Spirit Horses (16 page)

His first goal was to teach the big roan to accept a
saddle without a fight.
 
The horse had
already learned to hate this, so Shane knew he had his work cut out for him. As
he worked with the roan, he noticed the same two men, who had been with Tommy
the day before, come over to the fence. Shane walked over and shook their
hands. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m helping Tommy.” The last thing Shane
wanted to do was to inadvertently show these two guys up and cause any hard
feelings.

Only one of the Indians
answered, “It’s okay, we have no problem with it.” Shane nodded and went back
to work. It took some effort, but soon the big roan was saddled and standing
quietly. He gently sent the young gelding out to walk around him inside the
corral.

Since this corral was an old-style square breaking
pen, Shane used a lunge line, hooked to the horse’s halter, to keep it moving
in a circle around him.

The roan walked off okay, but Shane could tell by
the gelding’s expressions he was still thinking about blowing up. Shane looked
over at Tommy, who was sitting on Tory, “When I ask this horse to trot, he’s
gonna come unraveled and start bucking, so you pick up Tory’s reins and hold on
in case the old horse reacts to it.” Sure enough, as soon as Shane tipped the
horse into a trot, he blew sky high. It only took a couple of minutes before
the gelding started to settle. Before long Shane had the animal long lining
around him without any more
trouble.

At this point, Shane asked Tommy to get off Tory so
he could get on him. He began working with the bronc from Tory’s back, just as
he had done yesterday. Soon he helped Tommy ease onto the roan and he led them
around with Tory. Today, Shane was careful to keep the unsure, young gelding
snubbed up tightly to his saddle horn.

This was about all the horse could handle in one
session, so Shane told the boy to dismount. “You spend a lot of time petting
him. You need to let him know how good he did for us today before you turn him
out.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid said excitedly. He thanked Shane
and led the horse away.

The big roan had done well, and Tommy did a great
job. Shane was impressed with Tommy’s courage and natural feel for a horse. He
was having fun working with both of them.

Later that evening, Shane noticed Tara sitting on
her porch. He walked over, and after they said their hellos, he asked her about
Tommy.

“He’s a good kid,” she said with an affectionate
sparkle in her eyes. “His father left his mother before Tommy was born. His mom
is very poor, so she reluctantly lets him live on the ranch. She loves him very
much and comes to see him often, but she knows he’s
better off here. He lives in the bunkhouse across the compound, and all of us
make sure he’s taken care of. He’ll start school again when the fall semester
begins. I always help him with his homework in the evenings. Until then, he’ll
earn money working around the ranch. One of the good things about being
Shoshone is that we always look out for each other. I heard you’ve been helping
him with a tough horse. I want to thank you for that. Tommy would spend all of
his time with the horses if we’d let him.”

“He sure has a lot of ability,” Shane said.

Tara paused for a few seconds, “Do you train horses
professionally? Everyone here thinks you’re pretty good.”

“I started about the time I was Tommy’s age and
never considered doing anything else for a living.” Before Tara could ask him
any more questions about his previous life, Shane wished her good night, and
turned to leave.

As he walked down the steps of the porch, he glanced
back and caught her watching him with those piercing, deep blue eyes. It was as
if she were trying to figure him out. This casual look between them only lasted
a second before they both became a little uncomfortable and shifted their eyes
away.

Tomorrow was the big day. He was finally going out
to see the wild horses. He had a couple of good stiff drinks before he hit the
sack, hoping it would help him sleep. Shane tried hard, every night, to keep
himself in a positive state of mind and not dwell on his
family. Tonight for some reason he was having a difficult time. He
finally fell asleep watching the old black-and-white TV at the foot of his bed.
When he woke at six a.m., the TV was still on with an
irritating, loud static and a snowy, gray screen.

When the two Indians showed up with the horse
trailer, Tory was already saddled and prepared to load. The men didn’t have
much to say as Shane hopped into the back seat of the old crew cab pickup.

About five miles into the trip, Shane broke the
silence by reintroducing himself. The Indian on the passenger side shook his
hand, “I’m Timothy Hawk. Most people just call me Hawk.” He was about five
eleven and 180 pounds, looked to be about thirty years old, and in pretty fair
shape, except for a slight beer gut. Hawk pointed to the driver, “This is
Johnny Badger, we call him JB for short.” JB gave Shane a halfhearted glance
with a nod and quickly looked back toward the dirt road he was driving down.
“JB doesn’t talk much, so don’t take it personal,” Hawk said as he poked at JB
and laughed.

Shane estimated JB to also be about thirty. He was a
little taller than Hawk and in better condition. This Johnny Badger character
sure seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, and Shane thought this was not
someone he wanted to tangle with.

JB turned down a narrow grade that would be easy to
miss if you didn’t know exactly where it was. The woods were thick here. The
narrow road wound around for several more miles until the landscape finally
started to open into a series of small ravines. There were few trees in this
area but the rough terrain was not drivable, so the rest of the trip would be
on horseback.

The two Indians stepped out of the truck without
saying a word and walked around to the back of the trailer. Shane followed them
around, but the men just stood there and made no attempt to open the trailer
door. Shane sensed that they had something to say, “What’s on your minds, guys?
If you have something to tell me, go ahead and spit it out!”

The two men looked at each
other and then back at Shane before Hawk began to speak. “You are only out here
with us because Tigee said to bring you. As far as we know, no white man has
ever come into the valley this way. Those assholes who try to steal our horses
come in from the far north side. If they ever find out about this
easier route, it would make it harder for our tribe to protect the horses.”
After saying this, the two Indians continued staring Shane down.

Shane stared back unsure of what to say, “Don’t
worry, guys, you have my word, I have no intentions of saying anything to
anyone about how we got here.”

JB clinched his jaw, “Mister, I haven’t met too many
white men who thought it was important to keep their word to an Indian.” Then
he turned to unload the horses.

Tory had been the last horse loaded, so now was the
first one out. Shane took him aside to tighten his cinch. He was now feeling a
little awkward, but he wasn’t going to let JB or Hawk’s bad attitudes get in
the way of his enjoying this unique opportunity.

Shane mounted Tory then waited for Hawk and JB. Both
of their horses were nice quality animals, but what caught Shane’s attention
was their saddles. They had no fenders or stirrups, and were scarcely more than
a small pillow of soft leather stuffed with padding. The horses wore old
Spanish-style bridles and bits,
and both carried a long braided cord around their necks about the
diameter of a man’s large finger. The two Indians used this cord to lead their
horses around.

Hawk noticed Shane looking at the equipment. “These
were the type of saddles our ancestors rode. It’s tradition to ride as our forefathers
did when we come out to check the mustangs. I guess this seems ridiculous to
you,” Hawk snapped.

“No, not at all,” Shane answered. “Actually, I think
it is pretty cool.” The two showed no reaction to this as they mounted their
traditional Shoshone saddles and rode north with Shane and Tory following.

The only modern things the Indians had with them were
their two-way radios, binoculars, and rifles equipped with long-range scopes
mounted in scabbards on the side of the small saddles. Watching these two on
horseback, Shane could picture in his mind what it must have looked like to see
Shoshone warriors riding across this same land two hundred years ago.

They worked their way around the numerous deep
ravines. These formations were a series of tiny canyons that all seemed to run
together. “This looks like it would be a great place for the herd to hide out,”
Shane commented.

Hawk responded without a look, “We never see them
here.”

Farther ahead, the three came to a ridge. It did not
appear to be very high on the side they were riding in on, but when they
reached the top and looked down the other side it took Shane’s breath away. It
was a four-hundred-foot drop, and Shane could see for miles. There, running
from east to west through the center of the valley below was the Big Wind
River. Surrounding the river were plenty of trees and brush as well as scattered
open meadows carpeted with thick green grass.
This is a paradise for wild horses
,
thought Shane. To the southwest were the majestic Wind River Mountains. Beyond
the basin they were now looking across and just to their north, one could see
the snow-capped peaks of the Owl Creek Mountains. Shane knew about the
geological layout of the area from the map at the museum. But actually being
here and seeing it for himself was damn impressive. Between the ridge, where
they stood, and these mountains were seemingly endless miles of untouched
wilderness.

“How in the world do you know where to find them?”

Hawk answered in his usual short manner, “We’ll
start looking for signs at the river’s bank and then track them from there.” It
took an hour to slowly work their way down to the river. When they finally got
there, the two Indians told Shane to wait under a big tree by the water’s edge.
Shane nodded, climbed off Tory, and sat on a large rock. The two men rode off
at a fast trot, one headed up river and the other down. After forty-five
minutes, Shane began to wonder if the two had played a cruel joke by leaving
him out here in the middle of nowhere. Soon after this thought, he heard a
rider coming in fast. It was JB. He stopped for only a second, “Come on, white
boy, Hawk found some tracks up river.” Shane didn’t appreciate the “boy” part,
but he let it go as he mounted up and followed at a hurried gallop. After a
mile of hard riding along the river’s bank, JB held his hand high, signaling
Shane to slow down. The tracks weren’t hard to see, and it was obvious Hawk had
gone ahead to find the herd.

JB turned and looked him in the eye with a scowl.
“All right, slick, stay close and be quiet.” Shane gave him a shit-eating grin
and followed the Indian up a steep hill. When they reached the peak, Hawk was
crouched there, pointing to a low area on the other side. Looking down in the
meadow, Shane got his first glimpse of the horses. Immediately, he could feel
his heartbeat quicken.

“Damn, Jacob, looks like I finally found them!” He
must have unknowingly voiced it as JB looked at him.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, man, I was just thinking out loud.”

It was a large herd, bigger than Shane had imagined.
There were at least seventy-five mustangs grazing in the grassy field of about
thirty acres. The horses looked up from their feeding and began to get
restless.

JB looked over at Hawk. “They can smell the white
boy.” Hawk quickly gave him a hard look. JB grinned as he corrected himself, “I
mean they smell the white man.”

Shane snarled, “What the hell’s that supposed to
mean?”

Hawk spoke in a firm voice before the two men had
time to increase the tension building between them. “No offense, but JB’s
right, the herd knows you’re not one of us. Every time they smell white men
they’re getting chased. Just sit still and be quiet. They’ll get used to you
and settle.” Shane knew how keen and sensitive horses were, so it didn’t
surprise him that they were aware of the human presence even though the three
men were out of sight.

He had seen a couple of wild
herds before in his travels, but nothing like this one. These were healthy,
vibrant, and much bigger than the other mustangs he’d encountered. About half
of them were larger than Sloppy, and she was a nice stout horse. He noticed
several mares with newborns by their sides. These mothers with their babies
were in their own group, separated from the rest. He spotted a few yearlings
playing in a shallow creek that ran through the middle of the low-lying
pasture. The remainder of the horses were scattered over the large meadow,
heads down, munching on the early summer grass
.