The Red Stallion
By
Jenny Guttridge
A well-built and
powerful man in dusty black clothes, Adam took off his hat and wiped his sleeve
over his face. His sweat made a dark damp patch on the cloth. Squinting against
the dazzling sunlight, he turned to look up at his younger brother where he sat
high on the back of his favourite pinto pony. “They’re still about three hours
ahead of us and travelling at about the same speed.”
Joseph Cartwright
shifted himself in the saddle, easing the weight on the bones of his butt, and
allowed his eyes to follow the same line as Adam’s. “We’ve been right on their
tails for four days now, Adam, and pushin’ ‘em hard. They gotta be just up in
front of us, an’ they’ve gotta slow down soon.”
“I’m not so sure,
Joe.” Adam replaced his hat and walked back to his waiting horse. His stride
was long, slow and easy with just the hint of a hitch that showed that his
once-injured hip was starting to stiffen. “There’s a wily old mare out in front
of this bunch, and she’s leading us straight out into the badlands.” Lifting
the canteen down from his saddle, he took a small mouthful of the warm,
stale-tasting water, swilled it around in his mouth a time or two and spat out
the resulting mixture of mud and saliva onto the ground. Then he took a proper
drink, sufficient of the life-giving fluid to do his lean-hipped,
broad-shouldered body some good but not quite enough to make his belly rebel.
He poured a little more water into the palm of his hand and used it to cool his
face and his neck.
Joe was his usual
anxious and impatient self. “We’ve got to catch up with them. This is the
biggest bunch of bang-tails we’ve found this year. We need those horses if
we’re goin’ to make that quota of army remounts.”
“I know it.” Adam
swallowed one more mouthful of water and pushed the stopper firmly back into
place. He shook the canteen, estimating the amount of water remaining inside,
and pulled a sour face. He had barely enough to last him the day and none at
all for the horse. “But we have to find water.”
He turned and
studied the way ahead. The prospect wasn’t inviting. The path they were on
twisted down into a canyon a mile wide and just under half that deep. The abode
of lizards, scorpions and snakes, it was a deep, jagged slash in the earth. It
was carved by the wind from the pale coloured rock, filled with heat and
sunlight and dust and brown coloured-earth. Its distance was lost in the haze.
Dry, yellow grasses grew here and there. Small, sparse patches of thorny, grey green
scrub clung to the hillside in the spots where the roots could find shade.
There was no indication at all of where they might find water.
It was not quite
Joe’s face, still
not fully matured into the hard, flat planes that would define the handsome
young man he was about to become, creased into an unbecoming scowl of concern.
“We can’t give up now. Another day an’ we’ll have chased them down!”
Adam laughed
grimly. “Another day on this trail and that ol’ mare ‘ll have us right where
she wants us – stuck out in the dry country with no water and our horses dying
under us.”
“But we can’t let
them get away from us now!” Joe was insistent, his voice a tiny bit shrill.
Adam knew how he
felt, but someone had to keep their feet firmly down on the ground and their
heads out of the clouds; as the eldest, he naturally got elected. “We can’t and
we won’t. What we’ll do is go back and get supplies and fresh horses, and then
come after them again.”
“By then that
horse herd will be fifty miles away and in someone else’s territory!”
Both sceptical and
amused, Adam gave a slow shake of the head. As he had observed often before,
Joe had grown up as bull-headed and stubborn as the rest of the Cartwright
clan. He wasn’t about to give in easily. Adam thought about it, running times
and distances through his head and setting them against the scant amount of
provisions remaining in their saddlebags. The sums didn’t come out very well.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Joe trying to look both eager and
crestfallen at the same time. He suppressed a slow smile. “All right, we’ll
give it one more day, but if we do catch up with them, it’s goin’ to be a case
of ride an’ rope ‘em. That ol’ mare isn’t about to let us run her into a blind
canyon someplace. I’ll lay odds she knows every waterhole for a hundred miles
or more.”
A grin spread over
Joe’s face; green-flecked hazel eyes sparkled with a youthful devilment as he
followed his big brother’s line of thought to its logical conclusion. “You
reckon, if we stay glued to her heels, she’s gonna lead us to all the water we
need.”
“It seems a
reasonable assumption.” Adam stepped into his stirrup and lifted himself back
into the saddle. The effort cost him some pain. “But if we have to make another
dry camp tonight, we’ll have to turn back first thing in the morning.”
“Brother Adam, you
got yourself a deal!” Joe’s grin was still in place as he kicked his horse into
motion and started off down the trail.
The smile pulled
against the corners of Adam’s mouth. For Joe, hunting wild horses was still a
favourite occupation as well as an economic necessity. Adam remembered well how
it felt to be all fired up with the thrill of the chase. For him, the maturity
of years and the aches and the stiffness of old injuries reawakened by long
days in the saddle and nights on hard ground had provided a more circumspect
outlook. Nevertheless, Joe’s enthusiasm was infectious. Lifting his reins, Adam
nudged his horse in the ribs and set out in his brother’s hoof prints.
The wide, fertile
strip of country that ran the length of western
It was well past
Joe leaned over
the pinto’s shoulder “Hey, Adam! Lookee there!” Joe pointed with an out-flung
arm.
Adam sat up
straighter in the saddle and creased his eyes against the afternoon glare.
Below them, and a mile away across the flat flood plain of the long vanished
river, the little horse herd was still on the move. In almost a week of
relentless pursuit it was the closest that the brothers had got to them. Both
men leaned forward in their saddles as if that few inches of distance would
give them a better view.
The mustangs walked
slowly, nose to tail and strung out across the landscape in a broad, disjointed
line. There were at least as many as Adam had estimated: twenty-two or perhaps
twenty-five animals of assorted shapes and sizes. They were all the colours of
the barren, dry earth, bay and brown and dun and sorrel. Blurred by the
distance and disguised by the thick layer of dust on their sweaty hides, they
merged into the background of rock and dust and sky.
Joe and Adam
Cartwright exchanged triumphant grins. The trials and the discomforts of the
long chase were forgotten. Both young men were as certain as they could be that
they had this particular herd of wild horses exactly where they wanted it to
be. With Joe still leading the way, they began to negotiate the steep and stony
path that led down to the riverbed.
Neither man
realised that sharp eyes were watching them, or that a keen and agile mind had
already traced the route ahead of them and seen where they were headed. Neither
man saw the shadow that moved stealthily from the shelter of the rocks above
the trail and drifted after them, as insubstantial and wraith-like as the heat
devils that danced on the desert floor.
It took a whole
afternoon of relentless riding to close that mile wide gap. As Adam had rightly
predicted, the elderly mare – the leader of the herd by reason of her wisdom
and experience – led the horses to water. Hidden in among the rocks and quite
invisible from the trail above, the pool filled a rocky basin where a small,
but perpetual underground spring broke through to the surface. The water was
cool, sweet and pure.
The old mare stood
watching and waiting while the younger animals drank. As the men rode closer,
walking their horses, she raised her grizzled head and looked them over with a
knowing and intelligent eye. A black-backed bay with long grey whiskers and the
trace of a tasselled beard, this was not the first time that she had crossed
wits with mustang hunters – and not only the human kind. Her rump, side and
shoulder were disfigured by long, raking scars: the legacy of an encounter with
a cougar that had jumped on her back a good many years before. She had survived
the big cat’s attack, bucked it off and kicked in its head, but her hide still
wore the vicious marks of its claws.
She had met with
humans as well: hard and determined men. What her plans were for dealing with
this particular pair, she wasn’t saying. She shook her head and her stringy
black mane and nipped at a young filly’s heels – to move her along a little
more quickly and to prove that she was the boss.
The rest of the
herd was a mixed bunch of ponies, much as the Cartwright boys had expected.
There were six or eight mares with long-legged fillies or colts still close to
their sides, two younger mares, and the remainder were young male horses not
yet driven off by the resident stallion to join the bachelor herds and fend for
themselves. Altogether, they were a good-looking bunch of broom-tail horses –
better than the average wild-running stock. Once the men had turned away the
mares and their young and weeded out the infirm, they might have five or six
animals suitable to be saddle broken: just enough to complete the army quota.
The Cartwrights were satisfied with a job well done – in their minds it was
already completed.
Joe sat up
straight in his saddle. He reached across to nudge his brother and pointed.
“Hey, Adam, will you look at that!”
Adam followed his
brother’s line and gave a low, soundless whistle. He pushed his hat back from
his eyes and rested both hands on the horn of his saddle. He didn’t quite
believe what he was seeing, but his tawny eyes were suddenly bright with
interest and speculation.
If the old bay
mare was the leader of the herd, then this fine, tall stallion must be its
master. He was a magnificent beast with lots of rich, Spanish blood flowing
through his wily mustang veins. He had long, strong legs and powerful quarters
and a thick-set but elegant neck. His head was large but finely boned, his eyes
dark and intelligent. Glowing warmly in the light of the westering sun, his
coat was a deep, vibrant red. His mane and tail were glossy black, and his
forelegs were black right up to his shoulders. There wasn’t a single white hair
to be seen.
Adam touched his
lips with the tip of his tongue. It was a long time since he’d seen such a
horse, and he was filled with admiration. It was rare indeed to find such an
animal running wild on the range. He knew at that moment, deep down inside,
that he wanted that horse for himself. Even as he thought it, one long, lean
hand was already moving towards his coiled rope.
Joe saw the
movement. “No, you don’t, brother. This one is mine. I saw him first.”
Adam eyed him
narrowly. In Joe’s young face he saw a longing that bordered on hunger, a
desire that was almost sexual in its intensity. They were emotions that he felt
himself. For once in his life, Adam was disinclined to give way to his younger
brother. Right from the outset Joe had always had things easy; had his own way.
He had come to expect it. Well, this time it was going to be different. Adam
shifted himself in the saddle, his hand still resting lightly in the rope. “I
don’t your see your brand on him anyplace.”
Joe returned his
hard look with an air of scornful amusement. “Say, Adam, what in hell would you
do with a horse like that? Take a gelding knife to him and use him to chase
steers out of the brush?”
Adam bristled at
the tone in his little brother’s voice. “And what would you do with him, Joe?
Harness him up to the buggy and trot him out for every girl that flutters her
eyelids at you?” His response was deliberately barbed and aggressive, designed
to provoke a response.
Predictably, Joe
didn’t disappoint. “I might just do that! It’d be better than turning him into
some sway backed, lame footed cow-pony.”
Both men looked at
the dark sorrel horse. He had caught the scent of their sweat on the evening
air, and he was pawing the ground nervously. But the stallion was thirsty; he
wasn’t going to leave the vicinity of the water hole until he’d had his turn to
drink.
The mares and the
young stock had filled their bellies and had started to move away towards the
more open ground where scant desert grazing grew. Still with her wise old eye
on the men, the old mare harried them along. She wasn’t concerned with the fate
of the stallion. Stallions came and they went. Her job was to keep the harem
together. The men were content to let the herd go. Right at that moment, there
was only that one horse that mattered.
“Well,” said Adam,
“I guess it’s down to which one of us gets a rope on him first.”
“I’ll settle for
that!” Joe was still angry. He unhitched his rope.
Adam held out a
hand to stop him. “Not yet, Joe! The light’s fading fast. It’s too late in the
day to be fighting a stallion on the end of a rope. Better leave it ‘til
morning.”
“By mornin’ he’ll
be a long way from here.”
“Not if we keep
him thirsty. We’ll camp by the water hole and stop him getting a drink.”
Joe glanced up at
the heavens. The sky was still bright, ‘though the badlands were filling with
shadows; soon it would be night. Joe wasn’t discouraged. “I reckon I can get a
loop on him tonight.”
“Don’t be a fool!”
Adam snatched at his brother’s rein and missed. By the time he’d recovered his
balance and gotten his horse straightened out, Joe was already well past him
and riding hard down the slope. Adam had no choice at all but to set out after
him.
The trail that led
down to the water hole was steep and stony, but Joe had thrown caution to all
four winds and was riding hard, spurring the pinto for all he was worth. At the
same time he shook the noose of his rope into a sizeable loop.
Adam felt a sharp
spasm of fear; Joe’s riding was reckless! If the pinto should stumble, Joe
could be thrown from the saddle and seriously hurt – even killed! There was
nothing to do except be there to pick up the pieces. Adam’s horse, at his
urging, squatted down on his quarters and slid most of the way in a shower of
stones and dry earth. By the time man and beast arrived at the bottom, and Adam
got the horse up and running, Joe was riding hell for leather across the uneven
ground.
Alarmed by the
approach of the galloping horse and its rider, the mustangs scattered. The red
stallion was caught in two minds. After a long trek through the badlands, he
was a thirsty animal. He had already approached the pool with his neck
outstretched to drink. Now he pulled back, snorting with indignation. Joe threw
his rope in a well practised, underhand sweep. The rope snaked out and settled
neatly around the red stallion’s neck. With a squeal of outrage the horse
lunged away, tightening the rope and jerking the pinto off balance.
Joe clung to the
saddle as his horse staggered, then righted itself and leaned hard against the
rope. Stiff legged, the red stallion bucked and plunged on the end of the rope.
He was a heavier and stronger horse than the pinto gelding; he swung the
lighter animal ‘round like a bob on the end of a string. Joe took another hitch
in the line around the horn of his saddle; he was determined not to let the
stallion go. The red horse had other ideas.
Adam rode up,
hauling hard on his big chestnut’s reins. “Set him loose, Joe! Set him loose!”
He could see that the pinto was about to be dragged off his feet.
“Not on your life!”
Joe’s response was instant and angry. “He’s my horse an’ I’m gonna keep him!”
Adam hesitated –
should he help Joe catch the horse that he wanted so badly for himself? The
rivalry stayed his hand – but only a moment. He couldn’t risk Joe being hurt.
But when Adam tried to get an angle so that he could get a rope on the red
stallion too, the lunging animals got in his way
The red horse was
enraged; more than that, he was frightened. He didn’t like the rope round his
neck. All he wanted was to get away from the alien thing that clung to him and
cut off his wind. He gave up all thoughts of getting a drink of water, and he
started to run, dragging Joe and the pinto pony behind him.
As Adam had
predicted, the light was fading fast. The shadows had spread and merged one
with another: they formed dense pools of darkness that flowed together and
formed an ocean of gloom. The horses’ footing on the rugged ground became
increasingly uncertain. The red horse was as wild as wild could be, and he
wanted to stay free. He was running in a white-eyed panic, and the pinto had no
choice but to try and keep up. Adam reined his own gelding around and galloped
after them, kicking for all he was worth.
Instinctively, the
stallion headed for higher ground, and the going became increasingly rougher.
The landscape was littered with shattered shale and broken rocks. Boulders
loomed out of the gathering darkness, barring the way until the red horse
dodged and dived around them; stones skidded out from under the pinto’s shod feet.
Adam yelled out to his brother; “Cut him loose, Joe! Cut the rope!” He didn’t
know if Joe heard him or not.
The red stallion
swerved away, he turned hard to the left. The rope cut across Joe’s horse’s
shoulder. The pinto spun ‘round, yanked sideways, off balance. Joe felt the
horse falling. At the very last moment he had the presence of mind to jerk the
rope free. Then he was out of the saddle, tumbling and rolling. He hit the
ground hard. Something sharp dug into his arm, and his hip took one bang and then
another. Adam rode up, jumped off his horse and ran to his brother. “Joe, are
you all right?”
Joe struggled into
a sitting position. He was shaken and angry as much as he was hurt. There was a
graze on his cheekbone, and he rubbed a sore shoulder. “I let the danged horse
get away!”
When he saw that
his brother was undamaged in all but, essentially, his pride, Adam’s concern
turned to rage. “That was a damned fool trick to try! You could have been
killed! Your horse could have broken a leg and then where would we be?”
Joe swallowed his
indignation and cast a guilty look towards his horse. The pinto had rolled
right over and got back onto his feet. He’d wandered just a few steps away and
stood waiting, his braided reins trailing at his feet. “I guess I’d better
check him over.” With Adam’s helping hand, Joe got to his feet and limped over.
Adam stood back and noted, with some small satisfaction, that his brother
discovered some new bump or bruise with every step that he took. He wondered,
passingly, if Joe might have learned some lesson from his painful experience
and in future, pay more attention to the advice of his elders. Somehow he
doubted it – Joe was just at that age when he thought that he knew it all.
The sturdy black
and white pony was a little winded but, otherwise, had suffered no ill effects
from the fall. His sweat-soaked hide was dusty, and Joe’s saddle leather was
scuffed, but when Joe led him in a wide circle, watching his legs as he walked,
he wasn’t lame. Joe considered himself lucky. He looked after the long vanished
stallion with wistful eyes. “There’s no chance of catching up with him now.”
Adam smiled at the
look on his brother’s young face. He choked back the ‘I told you so’ and said,
“Don’t worry, Joe. Well get another chance at him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Joe
spat out the word. “Tomorrow he’ll be twenty miles from here and still
running.”
Adam could see
that Joe wasn’t prepared to give up his claim to the horse, and neither was he.
“I told you before, he won’t go that far. He’s still thirsty, and he won’t like
being apart from his mares. He’ll double back to the water hole and try to
steal a drink, then he’ll link up with the herd in the morning.” Adam looked at
the sky. The last trace of the sun had vanished and left behind it a deep, rich
blue fading slowly towards black. The stars were emerging above the eastern
horizon, and soon, it would start to grow colder. He followed his chain of thought through;
“Let’s go back to the water hole and get ourselves something to eat. In the
morning, we’ll go after him again.”
Teeth gritted edge
against edge Joe didn’t object, but he barely suppressed the sigh that he knew
would annoy Adam beyond endurance. “I guess we’ll do it your way.”
The two men picked
up their reins and walked back to the water hole, leading their horses through
the deepening, black velvet night.
*******
Adam awoke from a
deep, dreamless sleep and found himself flat on his back staring up into a
star-spangled sky that seemed to go on forever. Joe was leaning over him,
clinging on to his arm and shaking him violently. “Adam, wake up, will you!”
Adam said, “Ungh!”
and, “Erng?” and several other intelligent things while he tried to gather his
wits about him. He struggled into a half-sitting position supported on one
elbow and blinked at his brother. He wasn’t too happy at being woken up. “Joe?
What is it?”
“Shush!” Joe
hissed at him. “Be quiet and listen!”
Now Adam was even
less happy. Being shaken awake was one thing. Being hushed into silence
immediately afterwards was entirely another. The look on Joe’s face forestalled
his angry retort. He closed his mouth, shook the cotton wool out of his head,
and listened. The silence of the desert was intense.
The brothers had
set up their small encampment right at the water’s edge. Joe had fed the horses
a meagre allowance of grain and spent a long time grooming the dirt and the
sweat out of their hides in an attempt to compensate for the meanness of their
rations. He’d paid particular attention to the pinto to make amends for his
thoughtless treatment of him earlier; the horse seemed to understand. Both
animals were picketed nearby, currently dozing on their feet. Adam had lit a
small fire using the dried sticks and debris he found round the pool. The two
men drank the last of their coffee in disgruntled silence and ate stale bread
and tough, lean-beef jerky. It hadn’t been much of a meal but it had eased the
hunger pangs in their bellies and made it possible to sleep. Now, the fire was
out, and they were both awake. They sat quite still in the dark and listened to
the absolute quiet.
Adam heard the
sigh of his blood and the slow, steady beat of his heart; beyond that and the
soft sigh of his breathing there was nothing at all to break the unearthly
stillness. Still groggy with sleep, he looked at his brother; “What am I
listening for?”
“Hush up, will
ya!” Joe shook him again, even harder, and retained the punishing grip on his
arm. The look on his face was one of intense concentration mixed with a trace
of fright.
Adam stared into
the surrounding darkness. The moon had set and the valley was dark. The
reflected stars danced on the face of the water. He held his breath and
strained his hearing, but whatever the noise that had awakened his brother, it
didn’t come again. Adam looked at Joe and raised an expressively quizzical
eyebrow.
Joe shook his
head, still scowling. “There’s somethin’ out there, movin’ about in the rocks
about fifty feet away. I heard it!”
Turning his head
again, Adam looked in the indicated direction. There was nothing there to be
seen except an extensive formation of large, leaning rocks, vaguely
grey-and-black shapes in the surrounding and all encompassing night. He could
see nothing moving any more than he could hear the illusive sound. He rubbed
his sleep-slackened face. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”
“I’m wide awake,
Adam. I know what I heard!” Joe was emphatic.
Adam sat up
straighter, taking his weight off his elbow and bringing himself more fully awake.
“It’s probably a fox or something, hunting for gophers.”
Joe shook his head
furiously. “It wasn’t a fox. It was something a whole lot bigger.”
“All right, Joe.
Don’t get so excited. It’s probably just that red horse trying to sneak in for
a drink of water.”
“It sure didn’t
sound like a horse.” Joe was insistent. “I think we should take a look.”
Adam sighed and
tossed back his blanket; Joe had a great imagination and at times was easily
spooked. He resigned himself to the sad fact that he wouldn’t get any more
sleep for a while and pulled his gun from his holster. “If it’ll make you any
happier, we’ll go take a look.”
Joe certainly
didn’t look any happier, but his face became more relaxed as they searched
through the boulders and the tangled scrub. They found nothing but a large
sized diamond-backed rattler that only wanted to slither away. Half an hour of
fruitless investigation – stumbling around in the dark – left both men edgy and
irritated and not one bit the wiser. “I know I heard somethin’,” Joe grumbled
as they made their way back to their camp. “Somethin’ sort of big an’ sneaky
tryin’ ta be real quiet.”
“Well, there’s
nothing there now,” Adam said shortly. He sat down heavily on his bedroll.
“I didn’t dream
it, an’ I didn’t make it up!”
After a hard day
in the saddle and an uncomfortable night, Adam was thoroughly disgruntled, not
to say angry at being woken up for no good reason. Cold after his walk in the
dark, he pulled his blanket up over him. “Just forget it, Joe, will you? I want
to get some sleep.”
But now that he
was fully awake, sleep proved elusive. He lay on his back for more than an hour
with his head cradled in the bow of his saddle and watched the slow wheel of
the stars. Joe tossed and turned alongside him. Whatever intruder, imaginary or
otherwise, had disturbed him didn’t return.
*******
“Adam, have you
seem my canteen?” Joe’s voice was plaintive. Adam, concentrating hard on
affairs of his own, took a while to respond.
While Joe saddled the horses, Adam had taken advantage of the quieter moment to
set up a fragment of mirror and take the finely honed blade of his razor to the
stubble that darkened his face. He pulled the skin taut with his fingers and
slid the blade carefully over his throat. Sometimes he wondered if it might not
be a good idea to let the beard grow long and bushy like those of the old
mountain men and save himself the chore of shaving. “Nope. Where did you leave
it?”
“It was right here
on my saddle last night.”
Adam inspected the
curve of his jaw in the glass. “You sure about that?”
“Sure I’m sure!”
Exasperated, Joe spread his hands. “Where in hell else would it be?”
Adam started on
the other side of his face. “Perhaps you lost it when your horse took that tumble
last night.” It seemed a logical explanation.
Muttering, Joe
made another search of the campsite. Adam finished his shave and started to pay
more attention. He knew as well as his brother that the canteen was a vital
piece of equipment, especially in this barren and hostile country. Its loss
could mean life or death to a man. It soon became clear that Joe wasn’t going
to find it.
Adam planted his
hands on his hips “We’d better go back and take a look at the place where you
had that fall.”
“I know I had it
after that. It was right there on my saddle.” Joe’s voice was rising.
Adam remained
calm, the soul of good reason. “If it had been there then, it would be there
now.”
“Someone must have
sneaked in last night and stolen it.”
Adam smiled at the
very idea. “And who do you think did the sneaking? I’ll wager that there’s no
one else beside you and me within a hundred miles of here.”
Joe looked around
at the dry and desolate landscape. There was no way he could argue with Adam’s
reasoning, but still the canteen was missing. It was sometime later, when
packing their gear, that Adam discovered that their bag of dried meat had
vanished as well with the same inexplicable thoroughness. Adam straightened up
slowly, a puzzled look on his face. The pocket of the saddlebag where he’d
placed the waxed canvas bag was empty. He looked at Joe. “I know I put it in
there.” He was confused and just a little bit mad. “Where in hell has it gone?”
It was a question
to which there was no immediate answer. The loss of the meat left them short of
food. They still had some cheese and some hard-tack biscuit, some dried, salted
fish and a bagful of grains, fruits and nuts. Soon, they would be hungry and
hunting the rocks for rattlers – this time not letting them get away. And Joe’s
missing canteen meant that they couldn’t carry all the water that they needed
with them. Even so, neither man was prepared to give up the hunt for the red
stallion. Both of them wanted that horse. For Joe, it was a case of love at
first sight, a need that burned inside him so intensely that it glowed right
out of his face; for Adam, it was more a slow ache of desire that was almost
sexual. It gnawed away at his insides.
There was little
talk as they packed up their gear. Neither one of them felt much like banter,
and the camaraderie that had characterised their horse-hunting trip this far
was now strangely missing. An air of tension had grown between them. It was
something more than sibling rivalry: one brother wanting to prove himself over
the other; something less than personal dislike. Each man already felt the
pride of possession, as if the mustang were already his. Each thought that he
would let nothing, not even his brother, stand in his way.
Joe, without his
rope, was now at a disadvantage, but he wasn’t about to let that interfere with
his plans. He had caught the horse once, and he could do it again. Adam was
quietly confident. He had more experience and no less zeal than his brother. He
could ride harder and longer than Joe on the pinto; he knew he could pull this
thing off.
They let the
horses graze on the last of the grasses that grew by the pool and allowed them
to drink a judicious amount of the water – not enough to swell out their
bellies – before they tightened their cinches and mounted up. They rode back to the spot where Joe had been
thrown and searched among the boulders and bushes, but they didn’t find the
canteen.
The tracks left by
the stallion were plain enough to see. He had galloped on for a while, then
slowed to a canter before he turned off into wilder, stonier country where the
signs were harder to see. Adam pulled up his horse and wiped his sweating face
with his sleeve. Although it was still
early in the morning, the chill of the night had faded away, and the temperature
was starting to rise. He took a small mouthful of water and passed his canteen
to Joe. Both of them sat in their saddles and surveyed the stark and harshly
beautiful landscape.
The ground sloped sharply
upwards towards the distant, dry hills. The earth was hard packed and that
pale, crystalline colour that dazzles the eyes in the sun. It was dotted with
uniform regularity with thorny, grey green vegetation and sharp up thrusts of
rock. A few stunted trees grew nearer the hills, and there were vast swathes of
yellowing grasses growing riper in the sun. It was typical wild horse country,
the sort that mustangs love. Adam gestured towards the hills. “He knows we’re
after him. That’s where he’ll be hiding out. He’ll figure to lose us in amongst
the rocks and the gullies. We’ll have to haze him out into this open country
before we can chase him down.”
Joe looked up at
the sky, judging the time of day. The bright blue colour of the heavens was
already changing to gold. It was going to be another hot day in the badlands.
“Then I guess we’d better get started.”
Adam heard the
snarl in his brother’s voice. It rekindled his own resentment. He kicked his
horse hard, driving him after the pinto. The two men rode for the hills.
The red mustang
was a young horse. He had been born in the wilds and had spent the whole of his
life in the wild and desolate places. He had no experience of man or with the
ways of man, but he didn’t much care for the sour smell of man-sweat - it reeked of cruelty and pain. He used all
his natural, inbred wiles to hide himself in the landscape. For all their
skills and experience, the men searched most of the morning. It became a test
of endurance. The glare of the sun burned into their eyes, and the hot air
scorched their throats.
Around about
“Adam,” he began
uneasily, “I think we’re being watched.”
Adam’s eyes slid
around to look at him. “Joe, there’s nothing in these hills to watch you except
the odd lizard or two and that red-backed scorpion at your feet.”
“Hey! Why didn’t
you tell me!” Joe jumped up and did some dancing around. While he was getting
all hot and bothered, Adam used the time to study the local terrain. He wasn’t
about to say anything to Joe, but that inexplicably sensitive spot between his
shoulder blades had been itching for more than an hour. He couldn’t put his
finger on the cause of it; there wasn’t so much as a jackrabbit hiding out in
these rocks. He reclaimed his canteen and took another swallow before capping
it firmly. He slid off the rock, stretched the kink out of the small of his
back and rubbed the ache in his backside. “Come on, Joe. Let’s get moving.
We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”
It was the flash
of red hide in sunlight down in a brush-choked draw that eventually gave the
stallion away. The two brothers began the long and arduous business of hazing
him out of the hills and down to the lower, flatter country that made up the
valley floor. It was hard, tiring work in the heat of the day, and, despite
their rivalry, they had to work together to get the job done.
The red horse was
clever in his wild, mustang way. He knew instinctively that he couldn’t outrun
his pursuers. He kept trying to cut
back, to double over his tracks and dart in between the two riders and make
good his escape. The men had their work cut out to keep him moving in front of
them. Somewhere along the way he had shaken himself free of Joe’s trailing
rope, and he had nothing to hinder him. Every time the brothers began to catch
up, he kicked up his heels and galloped away.
At last, with much
shouting and whooping and pushing him hard, they got him moving in the
direction that they wanted him to go: downwards and across a steep hillside. By
now, all the horses were running and sweating hard. Adam’s horse was bigger and
stronger than Joe’s. The pinto was left
behind. Galloping steadily, Adam made up ground on the stallion; he shook out
the loop of his rope.
The horse saw him
coming and swerved abruptly away. He ducked to the right and took a steep,
downward path that led, eventually, back to the dry riverbed. Adam kicked
harder, and his gelding lengthened his stride. Now, the red horse’s black
flying mane and his broad, sweat stained quarters were only a few feet away.
Adam leaned a long way out of the saddle to slip the noose over his head.
From the corner of
his eye, he saw the pinto stumble and almost go down. Joe was thrown from the
saddle, went over the horse’s shoulder and skidded along the ground. The trail
was narrow and the hillside was steep. Unable to stop his forward momentum, Joe
slid over the edge and fell down the slope. Adam hauled back on the reins,
turned the chestnut around and went back to help.
There was no sign
of Joe in the rocks that bordered the trail. Adam rode closer to the crumbling
fringes than good sense might allow. His little brother had tumbled onto a
precipitous slope of loose, sharp shale and was sliding. Adam yelled out to
him, “Hey, Joe, hang on down there!”
Joe’s voice came
back; “Hang on to what?” There was nothing there to hold on to. His hands and
face had been cut in the fall, and the rock dust had blinded him.
Adam tossed him
the rope. “There, Joe; to your right!” Joe crabbed sideways across the slope
and grabbed it. He wrapped it around his arms and his shoulders. Adam backed up
his horse and anchored the rope firmly while Joe used it to climb back up to
the trail. Adam dismounted and made his way over. The pain in his hip made him
tired. Joe had cut hands and a graze on his cheek and dirt in his curly brown
hair. While Joe scraped the dirt from his eyes and inspected his bloody palms,
Adam coiled up his rope.
Adam gazed after
the stallion. He was long out of sight and even his dust had settled. Adam was
more than annoyed; he’d nearly had his rope on that horse! “What in hell
happened?” he demanded crossly.
Joe glared up at
him, equally angry. “That damn fool boy startled my horse!”
“Boy?” Adam
blinked at him. “What boy?”
“The goddamned
Indian boy!” Joe yelled. “He jumped out at me from behind those rocks just as I
was passing. Didn’t you see him?”
Adam studied the
rocks and the trail and the hillside; his eyes traced the line of the sky. “I
don’t see any Indian boy.”
“Well, he was
right there!” Joe waved a furious gesture at an outcrop of rocks that crowded
close to the trail. “Looked like one of
those Bannocks that come by the ranch now and then.”
Adam made another
scan of the landscape. “You sure you didn’t imagine it? All this heat and
sunshine can do funny things to a man’s mind.”
“I didn’t imagine
it!” Joe growled. “An’ I’m not off my head!”
Adam saw Joe’s
fists clenching. To avoid a confrontation, he turned his back and limped to his
horse. “Whoever or whatever you saw, there’s nothing there now. C’mon, let’s go
catch up your pony and see if we can find that horse before dark.”
Riding double on
Adam’s horse, they chased down Joe’s pinto and then, at a more sedate pace,
returned to the water hole. By then, their mutual irritation had turned into
anger, and frustration had boiled over into a full-blown argument.
“I am not calling
you a liar!” Adam declared “I’m saying you must be mistaken! There can’t be a
boy around here!”
“I wasn’t
mistaken!” Joe shouted back. “I know what I saw!”
Adam’s breath
hissed in exasperation. “You know what you think you saw. Why would a Bannock
be all the way out here in the wilds? And why would he try to scare your horse
off the trail?”
“How in heck should
I know? But that’s what he did!”
Adam snorted
derision. “You have an over active imagination.”
Joe was enraged.
He could hardly sit still in the saddle.
“I didn’t imagine it!” If Adam had been within range, Joe would have
been throwing punches.
They came round
the corner to come within range of the spring and pulled up short. The red
stallion was drinking, his front legs splayed wide apart so that he could reach
the surface of the water, some way below his feet. Adam’s face was intent. He
walked his horse forward, reaching again for his rope.
But the red horse
was wary. His big head came up, and his ears swivelled around. He regarded the
men with his dark, intelligent eye. His muzzle glistened with moisture, and
silvery droplets fell from his whiskers. Moving slowly and steadily towards
him, Adam shook out a loop. Joe shouted, “Hey, Adam, look there!”
With a leap and a
bound, the horse was away, disappearing into the rocks. Adam Cartwright let rip
with an oath. “Joe, why in hell did you do that!”
Wordless, Joe
pointed. Adam turned and followed the line of Joe’s out-flung arm with his eye.
A human form had emerged from the jumbled of rocks close down by the edge of
the waterhole. He straightened, it seemed, right out of the ground.
It was a very
young man, as Joe had said - really no more than a boy. He was bronzed, tall,
lean to the point of thinness but with a bulk to his shoulders that spoke of
the strong man to come. He had long black hair that fell loosely about his
shoulders and a face that was all sharp angles and shadows in the afternoon
light. He gave the two mounted men a look of ill-concealed fury before he
turned away. Almost naked, his golden-brown skin was a perfect match to the
colours of soil and rocks and dried-out grasses. Moving away from them, he
disappeared into the background at once