Rodeo Rocky (12 page)

Breathless now with the effort of hanging on, dizzy from the rush and swirl of the current, Kirstie willed her horse forward. He rose out of the creek onto the grassy bank.

“Good boy, you made it!” There was a split-second when she leaned forward to pat him. A moment when he lifted his first hoof and planted it on the reedy, squelching surface. The hoof sank into mud. It vanished. The soil oozed and sucked it under. Lucky tipped forward, lifted his other front leg, planted it on the bank. It, too, sank knee-deep.

The horse was up to his knees in soft gray mud. He sank quickly to his shoulders, throwing Kirstie forward out of the saddle, over his head, and onto the bank. She let go of the reins, rolled away, felt the mud suck at her, kept on rolling until she could reach out and catch at the stirrup of the saddle Rocky was still wearing. The mustang stood just close enough, at the very edge of the treacherous swamp. He held firm as she rolled and caught the stirrup. Rocky took her weight and dragged her clear.

But Lisa was crying out a warning that Lucky was still sinking. She crouched on the far bank, ignoring two figures who’d ridden across the flat meadow from the direction of Eden Lake and were flinging themselves out of their saddles at the water’s edge. “Kirstie, get a rope around Lucky’s neck, quick as you can! He’s going under! For God’s sake, do it!”

Without thinking, Kirstie staggered to her feet and unhitched the lead rope coiled and hitched to the side of Rocky’s saddle. As she ran back to the edge of the swamp, she tied a noose in one end. Then she aimed the rope and threw.

Eight or ten feet away, the palomino strove to keep his head and shoulders clear of the mud, which sucked and oozed at him, dragging him down. His eyes rolled wildly, he lashed his head from side to side, but his feet found nothing solid and his struggles only made him sink more quickly.

The noose landed wide of the palomino. Kirstie groaned and drew the rope back, gathered it, and aimed again. This time, it snaked through the air and over Lucky’s head.

“Neat!” a voice called from the far bank.

Kirstie glanced up, had time to recognize Hadley and Charlie as the figures who had raced across the meadow. Now Hadley was yelling instructions.

“Tighten the rope!”

She nodded and stepped back until it was taut.

“OK, now tie the end around Rocky’s saddle horn!” The wrangler gave smooth, clear orders. “Done that?”

With trembling, muddy fingers, she did as she was told.

“So, take the bay’s reins and lead him!”

She nodded, seeing what the plan was. Rocky was to take the strain of the rope attached to Lucky. He was to walk away from the bank, accepting the weight, easing the palomino clear. But could he,
would
he do it?

She took the reins. “Walk on, Rocky!” she murmured.

Back in the muddy swamp, Lucky had stopped fighting. He lay helpless, covered in mud and unrecognizable, waiting for rescue.

“Easy, boy!” Kirstie breathed instructions at the strong bay horse. “I know you warned us not to cross the creek, and you were right. So now it’s up to you to save Lucky. Come on, Rocky, pull!”

The mustang understood exactly what was needed. He turned his back on the creek and took the strain. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to heave. There was a dead weight behind, and silence from the spectators on the opposite bank. The only sound was of mud sucking and oozing around Lucky’s exhausted body as Rocky pulled on the rope.

Seconds ticked by. The wet rope creaked. Nothing moved.

“It’s no good! It’s too tight around Lucky’s neck!” Kirstie cried. She realized that the noose would cut into him and choke him.

“Wait!” It was Charlie’s turn to come up with an idea. Running for a second rope, he unhitched one from Moose’s saddle and brought it back to the creek. He aimed the noose at Lucky, swung it high above his head, and threw. The loop hooked around the mud-caked saddle horn.

“Yes!” Kirstie hissed. She held out her hands to catch Charlie’s end of the rope. “Now throw!”

The young wrangler sent the new rope whizzing across the creek. Kirstie caught with her good arm and wound it around Rocky’s saddle. With two ropes secure, she ordered the bay horse forward once more.

And by this time, Lucky seemed to have regained the energy to help himself. He found firm rock beneath his back feet and pushed. His front legs thrashed through slime and mud, the ropes tightened as Rocky eased forward.

“Pull!” Kirstie whispered, her hand on the mustang’s sweating neck.

He inched away from the bank, raised Lucky out of the swamp slowly, steadily.

“Some horse!” Charlie whistled his admiration as the strong stallion pulled.

“Don’t let him give up!” Lisa urged.

Hadley stood silently watching the mustang tug the palomino to safety.

With a steadying hand on Rocky’s shoulder, feeling his steely willpower concentrated on the act of rescue, Kirstie felt sure he would succeed. All she had to do was trust and wait.

The surface of the gray mud was smooth once more. There was nothing to signal the life and death struggle except trampled reeds by the bank of the creek.

On one side of Crystal Creek stood a small huddle of people: Lisa, Hadley, and Charlie, with Sandy and Matt Scott. Sandy’s red Dodge pickup was parked in the meadow. Moose, Crazy Horse, and Cadillac grazed nearby.

“We came as soon as you radioed,” Matt told Hadley.

The wrangler nodded. “Wasn’t nothing you could do,” he muttered. “But I knew you’d want to be here.”

Sandy broke away and walked down to the bank. She stared anxiously across the water at the figures caked in mud; at Kirstie sitting on the ground, slumped forward and sobbing, at Rocky waiting by her side. “Hold on!” she called.

Kirstie raised her head and nodded. Mud covered every inch of her body. It had caked on her face, in her hair, plastering it to her skull. It was under her fingernails, inside every seam of her clothes. Wiping her hands on the grass, she dragged her hair back from her face and looked around for Lucky.

Her palomino stood next to the mustang. The ropes that had rescued him were still tied. He, too, was covered from head to foot in thick mud.

Kirstie’s tears were tears of relief. Lucky was alive. Rocky had dragged him clear until his front feet found solid ground. The mustang hadn’t let up for a second until the palomino was free of the swamp.

And they were proud tears. No other horse would have done for Lucky what Rocky had done. He was smarter, kinder, more loyal than any horse she knew.

“We’re crossing the creek higher upstream!” her mom called. “It’s fine beyond the ridge. We’ll be right with you!”

Kirstie stood up and went over to stand between Rocky and Lucky. “You knew that!” she said simply to the bay horse. The mustang’s savvy must have shown him the safe crossing place. He’d even tried to warn her about the swamp.

And when the others came to fetch them, carrying blankets to throw over the horses and wrap around Kirstie’s shoulders, there were no harsh words, no blame for what Kirstie had done. There was more praise for Rocky from Charlie, who took off his saddle and rubbed him down. There were hugs for Lucky from a relieved Lisa, kind words for Kirstie from her worried mom.

“But what about Rocky?” Kirstie begged. Her dream of freedom for him had sunk beneath the muddy swamp on the bank of Crystal Creek. The dreaded sale barn beckoned. “He saved Lucky’s life. Doesn’t that make up for him throwing me?”

Sandy shrugged and smiled. “That’s not the way to look at it, honey, and you know it.”

“What other way is there?”

“With some common sense and savvy,” Matt put in, busy checking both horses for signs of injury.

“Horse-savvy or human-savvy?” Kirstie believed in a horse’s instinct, but not what her brother called common sense. She believed that Rocky deserved better than the sale barn and turned to her mom, eyes fierce in his defense.

Sandy hesitated and turned to Hadley. “The big question is still the same: will Rocky ever be safe for guests to ride?”

Kirstie’s gaze fixed on the head wrangler. He glanced at her. “No,” he said.

She groaned and turned away.

“… But,” Hadley went on.

Kirstie swung around. She took a deep breath and listened.

“I always said Rocky’s a fine horse. Not a guest horse, but a great mustang all the same.”

Matt finished his inspection of Lucky, untied the ropes that linked him to Rocky, and came around to listen. Sandy stood hands on hips, thinking carefully. Lisa was shoulder to shoulder with Kirstie, waiting for more.

“I ain’t about to make a long speech,” Hadley told them. “All I’m saying is, I can think of a way to use the horse so long as you can keep him out of reach of the roads.”

“Which is?” Sandy said slowly.

“Use him as a staff horse at Half Moon,” the head wrangler explained. “He needs a good rider in the saddle, someone who knows horses, not a dude from the city.”

“Meaning you, Hadley?” Matt thought he saw which way the old ranch hand’s thoughts were heading.

“Nope.” He shook his head and glanced around the listening group until his eyes lit on the person he was looking for. “I was thinking more about young Charlie here.”

“Me?” Charlie let his mouth hang open. His tanned face reddened. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, of course!” Kirstie saw it in a flash. Charlie was the one who’d helped her with Rocky from the start; the only person who’d shared her faith in the problem horse. “Great!”

“Charlie?” Matt repeated, as if the thought had never crossed his mind.

“Hmm.” Sandy let it sink in. “You mean, give Rocky to Charlie to head the trail rides?” She nodded slowly. “That would leave Moose free for a guest to ride. Yeah, that could work.”

Lisa put her hands to her mouth. She turned away. Why wouldn’t someone give the final word?

Kirstie held her breath. She saw Charlie’s eyes light up. Hadley, who never praised anybody, who handed out the orders and went about his business, had just said that Charlie knew horses. That was worth more than a gold medal; more than anything to the junior wrangler. And, as if he had a sense of what was going on, Rocky had leaned forward to push his big, beautiful head over Charlie’s shoulder.

“How long have you been thinking this way?” Sandy asked Hadley.

The old man shrugged. “A couple of weeks.”

“But why didn’t you say?” Lisa cried.

But Kirstie didn’t care about any of that stuff. She stared at her mom, silently pleading for a decision.

Sandy Scott went up to the bay stallion and pushed his bedraggled, dark mane from his face. “You want to be Charlie’s horse, eh, Rocky?”

The mustang blew gently on her hand. He blinked a couple of times, then nudged Charlie’s shoulder.

“… OK.” Sandy smiled. “It’s a deal.”

Kirstie closed her eyes. Rocky could stay!

When she opened them again, Hadley was ready to get the horses back to the ranch. He gave Charlie orders to coil ropes, lift saddles. Matt was talking the solution through with Sandy, nodding and smiling. Then he went to help Charlie with his chores.

“Hey, Charlie, you gonna brush the mud off of this palomino when we get back?” Hadley called as he led Lucky upstream to cross the creek.

“Sure!” Charlie ran here and there, a wide grin on his face.

“Hey, Charlie, that bay of yours will need his jabs from the vet if he’s gonna stay at the ranch. You gonna call Glen Woodford when we get back?”

“Yep!”

“And get him to check the palomino. And call the sale barn to say we’re not bringing the bay in after all. And then there’s bits needing cleaning, yards needing raking…”

“Yup, yup, yup!” Nothing could take the grin off Charlie’s face.

Or wipe the feeling of incredible lightness out of Kirstie’s heart. She stood by Crystal Creek looking up into Rocky’s eyes. They were a clear, deep hazel, reflecting the light from the sky. They gazed steadily back at her, understanding everything.

Tomorrow, she would wake up. Out of the window she would see Red Fox Meadow in the long, dewladen shadow of Eagle’s Peak. She would pick out Crazy Horse and Cadillac, Moose, Jitterbug, and Silver Flash.

Lucky would be standing by the gate waiting for her as usual. At his side, most likely in a patch of early sunlight, she would see the bay coat and black mane of a beautiful stallion. He would glint copper in the rays of the sun. He would be looking up at the ranch house, maybe turn his head to the mountains for a second, then back to the house.

Then Charlie would walk out from the bunkhouse, hat low on his forehead, jacket collar turned up. He would stride to the meadow to fetch his horse. Rocky would see him and trot along the fence to greet him. Charlie would slip on a head collar and open the gate, lead him out. Horse and man, heading to the corral to start a day’s work.

“That’s how it’s gonna be!” she whispered to Rocky.

The horse nodded in the direction of Lucky and the others heading back to Half Moon Ranch. He nudged her with his nose:
Come on, let’s go!