Rodeo Rocky (11 page)

Kirstie was breaking every rule there was to break. The doc had said no riding for a few days, and here she was taking Lucky out along Meltwater Trail. Her mom had told her to give up on the problem rodeo horse, and that was something she just wasn’t ready to do.

Giving up on Rocky and sending him in a dark horsebox along the rough road to San Luis was the worst kind of betrayal. Worse than death for the wild, free-spirited stallion.

And Kirstie loved that horse. She loved him for his copper-coated beauty, his strength and willpower, and because of the way he’d learned to trust.

So she followed the path by waterfalls and fast-running streams, through Fat Man’s Squeeze to Miners’ Ridge, to the point where she and Lisa had left the official trail and bushwhacked over to the trailer park the day before.

Lucky took it easy, his trot smooth and gentle, as if he knew that Kirstie’s shoulder hurt and this was the reason she sat stiff in the saddle, trusting him to pick his way through trees and rocks.

“Your mom will never forgive me if anything bad happens,” Lisa had whispered as she’d tacked Lucky up and helped Kirstie into the saddle. Her face had been pale and strained as she’d stood by the corral fence and watched her leave.

Kirstie had managed to smile back at her. “You weren’t even here!” she’d murmured.

And now she and Lucky had reached the spot where the Santos’s motor home had spooked Rocky. There were the tire marks up ahead, where Jerry Santos had driven the giant vehicle off the road, and here were the scuffs and hoofprints where Rocky had reared and bucked. His track led across the dirt road, over a jagged rock, and on up the hill.

Setting Lucky to follow the trail, Kirstie glanced over her shoulder to check that there was no one around. One way was the entrance to Lennie Goodman’s trailer park. In the other direction was the empty road she’d just traveled. For a moment she felt Lucky hesitate and flick his ears as if he’d picked up a sound. Was it Rocky? Was the runaway horse standing quietly in that dark clump of pine trees, or behind that tall rock? Kirstie urged the palomino to investigate.

But no; that was too much to hope. The noise that had alerted Lucky must have been a deer or even a mountain lion. A cougar stalking through the bushes would make the palomino pay attention, that was or sure.

So Kirstie turned him away from possible danger and took a track away from the trailer park toward Eden Lake, high in the mountains.

This was a hunch worth following, but only a hunch. The lake, at 8,000 feet, was surrounded on three sides by massive rock faces. It was a natural cul-de-sac, but the approach provided plenty of good grass on the open slope. Rocky would find food, water from the crystal-clear lake, and shelter from the wind in the lee of the mountains. Instinct might have led him there for the night.

Lucky, too, seemed to think it was a good decision. He picked up his pace as they left behind the last sign of civilization; a trailer nestling in the pine trees at the edge of the trailer park. His head was up, he was wanting to lope, but Kirstie held him back because of the pain in her shoulder. She would keep him to a trot, posting out of the saddle to cut down the jarring sensation of the sitting trot.

They were cutting cross-country, about to cross the Eden Lake trail, and Kirstie was looking around to check that Hadley’s group was nowhere in sight, when Lucky suddenly skittered sideways, then stopped. He’d heard or seen something unusual, or else he’d picked up his rider’s unease and the slightest thing had begun to spook him. “Come on, this isn’t your problem,” she said softly.

Lucky ignored her. He listened, turned his head down the trail, waited.

Then Kirstie heard the sound of hooves coming along the trail. One horse only, approaching fast up the slope. Kirstie frowned and urged Lucky on into the covering of some nearby trees and rocks. Still he refused.

Then the horse rounded a bend and came into view. He was pale in the shadow of an overhanging rock, striding out so that his tail streamed behind him. His rider ducked to avoid a low branch, and when she sat up, her hat flew back to reveal dark red curls.

“Lisa!” Kirstie called out. She reined Lucky around and went to meet her friend. “What the … ?”

Lisa drew level, then pulled Cadillac up. “So?” she demanded, challenging Kirstie before she had time to object. “No way was I gonna let you ride up here by yourself!”

“You’ve been following me!” This explained the noises in the bushes by the trailer park, Lucky’s edginess.

“Yep.” Lisa studied Kirstie’s face. “You look pretty bad. How’s the shoulder? No, don’t answer that.” She stared harder than ever. “So, where are we going?”

“
We?
” At first, Kirstie wouldn’t show how glad she was to see Lisa. Finding Rocky was something she alone had to do. Yet she acknowledged the flood of relief she’d felt when she’d recognized both horse and rider. And she knew she didn’t have the heart to send them back.

“We. You, me, Lucky, and Cadillac.” Lisa leaned forward to pat her horse’s smooth, cream neck. Then she glanced up at Kirstie with a warm smile. “So don’t give me a hard time, OK? Where you go, me and Cadillac, we go, too!”

All morning they crisscrossed the wooded slopes, searching for the runaway horse. Lucky and Cadillac took the steep hills in their stride, pushing ahead to Eden Lake past creeks and waterfalls, across fast-running streams, and up to clearings in the forest where Kirstie and Lisa could ride out onto flat overlooks to scan the valleys for signs of movement.

Beneath them, the land was empty and still. Once they caught a distant glimpse of one of the trail-riding groups; a string of horses taking their riders along the beginners’ Five Mile Creek Trail. Another time, a movement just below their overlook turned out to be a small family of mule deer. Kirstie swallowed her disappointment and headed onto the pasture by the lake.

As they drew near, the sun was high overhead and the heat was building up. The sky was a dense blue, there was no breeze. The girls rode into the bowl of land where the clear lake spread before them, into a world of green and blue silence.

Please!
Kirstie prayed as she rode Lucky across the lush pasture toward the lake.
Even if Rocky isn’t here, please give us a clue!

A blue jay took off from a nearby tree and squawked across the sparkling water. High overhead, a golden eagle soared on the wind currents.

Riding ahead, Lisa took Cadillac to the water’s edge to let him drink. “Hey!” she called. “Kirstie, come look at these prints!”

Rocky had been to Eden Lake. The solo prints of hooves in the mud proved it. He wasn’t here now; the great bowl of rocks was empty except for the birds. But he had visited the spot.

“How long ago?” Lisa asked.

“Not long. The track’s fresh.” Kirstie had dismounted to crouch beside the water. Lucky stood nearby, watching, listening.

“The prints head across the pasture toward that creek.” From the vantage point of her saddle, Lisa pointed to more prints in the soft grass.

A stream flowed out of Eden Lake, across the flat plateau toward a sudden drop. Kirstie recognized Crystal Creek and Falls as a sight that took visitors’ breath away when they first saw it from the trail below.

She also remembered that Hadley always gave a warning for them to stay well clear of the tumbling, foaming mass of water that slid over the edge and crashed between the rocks. Though it looked cool, clear, and inviting, the creek had strong currents and dangerous banks. A horse tempted to drink there could easily lose his footing in soft, quicksand-like soil, then be dragged into the current and swept away.

Frowning to discover that Rocky had chosen such a risky refuge, Kirstie remounted Lucky and began to ride toward the creek. The aspen trees on the far bank whispered gently in the breeze from the ice-capped peaks. The light danced on their silvery leaves and dappled the shaded ground.

“Hey!” Lisa said softly. She pointed to the shadowy bank.

Lucky stopped in the bright sunshine amidst a sweep of green grass and blue columbines. Kirstie stared into the rippling shadows. There was a copper glint, a horse emerging from the trees. Bay and black, with the strange metallic tint. Head up, raising himself onto his hind legs, and whinnying loudly, Rocky greeted Kirstie from the far bank of Crystal Creek.

10

“What now?” Lisa’s question was high and tense.

Kirstie drank in the sight of the magnificent mustang. As if in a daze, she rode Lucky toward the creek.

Lisa followed. “Come on, Kirstie, what’s the plan?”

She stopped at the water’s edge. The creek ran fast and deep. Not far to their left, it disappeared over a narrow ledge of rock in a thundering roar.

“So, we found him!” Lisa begged Kirstie to stop and explain. “You can’t take Rocky back to the ranch, so what are we gonna do?”

“
Me
,” she replied. “What am
I
gonna do? By myself. Alone.”

Rocky came toward them and stood on the far bank, separated from them only by the creek.

“Kirstie, for God’s sake!” Lisa could see she was in pain. Her face was pale, her jaw clenched as she let go of Lucky’s reins and eased her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, with her eyes still on Rocky, she answered quietly and firmly. “The plan’s real simple. I get up on Rocky and head him way out of here into the mountains. I ride him to Eagle’s Peak and down into the next valley, where there are no ranches, no roads; just miles of forest.”

“And?” Lisa rode Cadillac right up beside her, following her gaze across the water to where Rocky stood.

“And nothing,” Kirstie said. It was wild land without fences, with vast stretches of grass between the trees, pastures where deer grazed and horses roamed. Like Wyoming. Like the land the mustang knew best. She took a deep breath and told Lisa what was in her heart. “I’m gonna set Rocky free!”

“But first you have to cross the creek!” Lisa pointed out the most obvious difficulty. “Forget that the pain in your shoulder is killing you. Ignore the fact that your mom is relying on getting her two grand back on the horse…”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought it through a hundred times.” Kirstie shook her head and began to look for a safe place to cross. “But hey, have you got a better idea?”

The question silenced Lisa. She frowned and walked Cadillac slowly along the bank of the stream. Opposite, Rocky had broken into an agitated trot. He ran a short distance by the water’s edge, away from Crystal Falls, turned quickly, and trotted back.

“OK, Lucky, we need to join Rocky.” Kirstie edged her horse into the cold current. She felt him flinch as water lapped his knees. He hesitated, looking at Rocky, who was still trotting and wheeling around, whinnying now and pawing the ground.

“How deep is that water?” Lisa asked nervously. She watched a piece of sodden driftwood speed by, tumbling between jagged rocks, then swirling and disappearing under the surface.

Kirstie pressed Lucky’s sides to order him on. “It doesn’t matter; he can swim it, no problem.”

“In that current?”

“He’s strong. He can make it.” She glanced across the creek. It was thirty feet wide at this point, and the far bank was low and flat enough for her horse to climb out easily. Only Rocky seemed to be growing more upset at the place she’d chosen and to be warning Lucky against it. The mustang stamped and snorted, wheeled away, and raced upstream. He took a slope and stopped on a ridge of rock, inviting them to follow.

With Lucky still only knee-deep in the water, Kirstie narrowed her eyes. “No, that’s no good. It’s too steep for us to get out there.” Her chosen place was better, she decided. Once more she gave Lucky the signal to plunge in deep.

Reluctantly, straining at the reins, the palomino obeyed. He walked awkwardly into the current until, with a sudden jerk, he was out of his depth and swimming. The water rose around Kirstie’s legs and swamped the saddle. It closed over Lucky’s shoulders. His legs paddled smoothly and strongly, resisting the force of the rushing current, carrying them across the creek to the far shore.

The ice-cold water pushed against Kirstie’s legs. She was waist-deep and still in the saddle, leaning into the current to resist it, struggling with the pain of her injured shoulder. But Lucky was making progress; they’d gone beyond the halfway point and the bank was now only a short way off. Rocky had charged down from the ridge and stood quivering on a ledge of black rock some fifteen feet from the grassy spot where Lucky would land. He was still agitated; his ears were back, he tossed his head and stamped. Then, as Lucky found his feet touching the riverbed again, there was a sudden swirl and giant eddy. The current had switched. It threw Kirstie sideways, so that she had to cling to the drenched saddle horn to regain her balance.

“Hang on, Kirstie!” Lisa yelled from behind.

Up ahead, Rocky stopped his restless stamping and froze.

Kirstie hauled herself upright. “OK!” she whispered to Lucky. The worst was over. He could steady himself and walk on.

One step, two steps; unsteady because of the dangerous current, the palomino emerged from the creek. Three steps. The bed of the stream was strewn with hidden rocks. Lucky staggered. On the black ledge, Rocky reared up, wheeled away, came closer to the spot where Lucky was headed.