Gift Horse
Authors: Terri Farley
Phantom Stallion
9
Terri Farley
Mustangs danced in the margin of Samantha Forster's notebook paper.
Sam and Dad were halfway to the auction ring whenâ¦
Sam whirled away from the corral, eager to tell Dadâ¦
The auction yard lights came on suddenly, and Sam feltâ¦
Dad was mistaken. Not all the horses were loose inâ¦
Mr. Blair couldn't be so mad at her for leavingâ¦
“So what are you going to do?” Jen Kenworthy turnedâ¦
“Go fast,” Sam urged Pepper.
The biggest box stall on River Bend Ranch was waitingâ¦
Sam tried to speak, but her lungs burned with wordsâ¦
Ace tossed his head and pricked his ears toward theâ¦
Not only had Tinkerbell returned, he was inside the ten-acreâ¦
Back inside the house, Sam scarfed down another piece ofâ¦
Snow was swirling around the truck by the time theyâ¦
Sam carried a folder full of notes and some brochuresâ¦
There was no sense in complaining. Dad had said sheâ¦
M
ustangs danced in the margin of Samantha Forster's notebook paper. She glanced up, afraid Mr. Blair would notice she was drawing instead of reading.
She couldn't help it. Her mind was not on school-work today. It was on horses.
Rumor said wild horses had been sold for meat at the Mineral Auction yards. The Bureau of Land Management, a government agency responsible for protecting the West's wild horses, had checked out the stories and found nothing to prove them. Still, the rumors persisted.
One night at dinner, Sam had suggested to Brynna, her new stepmother and manager of the
BLM's Willow Springs Wild Horse Corrals, that the bad guys had spotted the BLM officers when they'd come to the auction.
“I think you should send a spy no one would suspect,” Sam had suggested.
But she'd never expected Brynna to send her.
Sam smiled to herself. Her undercover assignment wasn't official, but unofficially, she was going to make sure no mustang at the Mineral Auction was in danger today.
The three o'clock dismissal bell was still ringing when Sam slapped her notebook closed and bolted into the hall. Journalism had been her last class of the day. Now, she was out of here.
“Forster, we need to talk,” Mr. Blair bellowed after her.
Sam pretended not to hear, even though her Journalism teacher's booming voice was hard to miss.
He'd only assign her to take pictures of another basketball game or chess club competition. She didn't have time. She was on a rescue mission.
With her schoolbooks braced against her chest like a shield, Sam joined the tide of students escaping Darton High School. She hadn't even taken time to zip her books and notebooks inside her backpack. Dad was waiting.
She'd promised to meet him in the parking lot no later than 3:05.
He said he'd wait until 3:06. After that, she'd have to take the bus home, and he'd check out the auction without her.
The sale started at four o'clock and Mineral Auction yard was forty miles away. Brynna had assigned the two of them to check the horses to see if any were mustangs for sale, illegally. Sam didn't need to check her watch to know they'd barely have time to drive there, let alone study the horses. She took longer steps and slipped sideways between two boys in letterman jackets.
Buffeted by shoulders and backpacks in the crowded hall, she tried not to breathe the smells of wet wool sweaters, pencil lead, and old lunches. Sam figured the custodians swept and scrubbed each weekend, but by Thursday afternoon, their efforts had been erased.
Outside, the February wind waited to slash through her jacket, but Sam didn't care. She'd never been to an auction before and if she didn't hurry, she'd miss her chance.
The mob slowed to funnel out the door at the end of the hall. Almost there.
When another body slipped into the narrow space ahead, Sam yelped a protest. Then she recognized the white-blond braids bouncing against a dazzling purple sweater.
Jen Kenworthy, her best friend, glanced back and winked.
“I'll block for you,” she said.
Sam fell in behind as Jen squared her shoulders and pressed toward the door. Wind blasted Sam's face so hard that her cheeks ached. She spotted Dad's truck. It was a good thing, too, because now she had to squint against the wind or risk having her eyeballs frozen.
She and Jen trudged shoulder to shoulder for a few steps. Like all the other kids, they shouted to be heard before the wind snatched their words away.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jen hollered.
“Of course!”
Jen shook her head, then peeled one braid off her lips so she could go on, “You're awfully softhearted.”
“Yeah,” Sam admitted. A squeeze in her chest confirmed Jen's comment, but she tried to sound casual. “Still, it's not like there are butchers standing around with cleavers, ready to make horses into dog food right there at the auction.”
“Now there's a pretty picture,” Jen said, shuddering.
Halfway across the parking lot they stopped. Jen's bus idled off to the left. Wyatt Forster's pickup was parked across the lot to the right.
Jen pulled on knit gloves while Sam fidgeted.
“My dad said most of the horses just get moved around from ranch to ranch,” Sam said, but she heard the falter in her own voice. Dad's assurance didn't make sense. Why would ranchers sell good cow ponies
to buy horses whose histories they didn't know?
“You'll have fun,” Jen said, nudging Sam's shoulder with her own. “And I've got a feeling you won't come home empty-handed.”
“Right,” Sam said. “You must be joking,” she added, but Jen was sprinting toward the bus.
Jen was a good friend. She was trying to smooth away the worry she'd stirred up. But she couldn't really believe Sam would come home with another horse.
It was an exciting idea, but Jen was a rancher's daughter just like Sam. Both their families believed animals must earn their keep.
Sam smiled as she neared Dad's old blue truck.
One buckskin mare and one half-grown Hereford calf had proven Dad could give in to sentiment. He'd let her keep those two misfits, but she paid by listening to Dad's lectures on how useless Dark Sunshine and Buddy were. It would be a miracle if she left the Mineral Auction with another animal.
Sam propped her books against one hip and fought the wind to hold the truck door open wide enough to climb inside.
“Startin' to blow a little out there?” Dad asked as the door slammed on its own, sealing them inside.
“Uh-huh,” Sam said. Warmth from the truck's heater wrapped around her as she zipped her books and notebook into her backpack. She held her cold hands up to the vent and sighed. Then, she sniffed.
What was that delicious aroma?
“Watch your feet,” Dad said as he backed from the parking space and headed into the traffic going out of the parking lot.
“I will,” she said, then looked down.
A wisp of steam escaped from a little triangle in the lid of a Styrofoam cup.
Sam had never expected the cab of Dad's truck to smell like hazelnut hot chocolate, but it did. Her favorite treat in the world sat wedged between wire cutters and a gray metal toolbox so that it wouldn't tip over.
“Might as well drink it while it's hot,” Dad said.
Sam studied Dad as he stared straight ahead. He'd changed in the last few months. He was still darkly tanned and beef-jerky thin, with lines at the corners of his eyes from searching the range for stray cattle in all kinds of weather. He'd always insisted fancy drinks were a waste of money, when you could make the same thing at home for pennies. Should she credit his new marriage to Brynna for his generosity?
“Mmm,” Sam said. She leaned back, eyes closed, as the first sip of chocolate warmed her. She didn't care why he'd brought the drink. It was hot, sweet, and delicious. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Don't think it means nothin',” he said. His head jerked to check over his shoulder for oncoming traffic as the blue truck labored onto the freeway. “I had time to kill while I waited for you.”
Sam smiled. Dad was embarrassed by doing something others might consider fussy. Sam changed the subject.
“Are you thinking of buying any cattle at the auction?”
“Not likely,” he said. “Unless you plan to share a seat belt with 'em.”
“Oh yeah, no trailer,” Sam said.
Of course they had cattle and horse trailers at the ranch, but today they were just spying. Sam flattened her lips, hiding her smile before Dad could spot it. Apparently, he didn't even glance her way, because he kept talking about cows.
“This time of year, I'm thinking the cattle for sale will be old cows or heifers whose calves didn't stick.”
Sam nodded. Last February, she'd been in San Francisco, living with Aunt Sue. If she'd been having this conversation with Dad then, he would've had to explain what he was talking about. Now, she knew that heifersâyoung female cowsâwould be a lot more valuable if they were carrying spring calves.
“We'll be late for the cattle, anyway,” Dad reminded her. “Horses go up for bid around four o'clock.”
“I wonder why Brynna didn't come with us?” Sam asked.
“She had to check out a heavy snowfall area,” Dad said. “Make sure there was no need for an emergency gather.”
Besides managing the wild horse corrals, Brynna made sure horses lived where they were safe and healthy. Using helicopter roundups, BLM gathered wild horses from areas with too little food or water.
“Oh well,” Sam said, feeling the weight of responsibility. “We can call her if something doesn't seem right.”
After the mustangs were rounded up, they were available for adoption, but those who adopted wild horses didn't actually own them. At least not right away.
BLM checked up on people who adopted mustangs. Only after they'd taken good care of a horse for a year did they receive a document saying they owned it.
“You ask me, she didn't come because she has too soft a heart.”
Sam laughed.
Dad glanced her way, shaking his head. “And you are no better. Still, if she thinks there's cause to be extra careful, we can help her out.”
They drove a few more miles before Dad added, “Duke Fairchild, who runs the auction, checks to make sure everyone has title to horses they want to sell. He looks for fresh brands, in case someone has forged paperwork on a horse. And if he can't read a brand, Duke's likely to call the brand inspector.”
“Like the guy who helped catch the wild horse rustlers.”
“Right,” Dad agreed. “Brynna says Fairchild watches extra close for stock wearing government freeze brands, and he calls her if he thinks something's fishy.”
Dad's tone indicated their trip was a waste of time. She didn't agree, but it wasn't worth arguing over. Instead, she nodded and they settled into cozy silence.
While Dad drove, she watched the miles of winter-tan Nevada desert flow past the passenger-side window.
Mustangs were the most important things in her lifeânot counting her family. More important than school, though she never said it aloud. More important than her friends, except Jake and Jen.
She loved wild horses' speed and beauty. She loved their silent faith in the safety of the herd. Most of all, she admired their defiance and determination to stay free.
Sam sighed. Maybe she and Dad wouldn't see a single mustang at Mineral Auction yards. Then again, they might have a chance to rescue one.
With a stomach full of hot chocolate, Sam felt drowsy by the time Dad took the freeway exit to Mineral.
They'd just entered the small town and passed its only gas station, when a car horn blared behind them.
As Dad glanced up into the rearview mirror, Sam swiveled to look out the back window. A shiny red
truck followed so near Dad's back bumper, Sam could see the faces of the two men inside. With ruddy cheeks and bushy black eyebrows, they looked like twins. The driver hunched over the steering wheel, leaning one palm hard against the horn, honking. His passenger gestured wildly.
“Guess these boys are in a hurry,” Dad said.
“I think they have a horse trailer.” Sam gasped.
They did. As the red truck barreled closer, Sam saw it towed a rusty gooseneck horse trailer.
“Probably empty,” Dad said. He pulled to the side of the road so the red truck could pass. “Planning to buy a steer or some such.”
Neither driver nor passenger gave a wave of thanks as they rocketed past.
“They've got a horse,” Sam said.
Watching the trailer sway from side to side made her feel a little sick. Through the slats, she could see a giant animalâprobably a draft horse.
When Dad pulled back onto the street, Sam could see the horse's huge hooves shuffling, trying to maintain balance.
“Look at that poor horse,” Sam urged, as the red truck quickly drew ahead.
“I'm not racing 'em,” Dad said, but his tone was disapproving.
Ahead, a sign announced,
AUCTION TODAY
!
If that's where the truck was headedâ¦
But the red truck wasn't slowing. At least not much.
Suddenly, its brake lights flashed, gravel sprayed,
and the truck whipped into a right turn. The trailer bounced, almost hidden by a cloud of dust.
“Ace would never get in a trailer again if we treated him like that,” Sam muttered.
“Might be they don't plan on havin' to load him again.”
So Dad was thinking the same thing she was. The men were going to sell the big brown horse. Good, she thought. It would probably be better off.
Rows of trucks and trailers filled the parking lot. Dad had to drive for a few minutes before he found a spot to stop.
Sam scanned the pipe corrals, looking for horses. She needed to forget about that huge horse and concentrate on why they were here. They were looking for mustangs.
Dad turned off the truck's ignition, then glanced across the truck cab with a warning look.
“Just you remember, honey, once he's got title to a mustang, a man could give away, trade, or sell it. And he might not be too particular about who was buyin' it or why.”
“I know,” Sam said.
“Be sure you do,” Dad said. He lay his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “'Cause a man might sell a horse at pennies on the pound for pet food.”
Sam thought of the Phantom and his son Moon. If they'd been captured and adopted, it could have been their silver-white and indigo-black hides
showing from inside the horse trailer. They could have been sold here, legally, for meat. Her stomach turned, but she told herself to knock it off.
Determination was better than pity.
As she and Dad walked toward the auction, Sam made a vow. If any wild horse was in danger here, it could count on her to be stubborn, smart, and more stubborn.
