Spirit Horses (22 page)

Still face-to-face, a momentary glance into Tara’s
sky blue eyes was unavoidable. This look between them only lasted a second, but
it haunted Shane for the rest of the night. He did not ask her to dance
again.
 

On the ride back to the ranch, everyone was feeling
the effects of the alcohol they had consumed and were tired and quiet.

When they arrived home, Shane thanked them for a
nice evening, wished Tigee a happy birthday, and headed to his cabin.
 
He would need to get up early tomorrow to
prepare for his trip to check on the herd with Hawk and JB.

Tara stood just inside her screen door watching him
walk home.
There’re a hundred
reasons why this could never work
, she mused. With a sigh,
she headed off to bed thinking this man from Tennessee, with all his secrets,
would soon be leaving anyway. Then he would be out of her life and her head
forever.

Chapter 14

Sunday, Tara woke to the sound of a truck and trailer pulling out of
the ranch. It was Hawk, JB, and Shane going to the valley. She was fixing
breakfast for herself and Tigee when he walked out of his room and set a
package on the table.

“What is this?” she asked in Shoshone as she scraped
some eggs out of the frying pan onto their plates.

“Something for you to read,” he answered.

Tara sat down and started to eat as she opened the
large envelope. Inside were three magazines and two videotapes. The magazines
were well-known horse publications. Tigee took a sip of coffee and told her,
“Look at the cover of the magazine on top.” Her eyes opened wide in surprise as
she saw Shane, sitting on a horse in a round pen while working with another
horse in front of a large crowd. The title read “Starting Horses the Modern Way
with a True Pioneer, Shane Carson.” She looked at her grandfather, then back at
the magazine. Tara ate a forkful of eggs and started reading the article. On
the first page of the story, there was another picture of Shane standing with a
young horse in the middle of a round pen. He looked a little younger, and he
had on a headset and microphone. The crowd sitting in the grandstands was
paying close attention to him. The article began with the author, Megan Tillie,
telling how she first heard about this popular new clinician.

I had heard about this man, Shane Carson, from Tennessee, who
was doing some incredible work with horses. He was using interesting new
techniques he learned from a well-known master trainer from California named
Tom Dorrance. Tom had taken on this young man as a student because of his
natural talent.

I was looking for some good material for an article and had
been struggling with writer’s block for some time. It took almost a week to
talk my editor into letting me make the trip to Stevenville, Texas, where Mr.
Carson was putting on a clinic.

I had taken a similar trip six months earlier to see another
clinician, who was also popular on the circuit tour. This man had been a
disappointment, and my article was never published. So, my editor and I were
very skeptical about this trip.

The
National Horseman’s
magazine is one of the largest and most respected in the industry. Because of
this, we are only interested in writing about the best of the best, and I
really wasn’t sure if this man would fit into that category. So I went
incognito.

The clinic was held at the Stevenville county fair. It was
obvious that Shane Carson was a big draw. This was the largest crowd I’d ever
seen at any horsemanship clinic.

I sat in the grandstands and watched him at work with a very
difficult young stallion that had never been saddled or ridden. His ability to
read the young horse gave him a tremendous advantage in dealing with its
problems. The timing and skills he used while applying his techniques were simply
amazing. This young man was, by far, the most effective and talented clinician
I had ever seen.

Mr. Carson had brought his own horse that he used to
demonstrate many things to us. He also used his horse to pony the younger ones
at the clinic. This gelding was trained to the hilt and was nothing less than
an extension of Mr. Carson’s own legs. Although he did not have the most
entertaining of personalities, his occasional wit, along with his incredible
horsemanship, was more than enough to put on a terrific show.
 

The article went on to tell about how well his style
of horsemanship seemed to work with every horse he dealt with. The author then
posted his upcoming clinic dates and locations.
   

The second article, written by a different author,
had been published six months later, and was just as complimentary. The third
magazine, with more facts about Shane, was another story by Megan Tillie
written eight years later. It was about the longest lasting clinician still on
the road at that time�—�an in-depth story of Shane’s life and
career.

Tara was fascinated as she read on. She was finding
out some very interesting things about this man who would not talk about his
past. She soon began to feel a little nosy reading all this behind Shane’s
back. The third article continued on about how the author had become good
friends with Shane Carson over the years and how he had trained horses for her
personally. The next part of the story told about the mixed feelings she had
after finding out that Shane would soon be giving up the “on the road clinics”
to start a full-time training business in Tennessee. She stated she would miss
seeing and writing about this man and his clinics, which were now the most
popular of their kind in the United States. On the other hand, she was thrilled
to know he was now engaged to Jennifer Barlow, a girl she had introduced Shane
to. Megan finished by allowing Shane to express his appreciation to all the
people who had come to his clinics. He wanted them to know that he would be
available at his new
facility in Tennessee by the end of the year.

From the dates on the magazines and the information
in the articles, Tara gathered Shane had spent at least a decade on the road
doing these clinics. From the date of the last article till now, it had been
another dozen years, although Shane didn’t look much older than he did in the
magazine’s pictures.

Tara wondered if he had married Jennifer and if she
was part of the reason he came out to Wyoming. Perhaps she left him and broke
his heart. Maybe setting the mare free was some kind of closure for him. This
could explain why he didn’t talk about his past and why he seemed to be
emotionally shutdown at times. Tara still had a lot of questions about Shane.
What she did know, was that she was spending a lot of time thinking about him
lately.

She finished reading the articles and took another
sip of her now cold coffee. Then she glanced down on the table where she had
laid the two commercially produced instructional videos on training horses. The
boxes for these tapes had pictures of Shane on the
covers.

“Where did you get all this?” she asked her
grandfather.

“That Mrs. Jensen brought them out and loaned them
to me. I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one is watching. I
also know that he does not talk about his past. Because of this, I assume you
must have a lot of questions about him. So I thought you might be interested in
seeing all of this.”

Tara took a deep breath, then looked into her
grandfather’s eyes. “I don’t know what to think about him. I feel he is a good
man, but I wonder what he’s hiding. I remember he talked to you alone the day
you met. Did he tell you anything I should know?”

“He confided in me, in hopes that I would change my
mind and allow him to return his mare to our herd. I promised him I wouldn’t
betray his confidence�—�I am bound to honor that. I can tell you,
he is a good man, but I don’t know if he could ever give his heart completely
to anyone again. I think that one day he may tell you his story. Only then will
you really get to know him.”

When Tara finished watching the videos, she put the
tapes and magazines back into the envelope and out of sight.

The drive out to the Wind River Valley was a slow and bumpy one.
Traveling down the many miles of old dirt roads that led to the south pass was
always a treacherous trip. At the last minute, Tara’s two brothers decided to
come along. They both shook Shane’s hand and said there were no hard feelings
from their meeting at the Jensen’s farm. “When we saw the brand on the mare, we
figured you had taken her from our herd.” They apologized for having jumped to
the wrong conclusion. Their names were Ivan and Willie Two Feathers. Many of
the Indians had Anglo first names and Indian last names.

The information Shane received from Mr. Jensen had
been valuable in surmising a theory about the escalating attempts on the
mustangs. But it was only a theory, with no evidence. Recognizing tensions were
already close to a boiling point, he felt for now it was important just to keep
his mouth shut. All he could do at this point was hope Mr. Jensen was wrong
about the oil, and that the men from town had decided to leave the herd alone.
The truth was he had
serious doubts that the trouble in the valley was anywhere close to being over.

JB still wasn’t happy about Shane coming along, but
Hawk and Tara’s brothers didn’t seem to mind.

It was a warm, overcast day and the smell of rain
was in the air. The five men tacked up
their horses with a rifle packed on the sides of each of their saddles
and slickers tied on the back in case of bad weather. The Indians were eager to
get down to the river so they could pick up the herd’s trail before the coming
rain washed away any fresh tracks. Shane and the others rode down the long
gorge and through a tall forest to get to the banks of the Big Wind River.

Shane felt a sense of privilege to be part of this
scene. Here he was, riding with four natives of this land, down the same trail
their ancestors had used hundreds of years ago. Before they rode out, Hawk
reminded him that he was probably the only white man who had ever been down
these particular trails.

The Indians picked up the herd’s tracks about five
miles downriver. Ivan told Shane, “The horses are smart, they rarely return to
the same place on the river’s bank to drink. This behavior keeps patterns from
emerging that predators could use.” The Indians seemed concerned because the
horses were treading toward the north.

“The white men only try to catch the horses on the
north side of the valley,” Hawk said. “The area has easy access for them, and
they like to stay close to the end of the old logging road where they park
their trucks and trailers. Unfortunately, this same territory also has some of
the best grazing.”

According to the tracks, the horses had been moving
along at a nice walk and then suddenly were spooked into a frantic run. What
really bothered the Shoshone was that the herd had divided up into two groups�—�each
going at high speed in a different direction. Shane sat on Tory and listened.

“What could have caused this?” JB asked.

“I’ve never seen them do this,” Hawk said. “We’d
better split up.”

Shane, Ivan, and Willie rode toward the northwest,
while Hawk and JB followed the smaller bunch of tracks that separated to the
northeast. Shane and Tara’s brothers had been riding hard and fast for about
fifteen minutes when they heard the sharp echoes from a high-powered rifle.

Soon after, they heard Hawk’s voice shouting over
the radio. “You guys need to get over here now! We’re at the base of the
northeast trail, just before you get to White Tail Creek.” Shane could hear, in
the background over the radio, JB screaming out, what sounded to him, like some
kind of angry war cry.

Willie hollered, “I know a shortcut. Come on!”

The three rode fast, down the winding, wooded trail.
Shane was a little concerned about Tory, but the old horse easily kept up. He
knew they were getting close when both of the Indians reached down and pulled
their rifles from their scabbards while their mounts were still at a full
gallop. Suddenly, they reined back their horses to a quick stop. Shane also
pulled his rifle out as he swung his leg over to dismount. They could see JB on
a cliff to the north, shooting in the air and hollering a bloodcurdling yell.

Chapter 15

As the three men rode into a clearing at the end of a trail, they
cringed at the sight. There were five dead horses on the ground, including
three mares, two with their weanling foals lying beside them. Shane noticed a
third foal nearby. This weanling was still alive but had a gaping gunshot wound
at the base of his neck. The colt was suffering terribly, and Hawk, who was
able to move in close enough to assess its injuries, quickly made up his mind.
He wasted no time in raising his rifle. With careful aim, he shot the young
horse between the eyes, immediately putting it out of misery.

JB, still up on the ridge, fired off some furious
rounds in the
direction the shooters had fled, then rode down toward Shane and the others.

“Those sons of bitches!” JB yelled, as he rode in at
a fast trot. The expressions on JB and Hawk’s faces were of pure rage. Ivan and
Willie sat in helpless disgust as they stared at the senseless slaughter.

The shooters were long gone by now and had probably
made it back to their trucks. It was a good thing they had already left the
area, because JB and Hawk were mad enough to kill.

They soon discovered the tracks of three men and
their horses, who had been waiting on a small cliff overhanging the trail’s
end. Once the mares and foals made it into the clearing, the shooters had them
clearly in their sights. This was a sad, inhumane scene and all five men stood
there in quiet disbelief for some time.
    

Hawk suggested they backtrack this doomed part of
the herd to try to find out how they’d been separated and forced into this
ambush. The five rode back to where the herd had split and started scouring the
woods for clues. If they could find out how the
shooters set up the hunt, it would be easier to prevent this from happening
again.

All four Shoshone got off their horses and began
looking for signs. What they found suggested there were six other men on
horseback chasing the mares and foals into the clearing. They used at least ten
dogs to move the whole herd in the direction they wanted. Obviously, the men
did not plan on Naatea leading the main group of the mustangs off to the
northwest. Further down the trail, Hawk found a dog violently stomped to death.

Shane was amazed at the tracking skills these
Shoshones naturally possessed. Before long the four confidently determined what
had occurred. The whole group of nine men used the dogs to track and to find
the horses. They patiently kept their distance after locating the herd, in
order to give themselves time to set up the ambush. Once they had sent the
three snipers ahead to open ground, the other six men and dogs pushed the
horses toward them. During the frenzy the smaller group was cut off by the dogs
from the rest of the horses that narrowly escaped to the northwest.
 

“Those mares with their foals would have been in the
back of the herd while they were being chased,” Ivan told Shane.

JB explained, “According to these tracks, Naatea
turned back to try to save the three mares and their foals. He made it a couple
hundred yards in their direction before he was attacked by at least three dogs.
Naatea put up a good fight and killed one before he was forced to abandon the
mares and foals and return to lead the larger group to safety.”

 
Willie was
furious. “This was definitely an organized attempt to eliminate as many horses
as possible. If Naatea hadn’t outsmarted the hunters, the whole herd could be
dead.”

For Shane, this senseless slaughter only
strengthened Mr. Jensen’s theory about the oil. He was almost sure these
bastards would be back to finish the job. Now, more than ever, Shane needed to
figure out how to prove if he and Mr. Jensen were right. Until then, he still
felt there was no choice except to keep his mouth shut.

It was a long, quiet ride back to the trailer. When
they finally arrived, JB spoke, “We should post a twenty-four hour guard. We
know their methods, so it shouldn’t be hard to get in the way of these sons of
bitches. You can bet they’ll be back.” Everyone could see the rage building on
JB’s face, “I can make those assholes wish they had never come out here!” As he
stood next to his horse he pulled his thirty-thirty rifle out of its scabbard
and fired an angry round into the air. Tory and the rest of the horses reacted
with a startled look.

Everyone agreed the mustangs needed full-time
guards. Hawk suggested that Ivan and Willie stay out to watch the herd, while
Shane, JB, and he went back to the ranch and talked to Tigee.

It was obvious that Hawk did not want JB to stay,
fearing what he might do to the shooters if there was an encounter. Hawk knew
it was important to keep his friend away from any potential trouble until he
had a chance to cool down.

Tara’s brothers agreed to take the first watch. Hawk
would come back later, with supplies. They planned to set up a base camp on a
well-hidden high perch close to the area where the horses were killed. From this
high spot, they could hear any trucks coming down the old logging road that led
to the north entrance. This would also put them in a good position to head off
another disaster.

On today’s trip, Shane had seen these Indians were
very much at home in the wilderness. He was impressed with how silently and
efficiently they could move through the woods on foot, as well as on horseback.

When they finally got back to the ranch, Shane
unloaded the horses so the two Shoshone could talk to Tigee privately.

The old shaman answered the loud banging on his
front door. By the distraught look on their faces he immediately knew something
bad had happened. “What’s wrong?” The two went inside and Hawk broke the news
to him.

“One of the foals was the colt you hoped would
replace Naatea someday,” JB told him.

“He was shot up real bad. We had to put him down,”
Hawk added.

The old Indian just sat there, staring at them.
Then, as his eyes misted and his hands began to shake, he slowly stood up and
left the room to regain his composure.

When he returned, he sat in thought for a long time.
Finally he spoke, “We have to call the sheriff from town and our reservation
police.”

JB stood up with his bad temper boiling over, “You
know they won’t do anything. The sheriff will say it is not his jurisdiction,
and the reservation police will say they don’t have the manpower to guard the
herd. They’ll end up asking us to help them anyway and then try to control how
we handle the problem. There are only two Shoshone on the police force, the
rest are Arapaho. To them the herd is just a bunch of wild horses. To us they
are an important
living symbol of our pride and our heritage. In the end it will be up to us to
stop the killing. We don’t need the so-called authorities getting in our way!”

Tigee listened to everything the men said, then he
spoke in their Shoshone language, “I know how badly you want these people to
pay for what they have done, and so do I, but we must report this to the
reservation police and the sheriff. I want all of them to go out to the valley
to see what has occurred. If we try to get the authorities to handle it, and
they don’t do anything, then no one can blame us for doing what we must to
protect what is ours.”

JB and Hawk had tremendous respect for the old
Indian and reluctantly agreed. “Ivan and Willie have stayed in the valley to
keep an eye on the herd,” Hawk said. “We planned to meet them at the drop-off
point in a couple of hours with supplies.”