Ghost Horses (11 page)

Summer? As quiet as a spirit, Summer returned Jack's gaze with her large, dark eyes.

“It was so amazing,” Ashley bubbled on. “Before we knew there was a flood, we were talking to Art Meacham, you know, about the horses? They were penned in that water trap, and Mom went in, but she couldn't find one thing wrong with them. She looked all of them over from top to bottom, but she said they were healthy.”

“That's right,” Olivia agreed. “Everything seemed to check out just fine. The way they'd acted was a complete mystery. When that stallion almost ran over Ashley, I thought he must be demented. But when I examined him, I could tell he was perfectly normal. I couldn't figure out why he had run at Ashley like that.”

“So then Summer said—tell Jack what you told Mom, Summer. Go on!” Ashley gave her a little shove toward the bed.

Summer's voice was as soft as wind chimes. “I said that these were ghost horses. I said that they were made to ride on the wind. I said they could see what others could not, and not see what others could.”

“It was the word ‘see' that stopped me cold,” Olivia went on excitedly. “I'd checked everything—teeth, hoofs, muscles, tendons—but I hadn't once thought to really look into the mustangs' eyes. When I did, what do you think I discovered?”

“I don't know. What?” Jack asked.

“Cataracts. The white horses' lenses were so opaque from cataracts that they couldn't see at all. Those horses were completely blind!”

Ashley, who had pulled her hair into a high ponytail, nodded so hard it bounced against her back. “Only the white ones, though. The dark ones could see fine. It was like they were talking real loud to the ghost horses so they'd know what to do.”

“Which was why the herd sounded so strange with all that extra whinnying,” Olivia continued. “The amazing thing is the dark horses were actually leading the white horses around by sound and touch. Can you believe it? It was as if a sighted horse had been assigned by the herd to care for each handicapped white one. Art said he thought the white ones might have been sired by a domestic white stud that a rancher let loose on the range long ago. The story goes that the stud eventually went blind. Art thinks there's a genetic link to the blindness. For the most part, the horses can see when they're young, like Mariah, but after they're five or six years old, the cataracts develop.” Shaking her head, Olivia said, “And we humans think we're so smart. Can you even imagine how hard it would be to survive in a place as harsh as that land and not be able to see at all? But I never would have caught on to it if it hadn't been for Summer.”

“My sister sees what others don't,” Ethan told them. “She has the gift of deep sight. Just like the ghost horses.”

Steven shifted uncomfortably, but Ethan ignored him. “Early this morning, Summer and I talked. We have something to say.” Summer, who was dressed again in the yellow sundress, hung back behind her brother, but Ethan stood tall, his arms crossed tightly. “We both wanted to say—we're sorry. For our dancing and for the bad things that happened. We don't want you Landons to go away or disappear or leave us. Not anymore, anyway.”

“Yes, well, there is absolutely no need to apologize,” Steven assured the two of them.

“That's right, no apologies needed,” Olivia echoed as Ashley chimed in her agreement.

“Whether you see it or not, there was magic. We won't use it again,” Ethan promised.

In the pause, Steven cleared his throat. “Well, I'm sure Summer is very intuitive, and that's a wonderful gift, but you two didn't bring on any of those bad things. Stuff happens. Jack was wrong about some of it; I was very, very wrong, too, but no dance caused the flood or the rock slide or the mustang to nearly crash into Ashley. Only nature made those things happen.” Steven rubbed the tips of his splints with his good hand. “OK?”

Jack nodded, understanding what his mother and father might not. There was seeing, and there was a larger kind of seeing. Before he was trapped in the flash flood, he thought Ethan was just a punky kid with insides as stony as his expression. Now, he knew Ethan was someone he could trust with his life. And maybe Ethan saw the Landons differently as well. Hadn't he just said he didn't want to leave them?

Jack looked at Ethan, at his stubbornness that now seemed strangely like pride, and at Summer, who seemed able to cross between this world and another one. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't, that there were different ways of seeing, but one thing Jack knew for sure: In Ethan, he saw a boy who would risk his own life to save Jack's. An Indian brave. No wonder they were called braves. Jack saw—in the boy who stood there in front of his bed, smiling at him—a true friend.

I
grew up in the deep canyons and on the wide ranges that inspired the thrilling tale you have just read. The story, of course, is fiction, but the setting is real. I can still feel the awe that engulfed me the first time I looked up at those massive canyon walls. We were on a family trip to my grandmother's house—a journey that would take us through Zion Canyon. By the time we got to Zion, I was fast asleep. When Dad woke me, all I could see were gas stations, motels, and souvenir shops. I wondered what the big deal was. Then my father gently lifted my chin with his fingers. As my eyes rose, I saw one of the most glorious sights I have ever seen: Zion's towers of stone lifting high into the heavens. Now, 40 years later, I come to work in the canyon every day. From my desk I can raise my chin, look up through my office window at those massive canyon walls, and still feel the same wonder I felt as a boy.

Just as vivid is the memory of my first look at wild mustangs. My father was a rancher, so I spent a lot of days riding horseback with him. One day we were riding through a thick stand of juniper trees in search of cattle when suddenly we broke into a clearing. There, little more than a hundred yards away, was a band of wild horses grazing. The wind was in our faces so the mustangs weren't aware of our approach. It was an amazing sight. My heart boomed in my chest like a kettle drum. Dad and I sat on our horses at the edge of the clearing for a long time, whispering our thoughts back and forth to each other while we watched them graze. To my dad the mustangs were mostly a nuisance, because they competed for the same precious grass that sustained our cows. I was surprised that the mustangs looked small and mangy—not large and regal as I had expected. It wasn't until they caught sight of us and whirled away in a thunderball of dust that they took on a much more majestic appearance. Pounding out across the open sage with their heads high and their tails raised, they took on that noble look I had always imagined mustangs would have.

In that short encounter I learned something I have never forgotten: Things are not always what we imagine them to be. That day I began to understand that different people look at our public lands in different ways. Some people see them as wide-open spaces of wonder; others see them as great repositories of natural resources, like grass for cattle, minerals for mining, and trees for lumber.

The state of Utah, where most of this story takes place, consists of nearly 85,000 square miles of land. Believe it or not, you could fit Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Connecticut, New Jersey, Massachusetts, and Maryland inside the borders of Utah and almost have room for Rhode Island. What is most amazing, though, is that 67 percent of Utah is public land. That means it is owned and managed by the federal government, which, in turn, means it is owned and managed by the citizens of the United States—you and me. Indeed, about two-thirds of all the land in the United States is owned by the federal government.

This book introduces you to two different kinds of public lands—the lands administered by the National Park Service (NPS) and the lands administered by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). Each of these agencies has a different mission. The mission of the National Park Service is to “preserve unimpaired the natural and cultural resources and values of the National Park System for the enjoyment, education, and inspiration of this and future generations.” The Bureau of Land Management has a “multiple-use” mandate to “manage the public land and its vast array of resources in a way that benefits both present and future generations.” Because they have different missions, these two federal agencies manage the lands under their jurisdictions in very different ways. The National Park Service approach to an issue will likely be different from the approach taken by the Bureau of Land Management.

When Jack, Ashley, Ethan, and Summer are in Zion National Park, they are in a place that is being preserved unimpaired. But when they are on the Chloride range with the wild horses, they are on land that is managed for many uses, including rangeland for wild horses and cattle. A ranger in Zion National Park, for example, is concerned about preserving things as they are. A BLM range manager on the Chloride range is concerned about maintaining a healthy habitat where wild horses and domestic cattle can prosper. It is amazing that the blind wild mustangs have managed to survive. But the future health of the herd may require BLM management to introduce other stallions and mares into the area to change the genetics of the herd.

It is important to understand the different uses of our public lands. Remember, these lands belong to you and me. In order for us to continue to prosper as a nation, we must wisely use the natural resources found on some of these lands. But special places like Zion National Park will continue to be protected “unimpaired” so that generations from now a father still can lift his child's chin and point his or her eyes upward toward sights that fill the soul with awe and wonder and joy.

Lyman Hafen
Executive Director
Zion Natural History Association

An award-winning mother-daughter team write their
sixth book in the National Parks Mystery series!
Alane (Lanie) Ferguson and Gloria Skurzynski visited Wind River
Indian Reservation, Zion National Park, and the adjacent BLM
land, then collaborated by phone, fax,
and e-mail to develop their thrilling plot.

Gloria's e-mail: [email protected]
Her Web site: http://redhawknorth.com/gloria
Lanie's e-mail: [email protected]

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