Mustang Moon (18 page)

Tonight, the Phantom couldn't save her. If the blue stallion heard the click of the shutter, he'd be in her face or gone.

Just a few feet away sat a series of flat-topped redwood hitching posts with brass rings. As the stallion passed the farthest one, Sam thought she might use the nearest one to prop her camera.

Almost there. Almost…

Far out, car headlights slashed across the desert. The electric gates whirred, responding to a remotecontrol opening the entrance to the Gold Dust Ranch.

Hammer hesitated and Sam knew what she had to do.

She ran into the stallion's path. He reared. Click. He threatened her with his fury. Click.

Sam braced against the redwood post, following the rising torso and flailing forefeet. Then, as the Kenworthys' headlights lit the horses from behind, Sam took a final shot of the rearing stallion with the red-eyed mares behind him.

She expected the stallion to turn and run. Instead, he bolted straight toward her. Flint-hard hooves
reached forward, pulling his body after. Sam ducked behind the redwood post, and rolled to the ground, clutching Mrs. Ely's camera to her chest.

Eyes wide open, she saw the shaggy belly pass overhead. She heard the crash of his hooves landing, running past Sam, past Kitty, past Slocum's mansion on the hill, and into the night.

S
ATURDAY MORNING
, two days after Sam's photograph ran on page one of the Darton
Review-Journal
, the newspaper still sat on kitchen table.

ROGUE STALLION REVEALED
! shouted the headline.

While Jake and Dad fought to read the follow-up article in today's newspaper, Sam ate the cinnamon toast Gram had just served and studied her picture again.

In rearing close-up, Hammer looked like a Wild West bronco. The mares behind him looked terrified. She almost wished the stallion captured on film had been the Phantom. At least it would mean he was alive.

It had been three days since she'd seen him, wounded and limping. Her amateurish vet care might not have been enough to save him from infection.

Sam shook her head against her gloomy thoughts
and straightened the wrinkles in the newspaper. She'd studied the picture so often, it hardly seemed to be hers anymore, but the tiny type under the photograph read,
PHOTO BY S. FORSTER
.

Sam remembered how Mr. Blair had interrupted Mrs. Ely's history class to show Sam the picture as soon as he'd developed her film.

Mr. Blair and Mrs. Ely had encouraged Sam to submit the photograph to the
Review-Journal
. They'd claimed the recognition would build her self-esteem, but Sam knew the truth. The teachers thought Linc Slocum would try to wriggle out of paying the reward.

That's exactly what he was doing.

The newspaper across the table rustled fiercely as Jake demanded their attention.

“Listen to this,” Jake said, reading. “‘The reward of ten thousand dollars has yet to be paid. According to local rancher Lincoln Slocum, who offered the reward, “My posters clearly state the reward will be paid for the stallion's capture and information leading to Apache Hotspot's return. The filly is still out on the range. As far as I'm concerned, after running with that wild bunch, she can stay there.”'”

Gram, Dad, and Jake grumbled in disapproval.

Sam had another hope, though. She'd heard a helicopter making sweeps overhead all morning. Perhaps the BLM was on the stallion's trail.

“Never thought I'd be glad to hear those choppers,” Dad echoed Sam's thought. “But that son of a
gun Slocum owes you a college fund.”

“And Sweetheart should be back here where she belongs,” Gram said.

“I just want to hear Slocum tell Sam thank you.” Jake laughed.

“But he is right.” Sam went to the refrigerator for the pitcher of orange juice. “He—I'll get it.”

Sam broke off when the phone rang.

“Good morning, Samantha. This is Brynna Olson. Sorry to call so early—”

“Brynna? When did you get back?” Sam looked up. Jake met her eyes and began punching the air. He must think Brynna could force Slocum to pay up. Sam crossed her fingers.

“Yesterday. And I bet you can guess what I found on my desk when I went in to work.”

“The newspaper?”

“Yesiree.” Brynna's voice sounded young and completely unprofessional. “Congratulations on that super photograph and on snagging the reward.”

“But, well…” Sam's voice faltered. She didn't want to drain away Brynna's excitement. “In today's paper, he says—” Sam broke off, realizing Brynna wasn't listening.

“What are you doing for lunch today?” Brynna asked. “Do you think you could make it to Clara's in Alkali about noon?”

“I'll see.” Sam felt awkward as she turned to Dad. “I don't quite understand what's going on, but
Brynna is”—Sam spun her hand next to her head—“pretty excited. In fact, she's downright giddy and she wants us to meet her at Clara's today at noon.”

Dad drained his coffee cup and set it down hard. His face held no more expression than the tabletop as he said, “Tell her we'll be there.”

Sam stared in amazement. Saturday was a serious workday on the River Bend Ranch. They never went out for lunch. Something was going on.

“Brynna? Dad says we'll be there.”

“I don't suppose Clara serves champagne,” Brynna said, laughing.

“What?” Sam wondered what had happened to Brynna in Washington.

“Never mind, just plan on chocolate upside-down cake for everyone. And, Sam, you know what?”

Sam was almost afraid to ask, but curiosity won out. “What?”

“It'll be your treat.”

 

The blue stallion didn't enjoy the party held in his honor. He kicked the tailgate of the horse trailer parked in front of Clara's café.

Inside, the jukebox played, and Clara dealt out plates of cheeseburgers and fries to the table of rowdy customers celebrating Sam's victory.

But Sam stood over by the window, beside a young woman watching the horse trailer.

Rosa Perez had midnight hair and the flavor of
New Mexico in her voice.

“He is such a bad boy.” Rosa tried to glimpse the horse inside the trailer, then turned to Sam with a smile. “And I am so glad to be taking him home.”

Sam's photograph had helped the BLM capture the horses from a ravine on the other side of Lost Canyon.

Now, Apache Hotspot and Sweetheart were back in their home corrals. And even before the horses were found, Brynna's first look at Sam's picture convinced her he was no mustang.

One phone call and a risky peek at the tattoo inside his upper lip verified it. “Hammer” was the California endurance champion Brynna had heard about by e-mail weeks ago. Within hours, Rosa Perez had started driving to Willow Springs to be reunited with her beloved Diablo.

“I hope he didn't cause you any harm,” Rosa said now. “I know he has a bad habit of charging.”

Sam pictured the horse bearing down on her, ears pinned back, but she only shook her head.

“I bought him from a logger, who used him for pulling and, I think, whipped him a lot.” Rosa looked back at the trailer and smiled. “He's mild as a dove with me.”

“Some horses just bond with one person,” Sam said, understanding.

She gazed at the road beyond the horse trailer. Any minute now, Linc Slocum was supposed to
arrive with a check, making everything perfect.

All the same, Sam wasn't as happy as she should be. She missed the Phantom.

Since she'd bandaged his fetlock, there'd been no sign of the mustang. Sam tried to think positively, but she couldn't stop worrying.

Laughter boomed from the table where Jake, Gram, Dad, and Brynna sat talking. Applause greeted a tray of Clara's chocolate upside-down cake.

Everyone was having fun, but Sam wouldn't really celebrate until she'd seen her horse, whole and healthy. The quickest way to do that was retrace her steps to the Phantom's haven. Soon. It was only August, but the high pass and stone tunnel leading to the wild horse hideout could be blocked by an early snow.

“Sam! Come eat!” Jake held up a plate of cake.

“In a minute,” she said. Sam noticed Dad had a little smear of chocolate next to his mouth. If she timed it right, maybe he'd say yes when she asked to return to the Phantom's home. Of course, that meant telling him about it.

From outside the café, Sam heard the blare of country-Western music. She and Rosa squinted at sun glaring off the beige Cadillac. Slocum had arrived.

“Oh my,” Rosa said.

Linc Slocum heaved himself free of the car and straightened the coat of his Western-style suit. The
suit was purple as plum jam, but his Stetson was white and he wore a bolo tie set off by a polished rock.

Although neither Sam nor Rosa could hear what he said, they saw Slocum lean toward the horse trailer and speak to the stallion.

Diablo kicked the tailgate of his trailer with renewed vigor. Rosa reached into her purse for her car keys.

“Thank you, again, Samantha, for everything.” Rosa gave Sam a hug that said more than words. “I think I must leave before my endurance horse can endure no more.”

Rosa waved and slipped through the café door. As Slocum tipped his Stetson after Rosa, Sam hurried back to the table and plopped into the chair next to Jake's.

“Mr. Slocum.” Dressed in her khaki uniform, Brynna greeted the rancher strutting toward them.

Sam uncrossed her arms and legs. A second later, she realized she'd crossed them again. Slocum had an oblong piece of paper in his hand. It was really going to happen.

“Hello, folks,” he said. “I figured—”

Slocum blushed. All his bluster was costing him a small fortune. Sam tried to feel sorry for Slocum, but she couldn't.

“That is, Miss Samantha—”

Then, Jake caught Sam's eye. In a subtle movement, Jake rubbed the side of his neck, reminding
Sam of the Phantom's scar. Sam straightened in her chair and met Slocum's bashful expression with a glare.

Since Slocum couldn't pay the stallion for the pain he'd inflicted, the next best thing was paying someone who loved him.

“Yes, Mr. Slocum?” Sam stood.

“Well, I know Wyatt is just as happy as a dog with two tails to wag, so I won't take up your time. Thanks for finding that filly of mine and getting her home, uh, safe.”

Sam knew why Slocum hesitated over the last word. The vet who'd checked the animals after capture suspected Hotspot was in foal.

Slocum ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair until it stuck out at odd angles. “In fact,” he said with a short laugh, “I may just insist you take a bonus with your reward check. How 'bout you keep one stall open, Wyatt? This baby may not fit in with my Appaloosa breeding program. Still, with those two for parents, you might end up with a colt who's fast as a caged squirrel.”

As those around her laughed, Sam took the check. This skinny piece of paper would pay Mr. Blair for the camera, put in new fence rails where Diablo had broken them, and replace River Bend's aged pump. Dad was making her save the rest for college, but she planned to keep back a few dollars for a present.

Jake looked over in surprise as Sam squeezed his hand. She couldn't help thinking about his October first birthday and the beautiful bridle just waiting in Tully's Western Wear.

 

Frost clung like silver icing to every twig and branch, as Sam rode Ace away from the Calico Mountain camp the next morning. An early cold snap made frozen brush sparkle as the sun rose. It was all the more beautiful because Jake had let her come alone.

Trusting her, even though she wouldn't tell exactly where she was going, Dad had allowed Jake to drive Sam back to the Phantom's territory. He'd instructed Jake to let her approach the stallion's secret haven alone.

Sam checked her watch. It was five
A.M.

Jake had driven to the site where they'd held the herd the night she and Ace had been kidnapped by the Phantom. As soon as they'd arrived and unloaded the horses, Jake had built a campfire, positioned his sleeping bag next to it, then crawled inside.

Leaning on one elbow, he'd rattled off orders.

“You've got two hours to get there and get back, or I'm coming after you,” Jake insisted. “Witch can catch your old pony without even trying.”

Sam was counting on Ace to help find the mustangs' hideout. Everything looked different than it
had in early summer.

A crystal forest of cottonwood trees crowded around her and the broad plain seemed smaller. Was Ace taking a different approach to the stone tunnel and wild valley?

The footing turned steep. That seemed right. Sam recalled shale shaped like dinner plates, but she didn't see it as they climbed upward.

Sam kept her weight balanced, sparing Ace. The little mustang snorted and looked from side to side, more watchful than ever.

“Do we need the Phantom to lead us back, boy?”

Ace shook his head so hard, the buckles on his headstall clinked. Sam loosened the reins, wishing the stallion would appear.

Fear hovered over her like a storm cloud. What if she found the way back and her horse wasn't there?

All at once, Sam saw the faint path Ace was following. It was no more than a dust smear through silver-green sagebrush. Though it ran along a cliff, Ace's delicate hooves navigated it with ease.

“Good boy,” Sam whispered, and then she saw what the uncertain light had hidden. A steeper path climbed a cleft between two rocks, and suddenly they moved into darkness.

Ace stopped. His hooves echoed as he shifted from hoof to hoof on the slick rock, but he didn't go forward.

Sam listened. She dismounted, then ground-tied Ace, as if the act of holding the reins could distract her from something she must hear.

The tunnel turned from brown-gray to black just ahead.

“You stay, boy. I'll be back.”

Sam walked into the gloom. She wouldn't think of bats, of earthquakes, of tons of stone hanging overhead.

The way ahead was silent. Cold shimmered from the walls. She could not hear the rushing stream in the Phantom's hidden valley, nor the squeals of hungry foals. She heard no hooves striking rock, telling her the stallion was coming to meet her.

Was she lost? Sam wrapped her arms around her waist, shrinking away from the narrowing stone walls. Could this be the wrong tunnel?

Up ahead, brightness flickered. Cheered as if sunlight warmed her, Sam recalled a crack in the tunnel roof. That must be it.

But it wasn't formless daylight. The pale shape wavered like a ghost.

Zanzibar?

It couldn't be. No matter how wild, no animal could move so silently. Then, she said the word aloud.

“Zanzibar.”

In this lonely cavern, it must be safe to speak a secret name.

For a heartbeat, Sam blinked against the brightness,
and then her stallion stood before her, whole and healthy.

His front hooves lifted off the stone floor, spinning in a blur. He would have reared in greeting, if not for the low stone ceiling.

His back hooves pranced with no trace of a limp.
No limp
.