Sheba moaned and shrieked.
“What’s the matter with her?” asked Sam running in with RJ on his heels.
“The foal is breach.
I’m going to have to help her but I may not be strong enough.
I haven’t had to pull a breach foal before.”
“I’ll help if you need me.”
“Mama, can I stay?” asked RJ.
“Yes, but you get on the other side of the stall and look in through the rails, you hear me?
I don’t need to worry about you, too, right now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
RJ went silently to the next stall and sat so he could see over the bottom rail into the birthing stall where Sheba lay.
Cassie rolled her sleeves up as far as they would go.
She got on her knees, grasped the foals hooves and gently pulled them down towards Sheba’s feet.
They slid for a short way and then stopped.
Cassie repeated the process until she could see that the legs were out and now it was time for the hips.
She let Sheba rest and try to deliver the foal herself.
The hips were the widest part of the foal and the hardest to deliver.
Hopefully, Sheba would be able to do this without help because Cassie didn’t think she was strong enough to pull the foal out.
“Sam, were going to give her about twenty minutes to recover and rest, she should start pushing on her own by then.
If she doesn’t you’ll have to pull the foal out.
Okay.”
“Sure.
I’ve pulled calves, this can’t be that much different.”
Sam said, rolling up his sleeves.
Twenty minutes later, Sheba still hadn’t delivered and wasn’t contracting any more.
They waited another ten minutes.
Still nothing.
“Okay, Sam you’re going to have to pull it.
I’ll keep her calm, while you do it.”
Cassie moved around to Sheba’s head and Sam went to the rear.
“Ready?” asked Sam.
“Ready.”
Sam pulled the foal, slowly the hips and butt came out of Sheba, the rest of the foal quickly followed.
Sheba and the foal rested, linked together by the umbilical cord.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes Sheba got to her feet and started licking the afterbirth from the foal.
The foal rolled over and tried to get to it’s feet.
It got it’s hind legs up and was on it’s knees in front.
Then it stood up, wobbled a couple of steps and fell down.
It tried again and was able to make it over to Sheba, who encouraged the baby with soft
nickers
.
When the foal got over to Sheba, she nudged it to start it nursing.
It looked like mother and baby were going to be all right.
“Wow.” said RJ from the other stall.
“That’s really messy.”
Sam and Cassie looked at each other, their hands and arms covered in blood and fluid, and laughed.
“You’re right.
It’s messy.”
CHAPTER 5
Sheba’s foal was a colt.
Cassie let RJ name him.
He decided on Trouble after what the baby had put his mother through.
Cassie thought that was fine and very appropriate.
All the names they used for the horses would be changed once they got back to the Kentucky farm anyway.
Once there they would be given a name based on their lineage.
Sarah had to go see the colt, excited about a new baby.
“Hi, baby horsey,” she said giggling when the new colt wobbled and nearly fell down.
“You not walk good but tat’s okay.
You a baby.”
Sam held her while she admired the little colt, so she wouldn’t go running to him and get trampled by mama in the process.
He couldn’t help noticing Cassie’s family was feeling more and more like his.
He already loved the kids and was well on the way to loving their mother.
He was thirty-seven years old and time was a
wastin
’.
He’d been too long without a woman.
That was it.
But that didn’t explain why he felt so good holding Sarah and smelling her sweet baby scent.
Or why he wanted to teach RJ about being a man and why he didn’t just want to bed Cassie.
Why he wanted more from her.
It didn’t explain why he wanted the whole package.
*****
The storm raged outside.
April showers bring May flowers, my ass, thought Cassie.
This storm was going to bring flooding.
She heard the screams of the horses, heard their fear.
This was thunder snow.
A snowstorm accompanied by thunder.
It only happened in early spring and even then was a rare phenomenon.
But this was June and made it even more unusual.
Cassie didn’t worry so much about the mustangs the corral was strong and wouldn’t break.
And they were used to the weather.
They grew up in this.
But the thoroughbreds were different.
They were high strung to begin with.
Skittish.
It was what made them good race horses.
She put on her slicker with the collar turned up and pulled her Stetson low. then went out into the storm.
When she got to the stables, all the horses were skittish, pawing at the ground or on the gate.
She went down the aisle and gave each horse a carrot and crooned softly to them.
The last stall belonged to Samson.
Cassie’s stallion, her favorite, her baby.
The stall was empty, the door to the outside broken, hanging on it hinges.
Had someone left it open?
How long had he been gone?
The only thing she knew for sure was he was gone out in the storm and could get hurt or killed.
There was nothing she could do to find him tonight except put other horses and riders in harms way, if she tried.
She ran back to the house.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.
“We lost Samson.
He got out.
Damnit all!
By tomorrow he could be dead, eaten by wolves, broken a leg.
Or who knows what else.”
Now she was worrying about something that was unlikely to happen, just to worry.
She took off her slicker and hat and hung them on the pegs behind the door in the room off the kitchen.
She’d decided to call it a mud room because no one entered the house from working except through here and they took off their boots if they were muddy or mucky.
“We’ll go out for him at first light.
Hopefully there will be tracks to follow either in snow if it’s still on the ground or in soft soil that will give us a clue to where he might of gone.
There’s no telling where he went.
To be honest it will be blind, dumb luck if we find him.
You know that, don’t you?
Cassie?”
Sam put his arm around her shoulders and brought her close.
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”
“Of course, we’ll try.”
He gave her shoulders a squeeze.
“Maybe he’ll join one of the wild mustang herds.”
Cassie shook her head.
“The herd’s stallion won’t let him.
No bachelor stallions are allowed in the herd so there’s no chance of any of the foals not being his.
But first thing we should do is go see White Buffalo.
Maybe his people have seen him.
They know horses and he would stand out from the rest with his black coat and white star on his forehead.
The next morning, bright and early, they saddled up.
Only a skeleton crew was left behind.
Both stable boys and one wrangler with strict instructions to fix Samson’s door before anything else.
It may have been left open by accident but the wind had torn it half off its hinges and now it was swinging free.
The rest of the crew, twelve men, went with Cassie and Sam.
Bridget remained with the kids.
They all split up into pairs and went different directions.
Because it was likely that Samson headed to the mountains several of the pairs went that way.
Cassie packed for an overnight stay.
She didn’t know how long it would take to find Samson.
It was summer but the nights got cold in the mountains.
She tied her rain slicker and winter coat along with her bedroll behind the saddle.
In her saddle bags she packed an extra flannel shirt, socks, hard tack and jerky.
She also packed a box of stick matches to start a fire with, some coffee and a small coffee pot.
Sam joined her in the barn and outfitted his horse, Socks, in much the same fashion.
The only real difference was he packed extra ammunition over and above what he wore on his gun belt and was loaded in the gun.
“Are you expecting trouble?” Cassie asked when he packed the ammo.
“Can’t hurt to be prepared.
Borden is out there, may be watching the place right now, so he’ll know we’re leaving.
I don’t think he’ll do anything to the ranch or I’d leave more men but I do think he may come after us.
Cassie shivered.
“I hope you’re wrong.”
“So do I.”
According to Cassie’s pocket watch and her stomach they’d ridden about four hours and it was time for midday dinner.
They stopped by a small stream.
She and Sam both hobbled their horses and sat down on some large boulders by the stream.
“I haven’t seen any signs of Samson.
This may be a wild goose chase,” said Cassie.
“Oh, you never know,” said Sam from the creek where he’d gone to wash his hands.
“Come look at this.”
Cassie walked over to where he stood, staring at the ground.
There were hoof prints entering the stream and exiting on the other side.
“That could be from wild mustangs or another rider.”
Sam shook his head.
“Definitely not mustangs, this horse is shod and the prints are too shallow for a horse and rider.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ve been tracking outlaws for fifteen years.
I picked up a little something over that time.”
He winked at her.
Cassie laughed.
“I wasn’t disparaging your tracking skills.
Who’d you learn it from?
Duncan?”
“He did teach me a lot.
I also rode with one of the best Indian trackers I’ve ever seen.
His name was Red Shirt, he was an Apache.
That man could track over the rockiest ground you can imagine and find the outlaw every time.”
“That’s amazing.”
“He really was and I didn’t learn half of what he knew before he died.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“He was old and ready to go.
I practically had to steal the body in order to accommodate his last wishes.
The Army was going to bury him there at the fort.
He wanted to be laid on Apache holy grounds.”
“That was good of you.
Most would simply do whatever the Army wanted because he was an Indian.”
It was Sam’s turn to laugh.
“Did I mention it was the objections of those good Christian people to having an Indian buried in their graveyard that finally convinced the fort commander to let me have his body.”
“Well, regardless of the circumstance, I’m glad you were able to grant him his last request”
“As am I.”
Cassie looked down at the tracks “I think we better go.
Daylight’s burning and Samson is getting farther away.
I’ll follow you.”
They crossed the stream and followed the tracks.
From the changes in direction , they could almost tell every time that thunder and lightning struck.
Finally Sam said, ”Lets stop for the night.
It’s getting too dark to see the tracks and up ahead looks like a good place to camp.
He was right.
The spot was in the trees, so it was sheltered from the wind.
It was flat and covered with pine needles so there was a little cushion from the cold, hard ground.
Sam built a small fire and Cassie made coffee.
They shared some hard tack and jerky.
Then Sam brought out a surprise for Cassie…sugar cookies from Bridget.
“Oh, this is a perfect way to end the day.
Coffee and cookies before bed,” exclaimed Cassie.
Sam moved a little closer to her on the log they sat on.
“Does bringing the cookies deserve a kiss?”
Cassie smiled at this request.
He looked like a little boy wanting praise for his good deed and she was more than happy to oblige.
“I think that can be arranged.”
Cassie turned and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for bringing the cookies.”
Sam didn’t press.
He could tell she wasn’t ready for anything more intimate.
But he would have preferred a kiss that was hot and fierce.
One where he could feast on her and she returned everything he gave.
Such was not to be.
At least not tonight.
The next morning the tracks headed due west toward the camp of White Buffalo.
When they reached the camp, White Buffalo himself came to greet them.
“I know why you have come here, Cassie O’Malley.
Your horse escaped you.
A magnificent stallion.
Is this not so?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
White Buffalo eyed Sam, assessed him and seemed to find him lacking, from the looks of it before Cassie introduced them. “This is Sam Colter.
He is a friend of Duncan McKenzie.
He’s a friend of Duncan and to me.
Sam this is White Buffalo, Chief of the Ute people.”
Sam held his hand out to White Buffalo, who grabbed it and shook it.
“McKenzie is a good man.
If you are his friend then you too are a good man.”
He turned back to Cassie.
“I have your horse.
I was tempted to keep him but he is not built for the harsh conditions, our mustangs are.”