Red Feather Filly (7 page)

S
am sat straight up in bed.

Cougar mewed a complaint and jumped down. With each tiny thud of paw on hardwood floor, her dreams fell away more completely.

Sam stared through the darkness toward her bedroom doorway. Something out there had moved.

“I didn't mean to wake you. You've got about twenty more minutes to sleep,” Dad whispered. “On my way down to make coffee, I just looked in to make sure you were covered up. Sometimes it gets sorta chilly toward dawn.”

Sam sighed and pulled her blankets up over her shoulders.

“I'll be down when my alarm…” A yawn muffled
the end of her sentence.

She closed her eyes, but her brain kept churning. What had she been searching for in her dream? She couldn't remember.

The Phantom. She'd dreamed of chasing the Phantom.

Sam wiggled down lower in her bed, contented and warm. Oh, how easily she and Jake would win the race if she rode a mustang stallion and he galloped alongside on a wild Indian pony.

But she'd been looking for something more.

Sam's fingers touched her wrist and she knew. Her horsehair bracelet, braided from strands of the Phantom's silvery mane, was missing. When had she worn it last?

Mikki, the girl who'd piloted the Horse and Rider Protection Program at River Bend, had borrowed it for a little while, but she'd sent it back. Sam was sure she'd worn it since the Phantom's disappearance because he'd noticed it, that day he'd let her ride him. That wonderful day.

She swung her legs out of bed, turned on her bedside lamp, and donned the clothes she'd laid out the night before. Dressed, except for her boots, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes and started searching. She opened each of her drawers and slid her hands under her folded clothes. She closed her eyes, hoping her fingertips would be more sensitive without sight to guide them.

She found nothing in any of her clothes drawers.
Hands on hips, she turned and stared at her room. Silently, she demanded it give up its secrets. When the room wasn't intimidated by her brain waves, she kept searching. It was not on the shelf with her model horses. Not on the bookcase. It wasn't on her desk or in the blue mug she used to hold pencils and pens.

In the top right-hand desk drawer she had a few keepsakes. A gold-colored tin button box that her mother had used when she was sewing. A ribbon from the bridle she'd first used on Blackie, long before he'd grayed into the Phantom. The glossy red-brown feather she'd found on the desert floor on the day she'd watched the Phantom run free after his awful rodeo captivity.

She picked up the feather and smoothed it through her fingers. One day, she and Jen had followed a red-tailed hawk, hoping she'd drop a feather in time for Jake's birthday. She'd wanted to give it to him along with the split-ear headstall.

It hadn't happened that day, or on the day she'd heard the hawk's rasping cry and spotted it when she was riding with Jake. It had been a blustery, stormy day, the day he'd broken his leg, but he'd told her hawks were supposed to carry hopes and prayers to the sky spirits and bring back blessings.

But the hawk hadn't dropped the feather that day, either. She'd waited until Sam needed assurance that the Phantom wouldn't forget her.

Sam jumped as her alarm went off. She dropped the feather back in her desk drawer, slammed it
closed, hit the “off” switch on her clock, and waited for her heart to settle down.

Four-thirty. Time to go downstairs and, as much as the idea grossed her out, eat. Dad had insisted she have breakfast before she go, or she wouldn't be allowed to leave the house. It wasn't a very hard choice.

Sam picked up her boots and stood in her doorway. She gave her mind one more chance to reveal the bracelet.

“It's not like it's magic.” In a hushed voice, she belittled her own streak of superstition that just wouldn't go away.

But she and Jake would be in wild horse country. Even though Monument Lake wasn't the Phantom's usual territory, she might see him. He might sense that she wore the bracelet, a token he'd given freely.

It didn't make sense, but neither did the link she had with the wild stallion who had once been her sweet colt, Blackie.

“Samantha,” Dad's whisper carried up the stairs, so Sam went.

She'd find the bracelet later.

Cougar seemed determined to trip her on the stairs. He hopped down two steps, then back up, down one more, then ran between her ankles. Once, she couldn't avoid stepping on his little tail with her stockinged feet and he gave such a tremendous screech, Blaze woofed and came rushing to the kitten's rescue.

“You three plan on wakin' everyone up early?”
Dad asked as Sam came into the kitchen.

“Blame them,” Sam said, pointing at the animals before she settled into her chair at the kitchen table and began pulling on her boots.

Dad had made her milky coffee with lots of sugar and two pieces of buttered sourdough toast.

“It's too much,” Sam said, sipping the hot drink.

“You don't know these old timers like Mac,” Dad said, taking a drink of his own black coffee. “I do. They figure if horses only eat morning and night, that's all they need. That can be hard on you kids.”

Sam laughed. “Isn't that what we did on the cattle drive? Ate a big breakfast, dinner, and nothing in between?”

“Not the same thing at all,” Dad said. “You carried jerky and string cheese in your saddlebags. That and canteen water makes a fine lunch.”

Sam ate a piece of toast, noticing he'd put on a lot more butter than Gram usually did. She licked her finger, then asked, “Do you know why Mac wants me to go along?”

“Don't you want to go?” Dad lowered his coffee cup slowly toward the table.

“Yes, of course. It just seems like something he'd want to do with Jake alone, though, doesn't it?”

Blaze's toenails scrambled on the linoleum as he bolted toward the kitchen door. He pressed his black nose at the crack between the door and its frame, then sniffed loud and long.

Seconds later, a car bumped over the River Bend
bridge. Sam bounded up out of her chair.

“Finish it,” Dad said, pointing at a last triangle of toast.

She groaned, did as she was told, then grabbed her fleece-lined leather jacket and brown Stetson and stepped outside.

Although the sky was starting to lighten, Dad turned on the front porch light.

Jake's grandfather drove a battered red Scout. Shaped like a square Jeep, it looked like it had suffered a patchy sunburn.

When Dad chuckled, Sam could see his breath on the frosty air.

“Old troublemaker,” he said, pointing at the rear of the car. Just to the right of the trailer hitch was a bumper sticker that read, “Columbus Didn't Find America; It Was Never Lost.”

Sam gave a surprised laugh. She loved Mac Ely's spirit. How could Jake think he was “weird”?

Sam climbed into the backseat as Dad went around to talk with Mac at the driver's side window.

“Expect us between noon and dark,” Mac told Dad. “Early enough to do that ‘forgotten' homework.”

Sam sighed and Jake gave a faint shake of his head. She guessed he'd long since decided it wasn't worth the effort to try to convince adults it really was possible to forget you had homework until Sunday night.

“Have fun,” Dad said.

“Sure, boss,” Jake replied.

“Bye,” Sam called, but then Dad tilted his head so that he could see inside the vehicle.

“And be careful,” Dad aimed this at Sam and though she smiled and waved, she wished he hadn't said it.

All the same, neither Jake nor Mac mentioned it.

Once Jake grumbled that he should have put in a ten-mile run to train for track today, but after that, they rode in silence down the dark highway. When their headlights flashed on a sign announcing their arrival on tribal lands Mac slowed down, cut the steering wheel hard left, and bounced onto a dirt road. After a few minutes of driving, Mac stopped the Scout to shift it into four-wheel-drive mode. It seemed to be a struggle.

“Something you'll want to remember,” Mac said, grunting a little as some mechanical grinding happened inside the car, “is to baby this transmission.”

Jake sat up a little straighter. “Yeah?”

“You'll need to borrow it, I think, for the days before the race. For going back and forth to watch the horse.” He made a gesture with one hand as the truck bucked into gear. Then he drove on.

Jake nodded. Because it was Jake who'd taught her much of what she knew about horses, Sam understood, too. Without instructing him to do it, Mac was hinting that Jake should watch the horse for a few days before trying to capture her. Once he knew her fears and habits and hiding places,
catching her would be much easier.

“The horses are on fifty fenced acres of tribal land. Kind of shaped like an old-fashioned keyhole. We go in up here,” Mac gestured. “This entrance is for tribe only. And guests,” he added, smiling at Sam. “Those who get special licenses to fish here, go to the other end of the lake.”

“If it's fenced, how do the horses get onto BLM land? I keep hearing about it,” Jake said.

“Monument Lake is shallow and warm. If a horse should take it into her head to cross to the public area, she could escape.”

It was nearly light when Mac crested a rise, turned the key off, and coasted to the right-hand shoulder of the road instead of following it downhill.

Were they there? Did this mean he was sneaking up on the wild horses?

He pointed past Jake, and Sam, in the backseat, scooted all the way to the passenger's side of the truck. With her nose almost touching the window, she could see that the shoulder dropped off to thin air. Down below, Sam saw Monument Lake. They were directly above the lake's western shore, so close she could see a gull preening on a boulder.

Early morning mist veiled the lake's surface, turning the turquoise water she remembered into a pale blue blur.

But the blur wasn't still. Off to the right it swirled and parted with some sort of movement. Sam held
her breath, afraid of fogging up the window and missing something.

As she watched, wind rearranged the mist and showed a band of horses. Counting quickly, she made out ten. Endless ripples curved out from the heads lowered to drink, making waves for a flotilla of gulls not far off shore.

On a slight rise of earth, one bay horse stood alone. He was their lookout, maybe the stallion, and he remained statue still. Only his mane moved on the breeze.

The horses were small and lean, mostly shades of brown. There was a single dun, with rusty markings on his face and long legs. Was that the one Mac wanted for Jake? Or could it be the broad-chested sorrel raising her head with flared nostrils, studying the ridge where the car sat in silence?

No. All at once, a black-and-white pinto splashed into the lake. One or two horses drew their muzzles from the water, annoyed. The gulls took wing, cutting white across the sky. The pinto pawed the lake's surface and shook her variegated mane as water flew up at her face. Then she stared into the wind.

“Her?” Jake asked. The word was little more than a breath, but Sam heard him.

“Her,” Mac confirmed. “Yours for the taking.”

“S
he could run,” Jake said with conviction. He spoke quietly and never took his eyes from the filly. “What do you think? She's about fifteen hands? A little less?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, though she didn't know if he'd been addressing her or Mac. She almost thought Jake was talking to himself.

“Compact body, deep through the heart with strong quarters. Boy, look at those muscles. And with those sloping shoulders and pasterns…”

“A smooth ride,” Mac said, nodding. “Big eyes, light bones, and she knows rough terrain and rocky footing already.”

“So why doesn't she belong to anyone?” Jake
asked. “She can't be that hard to ride.”

“Maryann Pete owned her mother, a horse called Songbird. Maryann had her grandson living with her and the two of them raised this filly until she was a yearling. Then, the whole family, Maryann and her children and grandchildren, moved to Minnesota.”

Sam couldn't help shivering. Nevada got cold sometimes, but she couldn't imagine living in Minnesota.

“So they turned her out before they left,” Mac said, “and no one's had her until Shan Stonerow the horse breaker. You know him?”

Jake took a deep breath, gave a disapproving sound, then nodded. Mac continued.

“He had her in for a week last summer. Quick and dirty is the way he breaks horses. Catch on Monday, sell on Friday.” Mac gave a snort. “She was too smart for him. He hated getting bucked off. He got mad, threw her on the ground and kept her there, tied. Idea was to make her terrified. Show her she was helpless. It didn't work.”

Sam watched the filly move along the shoreline. Her markings were clear-cut, totally black and startling white. Her coat looked so satiny smooth, Sam wanted to touch it.

Mac's story made her admire the filly's fierce spirit, but the pinto's experience with the horse breaker would make her wary.

Horses trusted until you gave them a reason not
to, and the pinto had learned that not all humans were kind. How could Jake change the filly's mind?

“How did he catch her?” Jake asked. He was rubbing his palms together lightly, a gesture Sam had never seen him make before.

“Water trap,” Mac said. “Even though she's playing in the water now, get her in a confined area and she'll remember, believe me.”

Jake nodded. He looked hypnotized.

Just then, a car drove by and the Scout shuddered at its passing.

Inside, the car was crowded with men and fishing poles. By the time they reappeared down below, the horses had moved off, trotting single file, around the far side of Monument Lake.

“What do you think, Samantha?” Mac asked.

Sam pulled her coat closer. Without the heater running, it had grown cold in the car. Until now, she hadn't even noticed.

Mac turned away from the steering wheel and rested his arm on the seat. “Do you think Jake can tame her?”

“I think,” she said slowly, “if it's not love at first sight, Jake doesn't have a chance.”

Jake twisted in his seat. His lips were pressed in a hard line and his eyes were resentful.

“Why did you bring her?” Jake asked. “She wants to believe animals and humans are the same.”

“I don't think they're the same,” Sam protested. “They're just not that different. She's probably not
friendly to humans right now, so you have to convince her you're not like Shan Stonerow or she won't give you a chance.”

Mac met her eyes with a nod and Jake noticed. His resentment was easy to see. He didn't like his grandfather siding with her.

“No offense, Sam,” Jake said, pretending an understanding tone, “but you're not the world's greatest horsewoman.”

“I know that,
Jake
.”

She also knew his words meant he wouldn't choose her as his partner. Tears burned beneath her eyelids but she refused to cry in front of him.

“Excuse me,” she said, opening the car door. She held it with her shoulder, fighting the stiff morning breeze as she grabbed her Stetson off the seat. “It's a little stuffy in here. I need to get out for a minute.”

The wind snatched the door away from her.

Great. They probably thought she'd slammed it in a fit of temper. Oh well, that was better than sitting there, crying. She'd rather be thought a brat than a baby.

A path led down the hillside to the lake. She took it, thinking she should have worn hiking boots or even tennis shoes instead of her slick-soled riding boots. Just the same, she didn't lose her footing.

She sat on a gray boulder, buttoned her coat to her chin and pulled her old brown Stetson down. No one would be able to see her eyes.

The rock was freezing cold through the seat of
her jeans, but that was just what she needed. Shock therapy. She blinked. Amazingly, her tears had evaporated or retracted or something. They were gone, so she could go back to the car. Quick fix. Perfect.

Not quick enough, though. A rush of falling gravel made her turn. Jake and Mac were coming down after her.

Jake was a few steps ahead of his grandfather. His jacket, a lot like hers, was open over a brick-colored tee shirt. He must be freezing.

She hoped so. She wondered how long it took for hypothermia to set in. Maybe she should stall and keep him down here for a while.

Sam stood, hands on hips. “Ready to go?” she snapped.

Jake looked up from watching his boots navigate the trail. He stood still. His hair wasn't tied back like it usually was and the wind tossed it around with such fury, for a minute he reminded her of the bay stallion who'd been here standing statue still with only his mane blowing in the wind. Through it, he met her eyes.

Jake and his stupid mustang eyes. He could just forget it if he thought she'd forgive him. What he'd said had hurt. Worse than that, he'd meant it.

He reached out and grabbed the nape of her neck.

For a second she thought he was going to push her into the lake. Instead, he gave her neck a squeeze. It pulled her hair a little and his hand was cold.

But Jake said, “Sorry.”

That probably meant he didn't intend to drown her, but she just answered with a shrug. If he thought he was getting off that easy he was dreaming.

“Grandfather wants to tell you a story,” Jake announced.

“I'm telling both of you,” Mac said as he led the way to a rocky overhang that formed a shallow cave facing the lake. “My grandson isn't sure how to feel about his heritage. Or a lot of things.”

Mac stared at Sam, as if underlining his words.

Jake blushed and hunched his shoulders forward.

“I already apologized,” he told Mac, and Sam thought he sounded like a little boy.

When Mac's gaze turned to her, Sam gave a half smile. Good thing he didn't ask us to shake hands or kiss and make up, Sam thought, because she would have had to refuse, and she really liked Mac.

He gestured them into the shallow cave. The rock was bone white and it had absorbed the little morning heat there was to gather.

“This is a horse story,” Mac said as he and Jake sat, too. “From the old times before there were horses.”

With that puzzling beginning, Mac started his story.

“In the early days when all people lived together, the land lay in darkness. The chiefs of the world—the Hopi and Navajo, Aleut and Shoshone, whites and blacks—decided each tribe should have a place of its own. After much talk and prayer, it came to them that
the people should set out walking through the darkness toward Dawnland, where the Sun and Moon lived together. If two such different beings could live in harmony, they would know how to give each tribe its proper home.

“The chiefs believed that when the first searcher reached Dawnland, Moon would give them a sign, a star shower that could be seen far and wide. The sign would tell all people to stop. In the place where they saw the star shower, they would know they were home.

“When the people set off, each tribe was determined to reach Dawnland first, but as Sun rose and set, and Moon rose and set, they realized it would take many days and they prepared to move slowly, but surely, toward their goal.

“Now, White Woman—in some tribes she's called White Shell Woman or Buffalo Calf Woman—was less patient than the rest. As she was crossing the playa, she stopped. Bending with Sun hot on her back, she scooped up three fingers full of moon-white alkali mud and molded it into a horse. It didn't matter that it was the world's first horse. She knew what to do. She vaulted instantly onto Horse's back and galloped toward Dawnland.

“When she reached it, far ahead of the others, stars showered down. Because all people were watching the sky, they saw a thousand silver flashes in the black sky. Each tribe saw the star shower. Each tribe
stopped where it was meant to stop and made camp in its new home.

“Of course, White Woman paid for her impatience by having to live where it was hottest by day and coldest by night, but she remained friends with Horse and all her descendants forever after.”

“I love that story,” Sam said, clapping. “Is it Shoshone?”

“My daughter-in-law would tell you no.”

“Being a history teacher and all,” Jake said, “Mom has tried to research the roots of Grandfather's stories and they're kind of…elusive.”

“If I borrow from many tribes' stories and blend them,” Mac said, indifferently, “does it make them less true?”

Jake narrowed his eyes against the glare gathering on the lake's surface, and let Sam think about it.

Newspaper reporters got different angles on a story from different sources they interviewed, Sam thought. So did the police, when they talked with different witnesses to an event. And Gram said different books of the Bible told the same stories over again from the perspectives of different writers.

“I think it works,” Sam said, finally.

“And you wouldn't be swayed by the part where a woman discovers the horse,” Jake said, reasonably.

“Of course not,” Sam said, though the story had her wondering more than ever why Mac had brought her along. Could he think
she
had a special connection
with horses? When she got up her courage to ask, though, his eyes were closed. He leaned against the back of the sheltered area, dozing.

Jake noticed at the same time. He stood quietly and motioned her to follow. They walked some distance past the fishermen and around the lake before either of them spoke.

“Is he all right?” Sam asked first.

Jake looked at her, amazed. “Mac? Of course he's all right. Do you mean like crazy or—”

“No,” Sam said. She tried to put enough meaning into the word so that she wouldn't have to say exactly what she was thinking. “You know, yesterday, when he was asking if you, like, challenged yourself enough?”

“Oh, I get it. You mean that ‘passing over' stuff?” Jake laughed. “Don't take that seriously. Mom told me he was saying that stuff on the day she met him and he was like forty. Not even that old. I think he just does it”—Jake paused and squinted toward the lake—“to remind us that nothing lasts forever and you know, someone
could
die before they get everything done.”

Like mom
, Sam thought, but she put the notion away for later.

“So why did he bring me, do you think? And what was the point of that story?” Sam asked.

“I'll tell you what I think, but you're not allowed to get mad until I'm finished talking, okay?”

Jake would never make a salesman, Sam decided.
He started off telling her that he was going to make her mad.

“Okay,” she said. “Just out of curiosity, I'll wait to bite your head off.”

“Thanks.” Jake drew a deep breath. “The filly doesn't need a good rider. She needs a good friend.”

“And I'm going to be her friend?” Sam asked.

“Hush,” Jake said. “I'm not sure I've got it straight. Don't interrupt a minute.”

“Don't interrupt, don't get mad…” Sam listed, rolling her eyes, but then she closed her lips and waited.

“Mac thinks she might trust you. And if you trust me, it might be sort of like a character reference. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. I used to think that if Ace could just talk to Blackie for me, he'd know it was okay to trust me, even though he'd been hurt by other people.”

“Right,” Jake nodded vigorously. “So this is what I think. We start meeting every minute we have time between now and next Friday, to make a plan on how to catch her.”

“Next Friday? Jake, we only have two weeks. We can't throw away one of them.”

“We won't. We're going to plan. Think about it, Sam. Once we have her, we need to spend every waking moment—cancel that. Every moment, waking or sleeping, with her. You know, that's how warriors did it. They let their war ponies sleep in their tents. And sheikhs in the desert? Their war mares slept in
their tents and their kids cuddled up and slept with them. Imagine, hundreds of pounds of potentially dangerous horse, and they let their little kids sleep by those hooves. It's gotta be the way to win.”

Sam nodded. Jake was probably right.

“So will you help me?” Jake asked.

Help him. Sam turned the words over in her mind. That didn't exactly mean ride with him, as his partner. How could she weasel it out of him?

“Okay,” she said. “Until race day, I guess.”

Jake looked as if he'd been kicked in the head. “Why—why just until race day?”

“Well, you know, I'll have to get my own stuff ready.”

“Yeah…,” Jake said. He stared at her as if she weren't too bright. Then, all at once his expression changed to anger. “But you're riding with me, right?”

“Riding with you…?”

“As my partner,” he said in a forced calm, “in the race.”

“What makes you so sure?” Sam asked.

“Are you teasing, or what?”