Moon Shadow (4 page)

Callie's cheeks grew warm as she nodded in agreement. She felt like a traitor for speaking about her parents like that.

They spent the rest of the short ride in silence. The vet pulled into the dirt driveway of the Antelope Springs mustang pens and parked next to the long stack of alfalfa that ran the entire length of the corrals.

Callie got out and looked around. She loved the view from up here. The blue bowl of a sky touched the greening hills on all sides of the valley. A pair of red-tailed hawks circled lazily on the thermals, while below, a lone jackrabbit darted from sagebrush to sagebrush.

“I hear the new cowboy arrived today,” Susan said as she stepped from the pickup. “They say he's got a son about your age, maybe a year older.”

Callie shrugged. If the boy was like Luke, she didn't want anything to do with him.

A soft nicker drew Callie's attention toward the stock pens. The cowboys who worked for the BLM kept their horses in the front lot, but she could see several smaller horses milling around in the middle corrals.

The captured mustangs were mainly bays and chestnuts, but there were a few pintos and duns in the bunch. Their short backs and pointed fox ears denoted the classic look of the Spanish barb horses that the conquistadors had left behind when they returned to Spain four centuries ago. Though the mustangs had an intense distrust of humans, their curious nature brought them closer to the fence to see what was happening.

“Let's go, Callie,” Susan called. “We've got some sick ones to treat. Grab my bag and meet me at the squeeze chute.”

As Callie retrieved the bag from the vet's truck, she thought she heard the low
thup thup thup
of a helicopter. But the sound quickly vanished against the rushing hoofbeats of the wild horses being herded into the sick pen.

From the looks of things, Callie and the vet would have their hands full for the next couple of hours. Callie figured there'd be plenty of time later to fret about a roundup. But as she toted the medical bag over to the vet, she couldn't help but worry about Moonbeam and her coming foal. Surely the noise of the helicopter was disturbing the mare in a time when she needed peace and quiet.

Four

The new man and his son were waiting for Dr. Susan and Callie at the sick pen.

“Good afternoon,” Susan said.

The older cowboy tipped his hat. “Afternoon, ma'am, miss. My name's Sam Rosser. This here's my son, Justin.”

Callie looked up at the tall gangly teenager with the blondish-red hair sitting astride a handsome black-and-white paint gelding. The boy seemed kind of shy. What was his name again? She hadn't heard it clearly. “Um, Gus?” she asked.

The young cowboy looked annoyed. He plucked his black Stetson hat from where it rested on the horn of his saddle and plopped it on top of his head. “That's
Jus
-tin,” he said, enunciating the word for her like she might be a little slow. He reined his gelding in a half circle and stood beside his father's mount.

Callie stared at the ground, a slow burn coming to her cheeks. “Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling like an idiot. She didn't even know this boy, and already he was upset with her. Who could ever understand boys?

Susan stepped forward and shook the man's hand. “I'm Dr. Susan. I'm the official vet for the mustang pens.” She pointed to Callie. “This is my assistant, Callie McLean.”

Callie decided to ignore Justin. She nodded to Mr. Rosser and then climbed up on the green metal bars of the corral fence, surveying the mustangs within. The wild horses huddled at the opposite end, snorting in fear of the humans around them. “Easy, easy,” Callie crooned, already forgetting Justin. “We're here to make you better so someone will adopt you.”

She stepped down from the fence. She was sure the mustangs didn't want to be adopted. They'd rather be out on the range running free. But they had been captured, and now it was their fate. People came from all over the United States to adopt a piece of the “Old West.” Callie hoped that each horse would at least get a good home.

She remembered a recent newspaper article suggesting that some mustangs were being sold to slaughterhouses. Officials of the BLM had gone in to check on a particular group of sale animals whose brands had been altered. The mustangs had been rescued, but the man who'd sold them couldn't be found.

Old Harvey suspected that Ron Jeffers, the boss man, knew something about the guy who had committed the crime, but Harvey admitted that it was only speculation.

“Cut me out that bay with the bad leg,” Susan called to Sam.

Callie admired the swift work of Sam's cow pony as he wheeled on his hind legs and moved toward his target, cutting the bay from the rest of the herd, then driving the injured mustang into the chute while Justin's horse held the others back.

Once the animal was in place, the gate was closed to prevent him from backing out. The squeeze chute folded in until the panicked animal was gripped snugly within the walls. Held in this way, the wild horse couldn't move to injure himself, or the veterinarian.

“Hand me the bucket of Betadine wash, and grab the bottle of antibiotic, Callie,” Susan instructed as she probed the wound on the mustang's leg. The horse snorted in fear, but he remained in the same position while the vet worked quickly and efficiently to clean the wound. When Susan was finished, the next animal was herded into the chute and the process was repeated.

Callie heard the distant sound of the helicopter again and turned toward the mountains. The cowboys were gazing in that direction, too.

Susan looked up from the barbed wire wound she was cleansing. “You have some new horses coming in today, boys?”

Sam nodded and pulled a piece of hay from between his lips. “That's one of our guys out there in the chopper. Soon as they get a little closer, me and my son are gonna go on out and bring 'em in the rest of the way.”

“I hear they've got some pretty nice horses coming in,” Justin said from the back of his saddle horse.

Callie was surprised to see his eyes light up at the mention of the new horses. Did he approve of the roundups, or was he just excited about seeing new mustangs?

Sam smoothed his thick mustache and scowled. “You better wait around when you're done with this bunch, doc. They've been driving those mustangs with the helicopter, and there's always a few of them pretty banged up, or ready to drop from exhaustion.”

Susan sighed. “I liked it better in the old days, when they rounded them up by horse.”

Sam tipped his hat. “Me, too, but you know progress…” He shrugged.

Progress?
Callie almost snorted. Harvey had told her about some of the air roundups in the southern half of the state, where mustangs were driven through fences, or run so hard for so long without water that entire herds were lost. She tightened her lips and stared at the nearby hills. She hoped the incoming horses would be all right.

“Hand me that shot on the tray over there, Callie,” Susan said. “This horse has a nasty eye infection.”

Callie placed the small gauge needle and syringe in the vet's outstretched palm. She watched as the vet carefully inserted the needle into the corner of the mustang mare's eye.

Callie's stomach tightened. She willed herself not to look away from the needle as it slid slowly into the pink flesh at the corner of the horse's eye. She sucked in a large gulp of air and felt the ground roll beneath her trembling legs. She saw Justin eye her curiously.

I will not faint. I will not faint
, Callie repeated to herself as she staggered backwards, grabbing onto a fence rail for support. Everything around her grew dark and tiny dots of light jumped about on the air. Her stomach flopped in protest and her breath came in short, dog-like pants. Her body temperature felt like it had dropped ten degrees, but she could feel the sheen of sweat that popped out on her forehead. She bent over and rested her forehead on the rail.

“Are you all right, Callie?” Susan pulled the release on the chute and the mustang mare stumbled away, shaking her head.

Callie found her voice, but it sounded high-pitched and forced in her own ears. “Yeah, I just need to get a drink of water.” She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth. It felt like she was carrying a big wad of cotton in her cheeks.

“Go on up to the office,” Sam said. “There's a stand of cold bottled water up there. Help yourself.”

Avoiding Justin's stare, Callie smiled her thanks and hurried toward the main building. She lurched up the office steps and went in, glad to be out of the sun for a minute. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she spotted the water cooler in the corner. She filled a Dixie cup and gulped down the cool liquid. It wasn't until the fourth cup that she finally began to taste it. It was the best water she'd ever had.

Callie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked out the window toward the pen where the vet was working. She rubbed her forehead. How could she ever expect to be a veterinarian when she couldn't even
watch
a shot being given? She crumpled up her water cup and threw it in the trash can, shaking her head in disgust. She was such a wimp! And now the new boy knew it, too. Callie took a deep breath and marched back to the sick pen.

She scanned the horizon. The men were heading up the hillside on their cow ponies with an unsaddled horse in tow. They were met at the top of the hill by several more men on horseback. By now she could clearly hear the steady beat of the helicopter as it neared the mustang pens.

Callie climbed to the top rail of the fence to get a better view. “What's the extra horse for?” she asked.

“That's Hank,” Susan explained. “He's an old mustang they broke to saddle a long time ago.” The vet joined Callie on the fence. “When they get close to the pens, they'll turn Hank loose and he'll go to the front of the line and lead the mustangs right into the corrals.”

“Wow.” Callie kept her eyes glued to the horizon, waiting for the herd to break over the ridge. “How many do you think are coming?”

“Could be as small a herd as ten,” Susan said. “But it might be as high as forty or fifty horses from several herds.”

Callie pointed to the cloud of dust on the mountain. “Here they come!”

She watched in awe as the mustangs topped the ridge and raced down the hill toward them. The helicopter hung back, giving the men on horseback a chance to take over. Callie tried to do a head count, but the dust raised from the running herd made it impossible.

Every now and then, she caught a glimpse of the new boy. He rode well. She wished she could be out there, too, riding as fast as the wind beside the racing herd of mustangs.

As the horses drew near, she could feel as well as hear the thundering of the mustangs' hooves as they pounded down the mountainside, their manes and tails flying. One daring animal made a break from the herd. Callie wondered if the horse sensed that captivity lay ahead. She shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted into the sun.

The rays glinted off a golden back as the escapee tossed its black mane and turned to face the cowpoke who had been sent to drive him back into the herd.

Cloud Dancer!

Callie gripped the fence rail and watched as the brave stallion arrogantly challenged his enemy. The cowboy let out a whoop and pulled his lasso from the saddle.

Cloud Dancer tossed his head and neighed to the wild herd, then snorted and spun on his heels, heading for the mountains from which he had just been routed. The cowboy gave chase, but the mustang's fleet hooves and knowledge of the desert served him well. With an oath that Callie could hear from the fence, the man brought his horse to a sliding stop and returned to help with the roundup.

Several of Cloud Dancer's mares tried to follow him, but the cowboys turned them back into the herd and kept them moving toward the mustang pens.

Callie let out a long, slow breath. Was the rest of the stallion's harem in this bunch of captured horses? Was Moonbeam somewhere in the crowd? She strained her eyes, trying to find her favorite mare, but there was too much chaos to be able to pick her out.

As the wild mustangs neared the pens, Hank took his place at the front of the herd and galloped toward the open gate. Callie desperately wanted to slam the gate closed and wave the horses back to their rangeland, but that was impossible.

She'd heard the cowboys talking about the problems with mustangs. When then-President Nixon signed the mustang protection bill into law in 1971, it became a federal offense to harass or kill a wild horse. But the mustangs had to be managed somehow. It was the Bureau of Land Management's responsibility to round up excess horses for adoption when it was determined that there were too many mustangs for the land to support. Callie knew that if she took it upon herself to free these horses, she'd be in major trouble.

Hank entered the corral and the rest of the herd followed. Callie and the vet jumped off the rail before they could be knocked to the ground and trampled by the rampaging horses.

“There must be at least seventy of them!” Callie shouted over the deafening sound of pounding hooves and frantic whinnies. The horses ran from end to end, looking for a way out of the trap. Their eyes rolled white in their heads as they pushed against each other, trying to get as far away as possible from the cowboys and onlookers who lined the fences of the pen.

The horses' coats were slick with sweat and flecked with foam from their long, hard run. Several of the young foals looked ready to drop from exhaustion. One pretty pinto filly slid to the ground when an older mare accidentally knocked into her.

Callie instinctively jumped on the fence, ready to enter the crazed herd to save the foal. Susan grabbed her by the back of her shirt and pointed to the outside rail, where the filly had surfaced with her dam. The foal was dazed and shaking, but seemed to be otherwise unharmed.