Authors: Leigh Bale
Lyn snapped a quick series of
pictures, wishing she could share this moment with Kristen, her ten year-old
daughter. Like most girls, Kristen loved horses. But these mustangs carried a
deeper meaning for Lyn. A reminder of the night her husband died.
The bony ribcages of the horses
seemed too lean, an indicator of sparse forage on the range. As the herds
increased, there just wasn’t enough for them to eat, not to mention the other
wildlife roaming this area, or the beef cattle the ranchers paid the government
to graze.
Lyn zoned in on the stallion she’d
named Buck. This wasn’t the only herd foraging in Secret Valley. Lyn had named
all the stallions roaming the mountains of McClellan National Forest, but not
their mares and foals. She didn’t want to become more attached to them than she
already was. Especially if she was forced to round up some of them for removal.
A low nicker drew Lyn’s attention
to the plateau overhead. A smaller dun stallion stood gazing down upon the
tranquil family of mustangs, his cream coloring similar to Buck’s except that
tiger stripes circled his front legs. A throwback from prehistoric horses.
Probably a bachelor stallion, with no mares of his own. His ears pricked
forward with rapt attention and Lyn knew he wanted Buck’s mares. Or at least
one of them.
“Don’t do it, buddy. Buck’s a lot
bigger and he’ll hurt you if you try to steal one of his girls.” The warm
breeze stole Lyn’s whispered warning.
While Buck’s lead mare kept watch,
two of the other mares dipped their noses into the murky water of the shallow
spring. No vegetation grew here, the banks beaten down and churned to mud by
too many tromping hooves. By mid-May, Lyn figured the water would be gone.
Dried by the baking sun to nothing but cracked earth. The horses needed this
water. Desperately. Without it, they’d have to journey across the mountains to
Cherry Creek, a thin stream nine miles away. An arduous trip that would sap
their energy, keep them from feeding, and weaken their foals.
Always on the lookout, Buck noticed
the bachelor stallion and snorted. He skirted the edge of his band, tossing his
proud head and pawing the dirt with one hoof. With his long tail flying high
like a flag, he raced toward the plateau, placing himself between the watering
hole and the bachelor. Buck wouldn’t give up his mares. Not without a fight.
The dun neighed in challenge, then
picked his way down the steep grade. As he reached the valley floor, he lifted
his elegant head and arched his muscular neck. A dark dorsal stripe ran down
the middle of his back and Lyn decided to name him Stripe.
Absolutely gorgeous.
Buck didn’t think so. He let out a
shrill squeal. Ears laid back flat against his head, he raced toward the dun.
At first, the two stallions circled one another, snorting and sizing each other
up.
Stripe ducked away from Buck and
chased after a plump dapple gray mare that looked ready to foal soon. Stripe
nudged her rump, urging her forward, trying to whisk her away. Buck
intercepted, biting Stripe’s hindquarters. The mare knew who she belonged to
and lashed out at Stripe with her hind legs. Buck bared his teeth, the whites
of his eyes showing. His black mane whipped across his strong neck like billows
of smoke.
Stripe circled back, chasing after
the mare. Desperate for a mate. Buck followed, neighing his disapproval. The
bachelor stallion was lean and tough, but no match for the more experienced
buckskin.
And the battle began.
Both stallions reared. Screaming,
biting, slashing each other with their razor-sharp hooves. Again and again,
their hooves thudded against each other like iron clubs. Lyn cringed at the
horrific noise they made. Survival of the fittest. Their ferocity frightened
her on a primitive level. She lowered her camera and stared in shock.
The mares galloped out of the fray,
the black foal scurrying to join the safety of her mother. Stripe followed,
still trying to separate the dapple gray from the rest of the herd.
Buck intervened with a roar of
rage. He kicked. Once. Twice. Bludgeoning Stripe in the head and shoulder. The
bachelor stallion staggered and dropped to his front knees. Buck offered no
mercy. Rearing, he came down hard on top of Stripe’s head.
Lyn gasped, remembered her camera,
and started clicking again. Later on, the unique photos would serve as an
amazing record of wild horse behavior.
Stripe screeched in pain. Buck gave
the younger stallion just a moment to recover his feet. With a loud grunt, the
beaten horse sprinted toward the safety of the mountains. He’d been whipped and
gave up the fight for now, but Lyn knew he’d return later for another try. The
urge to have a family was as old as time. Something instilled in all God’s
creatures. And one day, Stripe, or another stronger stallion, would defeat
Buck. But for now, the older stallion had kept his harem intact. In this small
corner of the world, he reigned supreme.
Buck trotted around the perimeter
of the watering hole, head up and nostrils flared as he watched for the return
of the dun. Still wound up. Still angry. Unwilling to accept any nonsense right
now.
And that’s when Lyn saw the blood
running down Buck’s right front leg. She focused the camera, trying to see the
wound more clearly, but no good. She had to get closer.
Moving silently down the hill, she
skimmed through snags of PJ’s, short for pinion-junipers. She stayed upwind,
hoping to go undetected by the band of horses. As she inhaled the dry desert
air, her booted feet sank deep into the sun-baked sand. And that was her first
mistake.
She stumbled, twisting her ankle.
She stifled the cry rushing up her throat, but her silence made no difference.
The agitated stallion lifted his head and looked her way. Still territorial and
furious. Still ready to fight.
With a scream of fury, Buck
charged.
Lyn’s breath froze in her throat. A
bristle of panic raced down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder. No use trying
to reach her truck. There wasn’t time.
Instead, she ducked under a thicket
of PJ’s and pressed her body back into the prickly trees. Sharp needles
scratched her hands and face. Her fear overshadowed the pain. The stallion
screamed again, thrashing toward her, ferocious and enraged.
Lyn’s flesh burned with alarm. Her
heart beat madly in her chest. She was no match against the horse’s battering
hooves. He’d kill her if he could.
Buck reared, hooves waving
dangerously near Lyn’s head. She scrunched further back into the crowded trees.
The hair of her long pony tail ripped against the pointed branches.
One thought pounded her brain.
Kristen. All alone in the world. If Lyn were killed, her little daughter would
have no one to love and care for her. No one to keep her safe.
The rearing mustang beat the PJ’s
to splinters. Fiercely determined to reach her.
Lyn screamed in helpless anguish.
How had this happened? A calm afternoon of checking the watering hole had
turned into a life-threatening situation.
Lyn glanced left and right,
desperate for a safer place to hide until the stallion gave up and left. A
thick outcropping of sage and PJ’s jutted from the rocks just to her right. To
reach it, she’d have to leave her fragile sanctuary and run for her life.
With a crazed beast hot on her
tail.
Bracing her hands beneath her in
the dirt, Lyn bent down like a track star. Knowing there was absolutely no way
she could outrun this horse. Knowing she might be killed.
Taking a deep breath, she sprinted
toward the rocks.
* * *
The wild horses were fighting.
Caden Baldwin recognized their screams echoing through the canyon, reaching his
ranch a mere six miles outside the town of Stokely, Nevada. Riding Flash, his
bay gelding, Cade galloped toward Secret Valley. Maybe he’d get to see his
beloved mustangs today. He couldn’t remember a single summer in his childhood
when he hadn’t watched the wild horses with his grandfather. It’d been several
weeks since they’d crossed Cade’s pasture land and….
A woman’s scream echoed off the rock
walls of the ravine like a gunshot. What on earth…?
Cade tapped his heels against his
horse’s sides. Flash tore off at a fast run. Someone was in trouble. Someone
needed help.
And then the panic set in. So
unexpected that it left Cade breathless and choking. He clung to the saddle,
overwhelmed by a flashback to the war in Afghanistan. The drumming of the
horse’s hooves became the pounding of gunfire and shells exploding all around
Cade. Hammering his body with bits of rock, dirt and mortar. The memory of pain
and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth seemed so real. And then a vision
of Dallin filled his mind, his best friend’s body limp and bleeding.
Broken.
Cade shook his head, trying to
clear his mind. To return to the present. Trying urgently to forget the
haunting nightmare. He wasn’t in the Middle East now. He was here in the Nevada
desert. God had brought him home.
Safe and sound.
Oblivious of Cade’s moment of
crisis, Flash didn’t break stride. Cade sat frozen in the saddle, his body
moving with the strong rhythm of the horse. He clenched the reins, his calves
tightening around the animal’s sides.
As the wild mustangs came into
view, Cade recovered his senses and his breathing slowed a bit. His gaze
centered on a buckskin stallion rearing and thrashing through the pinions. A
woman fought her way through the brush, frantically seeking cover. Chased by
the stallion.
Urging Flash toward the wild
mustang, Cade yelled and waved his arms. The lead mare neighed to the rest of
her herd. From his peripheral vision, Cade saw her racing toward the sheltering
mountains, the other mares and a young black foal following in hot pursuit.
The stallion snorted, shook his
splendid head, and chased after his band. Puffs of dust and flying clods of
dirt marked their passing. Flash came to a halt, his sides heaving. Cade patted
the gelding’s neck, murmuring a soothing word to the breathless horse. Then, he
looked at the woman…and groaned. In an instant, Cade recognized the drab olive
color of her shirt and spruce green pants.
Forest Service.
He’d rescued a government employee.
One of those people who wanted to move the wild horses off this land and lock
them away in holding pens.
Cade had half a mind to turn around
and ride back to Sunrise Ranch. The last person he wanted to help was a Forest
Service worker. But he figured he should at least find out if she was all
right. Since returning from the war, he had enough deaths on his conscience and
didn’t want any more.
“You okay, lady?” he called.
She sat scrunched back within one
of the taller pinions, trying to climb the slim tree trunk. As she descended
from her perch, a sprinkle of gray-green nettles showered her head. The limb
broke off and she landed on her rump in the dirt. She gasped, but came quickly
to her feet, limping slightly. She brushed at her long pony tail and clothing
before answering in a shaky voice. “Y…yes, I’m fine, thanks to you.”
Honey-brown. The color of her eyes.
Beautiful, intelligent and filled with relief.
Cade pursed his lips and looked
around for her vehicle. He saw nothing but scrubby sage and rabbit brush.
“How’d you get out here?”
She pointed to the north. “My truck
is parked beside the dirt road about a mile away.”
He jerked his gaze in that
direction. Great! He’d have to give her a ride.
“You ready to go home now, or would
you rather have more fun upsetting the mustangs?” He couldn’t keep an edge of
annoyance from his tone. He was sick and tired of governmental employees
rounding up the wild horses to send them to holding stations where most of them
lived their life in captivity. He’d never been overly sentimental, but he
wanted to forget what he’d seen and been forced to do as a marine in a war
zone. The wild horse herds soothed his jangled nerves and helped him cope with
his post traumatic stress disorder.
The mustangs were Cade’s version of
therapy.
The woman showed a weak smile, her
eyes sparkling like amber gems. Streaks of dirt marred the smooth curve of her
sunburned cheeks. Pine needles and dirt clung to her long, white-blond pony
tail. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose indicated she
spent a lot of time outdoors. Because of her employment, Cade decided right
then and there he wouldn’t like her one bit. No sirree. Not as long as she
posed a threat to his wild horses.
She pointed toward the mountains.
“That stallion is injured. He fought with a bachelor and I was trying to get a
closer look to see how bad the wound might be.”
Her declaration surprised him.
Since when did a Forest Service employee care if a wild stallion was wounded or
not?
“The way he hightailed it out of
here, I’d say he’ll be just fine,” Cade said. “It’s not wise to come out here
and gawk at the mustangs. They can be very dangerous.”
Her pink lips tightened
defensively. “I wasn’t gawking. I was checking water levels and observing the
horses, trying to learn their habits and see how well fed they are.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to
keep from laughing. “You can call it whatever you like. It’s the same thing.”
“I wasn’t gawking,” she insisted.
Okay, he wouldn’t argue with her
about it. “So, how’d it all work out for you?”
She didn’t seem to catch his humor.
“They saw me when I changed
position.” A frown of disappointment creased her forehead.
“As if a wild stallion would ever
let you get close enough to offer first aid.” Cade muttered the words beneath
his breath. What was she thinking? A mustang would never let her walk up to him
and bandage his injured leg.
Her expression darkened. “I know
that. I just wanted to see if he needed help.”