Spirit Horses (8 page)

“Well, the older horse started to colic soon after
you left the farm.”

“Oh shit!” Shane blurted out. “How bad did he get?”

“Pretty bad,” he answered. “I couldn’t keep him on
his feet. I
finally called the vet out. Dr. Baxter gave him a shot of banamine; then he
tubed him full of mineral oil and water. He had to come back out a second time
to treat him, but that old gelding’s tough. He pulled through and seems right
as rain now.”

Shane’s relief was visible,
but he was also extremely embarrassed. He sure wouldn’t blame Mr. Jensen if he
had a bad impression of him
.

“I can’t believe I slept that long. I’m real sorry I
didn’t check on them. Thank you so much for taking care of my old horse. I was
worried the long trip might be hard on him.”

“Well, I could tell by the way you rubbed him on his
head yesterday morning before you left that he meant something to you.”

“They both do.”

“I figured you’d want me to do whatever was
necessary to take care of him, but there was a hefty bill involved. I had to
pay doc out of my own pocket.”

“Just tell me what I owe you,” Shane said as he
grabbed his
wallet from the nightstand. The two men settled up, and he gave Mr. Jensen some
extra money for his trouble. “Sir, if you haven’t eaten yet, I’d like to buy
you breakfast.”

The old man laughed. “Son, I ate hours ago, but I’ll
sit and have a cup of coffee.” Shane grabbed his keys, and they walked across
the street to the diner.

Mr. Jensen waited until Shane finished his meal then
said, “You know, I’m getting older so my memory isn’t what it used to be, but
my wife remembers everything, especially faces and names. After you two met
yesterday she kept telling me that you looked familiar. Later that afternoon it
came to her why she recognized you.”

Shane sheepishly looked up from his empty plate,
“Where’d that be from?”

“She used to be quite a horse woman in her younger
days. We raised some quarter horses that she showed in reining and western
pleasure. She enjoyed entering the big shows, like the Quarter Horse Congress,
every year. She won her fair share of ribbons too. She used to soak up all she
could about training horses and she read everything she’d get her hands on.”
Mr. Jensen smiled as he talked about his wife.

“She remembered driving all the way to Kansas with a
friend of hers to see you put on a clinic years ago. At least, she’s pretty
sure it was you. I remember when she took that trip; I couldn’t believe she
would drive that far for something like that.” Mr. Jensen squinted at Shane and
asked, “Was it you she saw?”

“Yes sir, it probably was. I put on a few clinics in
that area. It was a long time ago, though.”

“What brings you out here now?”

Shane sat quietly for a moment. He was going to have
to tell someone about his hunt for the herd, and he thought Mr. Jensen might be
a good place to start. “I came out here to see through a promise.”

“What kind of promise?”

“It concerns the little mustang I left at your
farm.” Shane wasn’t willing to open up to this man or anyone else about what
had happened to his family. All people needed to know was that he made a
promise to set the mare free with her wild herd, and he was bound and
determined to see it through.

Mr. Jensen sipped his coffee, then sat back. “I
think there’s something you should know about that horse. I recognize the brand
on her hip. Do you realize what you’ve got?”

“Not really, I know she comes from a herd that runs
wild on the reservation.”

The old man smiled as he stood. “I’ll tell you what,
son, you look like you could use a home-cooked meal. You come out to the house
tonight and see your horses. I’ll tell you what I can about that mare over
dinner.” He took one more sip of coffee, then leaned over and said, “Let me
give you some advice. If I were you, I wouldn’t mention that brand around town.
You might stir up more interest than you want.”

Shane nodded to indicate that he heard his warning,
then the old man headed for the door. He thought Mr. Jensen was being a little
dramatic with his advice, but figured he would wait until he heard what the
Jensen’s had to say before he went nosing around town about the mustangs.

After breakfast, Shane went back to his room. He’d
slept for over seventeen hours and felt rested for the first time in a while.
He quickly grew restless watching TV, so he decided to drive around and have a
look at the countryside. Soon he might be packing into the foothills and
valleys surrounding the area, and he wanted to see what he was in for.

 
Shane also
knew if he sat idle for very long, his mind would begin to drift to the
memories that continually haunted him.

Sometimes he felt guilty pushing the thoughts of the
three out of his head, but for the present it was the only way he could
survive. So he left the little room and drove northwest toward the mountains in
hopes that seeing this country would be a good distraction.

He didn’t have to drive far before realizing how
special this place really was. The scenery was spectacular, and he couldn’t
help but be in awe. Soon he found himself on an elevated road, where he stopped
his truck to gaze down into a valley. Scanning across this amazing site from
his high perspective, it almost appeared as if the countless tree-topped hills
below had collided, sometime in years gone by. Each one was shoved up against
the other, as if once they had been in motion and then long ago had come to
this sudden eternal halt. They seemed to roll on forever, until they finally
ran into the base of the distant snow-capped mountains that rose high into the
clear blue horizon. It seemed in every direction he looked there were streams
and lakes, which meant this wilderness would surely be alive with an abundance
of wildlife. Sloppy’s herd would be hard to find out here. There was plenty of
cover, and Shane began thinking he would probably need a guide to help him
locate them.

He sat there for a long time and soon began to
wonder how a God who could make country as beautiful as this could be the same
God who let his family die in that horrible accident. As the familiar anger
built inside him, he quickly stood, took a long, deep breath to clear his mind,
and climbed back into his truck. By now it was late afternoon and time to start
heading to the Jensen’s for dinner.

During the drive, Shane found himself becoming more
and more curious about what Mr. Jensen could tell him concerning the mustang’s
brand. Hopefully he might even know where the herd was, or if not, where he
could find a competent guide.

Shane pulled into the driveway, and both of the
horses trotted up to the fence. Even at his first quick glance, he noticed that
Sloppy had a different look in her eyes. She seemed more alive and
animated. “You know you’re back in your own country, don’t you?” he teased. He
affectionately patted the two on their necks and checked them over from head to
hoof.

A shallow stream ran through the field where the
horses were staying and Shane could see by the mud on their legs that they’d
been playing in it. After visiting with them for a few more minutes, he went
and knocked on the Jensen’s door.

The old brick, ranch-style house was in good shape.
The yard was well kept with the surrounding landscape a sight to behold. The
small farm sat in the middle of the foothills with a variety of large aspen,
sycamore, and maple trees, all in full foliage, randomly scattered about.
   

Mr. Jensen opened the door, “Hi Shane, come in and
take a load off.” They sat in the den near the fireplace, which was in full
flame. “I don’t usually light a fire this time of year, but for some reason I
was in the mood for one,” he said as he offered Shane a glass with a shot of
good sipping whiskey.

“I want to thank you again for taking care of Tory’s
colic.”

“No problem,” the old man answered as he poured
himself two fingers.

“I hope you like fried chicken,” Mrs. Jensen
remarked as she walked into the room.

“Yes, ma’am, that sounds good.”

The three of them sat next to the fire, and talked.
“I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed the clinic I saw you put on in Kansas,”
Mrs. Jensen said. “You know, I must have gone to half a dozen clinics that
year. My friend and I decided that we would travel together. We had a lot of
fun driving all around to horse shows and clinics. We wore out a set of tires
on my horse trailer,” she laughed. “You were the one clinician that really
stood out for us. Your clinic was full of practical information on how a horse
thinks and reacts. We were simply bowled over seeing what you could do with
one. Why, you had every one of those animals in the palm of your hands. I even
ordered some of your videotapes. I think I still have them. I kept looking for
more of your clinic dates, but you just seemed to vanish. I finally assumed you
gave it up for some reason.”

“Yes, ma’am, I haven’t done that for almost fifteen
years now.” Fearing she might question him concerning the reason he stopped
putting on his clinics, which was, of course, his family life, Shane decided to
quickly change the subject.

“Dinner sure smells good.”

Mrs. Jensen smiled and replied, “Why don’t we
continue visiting while we eat?” She then led them to the table.

After the meal, they moved back by the fire. It
wasn’t long before he felt the conversation was once again drifting toward the
reason he left his life on the road. These were nice people and he wasn’t
trying to hide anything from them, but the last thing he wanted was to have
them feel pity for him. Besides, he was here to find out about the herd.

“I don’t mean to shift gears
on you, but I’m very interested in getting any information I can on the
mustang. You see I promised somebody close to me, and close to the horse, that
I would bring her out here and set her free with her old herd. I aim to see
that through.
”

“I think that’s admirable,” Mrs. Jensen stated.

Mr. Jensen eagerly spoke up. “I’ve heard a lot about
the wild bunch you’re looking for. The locals from town call them the
broken-arrow horses because of the brand the Indians put on them. The Indians
call them the spirit horses. I really don’t know why. The Shoshone claim
rightful ownership of the herd. They say their tribe has raised them for
generations and their ancestors even used the same bloodlines for their hunting
and war horses. That’s why they put their brand on them. I’ve heard the horses
sometimes wander off the reservation and end up grazing on some of the
bordering property leased by a local cattle rancher named Vince Nethers. As I
understand it, he doesn’t want his cows to share their grass with the mustangs.
Nethers’s son, Bo, and some of the hired hands who work on the ranch claim the
horses are fair game if they wander off the reservation. Unlike most mustangs,
this herd has had selective breeding and management through hundreds of years
by the Shoshone tribe. This is well known in the area, so the horses are
considered to have some special value around here.”

Shane leaned back in his chair as he listened
intently.

“The herd is smart and hard to find. Some of the
young men around town consider it something to brag on if they can find and
catch even a few. They act like it’s some kind of sport. This small group of
young jerks thinks it’s fun to try to piss off and provoke the Shoshone by
stealing their horses. Most of the time the tribe tolerates the loss of a few
animals to keep from starting trouble, but I hear there’s a lot of tension over
it all right now.”

“Why is that?” Shane wondered out loud.

“Apparently,” Mr. Jensen replied, “the Shoshone
found out a few of the horses were caught, then hauled straight to the killer
market for quick cash. The Indians caught wind of this, and made it clear they
won’t put up with it anymore. They say the horses are part of their heritage,
so they have a right to protect what is theirs.”

“Why doesn’t the tribe put up a fence to keep them
in?” Shane asked.

Mr. Jensen laughed, “The border between Nethers’s
land and the reservation covers about forty miles of rough country. It would be
damn near impossible to fence it. I went up there a few years ago just to see
if I could find the herd. I stayed in that country almost a week on horseback,
but never did get a look at them. All I ever saw were tracks and droppings.
That’s a smart bunch of horses. Like I said, the boys from town consider it a
real challenge to catch them.”

Shane smiled and encouraged Mr. Jensen to tell him
more. “How do the Indians keep up with the herd?”