Black Cloud Page 4

  Annie turned to me. “That poor colt!” she said. “His mother is dead. Oh, Papa, can we rescue him?”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” the papa said. “If you want, we’ll try to get him, along with any others we can. We’re going to have a fight on our hands, though. Jake and his clan paid for the plane and corralled them. They own the horses now.”

  “Own them? Hunted them down, you mean!” Annie said.

  “Let’s hurry!” the mama said. “We’ll buy or wheedle freedom for some of these poor creatures at least.”

  “Nick,” the papa said. “He’s the one to see. I’m afraid he’s poisoned the water hole, too. See how docile and weak they are?”

  The papa turned his horse. “Annie?” he said. “Come along.”

  “No!” Annie said. “I’m staying here with this colt. I won’t let those men near him.”

  The papa looked at me. He looked at Annie. Big Clay turned to me, too. I reared up on my hind legs, baring my teeth.

  Settle down, fool mustang! Clay muttered at me.

  I settled down, but hatred still raged inside me.

  “Okay,” the papa said to Annie. “You can stay. But just talk to the men if they come near. Scream and yell if you have to, and Mama or I will come back. But don’t get in their way. These men are as dangerous as the mustangs themselves. And don’t do anything foolish with that colt, either. Remember, he’s wild.”

  “I’ll remember, Papa,” Annie said.

  And the papa and mama turned and rode off. Leaving me with no one but Big Clay and Annie.

  A two-legged human atop the back of a captured mustang.

  Annie

  I must have let down my guard. I’d been listening to Annie and her mama and papa and eyeing Clay, wondering what he really meant and what he really knew and how he could bear to have a human on his back. By the time I noticed and whirled around, two men atop two huge horses were fast approaching.

  They thundered right up to me, one on either side.

  “This here’s a wild one, Bud!” one of the men yelled. “And mean. Careful.”

  “Jake!” the other yelled back. “Watch it! He’s moving toward you. You got the tongs?”

  “Wire and tongs!” Jake answered.

  And that was when the small human did something that startled—and terrified—me. She leapt from the top of that horse, Clay. She vaulted over the fence and stood right beside me. I backed up, rearing and turning wildly.

  “Are you out of your mind, girl?” Jake shouted. “That’s a wild mustang there. Get out of here and over that fence. You’ll get yourself killed.”

  The child didn’t move. She faced the men on horseback. “Go away!” she screamed.

  Jake and Bud pulled up on their horses, the horses dancing and prancing a little as they backed away.

  “Okay, Wild Horse Annie,” Jake said. “You made your point. You want to save the horses. We got it. You’re a sweet little girl but totally naive. Nice try, but all your talk and all your laws don’t matter one hoot to us. Now just get out of our way. Let Bud and me do our job, and everything will be just fine.”

  Annie stepped sideways, closer to me. I reared up again, my hooves near her head.

  Big Clay snorted and stamped on the other side of the fence. Stop it! Fool!

  “He’s going to slam those hooves down on your head!” Jake shouted. “One kick and you’ll be dead. Now go! Out of here. Are you stupid or something?”

  “No!” Annie said. “Leave this colt alone. You’re going to kill them all, aren’t you?”

  “Sure are,” Jake said. “They’re eating up our range land, leaving nothing for decent ranchers like us. They’ll be crows’ bait in a few hours. Now get back on your horse and get out of here, Annie. You’re getting to be a real pest. You and your papa and mama and the rest of your kind. I’m going to have to shoot that horse if you don’t move before he kills you!”

  I had backed up some, snorting and stamping again. She was trying to save me. Big Clay had said so. But she was a human. And I hated her.

  “Annie?” Jake said, moving closer. “Out of my way.”

  “No,” Annie said.

  “Fine, then,” Jake said.

  “Okay with me, too,” Bud said. Together, they turned their horses and began to trot slowly away.

  “We’ll be back for that colt!” Jake yelled. “And since he’ll have killed you in the meantime, we’ll tell your mama and papa where to come to pick up your body.”

  I looked at Annie. I hated her as I hated the wolves and cougars. She was human. Humans had led us into this trap. And killed my mama. I would smash her head, just as my mama had smashed those wolves.

  I reared above her, ready to strike down hard with my hooves.

  And then Annie did something amazingly stupid. She sat down. She sat on the ground right in front of me. She sat there, looking at the earth, her eyes turned down.

  I lowered my hooves. I backed up. I was ready to fight. But I was confused, too. I circled a bit.

  Slowly, Annie turned her body slightly away from me. She didn’t meet my eyes. She didn’t look at me. She just sat there.

  This strange creature with just two legs was talking to me. In horse talk. With her down-turned eyes. With her body. She was trying to tell me something. That she was trying to free me? That she wouldn’t harm me? She was talking to me just like my mama spoke to us young colts—teaching us, prodding us, forgiving us. Was Annie telling me not to be afraid of her? That Clay was telling the truth? That she was a good human?

  There were no good humans.

  I could have killed her, pounded her into the earth, just as my mama had done to the wolves.

  I didn’t.

  A Real Know-It-All

  The mad stampede of horses, the squalling and screaming went on, but far from us now. The men had corralled the horses into a distant corner, where they were shoving them into a chute of some kind. They even hauled my mama’s body away from me. It was just Annie and me. Alone. And Clay, his tail and ears twitching, nervous as a cougar, stamping and circling on the far side of the fence.

  Annie stayed on the ground, not making a sound. She didn’t raise her eyes to me. She kept her body slightly turned. She was talking to me in horse talk. By her posture, by her down-turned eyes, she was saying that she wasn’t a threat. She was telling me that she wasn’t a predator.

  But she was. All humans were. Weren’t they?

  After a while, I came close to her. She was so still, she might have been dead. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t know why.

  After a long, long time, Annie rose to her feet. She didn’t look back at me. She walked slowly away. She climbed the fence. She got atop Clay. He nickered, and I knew he was telling her he was relieved. She stayed right there, watching me, both of them watching me, ready to chase away the men, should they come back.

  The sun was high overhead by the time all the horses were gone. They had been hauled out of the enclosure. Dead ones, live ones, they were all gone. I hadn’t seen Omar, nor Sota, nor my sire. But they were gone.

  All of them. Dead. I knew that.

  I was the only one left.

  Me. And Annie, on the other side of the fence, atop Clay. And then, after a little while, Annie and Big Clay left as well.

  I waited for what would happen next. I was too frightened to lie down and rest, and just about starved. There was no grazing left in this awful place, and the water was foul. I thought of trying to leap the fence, but it was too high. And I was so weak.

  The day wore on, and just as sunset arrived, so did Annie and her papa, both of them still astride their horses. They stopped beside the fence, where they had talked to me that morning.

  Annie called out to me, her voice high with excitement.

  She says you’re coming to the ranch. With us, Clay said.

  I moved toward them. Hesitant. I was so hungry, so thirsty. Did I smell food?

  “Okay, big boy,” the papa said.
“We got something here for you. And then we’re going to take you to a nice, safe place.”

  He lowered something over the fence.

  Drink, Big Clay said. It’s water. Good, clear water.

  The papa helped Annie lower something else over the fence to me.

  I know you ain’t tasted it before, but it’s good, Big Clay said. There are oats mixed in. You’ll feel better real soon.

  I stuck my nose in and sniffed. It smelled fine, and I began gobbling it, then drinking, then eating, then drinking some more. I didn’t know if I could ever get full again.

  Both humans sat atop their horses, watching me. I was glad that they stayed on the far side of the fence. I don’t know what I would have done had they dropped down beside me. I was mad at them, but really mad at Clay more than at the humans. How could he hold still like that with a human on his back? How could he act like it was all right?

  “I’ll go get the truck,” Annie’s papa said after a time. “There’s bound to be some struggle with him, so I’ll get help. I’ll be back soon as I can. And, Annie?”

  “What, Papa?”

  “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  “I won’t, Papa,” Annie answered.

  The papa left. Annie stayed. After a while, Annie got off Big Clay and climbed atop the fence. She sat there, swinging those two legs back and forth. I wondered if that was the foolish thing she wasn’t supposed to do.

  The child began pouring out sounds, things that meant nothing, but it was clear she loved the sound of her own voice, the way she went on and on. I turned my head to Big Clay, my ears forward.

  She says you’ll be safe at our ranch, Big Clay said. Her papa bought you from the men who captured you—ranchers that round up and kill wild mustangs, many as they can.

  Why kill us?

  So their horses and sheep can have the range grasses to themselves.

  But there was wild, wild grass all over the plains! There was plenty for all.

  I don’t believe you, I said. They kill us because they’re humans, predators, as bad as wolves and cougars. My mama told me that.

  Some of them ain’t bad, Big Clay said.

  Now who’s a fool? I answered.

  That Annie was just babbling on, and the sound of her voice hurt my ears, all talk and words that I didn’t understand.

  Clay turned away from me then and didn’t tell me more of what she was saying. He just muttered, but loud enough for me to hear, Stupid mustang. Real stupid. A know-it-all.

  That was what my mama had always said, too.

  Still, I wasn’t wrong, not about this. I knew predators when I met them. I hadn’t forgotten the wolves. Or what the humans had done.

  Annie kept on jabbering. Only a few of her words made sense. I knew Mama and I knew horse and mustang, mostly because of how she looked when she said those words.

  After a while, Big Clay turned to me. You got a name? he asked.

  Black Cloud.

  He nickered then, maybe in approval, maybe in disapproval. I couldn’t tell.

  Annie turned to him. She slid from the fence, down onto his back again. She leaned forward, resting her head against his, and she ruffled up his ears and whispered to him.

  He shook his head hard, making his ears flap.

  Real grumpy-like, he spoke to me. She won’t hurt you.

  Will she turn me free? I asked.

  Yes. On the ranch. Not out here on the plains. You’ll get eaten by wolves. Cougars. We even got grizzlies up here.

  I thought about that.

  Annie kept on blabbering, her head still resting against Clay’s neck and head. Clay threw in a word or two of what she was saying, but I had turned away from them both.

  No, I didn’t want to be alone out on the range. But I didn’t want to be inside fences, either.

  Something else, Big Clay said after a bit, still real grumpy-like, as if he really didn’t want to tell me but he had to, maybe ’cause Annie told him to. She talks a lot. Someday you’ll understand. She wants to help.

  I didn’t bother answering that. Trust her?

  Annie was looking at me then, wondering-like. She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on mine.

  Big Clay was getting downright itchy, turning this way and that. “Whoa, boy, whoa!” she said, patting and comforting him, maybe urging him to keep on talking to me.

  When she had him turned to face me, she started talking again. “Okay,” she said. “I know you might not like staying with me, because you want to be free. We’ve rescued lots of wild mustangs, and they all want to be free.”

  Now I was listening. I knew the word free.

  “Well,” Annie went on, “I was once caged up, too. Last year, I had a bad disease, polio, and I had to live for a long time in a cage. And I couldn’t move at all! So I know what it’s like. But you are going to be able to run free. Only thing is, you can’t run on the range alone. You know how wolves and cougars and coyotes will get you if you’re alone. There are even bears up here. So you can run all over our ranch—it’s huge—and come into the barns and corrals when it’s cold or if you’re scared, and you’ll have a good home with me, and you’ll be safe, too. The law says people can’t hunt down mustangs on private lands.”

  All of this, Clay did tell me, just as I figured Annie had told him to. But he told me grudging-like. You’ll be safe with her, he said. You got a safe home. He said it two, three times, like I was too stupid to understand.

  I understood all right. But I didn’t want a safe home, not with Clay, not with Annie. I already had a home. With Mama. On the range.

  Only Mama was dead. And the herd was gone, dead, too. The only thing left was Clay, who wasn’t any more free than I was, with a human stuck to his back. And a little girl who talked too much—and promised me something that I didn’t want.

  Still Not Free

  I went in a thing called a truck, and I screamed and kicked and butted against it, but in a short time, a very short time, the humans opened it up. I bolted out into a large, open meadow.

  It was the place Annie called the ranch.

  With fences all around.

  I ran from the humans that night, even though I was near to exhaustion. I flew off into a copse of trees, and there I stayed for a very long time. There was plenty of grazing and freshwater, and so I stayed away from the humans, exploring, running as hard and far as I could. There were meadows and rocky slopes and spiky, spindly trees. There were little creeks, and birds that flew overhead. At night, the moon hung high in the sky, along with those stars that one day, long ago, I had thought I’d be able to touch. It was much like the wild range.

  But there was no herd. There was no Mama to lead us. There were no family groups. There were no friends. There wasn’t even mean old Sota, who had saved my life. There was no freedom. Because always—always—no matter how far or how fast I went, there were tall, tall fences. And something I recognized now as barbed wire.

  I spent many moons roaming that place. The sun came up and went down. The moon came up, full and round, and then it turned and showed just a part of itself, just its edge, and then it turned round and fat again, and still I stayed away.

  A few times, I went back to the place where I had first come into the ranch. There was a fence and a gate that looked to be made of trees. Men opened and closed that gate, coming in and out, on foot or on top of their horses. I plotted how to rush through when the gate opened. But I never got that chance. If the humans saw me close, they shouted and waved ropes at me, and I ran away, terrified.

  Near the gate was a place Annie called the corral. It was a big circle with its own fence around it. It was open on one end, though, so I could flee when I wanted. Inside the corral, Annie set out feed for me and water and some straw and hay where I could lie down, a place where I could sleep. After a while, I began to bed down inside that circle some nights.

  It was awful lonely on the ranch with no company. There were a few other mustangs running there, but none of them were
from my family, not even my herd. They seemed as persnickety and distant as Big Clay, and I figured they didn’t want to be there any more than I did. They just snorted and blew and ran around the edges of the ranch, away from me and one another, filled with the same frustration and fear that ate away at me.

  I was really, really lonely. It got so that I was actually glad when Annie appeared near the corral—and she did that every single morning. If I was inside the corral, she sat herself atop the fence. And she talked to me. And talked. Each morning, she told me all the things she was doing to save the mustangs, and how she wrote letters to important people in the government. She told me that one of them was coming to visit and to listen to her.

  I had begun to understand more of her language, especially because she combined her human talk with horse talk. Sometimes, she would look directly at me—never taking her eyes off me, her shoulders squared at me. It was just the way Mama did when teaching the youngsters in the herd. She was saying, Go ahead, run away from me if you want. But I’ll still be here when you come back. I ran. And then she’d let her eyes slide back to my rump, and she was saying, You can slow down now. I’m on your side; we’re part of the same group. Other times, even with her horse language, I didn’t always understand. But I had begun to understand this: she was telling me we were on the same side.

  So why wasn’t she turning me free?

  And then one morning, a man came with Annie. They both came atop horses, Annie riding Big Clay. They didn’t come into the corral, but stayed on the far side of the fence.

  “This is Senator Slattery,” Annie called to me. “We rode out this morning, and I showed him where the mustangs were captured, and how those horrid men used the airplanes even though there’s a law against doing that. Senator Slattery helped get that law passed. So now we’re going to do even more. Mustangs can’t be chased by planes on private lands. And we’re fixing it so they can’t be chased on public land, either. Ours is private, so you’re good and safe, but you already know that. Someday soon, all mustangs will be safe. Wherever they are.”