Ghost Horses (8 page)

Now Jack got it. Steven was talking about Summer and Ethan, who'd spent all their lives in the same place and wouldn't adjust to new ways. Maybe they couldn't see what a great opportunity they had in living with the Landons.

“Do you see what I'm getting at, Jack?” Steven asked him.

“Yeah, Dad, I do.”

“Well then, how about if you quit being so stubborn. It's time for you to look over the next mountain and figure out what's there when you're dealing with Ethan. You might discover something new and valuable.”

“Me?” Jack squeaked. “You're talking about
me?”
“Yes, you. Think about it, son. That's all I wanted to say.”

I
t's time to get up, Jack. We need to get moving—The Narrows awaits.”

Steven's rumbling voice, and then the click of the door as he went back into his own room, pulled Jack out of his sleep. The red numbers on the digital clock blinked 8:00. This is what he'd been waiting for, had been planning for ever since he'd heard his family would be going to Zion. Now it was finally happening. He knew it would be a chance to take the finest photographs of his life. Stretching, Jack sat up and looked over at Ethan's bed. It was empty. Confused, Jack whirled around until he saw Ethan, a dark shape in a corner chair, shadowed by the thick, closed drapes. He was staring at Jack.

“Ethan—what are you doing?” he asked, too groggy to remember they hadn't spoken since before the run-in with the wild mustang. “Why are you sitting there?”

“Do you believe it?” Ethan's voice was cold and flinty.

“Believe what? What are you talking about?”

For a moment Ethan waited, silent. Hidden in half-light, his face had become shadow within shadow, making it impossible to read. Reaching over and flicking on the light, Jack turned back to face his adversary. Somehow Ethan had managed to get dressed without waking Jack; his hair hung wild against his white T-shirt, and his arms were crossed tight. “I heard what you said last night. To your dad. You said I tried to hurt Ashley. Do you believe it?” His eyebrows made dark arches over his eyes.

Jack's mind suddenly grew clear as he remembered last night. So Ethan had been listening. He felt a flash of embarrassment that he quickly quenched. Ethan had been eavesdropping on a private conversation. If he didn't like what he'd heard, well, that was his fault. “Yeah,” Jack answered aggressively. “Yeah, I'm saying you're up to something.”

“You think I would kick rocks on your head? You think I would hurt Ashley on purpose? Your father doesn't believe I would do that.”

“My dad was an orphan, so he can't believe any foster kid can be bad. You have him fooled. Not me.”

Ethan was on his feet, shoulders squared, his fists in tight balls. Slowly, he walked over to Jack; muscles pulled his T-shirt taut, and his dark eyes flashed. “Take it back.”

“No way!”

“I said—” Ethan gave Jack a hard push—“take it back! You think you know everything, but you don't know nothin' about our lives. You're just like the white people who hurt my grandmother!”

“Don't blame me for stuff that happened before I was even born.
You're
the one who's trying to hurt
us!”

“If I was going to hurt you, you'd know it!” Ethan gave Jack another shove, this time knocking him off balance. In a flash, Jack was on top of Ethan, and the two of them were suddenly tangled up, punching each other and the air as hard as they could. Ethan's knuckle grazed Jack's front tooth, and Jack tasted blood in his mouth. His own punch landed under Ethan's eye. Jack could hear the sound of fist on skin and the jar of the punch that raced all the way up into his shoulder socket. Suddenly the door flew open and his father was yanking them apart, shouting for each one of them to stop this nonsense, while his mother cried, “Jack, what do you think you're doing?”

“Me! What about Ethan?” Jack was so mad, he felt the words jam one on top of the other. “Why aren't you yelling at him?”

“Because you're our son. You know our rules about fighting!”

“But Ethan's the one who started it—”

His father barked, “Enough!” so loud that the rest of the sentence withered in Jack's mouth. Ethan stood with his head bowed. Silence filled the room, a cold silence punctuated only by Jack's and Ethan's heavy breathing. All Jack wanted to do now was to pack his backpack and get away from Ethan. When his father finally spoke, the words were slow, deliberate.

“You two have been at odds since we picked up Ethan at Wind River. It's got to stop. The only way I know to do that is by making you spend time together. You're two great kids. If you get to know each other, you'll find that out.”

Silence.

“Ethan, today Jack and I are going hiking in The Narrows as planned. It's going to be quite an experience—”

Suddenly, all the air and light seemed to disappear out of the room as a chill spread from Jack's chest all the way through his body. His father was going to invite Ethan along. On
his
trip! “No—Dad—you can't—”

“Jack, be quiet. I'm not talking to you. Ethan, would you like to join us?”

With his eyes still glued to the floor, Ethan shook his head no.

“Let me rephrase. Ethan, you are going to accompany Jack and me on a marvelous hike into the Zion Narrows. You two are going to work this out, and I'm going to keep you together until you do. This can be as hard or as easy as you'd like it to be. Understand?”

“Yes,” Ethan said softly.

“Jack?”

Jack couldn't trust himself to speak. Finally, he nodded.

“Good. Then we all understand one another. Now we're going down to eat in the dining room, and then I want the two of you to come into my room to pack. You
will
be civil to each other. You
will
be respectful. Or you
will”
—Steven narrowed his eyes as he looked from one to the other—“be very sorry!”

At breakfast, Olivia told them, “I got a phone call early this morning from Art. Just a little before dawn, he and Gus were able to trap some mustangs at the water hole. One was the white stallion who ran into us last night, another is a mature white mare, plus they caught a couple of others from the herd.”

Jack just nodded. He had problems of his own to worry about.

“Summer and Ashley and I are going to drive there this morning to take a look at the mustangs he trapped.”

His hopes rising, Jack said, “So Ethan can go with you.”

“Jack!”
his father warned, pointing a fork in Jack's direction. “You know what the plan is. End of discussion. Now finish your scrambled eggs. You'll need a good meal under your belt for our hike.”

On the way upstairs after breakfast, Steven told Jack, “I want you to come into my room. We have about an hour's work before we can leave.”

“What kind of work?” Jack asked.

“We're going to hike the Zion Narrows, remember? That means we'll be wading through the Virgin River for a couple of miles. The water won't be all that deep, but there are holes and drop-offs where it'll come up as high as your chest. We need to seal everything in plastic freezer bags to keep our stuff from getting soaked.”

Jack was surprised when he saw all the things Steven had spread out on his bed: In addition to the freezer bags, there were a bunch of wooden matches stuck into a film canister; a pocket knife; three pairs of thick socks; three sweatshirts; a box of Band-aids; half a dozen granola bars; six one-pint bottles of water; six wrapped sandwiches, with a bunch of little plastic packs of ketchup and mustard that Steven must have bought at the coffee shop; plus a trio of four-inch-diameter, M&M-dotted sugar cookies, individually packaged in plastic wrappers that said “Grandma's Best.”

“Do we have to carry all that?” Jack asked. “I thought we were only going for half a day. That's enough stuff for a week!”

“You're a Boy Scout. You ought to know you need to ‘be prepared,'” Steven answered. “This is no wimpy hike we're going on. The Narrows can be difficult, not to mention potentially dangerous. Now go call Ethan, and we'll pack this stuff into our backpacks.”

As usual, Ethan found something to object to. “You want me to carry
that
backpack?” he protested. “It's purple! It's for a girl.”

“You're right, it's Ashley's,” Steven answered.

“No way! I ain't gonna—” Ethan began.

Jack could tell his dad was in a no-fooling-around mode when he said, “Why? Because it has pink straps? It won't kill you to carry it.”

“It's the only other backpack we have,” Jack snapped. “If you don't like it, tough. You can always stay here.”

“Maybe I will!”

“Jack, no arguing, remember? Ethan, as far as using Ashley's backpack—yes, you're gonna.” Softening a little, Steven said, “Listen, Ethan, the worst thing that could happen would be for someone to see you carrying that girly backpack and then go back to the Wind River Reservation and tell it to all the guys you hang out with. So how many people do you think you'll run across today who will recognize you and squeal on you back at the reservation?”

“None,” Ethan answered grudgingly.

“Correct. So start packing. And Jack, double-seal your camera.”

It was past 10:00 by the time they'd hiked to the top of the paved trail that ended at The Narrows. Steven paused before a large wooden sign that read: “ALL NARROW CANYONS ARE POTENTIALLY HAZARDOUS. FLASH FLOODS, COLD WATER, AND STRONG CURRENTS PRESENT REAL DANGERS THAT CAN BE LIFE-THREATENING. YOUR SAFETY DEPENDS ON YOUR OWN GOOD JUDGMENT, ADEQUATE PREPARATION, AND CONSTANT ATTENTION. BY ENTERING A NARROW CANYON, YOU ARE ASSUMING A RISK.”

For a long moment, Steven stayed silent. Then he said, “Well, I think we're prepared, and I hope I'm using good judgment taking you kids on this hike. But we'll have to be really careful.” He pointed to a pile of sticks about five feet long and two fingers thick stacked together on the ground. “OK, grab one,” he said.

“What are they?” Jack asked.

“Walking sticks. A guy at the lodge told me not to bother buying any because people leave them here when they've finished hiking The Narrows. We borrow them, use them, and return them to this place for the next hikers.”

“Why do we need to carry sticks?” Ethan wanted to know.

“To keep our balance. The river bottom is slippery. The sticks are like having a third leg.”

From that point on there was no more paved trail or path of any kind—they waded right into the river. All three of them wore tennis shoes, shorts, and T-shirts and carried backpacks—Ethan still glowering because his was purple.

The Narrows was narrow, for sure. The high, red slickrock walls were so close together that only a thin blue strip of sky could be seen overhead. Wading became tricky; their tennis shoes slipped on the rocks in the riverbed, which made their ankles turn a lot. Jack wished he'd worn his hiking boots, even though it would have meant getting them soaked. Lacing them high would have guarded his ankles. He knew why he'd had to wear sneakers, and why Steven was wearing his, too—it was because Ethan didn't have any hiking boots. In Steven's mind, it wouldn't have been fair for Jack and Steven to be better equipped than Ethan. Jack had been about to argue about wearing his boots when his mother put her hand on his shoulder. Her soft eyes had searched his as she said, “Jack, your father and I are trying to smooth out the troubles between you and Ethan. I'm asking you to please try. Please?”

So Jack was trying to be halfway civil. It was more for himself, really, since he couldn't let Ethan ruin this day. Not one this important.

Only a hundred yards from the end of the paved trail, the water level had risen from ankle deep to hip deep—at least for Steven. Since the boys weren't as tall, the water reached all the way to their ribs before the river became shallower again. The current wasn't strong enough to bother them, but they definitely felt it pushing against their legs. And the water felt cold.

Each step stirred up sand and gravel from the river bottom; Jack's shoes were beginning to fill with the stuff. He really wanted to sit down and empty the sand out of his shoes, but there was no place close by to sit. No riverbank, no pile of rocks to climb on, only sheer, slick canyon walls. Both Jack and his dad had slung their cameras on straps around their necks, and they stopped often to take pictures—straight up!

“Wow, Dad, did you get that shot? It's great!” Jack tried to sound extra enthusiastic since Ethan didn't have a camera, and he was still mad enough to try to needle Ethan wherever he could. Craning back, Jack hit the button on his camera again and again. The view was nothing short of incredible.

“Try to frame the sky with the walls,” his father instructed. Jack bent backward even farther; he liked the sensation of standing still in the river and slowly, slowly raising his gaze, from the base of the sheer-walled, orange-colored gorge—up and up and up even higher—till his eyes reached the very top of the cliffs. The sight was dizzying. It made him feel like he was going to topple over backward.

Two more hours would have to pass before the sun would stand directly over them, warm enough to dry them partway. Only at midday would they be able to see the sun itself—the rest of the time it was hidden by the high, shadowed, nearly vertical canyon walls. The water was about 60 degrees—real chilly—and in his wet clothes Jack was beginning to feel uncomfortable. To get a chance to rest, he called out, “Dad, did you know your backpack strap isn't fastened around your chest? Wait up for a minute, and I'll fix it for you.”

Steven answered, “I left it unfastened on purpose. If I step into a deep hole, like up to my neck, the pack'll float so the water won't rush into it as much. If I had it strapped around me, it'd get dunked. Whoa! Like now!” Steven yelled. Not only had he stepped into a hole, he'd tripped into it face first. But even as he fell, he threw up his arms, holding the camera high, managing to keep it from getting wet. The fall jolted his hiking stick out of his hand. It drifted slowly down river.

Ethan started to laugh—the first time Jack had ever heard Ethan Ingawanup laughing out loud. “Yaaah!” Steven yelled, floundering as he hauled himself to his feet. “Hey, grab my stick! It's coming right at you. See it?” Gesturing toward the stick made him veer off balance, and he fell once more into the water, this time bottom first, with his backpack floating behind him. Only his head, and his arm holding up the camera, stuck up above the water's surface. He looked like a submerged Statue of Liberty.