The Wild One Page 6

  In the quiet, wind rattled the buck brush and cattle calls drifted back to her. No rock was lodged in the hoof, and the stop had cost her only a couple minutes.

  She gave Strawberry a pat before remounting. As Sam swung into the saddle, she glanced ahead to see if she’d have to hurry to catch up. That’s when she noticed him.

  Slocum had dropped back, too. Through the rolling dust, he sat watching her and scanning the open range.

  Jake had said Slocum was using her as bait, but did Slocum expect the Phantom to come galloping to her side?

  Sam waved at Slocum to let him know she’d noticed his spying. He didn’t wave back, just let his horse walk on, as if he’d never stopped.

  Maybe Jake wasn’t being paranoid. Still, if he thought he could stand between her and the Phantom, just to keep Slocum away, Jake was dead wrong.

  Sam pushed aside thoughts of Slocum and concentrated on tomorrow’s crossing. They would be crossing the playa. Sam knew playa was Spanish for “beach.” A thousand years ago, most of Nevada had been covered by ancient Lake Lahontan. Over centuries, the prehistoric waters had dwindled and a crust had formed over the muddy pools left behind.

  The men had warned the crossing could be treacherous. This time last week, a risky crossing would have meant sprinting across Market Street ahead of a cable car or taxi. Tomorrow’s crossing would be something new. Dallas had ordered an early stop today, so they could cross the playa in daylight.

  When Dallas trotted back to join her at the rear of the herd, Sam grabbed her chance to ask questions.

  Trying to act unconcerned, she wondered aloud if the crust always held up under the weight of the cattle.

  “Not always,” he said. “And the animals know it. They’ve got an instinct for when it’s gonna break and any sound can cause them to stampede.”

  The crust could crack beneath a single hoof, he added, sending a cow and calf or horse and rider into the quicksand beneath.

  “See you at camp,” he said, then put his horse into a lope so he could catch the leaders.

  Sam shuddered and wished the playa wasn’t too huge to detour around.

  The drive was over for the day. By the time Sam reached camp, the lead cows had made a muddy mess of the water hole. Some cattle had waded in up to their bellies. Others hung back, keeping calves apart from the crowd, until it was safe to drink.

  Strawberry was thirsty, but she and the other horses weren’t interested in a water hole packed with noisy cattle.

  Sam didn’t know Jake was behind her until his voice startled her.

  “There’s a pond up the hill where the mustangs drink,” he said. “Let’s take the horses up there, after dinner.”

  “Quit stalking me,” Sam snapped at him.

  Jake rode past, but he glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. Though she didn’t catch all he said, Sam heard the words, “like glue.”

  She couldn’t imagine a more annoying friend.

  After chili, cornbread, and a mound of green salad, Sam didn’t feel like riding to the mustangs’ water hole. Just lifting a saddle onto a horse’s back seemed like work.

  Jake looked her way and her weariness must have shown.

  “Forget it. They can drink down here,” Jake said. “You didn’t sleep much last night, what with nighthawking and all.”

  Sam was tempted, until she thought of the two bottles of clear, cold water she’d chugged with dinner. The horses had worked a lot harder than she, and only had a few sips of muddy water.

  Dallas must have seen her hesitation. “Sam, you go on ahead to bed and catch up on your sleep,” he said. “I’ll get one of the boys to help Jake.”

  One of the boys. Something in Sam growled at Dallas’s offer. His words were like a dare, and Jake was about to laugh.

  “Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you at the corral,” she told Jake, then turned to the pot suspended over the campfire. “Gram, do you mind if I take a little of this before it turns into dishwater?”

  “Help yourself, dear,” Gram said.

  Sam washed her face, then considered her reflection in the little mirror Gram had hung on the back of the chuck wagon.

  Her sunburned cheeks felt worse than they looked, but blowing dust and short hours of sleep showed in her bloodshot eyes. Sam longed for some lip balm and she wished she hadn’t chopped off her hair. Braiding it might have made her feel tidy. She leaned close to the mirror and fluffed her fingers through her bangs.

  It sure was a lot of trouble, proving she was tough enough to belong.

  Finally, Sam tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “Best I can do,” Sam said as Gram’s reflection appeared alongside hers.

  “You look like a cowgirl, and that’s all the horses care about.” Gram kissed her cheek, then stood back as if she had more to say. “I know Jake gets on your nerves, sometimes.”

  “It’s worse than that.” When Sam noticed she’d put her hands on her hips, she let them slide off. “He either ignores me or acts like a mother hen.”

  “Don’t you think that’s natural? After your accident?” Gram asked.

  “I don’t know what it is, Gram.” Sam leaned over and whispered, loudly, “But he’s driving me nuts!”

  Sam waved good-bye and took two minutes to rummage through the tent for her black sweater. No luck. She jogged to the corral and arrived as Jake rode by, herding most of the saddle horses in front of him.

  “I left Ace and Strawberry for you,” he said. “Just take the path up that ridge.”

  His gesture was easy to follow, and Sam had no doubt she could handle the last two horses.

  After a lazy day just moving with the remuda, Ace rushed the fence, seeming glad to see her.

  “Hi, good boy,” she said, stroking the velvety nose he thrust over the fence. Ace nodded until his forelock uncovered the white star high on his forehead and she rubbed that, too.

  Sam considered the short ride up the ridge and decided to ride him bareback, while she led Strawberry.

  Jake had said he’d taken all the other horses, but as she entered the corral, Sam noticed a third horse tied nearby, at the same time that she smelled cigarette smoke.

  The brown Thoroughbred had the long legs and deep chest of a steeplechaser. Double sets of saddlebags hung from his saddle and the man drawing his cinch tight was Linc Slocum.

  Everything about the horse and saddle made Sam nervous. She bridled Ace, thinking that Slocum was prepared for more than nighthawking. Just the same, Sam returned Slocum’s wave, before leading Ace from the corral.

  “I’m giving you a break from that heavy saddle,” Sam muttered as she vaulted onto Ace’s back. “Don’t dump me and make me look bad.”

  Aunt Sue would have said the gelding acted sweet as a lamb. As he plodded up the trail, Sam watched the sky. Dark clouds hung over an amazing sunset. Often, over the past two years, Aunt Sue had coaxed her to watch San Francisco Bay turn gold as it swallowed the setting sun. The scene was always nice, but for Sam fell far short of entertainment.

  Today, Sam had seen the sun rise and set. No one had prompted her to watch. The fiery tangerine color flooding the desert foothills made Sam understand Aunt Sue’s enjoyment.

  Then she heard him. Sam knew, even before the horses’ ears pricked forward, that the Phantom had returned. His nicker floated around her like the words to a secret song.

  “Where is he, Ace?” Sam whispered. “Where?” She twisted at the waist, scanning every rise and dip of the land around her.

  Somewhere, hooves skittered on rock. Sam urged Ace and Strawberry up the trail for a better view, but still there was nothing, except Slocum’s shout.

  “I knew it!” His words carried from below.

  No! Slocum must have spotted the stallion first. His Thoroughbred leaped into action, covering yards of desert, stretched low as a greyhound.

  Ace pulled at the bit and danced in place, eager to join the chase, but Sam kept him reined in. Still she saw nothing.

&nbs
p; “You okay?” Jake was suddenly there on foot. He grabbed her reins near the bit and gave a tug to make Ace settle.

  “I’m fine, but Slocum—”

  Jake pointed and Sam’s eyes followed. The Phantom was leading the Thoroughbred across the desert.

  A pale wisp, he teased Slocum’s mount. Phantom let the Thoroughbred draw close enough that he must feel the Thoroughbred’s breath on his tail. Then the stallion jumped a clump of sagebrush and doubled back with impossible agility.

  More ghost than horse, the mustang disappeared in the middle of a hillside with Slocum still thundering after him.

  Sam told herself everything would be fine. The Phantom would escape. But that night in her dreams, she saw the stallion dashing through snow drifts, past a candy-cane North Pole, while Slocum followed in a sleigh, face fringed with a beard of ice.

  Thunder woke Sam before dawn. She wriggled deeper in her sleeping bag and listened to the lowing of restless cattle. Raindrops pattered on the canvas tent. In the dimness, she saw Gram’s bed, neatly tied in a roll.

  Dallas called, “Boots on the ground, we’re burnin’ daylight.”

  “What daylight?” Jake’s voice came from somewhere nearby. His spurs chimed and a horse snorted its bad mood as its hooves sucked across wet ground.

  Sam heard bacon sizzling.

  Moving like an inchworm, she scooted to the tent flap and pulled it back.

  “Psst,” she whispered.

  Jake heard her over the hissing curtain of rain, and stopped.

  “Is Slocum back?” she asked him.

  Rain dripped off Jake’s black hat brim as he shook his head and kept riding.

  Slocum had been out all night, after the Phantom.

  Sam pulled on her jeans. Four days of riding had finally caught up with her. She ached all over and the contortions required to tug up her socks made Sam bite her lip against a whimper.

  Dad was waiting by the campfire. He gave her a wink and a yellow slicker. Once she’d struggled into the raincoat, he offered her a warm pottery mug. Steam curled up from the creamy combination of cocoa and coffee and Sam sighed with delight.

  The cold sneaking between her upturned collar and pulled down hat made the hot drink taste even better.

  Pepper approached the other side of the fire and rubbed his hands together. He wore a long duster which must be oiled, because the water beaded on it.

  The bad weather had put him in a playful mood.

  “Great day for crossin’ the playa,” Pepper said, with a wicked grin. “Rain pourin’ down from on high and water bubblin’ up underfoot.”

  “Is it really?” Sam asked. She tried to look out of camp, past the herd, to the playa.

  “You bet. Think of a hard-boiled egg. Y’know how you give it a whack so you can peel off the shell?” Pepper asked, and Sam nodded. “Well, the playa’s like that. Little cracks all over the place, with quicksand underneath, just waiting to suck in your horse’s hoof and pull you down, down, down.”

  As Pepper’s voice quavered into the creepy tone you’d use to scare a child, Sam knew she’d been had.

  “Hey, you don’t want to go scaring a dude like that.”

  Dude? Sam looked up to see which of Slocum’s cowboys the words had come from. She thought it had been Flick. Not that it mattered. They were all laughing at her.

  “Quicksand doesn’t suck you under,” Dad said, sipping at his coffee, looking patient. “It’s just a thick combination of sand and water. It doesn’t have a mind of its own.”

  “I know,” Sam said, but she didn’t.

  “The main thing’s to keep the herd together and quiet. Don’t do anything to spook ’em.”

  Dad glanced at her, confirming that she knew what he meant. Cattle, horses, even people got edgy during a storm. The least little thing could spook them into doing something stupid.

  “If a cow does go through,” Dad added, “we can rope her and pull her out.”

  Sam hoped he was right, but she remembered an adventure movie in which the villain had died struggling in quicksand. The last shot had shown his hat, sitting on the surface of the gritty ooze. But she didn’t bring that up.

  “Think you all have time to quit joshing and move some cows?” Dallas asked.

  The men mounted up. Sam gave Gram a stiff smile and went off to get Ace. She imagined the earth cracking and a black goo swallowing her without a trace.

  As always, Jake read her mind. “You can swim right out of it,” he said, quietly. “If you don’t panic.”

  “You take care of your little girlfriend, now.” Flick grinned at Jake. “Even if they have good bloodlines, dudes scare real easy.”

  Sam ignored Flick, just like she would any smart-mouthed jerk at school.

  “Sam’s no dude,” Jake responded. Sam felt herself relax before he added, “More of a dudette, I’d say.”

  Jake wheeled Witch away from the other riders, away from Sam. That was a good thing, too, Sam thought as Witch carried Jake splashing away into the gray morning. She still had an empty mug in her hand and she could barely suppress the urge to fling it at Jake’s head.

  Stop. Go. Stop. Go. All morning they followed the cautious cattle through the rain, never pushing, just watching.

  Dallas hadn’t asked her to ride drag today. He assigned her to ride on the right side of the herd. She knew better than to ask why.

  Thunder rumbled overhead and a cold wind blew.

  Sam hunched her shoulders inside her slicker and pulled her brown Stetson lower on her brow. Her cheeks were cold, but rubbing them with her gloved hand didn’t help.

  “Hey dudette, how’s it goin’?” Pepper called from the other side of the herd. He sounded good-natured, but Sam didn’t answer.

  Whether it was Pepper’s shout, the thunder, or her bovine imagination, a big brindle cow wearing Slocum’s brand spooked. She bolted away from the herd, just yards in front of Ace.

  Ace tensed to follow, to gallop after the cow and return her to the herd. Sam clapped her heels to the gelding’s sides and let him fly off in pursuit.

  Dudette, am I? Sam stayed loose in the saddle, as Jake had told her to do when riding a cutting horse. But the brindle cow didn’t want to go back.

  “Hey!” Sam shouted. No way was this cow going to slip past her. Holding her reins in one hand, Sam snatched off her hat and flapped it at the cow, trying to scare her back toward the herd.

  Rolling her eyes white, the cow bowled past Ace with a bellow.

  Humiliation made Sam glance back to see if any of the cowboys had noticed her failure.

  What she saw made her sick.

  Chapter Eight

  FRIGHTENED BY THE BRINDLE cow’s bellows, the rest of the herd split off in all directions. Some trotted with their heads held high, ears swivelling in confusion. Others galloped, eyes rolled white. Big red bodies slammed each other as the cattle ignored everything but fear. Though the cowboys kept their horses at a walk, trying to regather cattle without scaring them even more, Sam knew what had happened. She’d caused a stampede.

  Once she returned the brindle cow to what remained of the herd, Sam rode at the edge of the restless bunch. She surveyed the playa, hoping she’d see no animals sunk in quicksand.

  What she did see was Jake, shepherding about thirty head her way.

  Sam braced herself, but Jake didn’t yell, didn’t accuse, didn’t even give her a hard look. He kept his eyes on the herd.

  Somehow, that was worse.

  “Jake, I was stupid,” she said. “I was trying to show off, to prove I knew what I was doing, and I did just the opposite. I moved too fast. I didn’t think—”

  Jake’s mouth was set in a hard line as he nodded. Agreeing. He sent Witch off at a gentle jog after two cows with calves.

  It took the experienced cowboys about twenty minutes to regather the herd, but to Sam it felt like hours.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. So the cowboys had joked with her. So they’d called her names. Big deal. Now her inexperie
nced look-at-me action had ruined everything. She had acted just like a dude.

  The men riding around her, even Dad, would forget she’d ridden out Ace’s bucking fits. They’d forget she’d risen from her warm sleeping bag to nighthawk at midnight. They’d forget she’d helped take the horses to water, even when she was bone tired.

  Rain pounded down, bouncing up like popcorn from the cows’ backs. When she glanced away at a squishing sound, Sam saw Dad riding toward her on Banjo.

  As he stopped beside her, Sam drew Ace to a halt.

  “What happened?” Dad asked.

  Sam took a breath. She couldn’t deny the stampede had been her fault, but she could keep herself from crying. She cleared her throat and leaned forward, pretending to straighten the headstall behind Ace’s ears.

  “A cow spooked and broke from the herd. I let Ace go after her.” Sam bit her lower lip, then corrected herself. “I made him go after her.”

  Dad put Banjo into a walk and shook his head.

  “That wouldn’t do it. It must have been something else.” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  It would be easy to accept his mistake, but it wouldn’t be right.

  “I’m pretty sure it was me,” she said. “I yelled at the cow and flapped my hat in her face.”

  Dad gave an astonished laugh, which did not sound amused. “That’d do it, all right.”

  As they rode, Sam waited for Dad to say something else. Up ahead, Ross tucked his bandanna inside his slicker, as if the sight of its ends blowing in the wind could spook the cattle. Sam did the same.

  “No harm done, this time.” Dad’s sober look said there’d better not be a next time. “No legs broken or calves lost, far as I can tell.”

  “I’ll stop being so sensitive,” Sam said.

  Dad nodded. “Good. They don’t joke with folks they don’t like. They just ignore them.”

  Sam wondered if Dad was referring to Slocum, whose own cowboys rarely spoke to him.

  “I’m sending a couple riders forward to the chuck wagon to help your grandmother set up camp,” Dad continued. “In this wind, the tents will be more than one person can handle. We’ll need to trench around them, too, so rain doesn’t flood us out of our beds. Do you want to go?”