Mustang Moon (17 page)

“Yeah,” Jake sounded resigned. “I'll see ya.”

 

Sam was asleep when the telephone rang downstairs in the kitchen. With a half-formed idea that it was Jen, Sam swung her feet to the floor and raised her nightgown hem so she wouldn't trip. She ran down the stairs, vaguely aware of Dad lumbering along behind her.

Sam had reached the kitchen when Dad spoke. “I'll get that,” he said. “Get on back to bed.”

Sam let Dad lift the receiver.

“Hello,” he said, but nothing in Dad's expression told her who'd called so late. She moved slowly, listening. Near the top of the stairs, she heard half a sentence.

“—businesswoman would have an answering machine.”

Businesswoman?
The only businesswomen she knew lived in San Francisco.

Curiosity on the boil, Sam sat on the top step.

“…wanted poster…stallion…” Dad's voice rose, then faded. He had to be talking about Slocum and the Phantom.

Like a latch clicking into place, she knew it must be Brynna Olson.

Sam tiptoed back to her room, mulling over that possibility. Was Brynna back already? Did anyone go from Nevada to Washington, D. C. for a single day?

No.

And Washington's time was three hours ahead of
Nevada's. Sam rolled back into bed. Why would Brynna call Dad so late at night?

Brynna calling Dad
. Sam stared at her bedroom ceiling until she saw a haze of spots, feathery horses and flying arrows.

Brynna could be urging Dad to take that job. Dad might have left a message with the Willow Springs office about Slocum's posters. Or maybe…

Sam flopped over and buried her face in her pillow.

Maybe she needed to go into Darton and see a movie before her imagination ran away from her completely.

S
AM'S HEAD SNAPPED
back, and her eyelids sprung wide as Dad braked at the bus stop.

“I don't want you falling asleep in class now,” Dad cautioned.

“I won't,” Sam promised.

She felt cranky. She'd asked Dad about his talk with Brynna, but Dad only said Brynna was gone for a week of meetings.

Since Jen wasn't at the bus stop yet and Sam didn't want to wait alone, she tried once more to lever information out of him.

“Exactly what did she say about Slocum's posters?”

Dad thought a minute, then recited, “Soon as someone at Willow Springs heard about the posters, they should've had a ranger call on Slocum to educate him about the Wild Horse and Burro Act.”

Again
, Sam thought. She'd been sitting next to Slocum when Brynna had explained it the first time.

Slocum knew he was breaking the law. He just didn't care.

“Can they arrest him?” Sam asked.

Dad didn't sugarcoat the truth. “Nope, not until something happens to the animal.”

 

As soon as Jen arrived at the bus stop, she told Sam the stallion had been sniffing around Gold Dust Ranch the night before.

“My dad thinks he's come back for Kitty,” Jen said as the bus arrived.

Once they were seated, Sam looked at Jen and decided to trust her with the truth.

“Jake and I saw the Phantom last night,” Sam whispered. “He's hurt. So it couldn't have been him.”

Jen sat up so suddenly, her glasses slipped down her nose. If intelligence could show in someone's expression, Jen's blue eyes glittered with brainpower.

“He's hurt?” Jen whispered. “If you don't want to call the BLM to take care of him, I could help.” Jen's heart was set on becoming a veterinarian.

“I wish you had been there last night,” Sam said. “But I think he's going to be all right.”

Sam's mind churned. She had Mrs. Ely's camera around her neck. If Hammer really had been at the Gold Dust Ranch, he might come back tonight. If she were there, she could prove her point right away.

Sam had just drawn a breath to test her plan on Jen, when a boy's shout cut her off.

“Look at those idiots!”

Every student on the bus watched a black truck swerve across the range, raising a rooster's tail of dust. A skinny, shirtless guy stood in the truck bed, hugging the cab for balance. A lariat dangled from his hand, but he was hanging on too hard to use it.

“They're chasing a horse,” Jen said, pointing. “It must be for the reward. Look, the truck has Idaho license plates.”

But Sam couldn't look away from the horse. Long-limbed and root-beer colored, he raced toward the school bus. Their driver slowed to let him pass.

As he did, Sam noticed the animal wasn't young. His muzzle was gray and the bridge of his nose had been rubbed bare by years of wearing a bridle.

“He's not even wild,” Sam gasped.

“He looks like an old saddle horse someone turned out after years of ranch work,” Jen agreed. “Some reward.”

“I'm phoning the BLM as soon as I get to school,” Sam said.

“Your dad already did,” Jen reminded her. “It didn't do any good.”

Although Sam blamed the men in the black truck for their actions, Slocum had created this craziness by dangling a reward.

“I'm calling the BLM again,” Sam insisted as the truck drove out of sight. “And I won't hang up until someone listens.”

Jen nodded, then withdrew a pen from her backpack, grabbed Sam's hand and began writing on it.

“What's that?” Sam asked.

“The truck's license number.” Jen shrugged at Sam's amazement. “Numbers just stick in my brain.”

 

Things could go wrong in such a hurry.

As soon as Sam arrived at school, she jogged to the journalism room. Mr. Blair let her use his telephone and listened while she talked.

After she reported the men harassing the horse, an efficient voice at the Willow Springs holding pens thanked Sam and explained a ranger had already been dispatched to deal with the situation.

Sam's next ugly chore was to tell Mr. Blair about the camera. He didn't seem shocked. In fact, Mr. Blair was almost sympathetic as he looked the camera over and agreed with Mrs. Ely's diagnosis of a broken mirror.

“You'll have to pay for the repair,” he said. “But it shouldn't be more than a couple hundred dollars.”

Before Sam could hit the floor in a faint, Mr. Blair explained how she would go about earning money to pay for the repair. That's when Sam felt the icy fingers of panic.

 

“One of those sandwiches and one package of—no, two packages of corn chips.”

Halfway through her first shift in Darton High
School's snack bar, Sam had reached three conclusions.

One, teenagers really did have lousy diets.

Two, she must earn good grades and attend college to avoid long-term snack bar employment.

Three, if another dollar bill stamped with Rachel's name smeared pink ink on her hands, she would scream.

This was Mr. Blair's remedy for penniless wrongdoers. She worked in the school snack bar but never saw a dollar of her wages. The Darton High bookkeeper deposited Sam's pay directly into the school newspaper's bank account.

Sam stared through the order window, trying to enjoy the sunlight and forget tomorrow's algebra test.

The job wasn't too bad. Jen had come by to sympathize and so had Jake's friend Darrell, though he was mostly interested in negotiating a deal on sunflower seeds. That meant Jake would know about her humiliation soon.

All at once, her view of the school courtyard vanished.

“Samantha Forster.” Rachel strained to put a British slant on the name. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Sam couldn't think of a clever answer, so she extended a cellophane wrapped dessert.

“Want a Ding Dong, Rachel?” Sam thought how appropriate it was that she'd been basking in the
sunshine streaming through the snack bar window until Rachel blocked it.

“What I want is for you to explain why a ranger showed up at my house this morning.” Rachel's expressive hands reminded Sam of rosy talons.

“Hurry,” urged a voice from behind Rachel. “The bell's gonna ring in a minute and—”

Rachel swung to face the impatient customer.

“Do you mind?” Her icy tone sent the boy running.

Sam looked after the guy, grateful he'd distracted Rachel.

“Go ahead and play innocent,” Rachel snarled when Sam didn't speak. “But you've declared war on the wrong family. You have no idea how unpleasant your life will be, if you decide to stick around.” Then, she flounced off without buying a thing.

 

Sam and Rachel ignored each other during journalism. In fact, the newspaper staff labored toward a deadline in near silence. The only sounds were tapping computer keys and rustling paper.

Three minutes before class ended, Mr. Blair approached Sam. She braced herself for the possibility the camera was ruined.

“Forster, are you still interested in night shoots?” he asked.

Night shoots
. Sam's relief was so great, it took her a few seconds to understand. Then she nodded vigorously.

“Do you think I can do them with this?” Sam held up Mrs. Ely's old Pentax.

“Sure. It'd be easier with one of those little point-and-shoot jobs you see on television, but you wouldn't learn anything.

“Quick lesson.” Mr. Blair glanced at the clock. “Listen up.”

As he explained, Sam took notes on the back of an algebra worksheet. The grade on the front side wasn't worth saving.

Most of Mr. Blair's directions made sense. She hoped she understood enough to carry out the plan she and Jen had put together.

Sam checked her watch and counted. In four hours, she should be arriving to study algebra and spend the night at Jen's house. In five-and-a-half hours, Jen's parents should be driving off for their weekly “date” in Darton. Just after that, Sam would be crouched and ready for the blue stallion's appearance.

A day or two later, she figured, she'd be rich.

“Hey, Forster, no daydreaming.” Mr. Blair snapped his fingers. “Don't be afraid to
shoot
. Film comes out of the factory by the mile, so keep shooting as long as there's something to see.”

The bell shrilled, class ended, and Sam rushed out. She needed to find Jen and work out a few more details.

 

They spent so long conspiring at the bus stop, Sam and Jen both had to jog home before someone came looking for them.

Dressed in jeans and a white blouse, with her hair in a tidy knot, Gram waited for Sam at the door.

“What did your teacher say about the camera?” Gram asked.

Sam explained and prepared to launch her plan, but when she entered the house, she was nearly sidetracked. A meringue-topped lemon pie sat on the kitchen table.

She loved lemon meringue pie and Gram knew it. Since Sam had worked through the lunch hour, she was hungry. She could almost taste the sugary meringue and lemon tartness on her tongue.

But some things were more important than food. Like saving her horse. Sam turned her back on the pie and met Gram's eyes.

“Gram, I got a C minus on my algebra pretest today.” Sam saw Gram wince. “Tomorrow is the real test, and Jen offered to help me study. I know it's a school night, but numbers just come naturally to her and I really need the help.”

“Why didn't you girls get together right after school?” Gram asked.

“I had my chores to do.” Sam gestured toward the pasture and barn. Though Buddy's brand and Ace's bites were almost healed, Sam still checked them. And of course there were chickens to tend and water
troughs to check. “So can I please spend the night?”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt,” Gram said, “if you two don't stay up too late.”

“We still have to catch the bus in the morning,” Sam said and Gram nodded. Sam figured she could sleep in this weekend.

 

If there was a truer test of friendship, Sam couldn't imagine it. Jen offered to help Sam study the material for her algebra test. Instead, Jen ended up teaching.

“You really don't get this, do you?” Jen was mystified.

“I really don't, but you make more sense than any teacher I've had so far.”

“Cool,” Jen said. “Wait until you see me on linear equations.”

At last, Sam declared her brain was full, so the girls baked frozen pizza and drank sodas. After washing the dishes, they picked the perfect spot for Sam and her camera.

The sorrel mare, Kitty, had been trotting along the fence since dusk. Her high-strung actions convinced the girls Hammer was near.

“I know it will work,” Jen said. “It's not like you're trying to catch him, just photograph him. What can go wrong?”

“Your parents could come home early.”

“They won't,” said Jen. “Statistically speaking, it cannot happen. My parents are creatures of habit.”

Because she planned to be tucked up inside the house watching television while Sam shivered behind a stump, Jen refused to share the reward money. She did agree to let Sam buy her a poster of her hero, mathematician and scientist Albert Einstein, if everything went as planned.

Now, Sam crouched next to Kitty's corral, reviewing Mr. Blair's advice on shooting in the darkness. When she tired of that, Sam watched Kitty. She couldn't ignore the Phantom's mother.

Clean-limbed and graceful, Kitty trotted around the corral, then stopped a few feet from Sam. When Kitty cocked her head to the side, as if wondering what Sam was up to, a lock of flaxen mane veiled one eye.

Sam smooched at the mare. Kitty's ears flickered back and forth, then she struck at the dirt with a foreleg. Sam had seen the Phantom do the very same thing. Had he learned it from his mom? When Kitty lived at River Bend, she and her son had shared the same pasture for two years.

As the mare sidled near, Sam reached out. Kitty shied and bolted across the corral.

“Hey, girl,” Sam said. “Don't be afraid.”

Seconds later, Kitty returned, alert ears turned to catch Sam's voice.

“Your baby's turned out real nice,” Sam told the inquisitive mare. “He's a stallion with pretty colts of his own. You'd be proud of him.”

Sam tried to shake off a wave of sadness. She needed to look through the camera's viewfinder. This was no time to let her eyes blur with tears simply because she missed her own mother.

The next time Kitty shied, Sam hadn't moved a muscle.

It must be him. The sorrel's head lifted. Her nostrils sampled the wind. Kitty stared into the darkness. Sam followed her stare but saw nothing. The mare snorted. Her legs were braced straight as broomsticks. Something was there.

A hoof clacked on asphalt. The Shetlands near the front gate moved across the frosty grass, and nickers floated on night air.

Hammer, Sweetheart, and Apache Hotspot drifted like ghosts up the driveway.

Patience. Let them get closer
, Sam told herself. Her fingers trembled. She'd done everything Mr. Blair suggested, except brace the camera against something solid. For that, she'd have to wait until the horses moved into position.

The blue looked sleeker than before. Jets of steam huffed from his nostrils. His massive head swung from side to side, checking each shadow in the ranch yard.

Hammer didn't move as if his fight with the Phantom had lamed him. With rippling stealth the blue stallion drew closer, looking prehistoric and tough.

His shoulders churned as he came on. Ranch
lights glimmered on wisps of hair under his chin, making the stallion look like a bearded unicorn. Sam remembered how Hammer had turned on her, treating her as an enemy, threatening to run her down just before the Phantom appeared. She didn't look forward to startling him.