Crow Mountain (12 page)

‘
S
ee that bluff up there?' Cal pointed. ‘Like the one behind the house? The Indian braves used to drive the bison over the edge of them. They're called buffalo jumps.'

‘Great!' Hope said fake-cheerfully, watching the landscape pass. It was beautiful, dramatic. Sharp crags rose up, their grey and black striations contrasting with the blue sky. White clouds dotted the vast ceiling above them. Trees stood in stands and in thick gathers of forest. Every now and then, just off the track, streams, creeks and rivulets trickled and rushed. Sometimes, horses gathered in twos and threes, free to roam. Wild flowers bloomed in carpets by the stands of trees.

‘The taxi driver who took us to the airport said people hide away out here. Fugitives and stuff.'

Glancing across at her, he smiled. ‘Maybe, but mainly I
think people come out here for space. Less head noise, you know?'

They were silent for a little while.

He spoke again. ‘You know, there's a horse up here that people say's been in these parts for ever. A white stallion with glass eyes. Pops used to say he was the sire of the original Crow horse bloodline and little Zach's arrival made me think, but I think it's just wishful.'

‘More wishful than a mythical horse?'

He smiled. ‘Dad's seen him. Apparently all us Crows get to see him once in our lives.'

Hope remembered the diary and pulled the little book from her bag. ‘This is the diary, from the attic.'

Cal glanced across. ‘Is it interesting?'

‘Yes. She's going to Portland to meet the man she's going to marry. His family firm are building a railway there.'

He thought about it. ‘I suppose she'd have come this way to avoid the sickness on the Oregon Trail and then . . . the Sioux Wars maybe.'

‘Exactly. She says that. But, the weird thing is, it's almost written like a letter to a different man. A man with pale eyes and a bad limp. I haven't got to who he is yet.'

‘And she is?'

‘Emily Forsythe. I think her dad's important in London. Like a diplomat or something. Totally Victorian. She's travelling with a woman called Miss Adams, who's supposed to be getting her to Portland for the wedding, and sounds like a proper old bag. And a team of drivers from Chicago.'

‘OK . . .'

‘OK?'

‘Well, read to me then, Hope Cooper!'

Hope hid a shy smile and read on, as Emily and Miss Adams sat in the coach, travelling away from Fort Shaw. Her smile faded. ‘Oh God, she's awful.'

‘She doesn't sound a lot of fun.'

‘Poor Emily. She's going to get married to some guy and she doesn't even know him.'

‘Different times.'

Leaning forward, she put the diary on the dashboard.

‘Stuff can slide straight out of these windows. I've made that mistake before. Stick it in the jockey box.' He pointed beneath the dashboard on Hope's side.

‘Ah, the glove compartment.'

‘No gloves in it,' he said with a smile.

Hope opened it and put the diary inside. ‘No jockeys either.' She pulled out a strange, ridged object the size of her thumb, dry and fragile. ‘What's this?'

He glanced over at her. ‘Rattle from a rattlesnake I killed on the road last summer. Bad luck not to take it.'

Hope dropped it back into the glove compartment and shut the door with a snap, wiping her palms on her shorts. ‘Gross.'

He laughed.

‘So, we're collecting your aunt's horses?'

‘Yep. And my mom.'

‘Is your mother from around here?'

‘Mom? No, she's from back East. Vermont.'

‘How did they meet?'

‘My mom came out to work as a documentary photographer's assistant during her vacation. Met my dad when they were photographing the rodeo. That was kind of it. She went back for a couple of months and then they decided to get married.'

‘Just like that?'

‘I was on the way. Probably influenced things a little.'

‘Wow.'

He nodded. ‘That was when Dad saw the horse. The morning Mom called in tears from Vermont and said she was getting on a bus. Her parents had kicked her out, because of me. Dad drove straight to Chicago and met her. Saw the horse just as he was leaving the ranch. They came back, got married the next week, and that was it. We have to change trails here. We're leaving our property and getting into the national park. It gets rougher from here on in.' He saw her watching the controls with interest. ‘You want to drive?'

‘Oh, er, no. Thanks.'

‘Can you?'

‘I live in London. There's public transport.'

He tutted and braked. Popping his door, he got out, then looked back into the cab. ‘You should learn.'

‘I don't think—'

‘C'mon, Cooper. Don't be chicken.'

Hope got out and they crossed in front of the rumbling pick-up. Getting into the driver's seat, she was too far from
the pedals.

Cal was already sitting in her seat. ‘You'll have to sit forward,' he said. ‘Your left foot doesn't do anything, so keep it over against the rest there. Then the pedal on the left is the brake, the gas is on the right. Put your foot on the brake and put the stick behind the wheel into drive.'

‘Got it.' Hope nodded.

‘Now let your foot off the brake and she'll creep. It'll take a while because of the trailer.'

The pick-up began to move slowly.

‘Now press on the gas real gentle.'

They gained speed. Hope steered carefully on the trail.

‘This is fun.'

‘Told you.'

They were driving at an angle towards a mountain range, but in the near distance the land rose up, covered with trees. Before it there was a deep crack in the landscape, and a bridge towards which it seemed they were heading.

Hope was concentrating on the ten metres in front of the pick-up. ‘I'm not sure I could do this in traff—'

‘Hope, stop. Stop the truck.
Now
. Do it now.'

Momentarily confused by the pedals, Hope put her left foot on the brake and pressed the accelerator with her right foot at the same time. The pick-up jumped forward and jerked, straining against the brake. Cal reached across her and threw the stick shift into neutral.

‘Take your feet off the pedals,' he said sharply.

‘Sorry!' Hope held up her hands and drew her knees up.

‘Get out.'

She fumbled open the door, unsure what she'd done so wrong. As they passed in front of the pick-up, she mumbled, ‘Sorry.'

He caught her arm. ‘It's not you, look.'

Hope looked to where he was pointing. On the other side of the bridge, almost on it, was a brilliant and very beautiful white horse. His mane and tail were long and snowy. And he was watching them. They were too far away to see the colour of his eyes.

‘Get in.'

Hope scrambled into the passenger seat.

‘Buckle up.' Cal was already putting the truck into gear and accelerating.

The pick-up gained the bridge. Hope put her hand out, almost touching Cal's shirt, looking through the windscreen in alarm. ‘Wait, is this safe? It looks like it's been here for a hundred years.'

‘I've driven over it fifty times.'

The white horse was still standing on the other side of the bridge as they drove on to it. Hope peered out of the window over the virtually empty creek bed, with just a few rivulets of water running through it.

Cal braked hard. ‘There's a couple of boards missing. They can't have repaired it after the winter. Damn. Should've checked it. Reversing off will be a nightmare.'

There was a groan from the bridge beneath them. And a distinct sense of unsteadiness.

‘Shit,' he said. Silence, then another creak.

Cal accelerated, taking the pick-up over the gap. The trailer clattered behind them, bouncing hard into the open space. There was a terrible crashing sound as the wooden rails broke beneath it and it skewed off to the left. Then, an endless moment of tension as the tow bar bent, but held.

The pick-up jerked backwards, sliding towards the broken hole in the bridge. Hope screamed. Buddy yelped. Cal jammed on all the brakes. Everything caught. For five long seconds, nothing happened. The trailer was still hanging off the bridge. Cal slammed the gear stick into park, boot rammed hard on the brake. The engine was loud in the silence.

‘Hope. Pop your door and get out.'

‘Only if you come with me.'

‘I will, but I want you to get out now. Buddy? Buddy, out!' he yelled to the dog, who had slid to the back of the pick-up's flatbed.

He pushed Hope as she pulled the door lever and struggled with her seat belt at the same time. The door popped open as Buddy hit the planks with a thud. The trailer creaked and swayed. The pick-up slipped a few centimetres.

The white horse turned, and disappeared into the trees.

Hope's side of the vehicle lifted up in the air and the door slammed back into place, sealing them in the cab.

Cal grabbed her hand as, with a hideous shrieking and grinding of metal, the pick-up tipped over the edge.

*

Hope's neck hurt. In fact, everything hurt. She was hanging
upside down by her seat belt.
How long have I been out?
She looked over at Cal. He was a crumpled length of whipcord in the roof lining of the upside-down pick-up. She guessed they must be on the creek bed. The front of the truck had dragged against one of the bridge supports, stopping the cab being totally crushed. Rivulets of water were running through the cabin windows, wetting Cal's clothes, streaming through his hair.

Where did that come from?
Hope squinted, trying to clear her vision, rubbing her face with wet hands. Somewhere, she could hear urgent barking. She fumbled for the seat-belt clasp, and unclipped it with some effort. She instantly tipped down into the deepening water, bruising her face and shoulder against a ridge in the roof. Her cheek hurt – blood was trickling down her face. Pushing herself on to her hands and knees in the cramped space, she patted Cal's face urgently.

‘Cal?'

His blue eyes opened and he shook himself like a dog, swearing. Water droplets from his wet hair spattered on the inside of the broken windscreen. The rivulets were no longer separate streams, but a torrent rushing through the cabin. He reached out and grabbed Hope's T-shirt, fist bunched in material and suddenly wide awake. ‘This time, when I tell you to get out, you
go
.' He kicked out the remainder of the windscreen in three hard slams. It fell back in crackling shards. She felt his boot pushing her as she scrambled out, nuggets of glass cutting into her palms. Her ears were ringing from the roaring. And it was only getting louder. Cal was trying to
unstrap the rifle from behind the headrests.

The diary!
Hope crawled back to the smashed passenger window and reached inside, pulling open the glove box and fishing out the little book. She shoved it into her pocket. Cal was still struggling with the strap holding the gun in place.

Water was pouring through her hiking boots, up to the ankles, racing through the deformed driver's window. Inside the cab Cal was soaked. ‘Come
on
!'

‘Coming!'

The noise increased tenfold. Hope looked in the direction of the roar, and saw a wall of water as tall as she was surging down the creek.

‘NOW.'

He scrambled from the cab on all fours, rifle over his shoulder. Grabbing Hope's hand, he hauled her to a deep crevasse in the opposite bank. High above them, Buddy ran back and forth, barking frantically. Pushing her in front of him, Cal began to heave her further into the fissure. The water splashed their thighs.

He put his hands under Hope's backside and shoved. ‘Get up there!'

‘I'm trying!'

A few seconds later, she caught her footing and began to climb, pushing out against the rocky sides of the crevasse. Half a minute after that, she made it on to the grass bank high above. Rolling on to her stomach, she reached back down, catching Cal's hand and bracing herself as Buddy jumped all over her. Her tendons burnt as his boots slipped, but then he
gained his hold, boosting himself up the final few metres. They lay next to each other, panting, as the meltwater blasted through the gulch beneath them.