Ghost Horses (4 page)

“I'm ready and willin'.” All of a sudden Steven didn't sound like the father Jack knew; he was talking more like Len. Like a ranch hand. Before Jack knew it, Steven had swung himself up on the back of the tall brown-and-white horse. “What's his name?” he asked, leaning forward in the saddle to stroke the horse's neck.

“Glory Hallelujah. My grandkid named him. But we call him Hal.”

Nudging Hal with his knee, Steven moved the horse to the shoulder of the paved road, where he paused, looking for an easy descent down the slope to the river. Chunks of rock of all different shapes, from breadbox-size to Volkswagen-size, littered the slope and the bed of the Virgin River. Jack and Ashley, excited, crowded the edge of the road to watch their father. Summer and Ethan watched, too, while Olivia stood beside them, nervously chewing her thumbnail. “I'm scared. It's been years since he did anything like this,” she murmured.

Jack watched intently as his father rode upriver to where two other men on horseback were talking to each another. At the back of his mind hung a question he wanted to ask his mother when all this was over. Len had said the runaway wild mare was an exotic. Jack pretty much knew what that meant. If a species invaded an environment where it didn't belong, it was called an exotic species. Like the wild boars at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. The boars weren't native to the Hawaiian Islands; they were brought there by the first Polynesian settlers. When they ran wild, they dug up palm tree roots and destroyed the trees. In Florida, people brought iguanas as pets from Mexico and sometimes turned them loose; a few of them escaped into Everglades National Park, where they multiplied. Wild boars and iguanas sounded like exotic species, but a horse? A plain old horse?

Steven reached the other men and spoke to them. Jack couldn't hear what they said, but he saw them gesturing to a rocky rise above them. There she stood, the mustang mare, a gray color so pale it was almost white, making her look silver in the sunlight. Her sides were heaving from exertion, or maybe from fear.

“She has a name,” Len told them. “She's called Mariah.”

“They call the wind Mariah,” Ashley murmured. “She looks like the wind.”

“She looks like a ghost,” Summer said, low enough that Jack wasn't sure he'd heard her. The horse did look ghostly, pale against the red rock, her black mane falling over her forehead. She whinnied as though calling her herd for help, but she was all alone.

Then Jack's eyes jerked back to his father, because Steven had ridden forward, a coiled rope in one hand, the other hand guiding the horse named Hal. They picked their way carefully past the rocks, sometimes splashing through the shallow Virgin River. Just as slowly, the other two men moved away from Steven, one stopping in front of Mariah, the second riding farther upriver. Mariah stood still on her rock outcropping, snorting, wide-eyed, her ears laid back, moving her head from side to side to watch all three riders.

“Be careful, Steven,” Olivia said, barely breathing the words.

Suddenly Steven sent his horse into a gallop, climbing the steep incline toward Mariah. She looked for a path to escape, but the other two riders were heading toward her from other directions. The rope in Steven's hand took shape as if by magic, spinning in a perfect circle. Whinnying and turning, Mariah reared up just as Steven tossed the loop of his rope over her head. When she jerked her neck back violently, the taut rope nearly pulled Steven off his own horse. Both Hal and the silvery mustang danced backward and forward on the slope as small rocks, loosened by their hooves, rolled down toward the river.

“No!” Olivia cried as Steven's horse began to slip on the loose rocks, its hooves thrashing wildly. Steven fought hard to keep both his balance and his control of Hal, at the same time wrapping the taut rope around Hal's saddle horn.

“Steady, boy, hold 'im steady,” Len yelled. But Hal slipped even more dangerously on the sharp incline.

“He's falling!” Ashley screamed. “If the horse lands on Daddy, he'll—”

Jack clapped his hand over his sister's mouth to shut her up. It was scary enough without Ashley screaming. Across the river, Hal's rear legs buckled beneath him as he flung his head in panic. Steven struggled mightily while both horses pulled in opposite directions.

The other riders tried to find a way to reach him through the rough terrain, but Steven didn't need any help. He managed to quiet Hal, to get him upright on all fours, and to hang onto Mariah at the same time, leading both horses to the safer flat land along the riverbanks.

“What a rider!” Len yelled. “Good as he ever was! That boy always did have a natural-born talent for handlin' horses. If he ever gets tired of that photography business and wants a real job—”

Jack kept cheering, “Way to go, Dad!” while Steven rode across the shallow Virgin River, leading a balky Mariah by the rope around her neck. Steven must have felt pretty good about what he'd done, too, because halfway across, he let out a loud, “Yee haw!”

Laughing, feeling so proud of his father he could burst, Jack turned toward Ethan and Summer. They were standing with their heads close together, whispering. Neither of them looked one bit relieved or happy that Steven was safe. Instead, Summer looked…worried!

J
ack thought his mother was going to run up to his father and hug him or something because he'd been in so much danger. If Hal had fallen on him, Steven could have been crushed.

Instead, Olivia moved straight toward Mariah, slowly, carefully approaching the frightened horse. Mariah reared back, choking for air as the rope tightened around her neck. “It's OK, it's OK,” Olivia kept saying in a soft, soothing voice while Len, working swiftly, managed to get a halter on the mustang. Cautiously, Olivia raised her hand to stroke Mariah's silvery neck, and then gently rubbed the spot just above the horse's jaw. “Good horse, good horse,” she kept murmuring.

Len said to the kids, “Looks like your mom's got a way with horses, too, just like your dad does.”

“She's a wildlife veterinarian,” Jack told him.

“Well, my heck!” Len exclaimed. “I shoulda figured that one out by myself. She's Dr. Olivia Landon, right? She's gonna speak at the seminar tomorrow about how we handle animals in the park. Hey, Art,” he yelled to one of the two riders crossing the river toward them, “that pretty lady is—guess who? Dr. Landon!”

Jack couldn't help himself—he had to turn around and toss a cocky grin at Ethan. Jack's dad had just proved he could handle a horse like a champion; his mother was being treated like a celebrity. Since Jack had exceptionally cool parents, that trickled down to make
him
special, too. Ethan just stood, his face as stony as usual, his legs planted into the ground like two trees.

Steven and the other two men had dismounted and were holding their horses by the reins. “I'm Art Meacham,” one of the men said, introducing himself to Olivia, “from the Bureau of Land Management, and this is Gus Todd, also from BLM.” After the introductions, Art mentioned, “Soon as we get these horses back into the trailers, I'd sure like it if we'd all go into the lodge for a soda. I'll buy, Steven, since we owe you big time for ropin' Mariah here.”

“Will she be all right?” Olivia asked, concerned about the frosty, almost white mustang that snorted and pawed at the ground. Mariah's dark eyes were opened wide enough to show the whites all around.

“She's just scared, but she'll quiet down,” Art answered. “We've had her in a corral at the BLM holding facilities for the past couple of months, so she's lost a lot of her wildness. She still put on quite a show for us, though.” He paused, then said, “Hey, I guess I better radio headquarters so they can tell those ladies we got their horse. After we grab our drink, I'll haul Mariah back down to the visitor center.”

In the lodge coffee shop, they settled into chairs—the five grown-ups around one table, the four kids at another table right next to them. Both Art and Gus were dressed pretty much the same as Len, in typical Western clothes: plaid shirts, thick leather belts with big silver-and-turquoise buckles, Levis, and boots. At the table, out of politeness to the lady—Olivia—they'd taken off their wide-brimmed cowboy hats. All three of them wore their hair cut short; their necks looked tanned and leathery, like old boots.

“Man, did you see my dad?” Jack enthused as he slid into his seat. “I couldn't believe he did that! I never knew he could ride—not like that, anyhow.”

“Well, I hope he never does it again,” Ashley snapped.

“Why?”

“Duh! Because that big horse nearly fell on him.”

“You worry too much,” Jack answered with a grin. “Dad's tough. What did you think, Ethan? I mean, about my dad riding all that muscle and energy—it's got to be awesome to rope that kind of power and bring it under control. You know, I bet he could break Mariah a lot faster than the new owners will. Maybe he can tell them how it's done.”

Ethan picked a paper-covered straw out of a metal container and began to peel the tissue away, dropping bits of it onto the table like flakes of snow. Without looking up, he said, “The Shoshone respect horses.”

“Yeah,” Jack nodded, “I like them, too.”

“Not the same way. We don't break their spirits.”

“What do you mean? If you want to ride a horse, you've got to break it first. Show it who's boss. That doesn't mean hurting their spirits or anything. Don't your people ride horses?”

“Shoshone are the best riders anywhere. But we're partners with the horse. We don't need to be master.”

The excitement of the roundup was starting to seep out of Jack. Leaning back in his chair, he eyed Ethan. “So, now you're saying white folks hurt wild horses?”

Ethan pressed his fists against the table. “Grandmother told us white people try to conquer anything that gets in their way. Listen to what you said—you want to ‘break' Mariah. ‘Control' her. That's not what we do. Shoshone people honor their horses.”

“So you think my dad should have left Mariah alone?” Jack asked, his voice rising. “That way, she might have been shot dead instead. Would that have honored her?”

“Mr. Landon is a cowboy. They're all cowboys.” With a toss of his head, he indicated the men at the next table. “Cowboys against Indians.”

Summer quickly scooted her chair closer to her brother. “Ethan, do you want a root beer?” she asked at the same time Jack felt a tug on his T-shirt sleeve. Ashley was trying to get his attention in the same way Summer was trying to get Ethan's, but Jack refused to look at his sister until she put her face right in front of his. “Will you guys stop?” she hissed. “I'm trying to listen to Mom and Dad. They've been talking about Mariah, and I want to hear.”

“Sure,” Jack agreed. “I don't have anything more to say.”

Ethan and Jack stared at each another, eyes locked, as the conversation from the next table filtered over to theirs.

“…here for your meeting tomorrow,” Art was saying to Olivia, “which is why I was lucky enough to be on the scene for the roundup. The park wants to keep everything natural, with no interference from humans. But we folks at the BLM have to manage rangeland so the ranchers can graze their cattle there, and at the same time preserve and protect wild mustangs like Mariah. Sometimes those two goals clash.”

“You mean crash together like a train wreck,” Gus added. “You know, Dr. Landon—”

“Remember, call me Olivia.”

“Right. Anyway, Olivia, there's an interesting story about that horse Mariah that you took such a likin' to just now. She belongs to the Chloride herd that runs on the range about 30 miles from our headquarters. We had to thin out that herd because the ranchers complained the wild mustangs eat too much grass.”

Len Pelton broke in, “Two and a half million cattle graze on BLM land in the West, and only 46,000 mustangs, but the mustangs supposedly eat too much. Go figure.”

“Well, like I said,” Gus went on, “when we captured Mariah, there was another white horse with her, a mare. Looked just like Mariah, only several years older; I'm judging that Mariah's about three now. Maybe the older one was Mariah's mother, 'cause the two of them seemed real close, touching and whinnying when we penned them together in the corral. But the next morning, the older horse turned up dead. Her neck was broke.”

Beside Jack, Summer gave a quick little gasp.

“Why? What happened?” Olivia asked.

“Looked like she ran full-tilt into the panels of the corral. Horses' necks are fragile; it happens sometimes. But she must have hit that panel at top speed, like—a suicide. It's a mystery why she done that. And then—it happened again.”

“The same thing? Again? Tell me,” Olivia demanded.

Gus scraped back his chair and leaned forward. “See, the horses of the Chloride herd do behave kind of peculiar. No one knows why they act so strange. They whinny a lot more than most mustangs, and they do a lot of stuff I've never seen horses do before. Some of the local folks are even afraid of 'em, tellin' scary stories about that herd.”

“Like that newspaper fellow,” Art said, rubbing the faint stubble on his chin.

“That man had no more sense than a rock,” Len added with a shake of his head.

Gus nodded slowly. “What turns my crank is that I told that reporter fellow what happened to Mariah's mom. Told him not to try to trap a white horse since we lost one that way. Didn't make a whit of difference. Mr. Reporter wanted a story, so he did what he did.”

With intense interest, Olivia looked from one weathered face to another.

“See, Olivia,” Art broke in, “a couple of months ago this newspaper guy hears about our ghost horses and decides to see for himself. He hides in the bush, waiting until one goes inside a trap. Luckily, it was just one—all by itself. Well, as soon as he slams the gate shut, the ghost horse starts acting crazy, banging against the panels just like Mariah's mom did.”

“And then the dang fool runs off and leaves it!” Gus finished. “By the time we found out about it, it was too late. Another dead mustang, all because some reporter wouldn't listen.”

“So what do you make of all of these stories about the ghost horses?” Olivia pressed.

Art studied his fingernails. “I don't pay them no mind,” he said finally, “but still, there's something spooky about those white horses—”

At that, Summer clutched her brother's arm, but Ethan just shook his head to signal her to remain silent.

Art broke in suddenly, “Why don't you come on out and see those mustangs, Olivia? You're the expert. How about it?”

“Hmmm, spooky white horses that whinny and touch each other a lot and kill themselves by running into wall panels. Sounds like mysterious behavior. You say the herd's called the Chloride?”

“Yes ma'am. Named after the canyon where they run, past Cedar City.”

Nodding, Olivia said, “OK, you're on. I think I'd like to get a look at these unusual mustangs.”

Ashley couldn't contain herself any longer. Jumping up, she begged, “Can we go too? Jack and Ethan and Summer and me?”

Jack held his breath, hoping his mother would say yes. Even though he sent her an appealing look, Olivia still shook her head no, telling them that it was too big an imposition for Gus, since there were too many of them, and it was far out in the wild country—

Gus interrupted with, “Hey, I'd be happy to take the whole kit and caboodle of you folks. The real question's how patient the kids are. We're gonna try to trap a few more of the Chloride mustangs tomorrow night, but it means waiting by the water hole, sometimes for hours and hours. And you can't talk or move when the horses get close, 'cause it'll spook them.”

“We're patient,” Jack said eagerly, “and Summer and Ethan hardly talk at all. The only yacky one is my sister—”

“
Jack!
” Ashley protested.

“You want to come, don't you, Summer? Wouldn't you like to see the ghost horses?” Steven asked.

“Say yes!” Ashley told Summer, grabbing her hand.

“Yes.” But the word sounded soft and uncertain.

Neither Jack nor Ashley asked Ethan whether he wanted to watch: In the excitement, none of the adults seemed to notice him.

“Well, sounds like we got a plan,” Art and Gus agreed. “We better get Mariah back to those two ranch ladies now, since they're probably wantin' to get on their way home.”

After the good-byes were said, the Landons began to unpack their luggage from the SUV. “That was an exciting start to our trip, catching the mustang and meeting those guys,” Steven commented. “Now we'd better lug this stuff up to our rooms and then get some dinner. Look how dark it is already in this canyon. Len was right. Once the sun gets behind these canyon walls, everything's in shadow.”

Ethan objected strongly when he was told he had to share a room with Jack. “Why can't I stay in the same room with my sister?” he asked.

“We think it's better for the boys to be in one room and the girls in another,” Steven explained.

Hey, it's not like I want to be in a room with
you,
either, Jack thought. While they unpacked, both boys stayed silent, avoiding eye contact, and kept as far apart from each other as the small room would allow. It was going to be a long couple of days.

Dinner at the lodge restaurant was a quiet affair, with each of them lost in thought. As they finished their desserts, Ashley asked, “Can we dance the Ghost Dance again tonight?”

“No,” Summer answered, but Ethan said more loudly, “Yes. We need to find another cedar tree, and we need to wear blankets. It's part of the magic.”

“I'm not dancing this time,” Jack announced.

“You said you would!” Ashley protested. “Yesterday, at the cemetery, you said—”

“I changed my mind.”

Carefully folding his napkin, Steven began, “Um—I don't think the lodge would appreciate it if you kids took the blankets off the beds and carried them outside. How about towels? Would that work?” When Ethan reluctantly agreed, Steven continued, “So why don't you three go and get the things you need for the dance. I want to talk to Jack for a minute, and then we'll join you.”