Crow Mountain (27 page)

T
he next seven weeks on our mountain were blissful. Our life settled into a rhythm of chores, horses, talking and not talking. You taught me to shoot, and the basics of hunting, skinning and preparing what we caught. And swimming, at which I am a natural! I learnt the basics of your Indian language, and some of their plant remedies. We talked and laughed and loved each other with an intense curiosity. I adored the way your hair fell across your face as we walked home with stained hands and a dish of berries; how you checked your pockets for your knife as we were talking. I had so much to discover about you; the things I had associated with love – loyalty, duty and family – were discarded as I learnt to love you with everything I was.

Often, you stood by the corral and watched the white horse with Tara. They too remained obsessed with each other
and their behaviour made you smile. But as time went on, you became increasingly interested in the stallion, who remained, so patiently, corralled on our mountain. Inside the rails, you spoke to him, roped him, even slapped him down gently with a blanket and put it over his back. To all of this he looked vaguely bemused but stood, quiet. I watched you pull his ears in fun, then clap his neck in friendship.

‘I don't understand him,' you said one evening as we sat with plates in our laps and talked about the horses. ‘I'd be expecting him to be restless, but he's like a kitten. Ain't right. Horses like that ain't walkovers. But it's like he knows what I'm thinking. Like he and I have always been meant.'

‘Perhaps you can work with him then,' I offered, spooning up my stew. It had been a long day and I was keen to take the edge from my hunger.

‘Maybe. Still ain't sure I want to keep him. And he ain't no horse to be sold, ever. Not sure if it weren't just the challenge of bringing him in that had me so wrapped up.'

‘Perhaps you'll feel like that about me soon,' I teased, sure of myself.

‘Yeah, maybe I will,' you said.

I took a breath and pouted. You laughed and leant across and kissed my neck before straightening up. ‘But most likely my love for you will be in this wind when I'm dust. And probably long after that.' You put down your spoon and took my hand. ‘Come on, I want to try something.'

I let you lead me to the corral. As you began to take out one of the rails from the gateway, I frowned. ‘You're setting
him free?'

You grunted a laugh. ‘No chance, yet. Can you get through there?'

I looked at the gap, and the white horse and Tara grazing. Slipping through, I stood up.

‘Go see him. He ain't no good if only I can work him. So just walk right up nice and easy. And the second he backs off, or you're scared, just turn around and put your back to him. Don't need to touch him, just get near him. One day at a time.'

I walked up slowly to the white horse. He lifted his head and watched me. I came closer; we looked at each other and his weight shifted away from me. I turned my back. That way, I was facing you, and I saw you watching, bad foot on the bottom rail, wrists crossed over each other on an upper rail. As ever, I couldn't read your eyes. Then I felt a nudge and the white horse's nose appeared over my shoulder. I daren't move and we stood like that, together, watching you. I turned my head and kissed his face, lifting my left hand to his sharply pricked ear and stroking its soft back. He blew at me, like your huffing laugh. I smiled. You shook your head and turned from the corral, dismissing us with a wave.

‘You got a real future as a horsewoman, English,' you called as you walked back up to the cabin. ‘With that and the saloon piano I'll soon be a tycoon.'

A few days later, you decided to back the white horse. You were still adamant he wasn't a riding animal, but such was
your friendship with him, you thought it was possible.

‘Emily, we know he seems real placid but he may kick me to hell and gone. And on the ground I'm not real fast, so . . .'

‘Then don't do it,' I said, alarmed.

‘Life ain't nothing without a risk, and it'll be worth it. Even if I only get to sit up there once in this lifetime.'

I pulled a face.

You kissed me. ‘Don't sulk. If I ain't here, you and Tara're more than capable of getting yourselves out of trouble now. Get down on to the plain, head south and find my family's people, like I told you.'

I frowned, unsettled that you were even talking about it. ‘Are we really going to them for the winter?'

‘Yep. You're not cut out for the snow up here, let alone—' You broke off and shook your head. ‘You'll want more company than me by then.'

‘I won't. I—' My protest was cut short as you put your fingers to my lips.

‘Trust me. And I can't take him to them without at least putting a few manners on him, can I? What would they think of me? Besides,' you grinned, ‘I want to do it.'

Your reasoning got the better of me every time. ‘Fine. But don't get yourself killed.'

You grinned. ‘Got no intention. Too much other stuff going on I want to be a part of.'

We spent a couple of days accustoming the white horse to a rope bridle. He didn't like it much, but his expression was more one of disdain than outright objection.

The morning you finally backed him was sullen and over-cast. I was tired, and you made the tea as I lazed in our bed and you fussed over me. You had done the same the previous morning; not like you at all.

But you were intent on your purpose and went down to the corral as soon as I was drinking from my cup, knees drawn up beneath the coverlet, cheek branded with your kiss. After that I dozed for what I thought was a few more minutes, and woke suddenly on my stomach, cup on the floor and my fingers on the floorboards. I sat up, momentarily confused about where I was.

‘Emily?' you called from somewhere.

‘Yes?'

‘Come outside?'

‘Coming.' I pushed the covers aside and stumbled out on to the porch in my inherited nightgown, rubbing my eyes as it billowed around me in the breeze. There you sat, on the back of the white horse, one hand holding a section of his mane. The corral gate-rails were down and the rope bridle still hung from the post. Both of you were looking at me: the muscular white stallion with his big, crested neck arched, and you, completely at ease on his back. The white horse pawed the ground as if impatient for my praise.

‘You did it!'

You grinned. ‘Weren't nothing to it. Maybe I was wrong when I said he ain't a riding animal. Maybe someone already broke him. Can't work out how else he'd be this calm.' You eased him into a walk, circling him in front of the cabin. I
came down to you. He stopped in front of me and I stroked his face.

‘You didn't use the bridle?'

You shrugged. ‘Nah.'

‘Can I try?' I asked, studying the horse's level glass-eyed gaze.

‘Nope,' you said with certainty.

‘That's not fair,' I protested. ‘You can't just keep him to yourself. You said that before.'

‘Yeah, well, I can. Ain't interested in you taking a fall for the sake of it.'

‘You didn't care when I was learning.'

You pulled a face at me. ‘I care now. No.'

The white horse nudged me in the middle, as if agreeing with you. I stroked his nose. ‘I think both of you are most uncharitable,' I told him in a half-hearted scold.

Moving off, back towards the corral, you laughed. ‘Then I'd better return him to Tara, before I try his charity any more.'

After that we spent a lot of time with the horses – Tara, the stallion and Red, who was turning into such a good riding animal you said you ‘would be sorry to sell him'. We never ventured far, for everything we needed was in the cabin, or to be found on the mountain. Except perhaps a pair of shoes, but it had been a long time since I had missed them.

One night, I woke in the dark, finding myself alone. I got up and went to the porch. You were sitting against the cabin
wall, shrouded by a blanket, watching reds, yellows and greens streak across the star-splattered sky. I stared at the heavens, astonished.