Crazy Horse (11 page)

“Yes. Cadillac belongs to my brother, Matt!”

“Cadillac?” The rancher shrugged as if confused. “You talking about the horse behind you?”

“Yes, and you know it!” This wasn’t funny, though the three men backing Logan up seemed to think so. “This is a Half Moon Ranch horse!”

Slowly, Logan shook his head. His men sneered as he talked. “No way. This horse belongs to me. I bought him from a ranch over in Montana two days ago. His name’s Phantom.”

“That’s not true!” Kirstie stood clear of the wooden boards behind her. She knew the long, sleek lines of Cadillac’s face, the curve of his neck as he arched it and thrust his head over the door of the stall. “You made that whole story up to cover your tracks!”

Logan kept his gaze steady. “His name’s Phantom,” he repeated. “I paid six thousand dollars for him to make him a pair with San Luis Dawn. Johnson and Gibb are all set to drive them both down to sunny California.”

Kirstie shook her head fiercely. “You’re lying!”

For the first time Logan allowed himself a brief, unpleasant smile. “Prove it,” he said as he gestured for the man in the sheepskin coat and the heavy ranch hand to go into the stall and bring the horse out.

“We’ll tell the cops!” Desperate to stop them, Kirstie threw caution to the winds.

“Kirstie, keep quiet!” Lisa squeezed her hand until it hurt.

Logan shoved them both to one side as Johnson seized the gray horse’s lead rope. The horse reared and pulled away, but the man jerked hard on the rope to bring him into line. “Say what you like!” Logan snapped. “Who they gonna believe?”

“Us, because we’re telling the truth!” Kirstie pulled away from Lisa. “Sheriff Francini knows all about the case. We told him about the plaited bridle; we even gave him a length of rope as a clue!”

“Oh, yeah, Larry Francini. He married my wife’s cousin. We see them every Thanksgiving. I guess I can soon make him see what’s going on around here. Yes, sir, I have to have a serious talk with him about you two trespassing on my land.” Wes Logan was back to his smooth, sneering style.

Kicking and pulling, the gray horse emerged from the stall. He saw Kirstie and Lisa cowering in the corner, lifted his leg, and struck his hoof hard against the concrete floor.

“Just stand to one side, girls; give Phantom some room.” Carelessly, the arrogant rancher issued orders.

Kirstie hated him. She loathed his smooth voice, his handsome, expressionless face.

The horse struck out again, almost twisting the rope from Johnson’s hands.

But Gibb moved in to help, hooking a second lead rope to the horse’s head collar. He held it short, and together, the two men dragged the horse out into the yard. The gray gelding kicked and strained as they forced him toward the ramp of the parked box.

“So what about the kids?” The third ranch hand, a dark-haired, long-faced man not much more than a kid himself, sounded anxious. “Do we let them go?”

“Not yet,” Logan replied. “Let’s get rid of the evidence first; wait until Johnson and Gibb get these horses down the road a way.”

“So?” The nervous helper waited for orders from his boss.

Logan clicked his tongue while he considered a solution to the unexpected Kirstie and Lisa complication. He watched his men persuade the gray gelding up the ramp with knotted ropes which they beat against his flanks and withers. “So lock them in the tack room,” he said briskly. “And scout around outside. Try to find out how they got all the way over to Ponderosa Pines.”

Polished silver bits and fancy plaited bridles hung in a neat row. There were high-quality saddles sitting shiny and new on specially designed ledges in Wes Logan’s well-equipped tack room.

Lisa sat down in one corner, head in hands.

“Liar!” Kirstie fumed. She stormed the length of the hut and back. “The guy’s an out-and-out, dirty liar!”

“But smart.” Lisa raised her head and sighed. “He’s right, Kirstie. We don’t have enough hard evidence against him, so who’s gonna believe us?”

“But that’s Cadillac out there!” she protested. She went to the locked door, lay flat, and peered out through a chink. “We know it, they know it, we all know it!”

“Yeah, and once that truck heads west through the Rockies with the two horses inside, it’s like Logan says: his word against ours!”

“He’s a lousy, rotten horse thief!” Kirstie hissed. She could see the four men now. They checked that the white gelding was safe inside the horse box with San Luis Dawn. Then, leaving the ramp down, they crossed the yard and headed for the house.

“You boys will need maps, money for gas, the names of motels on the route,” Logan was telling Gibb and Johnson. “And a cup of coffee before you set off.” He led them onto the porch, around the corner, and out of sight.

“Can you believe that?” Kirstie beckoned for Lisa to join her. “The guy’s so arrogant, he leaves us locked up in here and gives them coffee like he’s got all the time in the world!”

Flat on her stomach, peering out under the tack-room door, Lisa was in time to see the men disappear. “Hey!” she said, suddenly jabbing Kirstie with her elbow. “Look who’s here!”

Kirstie tilted her head and squinted to see where Lisa was pointing. There was just a narrow slit between the door and the wooden floor, and at first, all she could see was a set of hooves, sturdy white fetlocks, pale brown legs…

“Crazy Horse!” Lisa whispered. “He must have broken his tether!”

The horse limped across the snowy yard toward the horse box. He didn’t waver or hesitate—he knew exactly where he was going.

“Oh…my…gosh!” Lisa breathed. She prayed that Logan and his men wouldn’t come out of the house.

“He’s seen the ramp…He’s going up!” Kirstie watched with bated breath as more of Crazy Horse came into view. She could see the stirrups hanging loose from the saddle, the trailing rope, his heavy, mule-like face.

“They’ll kill him if they see him!” Lisa jumped up and tried the door, even though she knew it was useless. The latch was fastened on the outside.

“He’s inside the box!” Kirstie cried. “What a smart horse: see how easily he found Cadillac!”

Lisa rattled at the locked door. “Sure, I can hear that from way over here. And so can Logan!”

A shrill whinny echoed across the yard, then a loud answering call as the two horses were reunited.

“We gotta get out of here!” Kirstie joined Lisa. Together, they shoved hard against the door.

“No good!” Lisa dropped to her knees again to peer through the crack. “What’s Crazy Horse up to now?”

The whinnies rose to a chorus of squeals. San Luis Dawn had joined in, too. The whole truck rocked and shook as the three horses jostled and stamped.

“I don’t know for sure, but my guess is he’s trying to set Cadillac free!” Kirstie gave the door one more shove. Her shoulder hurt from the impact, but it didn’t shift. Then she, too, dropped to the floor.

And now the three men came running around the corner of the house, along the porch. Wes Logan burst out of the front door and joined them in the yard.

“Holy cow!” He swore as he saw the horse box shudder, caught sight of a tan horse backing down the ramp, hooves stamping and sparking on the metal surface.

Crazy Horse backed free of the box and spun on the spot. He saw the men racing toward him. Back went his head, ears flat, teeth bared. He reared once, twice, three times, keeping them at bay.

Logan, Johnson, and Gibb shied away from the flailing hooves. The fourth man, several steps behind them, seemed to be the first to take in what was happening. “Stand clear!” he yelled as Crazy Horse jumped from the ramp. “The gray gelding broke loose! Get out of the way!”

“Great horse!” Kirstie breathed. “Good, good boy!”

Crazy Horse galloped in a tight circle around the yard. He rounded up three of the horse thieves as if they were cattle, backed them up against the fence. The fourth moved fast, made a run across the yard toward the tack room.

Then Cadillac stormed down the ramp, hooves thudding, nostrils flared. Freedom beckoned in the shape of his old friend, Crazy Horse. He broke out of the box into the yard, rearing and bucking, kicking up snow, squealing at the top of his voice.

“Let us out!” Kirstie thumped on the tack room door. She could see the legs and feet of the young, dark-haired accomplice through the crack. “Come on, unlock the door!”

Lying flat, staring at the booted feet, Lisa shook her head. “Save your breath,” she muttered to Kirstie. “He’s not about to risk his neck for us!”

The feet backed slowly toward the door while in the distance, Crazy Horse and Cadillac ran rings around Logan and his men. There was a click, the sound of a latch lifting and falling, then quickly, the feet moved away.

“Wrong!” Kirstie cried. She pushed at the door, and this time, it swung open.

Crazy Horse saw her in the doorway. He reared and turned, raced toward her. And as he approached, stirrups flying, feet pounding across the yard, a new sound threaded its way between the steep hills.

It was a high, two-toned, alien wailing sound. It grew louder, invaded the stands of aspen and pines, and echoed from cliff to cliff.

“Cops!” Johnson shouted. Logan and Gibb saw the flashing blue light reflected from the snow-covered banks of the valley. They darted behind Cadillac to raise the ramp and slam the bolts home. Then they made for the cab.

Crazy Horse skidded to a halt beside Kirstie. He wanted her in the saddle, working with him to save Cadillac. She hooked a foot into the stirrup, swung up and over. He wheeled and galloped back toward the three men.

Johnson was already in the cab, reaching out to haul Gibb up after him. Logan waited impatiently behind. With the truck engine running, the police car sirens drew nearer, filling their heads, lights flashing bright blue against the snow.

And Crazy Horse charged straight at Wes Logan and the cab. Sent staggering away from the truck, winded, he doubled over, not knowing for a moment where he was or what had hit him.

Kirstie reined her horse to a halt by the fence, turned him, and charged again. No way was Logan going to escape.

Johnson sat at the wheel with Gibb at his side. Leaving their boss to his fate, he edged the truck forward to the exit onto the dirt road that ran along the valley bottom. San Luis Dawn squealed and cried out from her metal prison.

In the confusion, Logan tried to stand upright. But then he covered his head with both arms as Crazy Horse charged a second time.

The sirens wailed. Johnson revved the engine and drove like a maniac straight at the two patrol cars.

Inches from impact, he swerved the horse box to one side. The high vehicle swayed and skidded. Slowly, almost gracefully, it tilted and tipped. Inside, the horse squealed in terror.

And Kirstie felt Crazy Horse rear. She saw Logan sag and curl forward under his hooves, felt no pity as the horse surged through the air and brought his hooves driving down, down, down toward the cowering man.

“You could’ve killed the guy!” The deputy sheriff who’d hauled Wes Logan to safety was now busy clicking handcuffs shut around the ranch owner’s wrists.

“But we didn’t.” Kirstie felt calm…almost empty, now that the sirens had stopped and cops were everywhere. “Crazy Horse knew what he was doing. We just wanted to stop Logan escaping, give him a scare.”

“You sure did a good job.” The young policeman wasn’t gentle as he manhandled Logan toward the patrol car. “For the life of me, I thought the horse meant to trample the man to death!”

Kirstie stared down from the saddle. Logan didn’t look so smooth or arrogant now. He was covered from head to foot in dirty snow, a scratch on his cheek trickled blood, and he hung his head as the cops bundled him into a car.

“Are you OK?” Lisa ran up and took Crazy Horse’s rein. “Kirstie, talk to me. Are you OK?”

“We’re fine.” She blinked and pulled her attention around so as to convince her friend not to worry. “How about Cadillac?”

“Look over there.” Lisa turned Crazy Horse around so that Kirstie faced the other way.

Matt and Sandy had stepped out of the second patrol car and walked slowly across the yard. They took in the scene: Logan and his two accomplices under arrest, Kirstie safe on Crazy Horse, Lisa standing nearby. And the lost white horse trotting to greet them.