Jumper (7 page)

Grandpa's face twitched. I would never hitchhike anywhere, but I could see that last suggestion worried him. He sighed. “Come on, then. But you two will stay in the truck, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Kayla answered.

“Yes.” I couldn't keep from smiling.

Grandpa handed Kayla the container with her sandwich. “Let's go.”

The pre-dawn chill had intensified as heavy gray clouds thickened over the mountains to the west. The warm winds, which had made the temperature rise over the past few days, had shifted direction and turned icy cold.

“Feels like snow,” Grandpa said, turning up the collar on his wool jacket. “Looks like the chinook is over.”

“Good thing you weren't planning on sleeping in the truck tonight,” I commented to Kayla. I shivered and turned up the heater.

We pulled off the main road onto a gravel drive that led to Bellamy's ranch. Grandpa parked the truck some distance from the house, partially hidden behind some pine trees, so the noise wouldn't alert anyone.

I followed him out of the truck.

“You get right back in there!” Grandpa said.

“But we can't see anything from here!” I protested. “How will I know you're okay?”

“Look, Reese, I'll hide near Bellamy's truck. When I see him leave the forms in there, I'll grab them and come straight back. Nothing to it.”

“What about the dogs?” I asked. There were always dogs on a ranch. “If they bark...”

Grandpa patted his pocket. “I thought of that. I'm carrying ammunition.”

Kayla stared. “What kind of ammunition?”

“Dog biscuits, of course.” Grandpa grinned. “Now stay put. I'll be back.”

Reluctantly, I climbed back in the truck. Kayla and I watched Grandpa disappear through the trees.

Kayla looked at me. “We're not really staying here, are we?”

“Not on your life,” I answered. “Let's go.” I jumped as the door creaked loudly, piercing the silence. I paused, but Grandpa did not reappear.

“Wait for me,” Kayla whispered. She buttoned up her blazer and thrust her hands into her leather riding gloves.

“You sure you don't want your helmet?” I teased. She looked like she was ready to jump fences, not traipse through the bushes.

“I'm cold, and I didn't really plan this out, okay?” Kayla retorted. “You're not exactly a fashion plate yourself.”

That was true. I hadn't stopped at home for clothes, so I was wearing one of Grandpa's old flannel shirts, which came down nearly to my knees, my jeans and jacket, his woolen tam, and mismatched gloves—one navy wool, the other black leather.

“No one's looking at us anyway,” I said. “Let's get going.”

We stepped carefully through the trees, trying to be as quiet as possible, following
the direction Grandpa had taken. The pine boughs lifted and swayed in the wind; the ground was crusty with remnants of ice. It seemed like we'd been walking for hours when Kayla pushed aside a clinging branch and we reached the edge of a pasture. I could see a house at the far end, painted white with river-stone pillars along the porch—nice. Probably expensive too. There were several outbuildings—a shed, a large barn, a garage. I could also see a corral, and there were quite a few horses in it.

“Let's get closer.” Kayla nudged me.

I didn't need to be told twice. We skirted the edge of the pasture, creeping toward the corral. A big semitrailer was parked nearby. I couldn't see Grandpa anywhere.

Kayla nudged me again, tilting her head toward the semi. I gave a quick nod, and we slunk through the bushes, trying not to be visible from the house.

I
did
hear a dog barking and winced as it became louder. Bellamy was sure to come out of the house if it didn't stop soon. The dog burst out of the trees, snuffing eagerly at
the ground. Something came flying out of the bushes, and the dog leaped for it, crunching it between its teeth.

“What was that?” Kayla said.

I stifled a giggle. “Grandpa's throwing the dog treats.” The dog looked up and waited, wagging its tail. Another dog biscuit sailed out. The dog gulped it down, then circled the bushes, but it didn't bark.

I breathed a sigh of relief. There was no sign of anyone near the house or the barn. If ever Grandpa was going to get those forms, now was the time...

I saw him slide out of the bush and edge toward the passenger side of the semi. He gingerly tried the handle. It opened easily, and Grandpa stepped up to look inside.

The next few seconds seemed to last for hours, but at last I saw Grandpa emerge with a fistful of papers in one hand. At the same time I heard the crunch of gravel. Jim Bellamy appeared suddenly in the doorway of the barn, leading a horse by its halter, in full view of the truck. I had no time to warn Grandpa. Bellamy looked startled, like someone who's
walked into a room full of people with green hair, but he soon recovered.

He tethered the horse and strode over to the semi. “Hey, Gus. Something I can help you with?”

Grandpa's expression was bland, giving nothing away. “Maybe. I've been told you're shipping some horses today.”

“Yeah. So?” Bellamy said.

“So, I have reason to believe that at least one of them is a wild horse from the military auction,” Grandpa answered.

“And what difference would that make?” Bellamy said.

“The rules were pretty clear about not selling those horses for meat,” Grandpa retorted. He waved his handful of forms.

Bellamy stopped, his eyes narrowing. “I could have you arrested for breaking and entering, Gus, not to mention theft if you intend to go anywhere with those manifests.”

“Good!” Grandpa bristled. “Go ahead. We'll see what the police have to say when they have a look at those forms.”

Bellamy grinned, a cold grin that sent shivers down my spine. “They won't say anything. They can't prove a thing. Those horses were slicks.”

That halted Grandpa in his tracks.

“There's nothing on them to say that they weren't mine in the first place. How are you going to prove that the horses I'm shipping are the ones I bought at the auction?” Bellamy continued.

“What are slicks?” Kayla whispered.

“Horses that aren't branded.” I felt my stomach clench. Bellamy was right—unless the military had kept exact records of who bought what horse, or had branded them all, there was no way to differentiate between Bellamy's horses and the wild horses. They'd all have Bellamy's brand now.

“You low-down slimy skunk,” Grandpa sputtered.

“Hand over the forms, Gus,” Bellamy said with an air of menacing patience. “I'm not about to lose a forty-thousand-dollar profit to an old man who wants me to play by the book.”

“How many of those horses did you buy?” Grandpa asked, astonished.

“Some fifty head.” Bellamy tipped back his hat.

“How...?” Grandpa said.

“Other people's names on the registration. Some were legitimate. My mother, for instance, God rest her soul. Others, not so much. Fred Flintstone made it on there I think. The auction officials didn't seem to notice.”

Grandpa stared at him in utter disbelief. “You planned this all along. My granddaughter wanted that mare, and you bid against her. And all along you knew you were planning to destroy them.”

Bellamy shrugged. “Your granddaughter can buy another horse. Didn't I tell her the only good reason for owning a horse was to make money, and jumping over fences didn't pay? There's good money to be made on these broncs, and I don't aim to let anyone stand in my way.”

The implied threat was there. But Grandpa didn't budge. “Is that so?” he said evenly
before he hauled off and punched Bellamy right in the gut.

“Grandpa!” I gave a small shriek.

“Ooof,” Bellamy grunted, leaning forward and clutching his stomach. He straightened immediately, reached for Grandpa's jacket and shoved him up against the truck. Grandpa tried to push back, but with the forms in one hand he couldn't get Bellamy off. Bellamy had his hands around Grandpa's throat.

“The forms, Gus,” Bellamy said through gritted teeth. Grandpa's face turned a deep brick red and he struggled for breath. Bellamy squeezed harder. I couldn't stand it any longer.

I sprinted out of the bushes and charged like a rampaging bull, leaping onto Bellamy's back. “Let him go!” I said fiercely, pounding the man's shoulders with one fist. Bellamy shrugged off the blows, hardly noticing them, still keeping his hands around Grandpa's throat.

I saw Grandpa's eyes begin to roll back in his head, and in a fit of desperation I wound
up and slapped Bellamy with an open palm as hard as I could over the hollow of his ear.

He reacted then, whirling around to shake me off. My shoulder smacked into the bottom of the open truck door, sending a sharp spasm of pain down my arm. It was enough to loosen my hold, and I fell off into the dirt.

But I had accomplished what I set out to do. Bellamy had let go of Grandpa when I hit him. Grandpa's face lost that purplish look, and he drew great gulping breaths of air. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the ache in my arm, and rushed to his side.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded grimly. He still had the forms in his fist and he thrust them at me. “Run,” he whispered. “I'll take care of him.” He nodded toward Bellamy, who was shaking his head, as though to dispel the ringing in his ears, but was also advancing on us.

I wasn't too sure about leaving Grandpa, but he shoved me away as Bellamy lunged for the papers in my hand. He ripped them away from me just as Grandpa stuck out a foot,
tripped Bellamy and sent him sprawling. “Run!” Grandpa bellowed at me, his fists bunched, ready for Bellamy's next attack.

I had no choice. I ran.

I dove into the bushes, where Kayla was still huddled. “Come on!” she urged, grabbing my sleeve. She tugged me through the trees at a dead run.

“We...need...to call...for help,”

I gasped. “I know!” Kayla cried. “What do you think I've been doing in those bushes, knitting? My cell phone isn't getting a signal. We need to get to higher ground.”

I felt a surge of relief. I'd forgotten about Kayla's cell phone. If Grandpa could just hold Bellamy off long enough for help to come...

We dashed past the barn and corral, up a rocky incline.

“Keep running!” Kayla panted.

“Check the signal,” I said.

She flipped the phone open as we climbed and shook her head. “Not yet.” My breath caught in my side and my arm throbbed, but I ran harder, pulling Kayla with me. My leg muscles burned in protest as we reached the
crest. “Try again,” I wheezed, bending double, pressing my hand into the cramp under my ribs. If we didn't get a signal here, I didn't know what we'd do. This was the highest point on the ranch.

Kayla hit the power button and was rewarded with a faint metallic beep. “Bingo!” she cried in triumph.

“Call nine-one-one,” I said. “Get the police, tell them it's an emergency, then meet me back at the barn.”

Kayla was already dialing. She nodded and gave me a thumbs-up sign, then smacked the phone in frustration. “Darn it! It cut out!”

“Try again!” I cried.

I bounded back down the hill, taking care not to trip over rocks. Now that help was on the way for Grandpa, I had one thing I needed to do. I reached the corral a lot more quickly than I expected and searched for the gate that opened into the pasture. Bellamy's ranch was big, and even though the land was fenced, it would take him a lot longer to load those horses if they weren't in the corral.

I spotted the gate at the far end and
sprinted for it. It was chained, but fortunately not locked. As I wrestled with the chain, trying to undo the twisted knot it had been tied in, I saw Rosie among the other horses. She stood out, her bright chestnut coat a spot of red among the browns and grays. She came closer to the fence. I wouldn't have expected her to come anywhere near me, but maybe she thought I had food, or maybe she anticipated escape. In any case, I got the chance to watch her for a moment, and I felt my heart contract.

“Not today,” I told her in a whisper. “Whether you're with me or running wild out there, I will not let him hurt you.” And I yanked the chain free.

The racket from the chain startled Rosie. I swung the gate wide. The big mare hesitated, and in that split second I saw something on her flank—a rough, C-shaped arch, an old brand of some kind. It was small, with a blurred smudge of letters underneath, and the hair had grown into it, making it almost invisible. I got behind her and flapped my arms at her. “Go on!” I shouted. “Get going!”

She shied, then bolted through the open gate, running out into the meadow. The rest of the horses, their ears pricked, followed at a gallop. Within seconds the corral was empty.

I sprinted back toward the barn, fear for Grandpa sending a burst of adrenaline through me. As I rounded the back of the building, I spotted an object on the ground. I bent to pick it up, panic rising in my throat. It was Kayla's cell phone. I slipped it in my jacket pocket and listened hard, but there was no sound except for the gentle whickering of the horse Bellamy had led out earlier, still tethered to the fence.

Where was Kayla? She had obviously been here. And where was Grandpa? I peeked around the corner of the barn, but there was no sign of anyone. Even Bellamy's truck was gone.

I sank to the ground, my mind spinning with possibilities. Had Grandpa and Kayla made a run for the truck? I didn't think so. Grandpa wouldn't leave me stranded unless he absolutely had to. And what about
Bellamy? It wasn't likely that he'd popped out for groceries, not in that big rig. So why would he take a huge truck, that would hold dozens of horses, if it wasn't loaded?

I just didn't get it.

A red pickup truck pulled up the long drive from the main road and parked near the house. I flattened myself against the barn wall, behind some hay bales and a stacked assortment of rusty old tools.