Paint the Wind (10 page)

A
RTEMISIA LED THE FAMILY TOWARD THE GULCH
. K
LEE
high-stepped next to her with sprightly freedom. Since his birth only a few weeks ago, he had grown and filled out, his hair now fluffy with thick whorls of brown and white. With newfound bravado, Klee tried to prance in front of Artemisia, but she crowded his progress until he stopped. Georgia jogged forward to babysit, keeping Klee a safe distance behind their pilot
.

As the band moved into the lowlands closer to the water hole, three figures appeared on the rise of the hill. Artemisia stopped and raised her head in their direction, ears alert. One was the familiar woman, who often watched them for hours but had never been a threat. Sargent's ears twitched upright and he whinnied as if asking, “Is everything all right?” Artemisia
whinnied back to him with reassurance and continued toward the drinking spot. Sargent wasn't satisfied and continued to stare at the observers. His authoritative posture announced, “Don't approach or you will have to deal with me.” When he sensed no danger, he followed the band
.

Artemisia noticed that Mary, who was known to dally, slowed behind the rest, but then saw Sargent come up from behind and bite her on the flank. Mary loped forward to keep up with the others. Everyone was accounted for, except Wyeth
.

Artemisia heard Wyeth's whinny and looked toward the foothills. He stood alone, calling to them. He jogged forward, but Sargent turned suddenly, arched his neck, snorted, and pawed at the ground. Wyeth retreated to a small knoll, turning his head one way and then the other
.

Wyeth was more than two years old now. It was time for him
to be on his own; to find a band of bachelor stallions with whom he'd live in fraternity; to pretend fight, play rough, and chase the others with his neck outstretched in the snaking posture. It would all be a rehearsal for when he was older and strong enough to challenge a stallion with a harem, win a mare, and start his own family. Artemisia watched as Wyeth again took tentative steps in their direction. Sargent lunged toward him with an angry squeal. Even though Wyeth was Georgia's son and had been in the band since birth, Artemisia and the other mares knew better than to interfere with Sargent's fierce rejection and seemed resigned to Wyeth's exile. Finally, he hung his head and disappeared over the hill. For the first time in his life, he had to choose his own path
.

Artemisia turned her attention to the others. Georgia and Mary dropped to the water and rolled. Artemisia did the
same and Klee copied her. She stood and walked from the water. Klee followed. Both shook off a rain of droplets. Artemisia nuzzled his face as if trying to absorb his presence. She draped her neck over his withers, reassuring herself that he wasn't going anywhere with a band of bachelor stallions, at least for now
.

“S
TAY CLOSE TO ME AND AWAY FROM THAT DROP-OFF,”
said Aunt Vi. “I am not ready to lose either of you to the Great Divide Basin.”

Maya, Aunt Vi, and Payton sat on their horses at an overlook and gazed out at the infinite crater of desert. Below them, the Honeycomb Buttes rose abruptly from the basin floor in peculiar sandstone spires of rust, brown, and green. In the east, Continental Peak saluted, and in the west, the Oregon Buttes lay like a sleeping giant.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” asked Aunt Vi.

Maya shook her head. She might as well have been on an alien planet. Was she really here? On her way to see the wild horses? She'd hardly been able to sleep last night for thinking about this very moment. First thing
this morning, Aunt Vi had been surprised to find her warming her hands over the campfire, already dressed and waiting. After breakfast, they had loaded Russell, Homer, and Seltzer into the gooseneck trailer, and Aunt Vi had driven Maya and Payton south along the Continental Divide.

Now, Aunt Vi turned her horse north, and Maya and Payton followed on theirs. The mirage of a shimmering lake appeared before them, but as they rode closer, it vanished. What Maya thought was a congregation of rocks on a hillside manifested into a herd of pronghorn. She gasped and chills ran up her arms as she watched them flee across the panorama in a graceful, white-bottomed ballet.

“It's a mysterious place out here, Maya. I'm always amazed, too, at the beauty and the strangeness of it all.”

Maya nodded and felt an odd expectation, as if something unusual might happen at any moment. She knew it was a ridiculous notion, but she imagined that when she caught her first glimpse of Artemisia, she might see her mother sitting on the horse, too. Or would at least feel her presence. Out here, where the eye played tricks, it almost seemed possible.

They stopped, dismounted, haltered the horses, and tied them to the woody sagebrush. Aunt Vi led them to the crest of a hill above Oregon Gulch where they sat cross-legged, waiting.

“Aunt Vi, are there any ghost horses out here?” asked Maya.

Aunt Vi smiled. “Who told you about ghost horses?”

“My mother … She said the only way to capture a ghost horse is to paint the tail of the wind.”

“I can paint the wind,” said Payton. “Want me to show her how fast I can ride, Aunt Vi?”

“Payton, we just sat down. Now stay put. All you'd do is scare off every living thing for miles. There are a lot of ghosts out here, including Artemisia. It's that stark white coat against the darkness that makes believers out of skeptics.” Aunt Vi almost whispered, “She's the most beautiful, though.”

“Aunt Vi, why can't you just take Artemisia back if she belonged to you?” asked Maya.

“Payton, why?”

“Because it would be too dangerous,” said Payton.

“That's right. I'd need a group of wranglers to separate her from a possessive stallion. She was born wild and knows how to survive out here, so I've let her be. That decision wasn't easy, though. And I miss her.”

“Won't the wild horses try to steal our horses?”

“No way,” said Payton. “They only try to steal mares. Our horses are boy horses, and the stallion has to be the only grown-up boy in a wild horse family. He doesn't like any competition. If another male horse came close, he would fight him and drive him away. Sometimes, one stallion tries to steal another stallion's mare and then there's a giant fight and they rear and bite each other and kick each other and there's blood.…”

Aunt Vi put a hand on Payton's arm to settle him. She lifted her glasses. “Look. There's a family in the distance heading toward the water hole. Stay nice and still. No sudden moves.”

Maya's mouth wetted with anticipation and she licked her lips. She looked through the binoculars and saw five horses emerge between the hollow of two hills.

Aunt Vi whispered, “There's Sargent, the stallion. He's the palomino behind the rest of them. Isn't he beautiful?”

Sargent reminded Maya of the landscape, raw and untamed. His coat was marked with nicks and scars, his forelock dangling in stringy moplike bangs.

“And see the flaxen mare? That's Georgia. And there's Mary, the two-year-old. She looks more like Sargent with that palomino color. Artemisia is right in the front. Do you see her, Maya?”

Maya held her breath and then reminded herself to exhale. She leaned forward and tried to hone in on Artemisia, but the horse appeared blurry through the lenses. Maya took a deep breath to calm herself as she focused the binoculars. The image sharpened.

Artemisia didn't have the sleek look of the remuda
horses or the groomed and trimmed face of the horse she had seen in the photo. Witches' knots tangled her mane and tail, dirt crusted on her round barrel, and her legs and face were shaggy with wispy hairs. But even so, there was a strength of character about her, in the way she walked, in the way she held her head with royal forbearance.

Artemisia gazed toward Maya as if she were looking directly through the binoculars and into her eyes.

Something fluttered deep inside Maya. “She knows we're here.”

“She knows and so do Sargent and the others. But they're used to me watching them and bringing people around. I like to think that Artemisia remembers me. Maybe something about my body posture or my scent.” Aunt Vi's voice caught with affection. “Oh, Maya, look
right behind Artemisia, between the other two mares. There's the foal, Klee.”

Klee stood out in contrast to the others: His hair looked new and soft and fluffy, his face animated and almost whimsical. Maya wished she were close enough to touch him. She couldn't take her eyes from his antics and found herself smiling. He was so curious and filled with spunk, and he seemed to love his mother with brazen adoration.

Aunt Vi scanned with the binoculars. “Where's Wyeth?”

“I see him,” said Payton. “See, Aunt Vi? Over on that hill. He's trying to come to the water hole, but Sargent won't let him.”

“It's time,” said Aunt Vi.

Maya shifted her gaze and saw the lone horse wander away. “Time for what?” she asked.

“To leave the family. The stallion drives the mature males away when they're between two and three years old, to prevent inbreeding. And because the young male's desire is to be rambunctious and disruptive. Ever heard the phrase ‘sow his wild oats'? That's what Wyeth will do now, until he's ready to settle down.”

“Aunt Vi,” said Payton. “Can I ride back?”

“Go ahead. Keep Homer steady at the lope and don't let him work into a gallop.”

“Yes! Meet you at the trailer.” Payton ran toward his horse.

Aunt Vi laughed. “Sometimes it seems as if that boy is already sowing his wild oats.”

“It seems so cruel … to the boy horses,” said Maya.

“Oh, it's not much different in human families. There comes a time when children must leave home and find their own way in the world. Like your mother did, like you and Payton will do someday. As heart-wrenching as it seems, in a few years, Klee will be sent away from the band, too.”

Maya and Aunt Vi lifted their binoculars. Maya watched as Artemisia nibbled Klee's neck and then wrapped her large head and neck around his body. Maya felt a pang of jealousy. Had her mother ever cuddled her with such devotion?

“She's a good mother,” said Aunt Vi. “And a good lead mare. As much as I miss her, I can tell she's happy.”

“How did Artemisia get to be the lead mare?” asked Maya.

“The mare who puts herself in the position of leader becomes it,” said Aunt Vi.

“But how did Artemisia
know
she was the leader?”

“Oh, Maya, there's so much we humans don't know about ‘knowing.' With horses, it's not the biggest or oldest who is the lead. It's the horse who has the confidence to guide the family in times of danger, who has knowledge of the land and knows the routes to safety, who is herd-smart and can make alliances with other mares and keep peace. Some mares have the ability. Others don't. Think about great human leaders. They have many of those same qualities.”

Maya thought about what Aunt Vi had just said and lowered her binoculars. “Like you, Aunt Vi.”

Aunt Vi continued to watch the horses for a few moments, then set the binoculars aside and swiped her
forearm across her eyes. “Maya … remember how I told you about how much your mother loved the Sweetwater and how it filled up her heart like no other place could?”

Maya nodded and turned to look at Aunt Vi, whose eyes shined a little too bright.

“I never married or had a family of my own … and your mother … filled up a place in my heart that I didn't think could be filled up ever again … until …”

Payton appeared behind them, holding all three horses by their reins, breathless and panting. “Aunt Vi!”

She smiled at Maya. “Guess he saved me from falling into the mush pot. What is it, Payton?”

“Aunt Vi … there's a 'copter … in the canyon!”

Aunt Vi sucked in air, and her face crumpled with disappointment. “No!”

“What's happening?” asked Maya.

“Come on!” said Payton. “Hurry.”

Aunt Vi hastened toward the horses, and Maya ran after her. As they mounted, Aunt Vi said, “At least you got to see them … before …”

Maya demanded, “Before what?”

The clapping of helicopter blades and the buzz of a motor intensified. The machine appeared on the horizon, swooping and zigzagging like a giant bumblebee across the wide canyon. Miles of net fencing had been set up as a trap, wider at one end of the canyon than at the other, funneling into a narrow chute and ending in a large circular holding pen.

Wild horses pounded forward, panicked and snorting. Their coats glistened with sweat. A young filly
hurried to keep up with her mother. A stallion stumbled and was jostled forward with the stampeding throng. A mare struggled behind, lame. Horse screams echoed in the canyon.

Maya, Payton, and Aunt Vi sat on a ridge and watched. “It's a gather, but it's not pretty, is it?”

Maya shook her head. The word
gather
sounded so gentle. But there was nothing gentle about this. “Why are they taking them?”

“Many reasons and it's complicated. The government rounds them up every few years to keep the wild horse population under control. And there's a lot of pressure on them to keep doing just that, whether it's necessary or not. Some ranchers think they damage the grazing land for their cattle. Some people think they drink too much water. But there's a counter-argument for all of
those opinions. Others say they're just feral horses, broomtails, left over from old ranches and domesticated stock, that have learned to survive in the wild. Some may be, but now there are scientists who believe that mustangs are a wild species native to North America. Regardless of their origin, there are many people who wish they were more protected.”

“What's going to happen to them?”

“The prettiest and youngest will get purchased at auctions, like the one where I adopted Artemisia. Others will be bought by people who work for sanctuaries, protected places where they can live peacefully in freedom.”

“But there's plenty of land here, and they're already free,” said Maya.

“That's a point that is often made. Unfortunately,
we've done this many times in our country, rounded up people or animals and released them someplace else when they were just fine where they were.”

“What happens to the others … the leftovers?”

Payton lowered his binoculars and seemed eerily calm. “They auction them off and lots of them are bought and killed for their meat. Then they ship it to other countries. They used to sell the horses to slaughterhouses to make dog food out of them.”

“The law to protect the horses is often challenged by legislators to satisfy certain voters whose livestock graze on the public land,” said Aunt Vi. “Wild horses eat grass and don't make money for anyone. Their value is not understood by everybody. Yet this country was born on the backs of horses. Horses moved people from
place to place so the country could be developed. They tilled the land and became our trusted mounts and allies in war. As a species, they reached out to us as much as we did to them. They became our companions. See how alive they are and filled with energy and abandon? In a matter of days, if we return to this holding pen, you'll see how dispirited they've become. Imagine being free and then separated from your family and put in confinement.”

Maya didn't have to imagine. Her emotions stirred. She looked out at the infinite and unpopulated landscape and ached for the horses. Artemisia had once been separated from her own mother during a gather. Now she might lose Klee in the same way.

Aunt Vi's binoculars swept back and forth across
the string of horses. “There's Sargent … Georgia and Mary … and even Wyeth. He must have been trailing after them.”