he needed to stay hydrated.

He didn't take his eyes off the filly.

A lowered head could signal a weary horse, ready to give in and accept a leader, but Sam couldn't believe it had happened so soon, unless the filly was remembering that humans could be kind.

Sam stood in her stirrups for a better view. She tightened her reins. Chip slowed to a jolting jog, then stopped.

Sam saw a greenness on the plain where the filly had stopped.

Of course—water. The filly wasn't lowering her head to give in. She was smart enough to take a drink. Sam did the same, wishing Jake would, too.

Sam leaned low on Chip's neck, massaging the gelding's shoulder.

“You're a good, strong boy,” she told the big horse. He stamped as if he agreed wholeheartedly. “I'd let Ace take a turn if I could, but he's back at the tent. Besides, it looks like we're about to have Jake back up in the saddle, and Ace can't carry double.”

Ahead, Jake rested his hands on his hips. He still didn't look at Sam. He stretched one leg behind him, then the other. She'd bet he was trying to keep his muscles from cramping without moving toward the filly.

The pinto watched Jake. Head still lowered, she stared across the green pool, ears pointed right at him. Slowly, legs braced to run, she raised her head about halfway up. With water dripping from her muzzle, she took two steps toward him.

Oh, yeah
, Sam thought as Jake retreated two
steps,
a teeny bit of progress.

The filly tossed her head, then stood still. She gave a loud inquisitive snort, then jogged on.

“Guess I was wrong, Chip,” Sam said, because Jake was following the filly once more.

 

It was full dark and Sam had let the monotony of the chase lull her into gazing blindly into the darkness, when she realized Jake had stopped up ahead of her.

“Water,” he said.

Before Sam could hand it down to him, he placed his palms wide apart on Chip's shoulder and rested his forehead against the horse.

“Jake, are you all right?” She'd never seen him make such a weary gesture.

“No, it's killin' me, but at least I'm not doin' it under a blazing sun.” He kept one hand against the horse as he took the canteen and leaned his head back to drink.

Sam watched his throat move in long gulps.

“Jake, you'd better stop,” she cautioned. “When a horse has had this much exertion, you don't over-water him.”

He ignored her, finished drinking, and peeled off his sweatshirt. He used it to mop his mouth, then the rest of his face.

Sam noticed he had a soft cotton rope knotted around his waist. Clearly he meant to put it around the filly's neck if she ever stopped.

“What's she doing?” he asked, since Sam was still facing the filly.

Sam peered through the darkness. The filly stood less than a quarter mile away. Her white markings were still visible, and she held her head to one side as if eavesdropping, while her long mane draped her shoulder.

“Just standing there,” Sam said.

First, Jake began coughing. Next, he grabbed at his stomach.

“Cramps.” He gasped, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

It wasn't like Jake to wait too long to drink, or to drink too fast and too much once he did.

“Oh, shoot,” he said, with a mocking laugh at his own foolishness, “calves, too.”

It took Sam a second to remember the painful muscle cramps she'd gotten some nights after playing basketball, but as Jake yanked up the legs of his sweatpants and rubbed at his calves, grimacing, she remembered and started to get down.

“No!” Jake pumped his arm in her direction. “Stay on. If she takes off, you've got to keep her in sight.”

Sam stayed in the saddle and divided her attention between watching Jake walk two unsteady laps around Chip, and peering through the darkness toward the filly.

“She's still just watching us. Want something to eat?” she asked.

“I don't. It might make me puke,” Jake said.

Sam gave a short laugh. This manhood initiation thing was showing her a whole other side of Jake Ely.

“You've been running for about two hours. Probably close to a marathon.”

The faint praise cheered him up.

“Just give me one of those energy bars.”

As Jake chewed, Sam glanced at the moon. It would be full in a couple of nights. If they were still out here, following this filly around, they wouldn't have time to get her ready for the race.

Sam glanced back at the filly.

“Jake,” she said quietly. “Don't turn around, but I'm sure she's come toward us a few steps.”

“What's she doing with her lips?”

Sam laughed again. “Are you getting delirious, Ely? It's dark. I can barely see something the size of a horse. I can't see her lips move.”

Sam knew what he was waiting for, though. The mouthing movements of a weary, ready-to-give-in horse.

“I think we need to push her all night,” Jake said, ending with a yawn.

“Much as I hate to admit it, I bet you're right,” Sam said. “I've been thinking she might go back to the lake at dawn, and if there are no other horses there—”

“She might accept me,” Jake finished.

“Or Chip,” Sam suggested. “Do you want to ride now? I promise not to complain about your sweat.”

“Thanks, Brat, but I'm gonna hold out a while.” He turned back in the filly's direction. “Maybe she'll just let me walk up and put this rope around her neck and then we can all go in the tent and sleep.”

“Don't count on it,” Sam said, though the tent and a warm sleeping bag sounded like heaven. “Oh—”

She'd almost said “oh yuck” as Jake pulled the dirty sweatshirt back over his head, but then she realized how cold it had turned. She was glad to be wearing the coat she'd wanted to throw on the ground a while ago.

“‘Oh' what?”

“I forget what I was going to say. Just go ahead and see how close she'll let you get.”

Once Jake took five steps, the pinto resumed her run. In the moonlight, Sam watched the long, white legs carrying the filly across the range. They looked delicate in the moonlight, but the filly knew where she was going. Jake was more at risk than she was.

While they got a head start, Sam let Chip drop his muzzle down to sniff out some grass. Holding her reins in her teeth for just a few seconds, Sam pulled some jerky out of a sealed plastic pouch in the saddlebag. She ate it, washed it down with water, then clucked to Chip.

“Time to go, boy,” she said. The good-natured Quarter horse blew through his lips, moved into a grudging jog, and kept up the pace until midnight.

D
rumbeats
, Sam thought.

She blinked and straightened. How could she have heard drumbeats?

Her back ached. She wished for her own Western saddle. Old as it was, it seemed comfy as a living-room chair compared to this little exercise saddle.

Those drumbeats must have pounded in her imagination. Probably, she'd been half dreaming.

No. There they were again. Not drumbeats, but hooves.

Chip stopped and neighed into the night.

Sam rubbed her eyes and listened. She forked her fingers through her hair, then pressed her nails against her scalp, trying to wake up.

Where am I?
she wondered. She didn't have a clear idea of how the tribal lands looked on a map. Mac had said these fifty acres were fenced, though, so they couldn't get lost.

Night lay between her and the filly. Once in a while she glimpsed the black-and-white jigsaw pattern ahead. If Chip hadn't kept plodding, though, they might have lost her.

The night smelled like hay and wet rocks. If she had to guess, she'd say they'd circled back toward Monument Lake.

Still, there was no answer to Chip's neigh, so they rode on.

A half-hour later, Chip shied violently and nearly fell.

“Sorry,” Jake called from the darkness. “I had to sit down a minute. There's this blister…”

While Sam comforted the tired Chip, Jake limped up, unbuckled the saddlebags, and rummaged around for a minute. He came up with a small flashlight and a Band-Aid.

“Mmmm, feels like heaven,” he murmured as he sat on the bare ground, tending his foot.

“When you get that excited by a little bandage, it might be time to mount up,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “Give me a hand.”

She kicked her boot free of the stirrup so Jake could use it. She grabbed his wrist and hauled him onto Chip.

The gelding gave a disgruntled snort, but that was all.

“He's a good horse, isn't he?” Jake asked in a sleepy voice. “Sweeter than his sister.”

“You know what my dad says about Witch?” Sam joked. “The only safe place is on her back.”

Jake chuckled and yawned. In minutes, he was dozing against Sam's back.

It was her job to stay awake, to make sure the filly didn't get a nap. The burden of responsibility stirred Sam. She adjusted her seat on Chip's back, feeling wide awake.

That was why she was pretty sure she didn't imagine the ghost horse.

Tatters of fog had drifted off the lake, obscuring all but sound.

The glowing blue-green numbers on her watch said three o'clock when she heard the clatter of many hooves, not four. She wasn't following the filly. Or, at least, not only the filly.

Had the Shoshone horses escaped? No, there weren't that many hooves.

Could the damp night air change sound?

Maybe, but as the fog floated apart, she saw a pure white tail drifting behind a trotting horse. But
black
streaked the pinto's tail and hours of pursuit had taken the zest from her trot. This was a different horse.

Chip didn't want to move closer, but when Sam tightened her legs and leaned forward, Chip obeyed.

A sudden squeal, pitched as if the horse were holding its breath, rushed at them. It was a stallion's territorial warning.

Could it be the Phantom? A gliding trot, a flowing tail, a pale mane wafting like a wave on the wind?

But the Phantom wouldn't ignore her, even if he wasn't always friendly. He'd been fierce and protective when he was courting Dark Sunshine. He'd been wild and threatening when he was drugged at the—wait.

Sam's tired mind finally focused. Could the Phantom be after Jake's filly? He was way out of his territory, and yet…she had to believe it was him or admit she'd had a hallucination.

A sudden hammering of hooves, like rocks bouncing off boulders, woke Jake.

“What's she doing?” he asked, groggily.

“She's okay. She hit some different footing,” Sam said. And it was true, because now Chip's hooves clattered on stone. She could only hear his hooves and the filly's.

Where had the ghost horse gone?

On her very first day back in Nevada, after her accident, Dad had told her mustangs had hideaway trails no human knew.

She had to trust Dad's words, or believe the Phantom had blown away like mist on the wind.

Maybe she'd dreamed it. Sam hoped so, because she couldn't imagine what would happen if both Jake and the Phantom were after the same filly.

 

A wintry wind swept in just before dawn. Jake got off to run, just to keep warm. When he did, Sam let Chip rest.

I can't do this another night
, she thought,
and neither can Chip
.
Maybe, if the sun comes out, Ace and I could do it tomorrow
. Or today. Whatever it was. Or whenever.

At last it was light enough to see the filly. Wide-eyed and nervous, she ran a few steps, stopped with lowered head, then turned toward Jake. Snorting and tossing her mane, she trotted in his direction.

Sam realized she'd pressed her hand flat against her chest, as if she could still her lurching heartbeat.

Even though the filly wheeled and bolted on faster than before, the change was coming.

At last they reached the lake. The filly treated it like home, wading in up to her knees. A sigh shuddered her lean body as she drank.

When Jake kept walking, following her into the water, she lifted her head to be sure of what she was seeing.

When he turned away, moving with a leisurely step as if he really was just strolling on the beach, the filly followed.

Sam's hands trembled on her reins.

When Jake stopped, the filly extended her head. She didn't look beaten, but curious. Could he be like the first humans she'd known? A kind one?

Without hesitating, Jake touched the white nose she offered, but Sam still held her breath.

Standing in front of the filly, as Jake was, could
be deadly. She could bolt forward or strike out, but she didn't.

Jake rubbed the inky forehead beneath her forelock. He fondled her silken black ears, stroked her long neck as he eased the rope around it and knotted it into a bowline.

All the time he was touching the filly, he spoke to her. Could Jake actually speak some Shoshone? Whatever he was saying, the filly understood every word.

 

Woodsmoke and bacon scented the morning air as they neared camp. Sam rode Chip. Jake led the pinto.

Although Sam and Jake savored the aromas and the crackle of a cookfire, the filly didn't. She braced her legs, ready to bolt.

“Here, now, girl, is that any way to act?” Jake chided. “It may not smell good to you, but I can't think of anything better.”

He made her walk a few more steps before stopping.

“Why don't you go on into camp and bring me back a plate,” he pretended to talk to the filly, though his words were for Sam. “I'll stay here with Star.”

Sam felt her eyebrows rise at the name. It was sort of odd, since the filly had a white blaze on her forehead, not a star.

Mac welcomed Sam and told her to help herself to breakfast, but he hugged Chip and instantly began unsaddling him.

Sam stared at the food Mac had prepared, then looked at her watch for what must have been the hundredth time since yesterday. It was Saturday morning.

She and Chip and Jake had worked all night, but they'd caught the filly without hurt or harm, and almost without fear.

Yawning and slow, Sam prepared two plates and walked back to the clearing where Jake stood with the filly.

The pinto saw Sam and stumbled. One ear cupped toward Jake and the other swiveled toward Sam.

“It's okay, girl,” Sam told her, but the filly disagreed.

Eyes wide, she swung her head from side to side. Was there just too much to be afraid of? Was she looking for something? Whatever concerned the filly, she didn't budge from her place close to Jake.

“No horse,” he murmured to Sam. “You're off Chip and she doesn't recognize you.”

Sam put Jake's plate down on a log that had been arranged here to make a trailside seat. Then, she backed away.

Her plate wobbled in her hand as she yawned yet again.

“Go take a nap, Brat. We can do without you for a little while.”

Sam started to protest, then changed her mind.

As if he'd been expecting her, Mac held back the tent flap as she staggered back into camp.

“Just a few minutes,” Sam said, as she crawled into her sleeping bag. “Just a few.”

 

When Ace knocked the tent down, Sam woke in a tangle of nylon. It only took a few seconds to remember where she was and why.

Crawling out, she caught Ace's halter and stood.

She could see the water from here. A wooden canoe carried two fishermen to the middle of Monument Lake. A hot-pink kayak skimmed the water's surface, with only the dip, drip sound of the paddle to mark its passing.

The smell of piñon pines mixed with the cookfire's embers. She was alone with the horses. Chip dozed in a rope corral with one side down.

“Bad horse,” Sam scolded Ace as she gave him a kiss on the nose. “Did you get bored?”

Sam repaired the corral, keeping Ace outside. Chip didn't even open his eyes.

Although every move caused a twinge of stiffness and pain, Sam saddled and bridled Ace, then grabbed a cold biscuit from a tin pan Mac had left on the wood table.

She started to mount up. Stepping into the stirrup was no big deal, but when she started to throw her leg over, she gasped.

Eight days. Eight days left and already it hurt to get into the saddle. She did it anyway and rode Ace toward the murmur of voices.

Sam could hardly believe what she saw when she got there.

Jake held a halter rope while he skimmed his hands over the filly's white back.

Each time he reached her flank, she flattened her ears and raised a hind hoof in warning.

Each time, he returned to pet her head and neck and start all over again.

“She's wearing a bridle,” Sam said in amazement. “I miss everything.”

“Not quite everything,” Mac said. “He hasn't mounted her yet.”

“I hope not,” Sam said. “You're not going to, are you?” she asked Jake. “Not today.”

“I'm not sure,” Jake said. His eyes were red-veined from lack of sleep, but he looked happy. “Right now, I'm working on touch and—”

Distracted, he'd grazed the filly's haunch once more. She crouched back, positioning herself to strike with her front feet.

Sam moved Ace away from the filly. Her ears flicked forward as he went and the diversion kept her from attacking.

“No more of that, now,” Jake crooned.

Drawn by his voice, the filly pressed forward until they were eye to eye. Sam couldn't believe it.

“What if I give Ace a refresher course,” Sam said quietly. “You know, do all the things with him, that you do with her.”

“Fine,” Jake said. “But stay a little distance off, okay? If you put Ace right beside her she might think he's her herd instead of me. We don't have time for that.”

“Got it,” Sam said. “Now tell me about her name.”

“Ah, yes,” Mac said, and his smile seemed to fill his body as Jake explained.

“You'll think it's sappy,” Jake said.

“Me?” Sam asked. “I won't, either.”

“Okay. Look down here on her chest,” Jake said.

She did, and saw dozens of silver-white flashes on the filly's black hide.

“A star shower,” Jake said meaningfully.

Sam's sleep-deprived mind took a minute to understand, but then she had it.

In the story Mac had told them, White Woman, who'd reached Dawnland first, had ridden a horse. Together, she and the horse had triggered a star shower that told everyone exactly where they belonged.

Was Jake hinting that the filly was helping him find where he belonged?

Jake's glare dared Sam to say something sentimental. This time, she gave him a break.

“I like it,” Sam said simply, and Jake nodded.

For the rest of the day, they handled the horses, leading them over fallen logs and between trees whose trunks nearly touched.

Each time a horse shied, Sam and Jake turned away until the horse move forward and nudged or nuzzled to be noticed.

At last, Jake stood back at the end of the halter rope, and talked to Mac while he watched the filly.

“She's exhausted,” Jake said. “And so am I, but I don't want to leave her in the rope corral and I'm afraid to tie her. What would you do, Grandfather?”

A second smile crossed Mac Ely's face, as if he saw that asking for his wisdom moved Jake another step closer to adulthood.

Mac sent Sam for Jake's sleeping bag. When she brought it, Jake looked as if he might beat it to the ground.

With Mac on watch, the filly was tied within sight, but not reach, of Jake's sleeping bag.

At once, the filly's head drooped, and her eyelids closed.

“She has white lashes on one eye and black on the other,” Sam told Jake, but he was so tired, his nod put him off balance.

“She's asleep,” he whispered a few seconds later. “I want her to rest. As soon as the moon rises, I'll lead her back into the water and see if she'll carry a rider.”