Scarecrow on Horseback (17 page)

Mel opened the gate. She led Cheyenne outside
and closed the gate behind them. For a minute, she waited to see
how Cheyenne was going to react to the car trailing a scarf of dust
from the dirt road as it rattled toward them. Cheyenne barely
turned his head to watch it pass. “Good boy,” she said, and with
one deep breath, she swung up into the saddle and started walking
Cheyenne along the shoulder of the road.

No one was there to watch them pass by the
ranch except the kitchen helper who was mowing the lawn, probably
for the last time this fall before the first snow fell. He waved,
and Mel waved back. Cheyenne bent his neck to grab some long grass
edging the road, and Mel pulled his head up.

“No, sorry.” She would have liked to allow
him to nibble, but they needed to concentrate on getting to Mr.
Jeffries' pasture without delay. The sooner this experiment was
over with, the happier she'd be. Cheyenne ducked his head
disobediently to nip at more grass heads. “No, Cheyenne,” she said
more firmly. “Cut it out.”

He tossed his head then and proceeded for a
while, contentedly munching on the bits of weed he'd managed to
snag. She was glad the sun shone strong in the azure sky because
the temperature had already dropped to where she could have used a
jacket over her short-sleeved T-shirt. Cheyenne stepped along
smartly, obviously glad to be going somewhere, anywhere, on such a
crisp afternoon. Nothing about his behavior alarmed her.

Still she rode stiffly, scarecrow in the
saddle again, aware of her heart beating too fast and her fingers
cramped on the reins. “Don't let anything happen. Don't let
anything happen,” she muttered like a mantra.

Finally, they turned off the dirt road from
the mountain onto the more level stretch of asphalt main road in
the valley, and Cheyenne quickened his pace without her urging.
Sitting his smooth jog was so easy that Mel told herself riding him
really was fun, if only she could stop worrying that something
might go wrong. A few minutes more and they'd reach Jeffries's
ranch.

Then from behind her she heard a loud
rumbling. Mel looked back over her shoulder. A huge, gray dirt
truck was speeding toward her churning up loose rocks with its
enormous wheels. It seemed to be taking up more than its share of
the road, too, like a hulking monster that had nothing to fear from
anyone. Surely the driver must see her! But the truck came lunging
on toward Cheyenne as if it had no intention of slowing down for
the sake of a horse and rider.

The awful noise increased to a roar. “Steady,
Cheyenne,” Mel yelled as she pulled him off the shoulder of the
road toward the line of pine trees where the woods began. That was
all she had time to say before the massive iron vehicle was upon
them. Cheyenne was walking as the truck roared past. But that
wasn't enough. He jerked his head around to see what was going on,
and that would have been that if the truck hadn't hit a bump. A
huge clod of dirt came flying out of the open back straight for
them. Mel ducked, but she felt the impact of the clod as it hit
Cheyenne's rump. He screamed and reared. Suddenly Mel was flying
through the air. Before she blanked out, her head banged hard
against something.

* * * *

When Mel woke up in her own bed, her mother
was sitting beside her. “What happened?” Mel asked.

“You got knocked unconscious when you fell
off that mustang. Why did you ride off on him without even telling
anybody where you were going? Do you realize that you could have
been killed?”

“Where's Cheyenne? Is he all right?”

“Mr. Jeffries put him in his pasture. He was
the one who found you. He took you to the doctor and called the
ranch. You were lucky it happened near his place.”

“That's where I was headed.” Mel tried to sit
up, but her mother wouldn't let her.

“You have to keep still. The doctor says we
need to make sure you don't have a concussion. He doesn't think you
broke anything. Jeb was right about that horse. He
is
too
dangerous. I told Mr. Jeffries to keep him. I don't know if you'll
get any money back, but even if you don't, you're not going to ride
that beast ever again.”

“It wasn't Cheyenne's fault, Mom. He got hit
by a bomb, a dirt bomb from a stupid dump truck that was speeding.
Naturally he reared. I mean, what else was a horse to do? It was so
sudden. And it hurt him.”

“No, Mel. I know you think you tamed the
animal, and maybe you did partway. But he can't be trusted.”

“Mom, you didn't hear me. It
wasn't
his fault. And you had no right to hand him over to Mr. Jeffries.
He's my horse. I paid for him. Anyway, I was paying for him.”

“We'll talk about this later.” Her mom left
her lying there, fuming, until she fell asleep again.

In the evening, her mom brought her a tray
with soup and pizza that the cook had sent. “You've got a
visitor.”

“Sally?”

“Sally came by earlier. He left this for
you.”

Sally's gift was a hand-tooled black leather
belt with turquoise worked into a silver buckle on it. “Wow!” Mel
said.

“That man really is fond of you,” her mom
said. “He made the belt himself, but he must have paid plenty for
the buckle.”

Mel nodded, too overcome by Sally's gift to
speak.

“So do you want to see Mr. Jeffries?” her
mother asked.

“What's he doing here?”

“I guess he came to see how you are. You
better thank him for picking you up off the road.”

“Mom!” Mel protested. “I do know some
things.” Enough to be polite, she meant.

“Not as much as you think,” her mom
replied.

Despite his white hair and wrinkles, Mr.
Jeffries looked trim in a pearl-buttoned western shirt and fitted
jeans. His belt buckle was almost as beautiful as the one Sally had
given her. It was silver with inlaid red, black, and turquoise
stones in what Mel recognized as a Zuni Indian design. Sally's head
appeared unexpectedly at Mr. Jeffries' shoulder.

“Can I come in, too?” Sally asked.

“Sure,” Mel said. But there was barely enough
room for both men to squeeze in. Sally fitted himself into a narrow
space next to the dresser. Mr. Jeffries stood at the foot of the
bed, his tan felt hat in his hands.

“So how are you feeling?” he asked.

“Okay,” Mel said. “How's Cheyenne? Did that
dirt bomb that hit him cut him?”

“Huh? The horse was fine. Did something hit
him?”

“Yes, that's why he reared. It was a big
chunk that fell off a truck. I bet Cheyenne's bruised bad even if
it didn't cut him.”

“Well, no signs of any damage on that feller.
You should have seen him when I showed up. That horse was standing
over you like he wanted to help and didn't know how. If he'd had
hands, he'd have been wringing them. And I've never seen a sorrier
expression on a horse. He looked like a kid who's done something
he's ashamed of. I didn't know a horse could feel shame, but that
one sure did.”

“It wasn't his fault.” She explained again so
that everyone would be sure to understand. “He reared because of
that stupid dirt truck driver.”

“Yes, well, don't you worry about Cheyenne.
I'll keep him in the field with the other mustangs until you're
ready to take him back.”

“I don't know if I can take him back,” Mel
said. “That's what I was coming to talk to you about when the truck
got us, Mr. Jeffries.”

Sally cleared his throat. “Umm, I spoke to
Jeb. He's holding to his offer. If you want to take my place next
season and lead trail rides on Cheyenne—just the family rides, the
easy ones—you've got the job.”

“Uh huh,” Mel said without enthusiasm.

“You can do it, Mel,” Sally said. “You ride a
horse like you been doing it for years.”

Mel shook her head. “I told you, Sally, every
time I ride, something happens.”

“Not much use owning a horse unless you plan
to ride him,” Mr. Jeffries said.

“You
have those horses just to look
at, don't you, Mr. Jeffries?” Mel said.

“Well, in a manner of speaking. But I enjoy
riding, and I use my favorite horse for that.”

“I can't,” Mel said. “If something happened
to Cheyenne—”

Mr. Jeffries cleared his throat and said, “I
think I'm in over my head here. What I wanted was to tell you how
impressed I am by what you've done with that mustang. You rode him
most of the way to my ranch, which says to me that you've got him
pretty well trained. So my idea is, I'll take over the rest of the
loan from the ranch and you can pay me off as you can, whenever you
can, even if it takes years. Would that be helpful?”

“Yes, very,” Mel said. “Thank you. Thank you,
Mr. Jeffries.” She sat up and smiled at him. “And thanks for
rescuing me on the road.”

Me’s mother came back in the room after Mr.
Jeffries left. Mel was fingering the belt and telling Sally how
beautiful it was.

“So I take it we're back to owning an
outsized pet dog?” Dawn said.

“No,” Sally said. “Mel's going to ride
him.”

Mel waited until her mother had left the room
before she said, “I'm not, Sally.”

“You don't have much time to change your
mind. Saturday's my last day, and I'd hate to leave knowing my
girl's a quitter. You said that horse didn't mean to throw you,
Mel. If that's true, you got no reason to be scared to get on his
back.”

“But things happen, Sally. Every time.
Something happens. This time it was just to me, next time—” She
turned her face into her pillow to stifle her whimper.

“You want to play it safe, Mel? Never take a
risk? Is that the way you want to live?”

“Why not?” She raised her head to glare at
him.

Sally frowned. “Because those folk that spend
their lives playing it safe, in the end they get cancer or their
house burns down anyhow. Things happening makes life interesting.
Besides, you're too gutsy to play it safe.”

She pulled the pillow over her head and
stayed under it until she heard his footsteps as he left the
room.

* * * *

Later in the moonlight, Mel got up and looked
at herself in the mirror. She couldn't really see more than the
dark outline of her features. Scarecrow. Yes, that's what she
looked like. And what was going to happen to her? If she couldn't
earn any money, she couldn't invest in a stable with Denise. That
was just a crazy dream. She could be a horse trainer, but a horse
trainer had to be able to get on a horse's back. So did a wrangler.
She thought of what Mr. Jeffries had said, that Cheyenne had acted
ashamed of himself. But it hadn't been the mustang's fault. It had
been an accident. Trouble comes in clumps, Denise said, and then
everything goes right for a while. But how was Mel supposed to know
if the clump that hit her had been the last one? No answer appeared
in the mirror, and after a while, Mel gave up seeking one and
retreated to her bed.

Chapter
Nineteen

Mel's head ached. She lay in bed clutching
her pillow, feeling not only angry, but confused and betrayed by
the adults who had claimed to be trying to help her. On the one
hand they were offering her her horse, everyone from Mr. Jeffries
who barely knew her, to Sally, who seemed to care for her as much
as she did for him. Even Jeb was offering her something most girls
would be thrilled to get—the chance to be a wrangler riding her own
horse, a way for her to pay for Cheyenne and keep him for
herself.

On the other hand none of them understood
that she was tempting fate by riding. Mr. Jeffries said Cheyenne
had been sorry for throwing her. No doubt he had. Cheyenne had more
human feelings than any other horse she'd ever met. He wanted to
keep her safe. Mel was sure he did. But something unexpected would
happen. It wouldn't be another dirt truck, just something that
would make Cheyenne lose control of himself—something that would
make any horse lose control. It wasn't fair of Sally to try and
push her into riding again. He should see by now that she was
jinxed.

That morning, her mother came in dressed for
work in a jeans skirt and sweater. “The doctor said you ought to be
moving around now to help the healing process, Mel. I don't think
you should be lying in bed all day.”

Reluctantly Mel got up. She dressed and went
to the main building in time for breakfast. Talk at the staff table
was about Sally's going away surprise party Friday evening. They
were passing around a funny card for everyone to sign and planning
how to decorate the room for him. The new cook said she'd serve his
favorite menu, which was grilled steak and chocolate mousse cake.
They were all chipping in for a gift certificate to a western
clothing catalogue.

“Clothes for
Sally
?” Mel asked in
surprise.

“Well, he shouldn't go back to his wife in
the same clothes he left in, should he? And my guess is he hasn't
bought himself anything new in years,” Mrs. Davis said.

“Besides all his duds smell of horse even
after they're washed,” the cook said as she put down a platter of
eggs and sausage. That got a laugh from the rest of the staff.

“I expect he'll own his father in law's ranch
one of these days,” Mr. Davis said.

“His wife's the one that'll own it when her
father dies,” Mrs. Davis pointed out. “Anyway, he's going back for
her, not the ranch. He really loves that woman.”

“We're going to have a hard time finding a
wrangler to fill Sally's place,” Mr. Davis said. “He's as good as
they come.”

Mel shut her ears to the chitchat. She still
wanted to give Sally a special present to remember her by. What
could she get him that would be as wonderful as the belt he'd given
her? It couldn't cost too much because she didn't have any money to
spare. All she had was needed to pay down what she owed on
Cheyenne.