Moonrise (11 page)

T
he stallions dropped their heads, herding Moon's mares, pushing them in with the larger band.

Sam couldn't believe her eyes. The enemies knew safety lay with the herd. They circled the joined band, nipping and neighing, trying to keep them together.

Ace snorted and his heels lashed out, though the dogs were far away. Sam kept him reined in and suddenly she was glad, because the bald-faced mare and Pirate bolted after the foal. If she'd allowed it, Ace would have been right with them.

Moon refused to let his mare go. He dealt her a harsh bite on the neck and she shied, but Pirate kept running. His hooves thundered across the plateau, after the dogs.

The pack was baying with such excitement, they couldn't have heard Pirate coming. But the brown pointer must have sensed him. The dog slowed and turned in an arc toward Pirate, and suddenly the pack shifted their attack. They chased the closer prey.

“No!” Sam screamed at the dogs. “Stop it!”

The black-and-tan hound leaped for Pirate's hind legs. As if time braked into slow motion, Sam saw a ribbon of bay skin peel back. Then she saw blood.

Pirate abandoned the rescue and returned to his herd. Faced by so many milling horses, the dogs hesitated, then looked back at Night.

The black foal shivered. His head drooped and his legs trembled.

The hound named Gator jumped into the air, mouth open as he aimed at a mare's nose.

He never made the bite.

The Phantom's heels caught the dog and sent him spinning away. Beside the white stallion, Moon moved into the same defensive positive, guarding the herd.

But what about Night?

Sam knew the answer even before the question finished flashing through her mind. The stallions had to protect the herd.

Hands shaking, Sam unsnapped her rope holder. She could only think of one way to make the colt an unappealing target.

“Here comes your chance to discipline those dogs,” she told Ace.

If the dogs turned on Ace, she'd send him galloping for the safety of the herd and the protection of the stallions. That was an advantage Dad hadn't had when the dogs attacked Jeep.

The Phantom's head whipped in her direction, white mane flying as he watched her.

“Got me covered?” she mumbled to the stallion, but she knew better.

He was no longer her pet horse Blackie. If it came to a choice, the stallion must guard his herd. Not her.

Sam touched her heels to Ace and trotted toward Night.

“Easy, easy, easy,” Sam told Ace when the dogs followed. “We're pretending we're in charge here.”

With the dogs just a few yards from Ace's heels, Sam stopped short of Night and pulled her mustang around to face the pack.

Hope surged up in her when she saw the dogs were still making up their minds, still deciding whether she was some interfering creature or a master.

Whirling her rope over her head, she shouted, “Get back! Shirley, Bub, Gator, get back, I said!”

When the black-and-tan hound growled, chills rained down Sam's arms. It was a test, and Ace wanted to solve it with his heels. He squealed in frustration when she refused to let him whirl and kick. Thinking of Pirate's wound, she couldn't let him do it.

Instead, Sam used the rope like a whip.

Claws scrabbling, the dogs jumped back to avoid punishment.

“Bad dogs,” she yelled. “Go home!”

Confused, the dogs pressed together for an instant.

Was it the safest time to drive Night to the herd? Or the most dangerous?

Sam swung Ace behind the foal, and suddenly they both knew what to do. They bolted toward the herd and Ace didn't stop until they were surrounded by others of their kind.

Slammed between a chestnut mare and the roan filly, Sam felt warm horseflesh press her legs. The blue-eyed mare crashed into them as she made for her colt. The noisy dun snapped at Ace and he squealed before giving her a frustrated nip.

Just the same, the nervous mass of horses meant safety while the hounds were near.

Suddenly the Phantom broke from the herd. Head low, ears flat, and mouth open, he moved like a striking snake after the dogs. Behind him, the honey-colored mare urged the combined herd across the plateau in the opposite direction.

Yapping, the speckled hound stood her ground for a minute, until Moon joined his father's charge.

Struggling with her rope and reins, doing her best to keep Ace from being swept along with the stampeding herd, Sam saw the dogs flee from the stallions.

Only Shirley paused in the cow trail and gave a single bark. Then, wagging her tail as if it had all been a game, she followed the others.

More than anything, Sam wanted to jump from Ace and run to the Phantom. Sweat had darkened his bright coat to pewter. He quivered with anger as he stared after the dogs.

Going to him wouldn't be safe, but Sam wanted to throw her arms around his mighty neck and hug him for his bravery.

And, she thought as she looked at Moon, his mercy.

She didn't do it.

When the Phantom wheeled away from the trail and the lingering scent of dogs, he raced past her. She thought his dark eyes met hers through his tangled forelock. For sure, his pale shoulder grazed her leg, as he stayed several galloping steps ahead of Moon.

And then all the mustangs were gone.

Sam was still shaking with reaction, still wondering how she could get her words in order to tell Jen what she'd seen, when the three Brangus cows—two adults with a calf in between—appeared on the trail ahead.

Ace halted. Sam swallowed hard.

They were huge and almost burgundy in color. Sam knew they were a common cross between Angus cattle and Brahmas. She knew they were valued for their quiet temperaments and that Jed Kenworthy,
who'd probably put those purple tags in their ears, thought they were the best beef cattle on the range. But they blocked the trail, looking to Sam like maroon refrigerators with horns.

Ace wasn't intimidated. He jogged toward the cattle with casual authority.

Sam knew Ace was the expert and she was just along for the ride when the two cows glanced at each other, flapped their ears in agreement, then turned down the trail. Without a backward glance, all three trotted in front of Ace as if they'd been going that direction in the first place.

 

She'd only been gone two hours.

Sam couldn't believe it was only eight
A.M
. when she stood drinking water with her granola bar while Jen and Silly watched over the loud, cranky cattle penned in the box canyon.

Up on the plateau, fear or adrenaline had swept away her fury at Linc Slocum. Now she just wanted him punished.

“I hate it,” Jen said, when Sam had finished telling her everything. “But I don't think we can do anything right now. Do you see any point in going back early? I mean, don't you think we should finish up here?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “But as soon as we get home, someone has to make him send those dogs back to Louisiana where it's legal for them to do what they do
best.
Then
, he needs to be punished.”

As they finished off their granola bars, they stared at the restless cattle.

“They know something's up,” Jen said.

“I think you're right,” Sam agreed, and now that her hands had stopped shaking, she knew there was no way to put off the only part of the trip she'd dreaded.

Sam swallowed hard and tried to assess her feelings. She still wasn't looking forward to hurting the calves, but it really was for their own good. She had to remember that. Besides, her hesitation would only cause them more pain.

Handling six fractious adult cattle while she and Jen vaccinated, branded, and ear-tagged four calves could be tricky.

“What are we waiting for?” Sam asked at last.

“It seems awfully early to start,” Jen said, “but what if we run out of daylight?”

“We can't risk it,” Sam agreed. “If we're late meeting them at War Drum Flats tomorrow morning, my dad will jump to the conclusion I've been trampled. Or thrown. Or carried away by a giant vulture.”

So, even though they had the high-altitude Cow Killer Caldera left to check, they decided to get busy.

“If we finish early and find more cattle near the caldera, we'll just drive them along with the others,” Jen said. “There's no reason the calves can't be branded later.”

Unless they escape
, Sam thought, but she didn't say
it. Instead she gave Ace the praise he deserved.

“How are you doing, best cow horse in the world?” Sam asked as she picked up Ace's trailing reins and kissed his nose.

He nudged Sam and stamped as if he was ready to go again. Sam swung into the saddle.

While Jen held it open, Sam rode through the small gap in the orange plastic fence. Then, from the saddle, she did the same for Jen.

Even before Sam could refasten the gate, Ace's eyes were on the cows and he was ready to work.

Sam wished the people who thought mustangs were scrubby and weak could test their papered purebreds against Ace. He'd already had a demanding morning, and now he was going to make her look like a real roper.

“I'll do it just like I did at home,” Sam whispered to Ace. “I promise.”

Sam's mind conjured a picture of Jake, rope wheeling gracefully above his head, and she did the same.

“Pretty,” Jen complimented Sam's spinning loop, then she trotted Silly toward the first cow and calf. “This is going to be okay.”

And it was.

As the first Brangus bolted away from Jen, her calf lagged behind. In a single leap, Ace positioned Sam to throw her rope for the calf's back hooves.

“In a minute,” she told the horse, and they chased
him around once more so that she wouldn't have to drag him so far to the campfire.

The little purplish heels were moving back and kicking up. Sam focused.
Almost.
She concentrated.
Almost there
. She readied her loop, then launched her rope with the underhand flick Jake had taught her.

There!

“I got him!” she cried incredulously as Jen vaulted from the saddle to run to the calf. “First try!”

Jen gave a single nod before throwing herself on the wide-eyed calf.

Babbling sweet talk, Jen used her body to subdue the terrified, bucking creature. She pulled off the top of the hypodermic with her teeth, and dispensed the shot.

“Get down here!” she yelled.

Oh, yeah. Sam scrambled off Ace and held the calf while Jen applied the Gold Dust brand.

Coughing against the stench and sizzle of burning hair, Sam rushed to snap a tag through the calf's ear.

“We did it!” Sam yelled as they released the calf back to its mother. Jen was equally excited, but Ace backed away, shaking his head.

“Okay, I'll take it easy from here on out,” Sam promised.

After that, roping the calves' heels was the easy part.

Noise was the hard part. For the first time, Sam understood why some sounds were called “deafening.”
The mooing of cows and bawling calves crowded the air until she heard nothing else.

Jen kept working as the “calf mugger,” just as Jake had hoped. Ace and Silly took turns as roping horse, and both understood when it was time to start backing toward the fire to get the hot branding iron.

The smell of burning hair clogged Sam's nostrils, just as the cacophony of cattle filled her ears.

All three Gold Dust calves and one River Bend calf had been reunited with their mothers, when Sam and Jen took a break.

From one corner of the box canyon, they watched the cows give licking comfort to their babies while fixing the girls with accusing glares.

“It's for his own good,” Jen called to a Brangus mother whose moos had changed to incessant hoots.

“She doesn't believe you,” Sam said, though Jen had echoed her own thoughts.

Jen leaned against a smooth rock in the canyon wall. She polished her glasses on her shirt hem, peered through them, then slipped them on.

“Your turn with the branding iron,” Jen said.

A sigh gusted out before Sam could stop it.

“I know,” she said.

I can do this
, she thought as she swung back into the saddle.
I can
.

Sam roped the brindle calf easily. Jen vaccinated it, and the blue ear tag was clicked on before the mother cow went berserk.

Sam felt hypnotized as she squatted with the heavy branding iron. She focused on one square inch of red-brown hide. She'd put it right there. She raised the iron and had it poised over the calf's left hip, when Jen yelped.

Jen waved her arms as the mother cow lunged at her. Jen didn't want to run, but she didn't want to be butted, either.

“Do it!” Jen cried with one hand on the cow's head. “Hurry, so we can let her calf go.”

Sam steadied her hand, trying to concentrate past the mayhem swirling around her.

She had lowered the smoking iron within an inch of the struggling calf when Jen shouted something else.

“What?” Sam shouted back in exasperation.

“Upside down!”

Is that what Jen had said?

“Up—?”

Oh my gosh
. Sam fumbled to rotate the iron. She'd almost branded the brindle calf—already a standout in any herd—with the backward
F
, upside down.

Quickly, evenly, she pressed the iron down, then set it aside.

“Okay,” she told Ace.

He took a step forward, releasing the tension on the rope. She freed the calf to its mother.

“Hey
matadora
,” Sam said, running over to hug Jen.

“Thank goodness she didn't have horns,” Jen said, laughing. “And you—”

“I know.” Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Not that anyone would have noticed an orange-and-black cow with an upside-down brand.”

“I'm so glad
you
noticed,” Sam said.