They climbed all morning into the big pines and firs, until it started to feel almost like the Northwest, Clay thought. Starbuck seemed to be enjoying the work more than in the lower country, and as the air cooled and thinned and they entered groves of aspen and spruce, the formerly wild horse became more animated than Clay had ever seen him. “Look at him, Sarah, he’s acting like a colt.”
“He’s back in his summer range.”
“How high is Cyclone Lake?”
“It’s over ten thousand feet. I’m glad we brought the dogs with us—they’re having a great time. And look at Curly! Look at those little feet go! He isn’t having any trouble keeping up with my dogs.”
They paused on an outcrop that gave them a view of the lower country below them: the town of Escalante at the foot of the mountains, marked by the smoking tepee burner at the sawmill, and beyond the town, a world of slickrock and canyons as far as the eye could see.
“That long, narrow canyon between us and the Colorado River,” Sarah said pointing, “that’s Escalante Canyon, where your uncle ran the horses down. It was such a beautiful idea. It’s so narrow the horses had nowhere to go but straight ahead. It’s so great to think one man was able to do that by himself.”
“The side canyon I climbed out of? What’s it called?”
“I’m sure it was Davis Canyon. Third one up from the river, and it has a horse ladder.”
“You know all this country.”
“Look how much there is! Some of those canyons are so narrow you can touch both walls with your hands, and they’re hundreds and hundreds of feet deep. There are so many out there, probably no one’s seen them all. Sometimes the cows get down in those canyons and it takes a lot of searching to find them out.”
I’d help you search for those cows, Clay thought. I wouldn’t care if we never found them.
“Between us and the beginning of Escalante Canyon there’s a box canyon called Death Hollow. That’s where your uncle had the horses stashed before he started them down the Escalante.”
“Look, Sarah—there’s Navajo Mountain, all by itself over there across the Colorado. I was right up close to it.”
They spread out a checkered tablecloth on the grassy bank of Cyclone Lake, and brought out their sandwiches. Nothing could be more perfect than this green grass and the music of her voice, watching the clouds go by and sharing a picnic lunch. There could never be another day like this one. There could never be another girl like this one.
Curly showed up and licked him on the face. He wished it were so easy to kiss Sarah, just like that. Well, not just like that.
Clay looked at her long, and she looked back at him, and his heart was beating like thunder. He felt like he was about to kiss her, but it felt like being about to step over a cliff. It was the scariest moment he’d faced in his life.
“The dogs,” Sarah said suddenly. Her dogs were standing frozen like Border collie statues, and even Curly was standing still like a statue.
Clay looked in the direction the dogs were looking. Way down near the end of the lake and on the other side, horses were coming down to the water.
“Wild horses,” Sarah whispered. “Keep low!”
The dogs knew not to bark. Even Curly kept quiet.
“Look,” Sarah whispered. “That’s the lead mare bringing them down to the lake. She looks blue even from here.”
“‘Blue as a mountain bluebird,’” Clay said thoughtfully. “Sarah, these must be the ones Uncle Clay had his eye on. This must be that last band he told me about. The stallion’s a buckskin with … lemme think … a black stripe down his back and rings on his legs. A dozen or so mares with their colts, he said.”
“That’s about what I count. Look, there’s the stallion standing guard. With markings like those, he’d be a real throwback. You know, there’s only about twenty thousand mustangs left in the whole country. The lead mare’s drinking now, then the next in rank and so on. If the stallion tries to drink before all the rest are finished, the mares will run him off. I saw it once.”
“I count eighteen.”
“They’ll be dead soon, and Barlow will make his five cents a pound. Aren’t they beautiful? They probably are the last ones. Let’s see how close we can get to them, Clay.”
Silently they crept back into the trees, where they had left their horses, and circled the lake in the spruce. The dogs understood the need for stealth. Though Curly didn’t understand Sarah’s hand signals, he was taking his cues from the other dogs and he was learning fast.
Clay watched her give the hand signals too, watched how quietly her palomino moved in the woods, careful not to break a stick.
At the edge of the woods, Sarah let Clay draw alongside, and they watched the wild horses at lakeside through an opening in the woods. The stallion was drinking now. Most of the mares and colts were rolling in the mud at the edge of the lake.
“Look at that,” Clay whispered.
“To protect themselves from the flies. The mud dries and gives them a thicker skin.”
Suddenly a new horse galloped up, all black with a white blaze on his forehead and white stockings, and before Clay could even see how he’d done it the black had cut out the two mares and their colts who weren’t in the mud, and he was herding them away as fast as he could.
The big buckskin took off in hot pursuit, and before the black could herd his prizes into the woods, the buckskin cut him off and the two stood in full display, their necks arched and their front legs pawing the ground and then pawing the air.
“I’ve always wanted to see this,” Sarah whispered.
Clay strained to get a better look, expecting to see a big battle. Yet with no blood drawn, it wasn’t but half a minute until the buckskin was racing back to the rest behind the four that had been kidnapped, nipping the trailing colt to make him go faster. “What happened?” Clay asked. “I didn’t even see what happened.”
“The black’s probably a much younger stallion,” Sarah explained. “He knew he wasn’t the buckskin’s match yet, so he backed down. You know what I’m thinking, Clay….”
She had the most wonderful grin on her face.
“If we could possibly do it, we could hide them away and no one would ever suspect that they’ve been stashed away because your uncle is in jail! And then, as soon as he gets out, he can run them down the Escalante! They’d be across the Colorado and so would he, before anyone could say Jack Robinson!”
Clay’s mouth dropped. “Could we do it?”
For no apparent reason, a couple of the mares nickered, and there was a distinct note of alarm in their voices.
“Maybe they smell us,” Sarah whispered. “We have to make our move fast. Follow me, and hang on to your hat!”
With that she exploded out of the woods, giving signals to the dogs, and the wild horses exploded into flight as well.
“Death Hollow!” Sarah shouted.
With a grin spreading across his own face, Clay galloped to catch up as she raced to keep the stampeding horses between her and the lake. What a sight Sarah was! The mustangs tried to make a break out and toward the woods. They ran at full speed with their manes and tails flying, but her dogs headed them around the end of the lake and down into the beginning of a draw that fed off the mountain.
And then it was all pleasure, just trying to keep up with Sarah, with his heart in his throat and his legs slapping Starbuck’s side and his eyes on that long dark braid that seemed to have a life of its own. Down the mountain he flew through the tall spruce and into the aspen breaks and down into the pines, enjoying an occasional glimpse over his shoulder of a small blur of white and hearing Curly’s high-pitched battle cry.
It was all pleasure except for one thing. He was having the hardest time trying to keep the blocky toes of those hiking books in the stirrups. If I live through this, Clay thought, I’ll get me a new pair of cowboy boots in the morning!
Rock formations started to show up, then cliffs and domes and spires of rock with the tall trees growing in niches, and the chase was dropping through sandstone formations now and into the beginnings of a canyon.
He caught up with Sarah, who’d slowed to a walk. At last they could hold up and rest. The wild horses couldn’t get up the sides of the canyon unless they could fly.
“Is this it?” Clay asked, all winded. “Death Hollow?” Now Curly caught up, panting and proud.
“Not yet,” she replied. “They could work their way back up to the lake from here. I know a way into Death Hollow a few miles down. That’s where we’ll take them.”
And that’s what Sarah did. She knew a place where only two horses at a time could squeeze between the rocks, and she and her dogs funneled them through the crack, all eighteen of them, and into Death Hollow. Clay helped her drag logs and brush until they’d plugged the gap behind them.
Through a world of bizarre rock formations they rode into the afternoon. They drove the horses into the bottom of Death Hollow where sufficient grass and a flowing creek would provide a sanctuary. Sarah flanked them, pushing them back upstream a ways, and then she said, “Let’s go fix the fence.”
Clay took a last glimpse at the horses and started down the canyon. They soon came upon an old homestead by the creek, long abandoned. Where the canyon walls narrowed to a gap a half-mile farther, they stopped to repair the high pole fence that was down in two places. “Your uncle sure put a lot of work into this,” Sarah said as they lifted the first pole into position.
It didn’t take long to put the fence back to rights. “Those horses aren’t getting out this way,” Clay commented as they stood back to admire the fence, intact once again. He lifted his hat and wiped his shirtsleeve across his forehead. “They’ll be waiting right here for Uncle Clay. On to The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance!”
As they rode into the ranch, they felt like they were still ten thousand feet up. It was a good feeling, exchanging glances as they approached the house, having a secret between them.
Her mother was working at the sink. She was wearing rubber gloves and lifting jars of bright red tomatoes out of a steaming enamel pot. The radio was on; she’d been listening as she worked. Her apron showed she’d been through something. “How was it?” she asked Sarah brightly. Suddenly aware of his hat, Clay doffed it and held it by his side. “How was the fishing?” her mother asked.
“We forgot all about it!” Sarah replied.
Clay added, “It sure is beautiful up there, Mrs. Darling.”
“I’m glad you liked it, Clay. It doesn’t seem like the fishing’s ever that good late in the summer anyway. Sarah, I haven’t heard a peep out of Libby and Nora, and you know that’s not a good sign. Would you check on them? We have to keep moving if we’re going to get you to the movies on time. Your dad’s got the charcoal going. We’re just going to have some hamburgers and potato salad. They were up in their room getting ready for the fair.”
“County fair starts this weekend,” Sarah explained. “It starts the day after tomorrow, actually tomorrow night with the dance out at Dance Hall Rock.”
“We hope you’ll be staying through the fair, Clay. Have you ever been to a county fair?”
“No, Ma’am, but I’d sure like to. I guess they have them out there. But not where we live. I’m pretty much of a city kid, I guess. Well, not really a city kid—I guess I’m a kid from the suburbs.”
“After the summer you’ve had I’d say you’d pass for a cowboy.”
Clay smiled. “I feel like I’m from out here. They say in the Northwest, you can tell the natives because they have moss growing on their north side, but I feel like all mine must’ve burned off by now.”
He followed Sarah into the living room. They heard something, and then they listened again. They glanced at each other. Could it be? Yes it was. The unmistakable sound of small hoofs galloping.
“Uh-oh,” Sarah said, and went flying upstairs.
She disappeared. Still more galloping.
Clay hesitated, then climbed the stairs. He’d better catch that rascal before he broke something of the Darlings’.
At the top of the landing he saw Burrito streak from one room into another with the girls on his heels. What in the world? Did he see what he thought he’d seen?
Clay poked his head in the doorway.
Yes indeed. Burrito was dressed to kill in a blue vest and matching blue bonnet that fit down over his ears. The baby burro was standing in the middle of a large bed, on a fancy lace bedspread, snorting loudly and all cocked for mischief. With a glance Clay realized this was the parents’ bedroom. Porcelain knickknacks on low nightstands were poised delicately just waiting to crash.
“You guys …” Sarah was saying ominously. She was on one side of the bed, her sisters on the other.
“We’ve got him surrounded,” Libby said.
That’s when Burrito bolted, and Clay tried to grab for him. The burro galloped as if to one side, then swerved and shot right between his legs.
“Get him!” the girls were yelling, and little Nora was shrieking for joy as she and her flying pigtails chased the burro down the hallway.
“What’s going on up there?” their mother was calling. “You girls should be getting ready for supper and the movies.”
“Nothing, Mom,” Libby called back. “We’re getting ready.”
Past a brightly colored room with two beds, Burrito raced into the one at the end of the hall. When they caught up with him Burrito was standing in a white wicker rocking chair and bracing himself against its motion. His ears swiveled around one at a time and pointed at them, and he snorted explosively.
“I’ve heard of a rocking horse before,” Libby said, “but never a rocking burro.”
“And look what he’s standing on,” Sarah said less than enthusiastically.
Nora put her little hand over her mouth. “Your dress, Sarah! Your dress for the dance!”
“I’ll get him,” Libby said confidently, edging closer.
And she did. When Burrito leaped from the rocker, Libby caught him in midair. Suddenly the burro was still, but he was breathing heavily. “You little devil,” Libby said affectionately, and kissed him on the nose.
Sarah was arranging her dress over the top of the rocker. It was a beautiful rose color, with a neckline of embroidered flowers and the bottom circled with layers of pink and white ruffles.
“Sarah made it herself,” Nora explained importantly. “Especially for the dance. This is Sarah’s room.”
Clay could already tell that. There was one entire shelf dedicated to figurines of horses. There must have been two dozen of them.
“Burrito’s outfit is awful cute,” Sarah said, and her sisters beamed. Clay scratched the inside of one of the burro’s ears and explained to Libby, “He likes that.”
“We’re entering him in the county fair!” exclaimed Nora. “In the pets division!”
“If he wins a blue ribbon, it won’t be for Best Behaved,” Sarah replied.
Her sisters left to see if it might still be possible to sneak Burrito out of the house. Clay was looking around the room.
“It’s a mess,” Sarah said, blushing.
“No, it’s not, it’s just the opposite. You should see my room if you want to see a mess. I like your dress. You really made it all by yourself?”
“Sure.”
It seemed amazing to be in her room. Right where she lives. In the heart of where she lives. His eyes were drawn to a bulletin board about half covered with blue ribbons, and under it photos of her at all different ages with ponies and big horses too. “You won all these ribbons?” he said, as he looked closely at her as a little girl.
“Don’t look at those,” she said. “I look terrible.”
“You look … wonderful.”
Beside the first, a second bulletin board was covered with photos clipped from movie magazines, of different movie stars and one of Monument Valley!
She wasn’t speaking, she seemed bashful and uncertain. Clay’s eyes were drawn back to the figurines of horses, some crystal, some porcelain, some wood. “They’re beautiful,” he said.
The shelf above was full of books. “Misty of Chincoteague,” he said aloud. “Hey, I remember that book. It’s about wild horses! How the Spanish conquistadores first brought them over, and they got away and went wild!”
Clay scanned the titles. “All these books are about horses!” It came to him, something he could do for her when he got back home. He had a wood-carving set he’d gotten for Christmas and never used once. If he could learn to carve well enough to send her a carving that he had made with his own hands, she would keep the horse he’d made right here along with the others.