Seeking Shelter
Seeking Shelter
by:
Rebecca J. Vickery
Seeking Shelter
Published by Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-4523-0533-2
Copyright © 2010 by Rebecca J. Vickery
Cover Art by Laura Shinn
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person.
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Other titles available by this author include:
Surviving With Love
Looking Through The Mist
Following Destiny
Seeking Shelter is a work of fiction. Though some of the cities and towns actually exist they are used in a fictitious manner for purposes of this work. All characters are fictitious and any names or characteristics similar to any person past, present or future are coincidental.
Dedication
This story is for everyone who loves horses and enjoys a story about them. Seeking Shelter was inspired by my grandson, Cody, and his request for me to write about a horse. Okay, Cody-man, this one is dedicated to you.
I love you.
Thank you to my multi-talented friend, Laura Shinn, for her beautiful artwork that graces the cover of my book.
www.laurashinn.com
Chapter 1
The white-gold light from the rising sun spread across the valley laid out below. The over-worked rancher removed the Stetson from atop his shaggy hair. Man, I could really use a haircut. Rubbing the bristles covering his lean, weary jaw, he spoke aloud to the work horse beneath him, “Guess a shave wouldn’t do any harm either, would it, Horse?” Saddle leather creaked as the bay horse shifted beneath him, snorting an answer.
Hanging his sweat-stained hat on the saddle horn, he gazed out over the land. Guess it’s my land and my responsibility now, Lord. The other men in the family are all gone. I’ll have to protect the land and see to our folks the best I know how. The lesson, deeply ingrained in his soul by his grandpa, was a heavy burden he wished he could hand off to someone else.
Another month’s payroll, the feed bill’s due, a tractor’s broke down, and the books don’t balance. What else, Lord?
One thing, more than all the rest, gnawed at him. He knew he wouldn’t have any peace until he talked it over with the Lord. Here, on top of his grandfather’s special hill, was his favorite place for talking to his maker.
“Sir, I know you’re pretty busy with the mess the world’s in so I’ll try to keep it short. Thanks for your blessings and all the things you do for us round here everyday.” He swept the overlong hair back out of his eyes as he shifted his gaze to watch the play of sunlight across the tops of the ridges bordering his home.
From this vantage point, with brush blocking the view of the homestead, the land looked wild enough for a wagon train or a band of renegade Indians to appear at any moment. No one would suspect a modern city with an international airport existed a few hundred miles away if not for the occasional jet passing overhead or the roar of a tractor at work. His grandpa often told him the land didn't keep time as man did, so only the changes of the seasons mattered. He could believe it when he saw the land like this.
“This ranch and the people on it seem an awful lot of responsibility for a man like me, God. But since you saw fit to give it to me, I’ll do the best I can to live up to your expectations. One special favor I do need, Lord—if you could see your way clear.” He played with the reins dangling across his thigh and swallowed hard. “It would sure be nice to have someone to share my home with, someone to talk to, to snuggle with—well—dang it, Lord, you know what I mean. A man gets awful tired of coming home late to a dark house and climbing into an empty bed.” He stopped fidgeting with the reins as the horse began to respond by shuffling his hooves. “Those trips to town I used to make—well, to see the ladies...” He cleared his throat and stared at one white cloud slowly drifting across the horizon. “They somehow just don’t feel right anymore. I know you understand or you would never have made girls in the first place.”
He swiped his face with his shirt sleeve and finished up, “Okay, I said I would keep it short, so I guess that’s about all for now. Thanks again, Lord, and I’d appreciate it if you would keep blessing us all, Amen.” Slapping his hat back on his head, he lifted the reins and clicked his tongue, “Let’s go, Horse. This place won’t tend itself.”
* * * * *
Later that night, crisp, cool air drifted gently around a young woman as she slipped around the back side of the stable. The stabled horses were fairly quiet except for an occasional snuffle and a deep sigh or two. By the light from the full moon, she could just make out the face of her watch. Two-thirty, she saw.
Peeking around the corner of the stable, she looked toward the main house. Almost all of the lights went out a long while back in the buildings. It was time to continue with her mission. Halfway down one side of the long, low building housing the majority of the horses was the door she sought. It allowed her to slip inside without going through the large double doors at the front where she might be seen if someone remained awake.
Softly lit from two night lights at opposite ends of the stable hallway, she could see enough to make her way to the rear corner stall holding the stallion. He stamped his front hoof and whickered a soft greeting. Several of the horses stirred, but scenting a familiar human and not a predator they settled down immediately.
“Quiet, big fella,” she whispered, carefully lifting the door latch to sneak into his stall. “You’ll wake somebody then we’ll be in trouble for sure.”
The horse pushed his nose gently against her neck and breathed into her hair. She hugged him then stroked his face as she continued to whisper nonsense to him. After several minutes of petting and talking, she moved to check his feedbox and water bucket. Mostly by feel, she discovered both were full. The hay rack hadn’t been touched, either.
“What am I going to do with you?” she scolded gently. “They give you all this good food and fresh water and you won’t eat it. You’ll get sick then where will that leave me, hmm?” Scooping up a handful of the mixed feed, she smelled it to check for freshness before holding it under the large animal’s nose. He lipped at the grain in her hand and groaned out a deep breath before eating the feed in his bin.
“You are so spoiled, you big baby,” quietly laughed the girl, then she coaxed him to drink water by stirring it with her fingers.
I'm so tired, she thought as she leaned against her large friend while he munched contentedly on his hay. It seems forever since I haven’t had to worry about something—or everything.
It took her months to track down this horse. Now that she found him, she wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. In spite of her troubled thoughts, she made it a point to hum gently as she pulled a soft cloth from the waistband of her jeans to begin rubbing down the horse. The large animal sighed in response to the gentle, regular strokes and actually began to doze during the grooming ritual. Her presence soothed him and when combined with the massage, he relaxed completely.
This was the third night in a row she risked getting caught in order to slip into the stable. Carefully watching the time, she made sure she would be gone before the first of the hired hands stirred for morning chores. She searched out a mane comb and matte splitter from her pockets then set to work getting the tangles out of his mane and tail. He had been allowed to get in a real mess. She didn’t want them to shave his full mane or crop his long thick tail because of the neglect.
At four-thirty, a full hour before daylight, she hugged her four-legged friend and slipped out of the stall. On tiptoe she left through the same side door where she originally entered. The moon was gone. After a quick look around to get her bearings, she moved stealthily away toward the woods sheltering the lake less than a half mile from the stable.
So far her small campsite in the thickets near the lake had not been discovered. The fish she managed to catch along with the berries she found kept her from starving. The small, clear stream feeding the lake provided her water. She rubbed her aching back and yawned as she thought longingly of a real bed. Then shrugging off her worries, she spread her well-used, thrift store, sleeping bag behind a particularly dense bush. Sitting down she tugged off her sneakers, placed them within easy reach, and stretched out for a much needed nap while still wearing her clothes.
Chapter 2
Joe Walking-Tall joined his boss at the corral fence. They propped their arms along the top rail to watch the halter training session of a quarter horse yearling.
“Somethin’ funny ’bout that new stallion,” Joe volunteered. He spit a long stream of tobacco juice from the side of his mouth.
“What’s that, Joe?” Brig Montgomery turned his attention from the young horse being worked to the half-Shoshone Indian who was his friend, stable manager, and head horse wrangler. “He still giving you trouble?”
“Well, he’s still ornery as ever. Don’t really expect that to change much. He’s started cleanin’ his feed bin ever night and takin’ on some water at last. Not losin’ anymore weight far as I can tell. But that ain’t the problem.” Joe paused, switched his wad of chew to the other jaw, spit again, and adjusted his faded cowboy hat.
Brig waited patiently knowing Joe would eventually get to the point. The old man couldn’t be hurried, but what he said was mostly worth the wait. His knowledge of horses was learned the old tried and true way, at his Shoshone father’s side as they caught and broke wild mustangs. But so far all of Joe’s expertise hadn’t helped with the black rogue stallion Brig recently purchased.
“You ever knowed a body to get up neater than when he went to bed?” Joe finally wanted to know.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Brig lowered his booted foot from the bottom rail, straightened away from the fence, and faced the stable manager.
“None of the boys would get in the stall to groom that big stud, but he was neat as a pin this mornin’ when I stopped by to check on him. His mane and tail was a real mess and we was thinkin’ on clippin’ it before we send him out to pasture. Wasn’t none of us lookin’ forward to it, though, so we sort of been puttin' it off.” Joe spit again and took off his hat. He pulled an old stained handkerchief from his back pocket and swiped at his sweaty face.
“And he was clean this morning?” With a chuckle, Brig went on, “Must be some of the boys are having a poke at you, Joe, trying to get a rise out of you.” After being part of a ranching outfit employing an odd variety of people for all of his childhood, Brig was used to the practical jokes and monkey-business that often occurred. Some of the hands could get carried away at times. He grinned as he remembered some of the pranks he took part in while growing up. Everything imaginable from placing garter snakes in bedrolls to nailing boots to the floor. Once they even toted a new hand outside, bunk and all, and left him during the night.
“Don’t think so, Brig. I waited ‘til now to bring it up—just waitin’ on the snickers and the jokes to start when they realized they got one on Old Joe, but it never happened.” The older man seemed sincerely puzzled.
“Okay, Joe. I’ll look into it. Guess I better go have a look at him, anyway. I’m almost finished picking mares to put with him. We’ll be able to take them out before long.” Brig slapped Joe lightly on the shoulder and walked to the stable.
The black stud, Raven’s Cloud, backed into the farthest corner of his stall, laid his ears flat to his head, and showed his teeth like a large angry dog when Brig approached the stall door.
“Whoa there, boy, I’m not going to hurt you,” the ranch owner crooned to the beautiful animal. “I’ve got big plans for us. I want you to take care of a herd of mares for me and put some new blood into this place.” Moving slowly as he talked, he unlatched the stall door and eased it open. “I think you’ll like it. You get a big mountain pasture for you and your ladies and all you have to do is protect them and make baby horses. That doesn’t sound too bad, now does it?”
Standing in the doorway, Brig waited and kept talking to give the stud horse time to look him over. “I can’t wait to see what a cross of warm-blood like you and some fine quarter horse mares will give us.” Brig took two careful steps into the stall.
The stallion didn’t like the intrusion. He squealed and lunged, shaking his head aggressively while threatening with snapping teeth. Backing slowly away, Brig carefully closed and latched the stall door. “I guess I’ll have to agree with Joe. There’s something funny going on here. I don’t think any of our guys got in there with you, you big rascal.” Brig watched the horse through the protective welded wire as the agitated animal continued to squeal, roll his eyes, and shake his head. The horse was easily seventeen hands tall and though he needed to put on some weight, he was a scary sight when riled up.
Tyler, one of the stable hands, was cleaning a stall farther up the aisle. He paused to watch when he heard the commotion then turned back to his work.
Brig walked closer to him and watched while he shoveled dirty straw and manure into a wheelbarrow.
“Something I can do for you, boss?” Tyler asked as he broke open a straw bale. He began tossing clean straw into the freshly swept stall.
“How are you getting feed to the black stud in the corner stall?” Brig moved forward to help spread the straw.
“He’s a quirky one alright. We wait until last to feed him. One of us distracts him from the front, here, while another of us opens the Dutch door into the corral. He runs out and we close the door. We clean the stall up and put out his feed and water. Then we take turns getting him to chase us back in. So far I’m the quickest at dodging through and staying out of his way,” Tyler admitted proudly.
“It’s the grace of God none of you have been hurt,” Brig told him. “We really need to come up with something safer. I’ll talk it over with Joe and let you know if we need to make some changes. Meantime you boys need to be extra careful around him, you hear?”
All he needed was for one of the high school boys or Tyler to get hurt by that black devil. They were a good group of local boys, mostly sixteen to eighteen. He let them work summers and after school when he could to make pocket money, save toward college, or to help out their families. Lord knows most families around here can use the extra money. I just don’t know how much longer I can keep them on if things don’t improve. I sure can’t afford for one of them to get hurt.
The work also kept them off the streets and out of trouble while providing him with less expensive labor during the busiest times of the year. He had started the program several months back when he returned from the military and re-dedicated his life to God. It was a way to help out the ranch and the community at the same time.
“It’s funny, boss, but I don’t know if he’d actually hurt one of us. Rodney fell the other day trying to get him back in. That horse took a circle around the corral, almost like he was waiting for Rod to pick himself up. When Rod was back on his feet, the chase started again. So far, as long as we don’t corner him, he tries to scare us but he ain’t hurt none of us,” the young man explained.
Brig thought that over a moment before answering, “I’d still rather not put it to the test. Maybe we can get those mares together by this weekend and take them all to the high mountain pasture on Saturday or Sunday.”
“That would solve the whole problem. I bet he’ll be a sight happier out running loose with a pasture full of mares,” Tyler blushed and grinned.
Brig made a point of spending much of the rest of the afternoon in his office looking over bloodlines and the histories of his available broodmares. He sent for Joe and they discussed and dismissed new ideas for the care of Raven’s Cloud.
“The boys are bein’ real careful and Tyler sees to it that they never go at it alone,” Joe assured him. With a chuckle he added, “They made some sort of game of it. It’s only for a few more days.”
After another late supper due to a broken fence and several lost cows, exhausted and lonely, Brig wandered into his office. He leaned back in the desk chair then propped his sock-covered feet on the desk. Now it was time to make the final selection of mares to be pastured with the stallion.
Buying the stud in the first place had been a tough decision when he saw him at the auction in Cheyenne a few weeks before. He felt driven by a force greater than he could deny to bid on the animal. He bought Raven’s Cloud for a song because of his rough condition and wild behavior. The horse caught his eye from all the way across the stockyard. On closer examination Brig liked the intelligence in the horse’s eyes and the unbelievable conformation under the dirt. The animal’s bloodlines were impeccable in spite of his rogue reputation.
Cloud was only eight years old with a lot of good breeding years left in him, even if he could never be ridden. The auctioneer included a strong disclaimer when he hawked the horse to ‘buy at your own risk,’ which kept the price well within reach. The only one with the nerve to bid on that rascal against me was a rodeo stock buyer.
He laughed ironically at the thought of anyone actually wanting to take on that rogue, even from a rodeo chute. But he hadn’t been able to walk away from the look in the horse’s eyes and the strong urge in his gut. Just something about those eyes—like the horse was pleading for help—or seeking shelter from human cruelty and neglect.
However, the money Brig spent on the stud was earmarked for other things. His father’s poor management drained the ranch of capital during Brig's time away. Two bad growing seasons in a row meant supplementing home-grown grain and hay with purchases from the feed store. The cattle roamed wild and scattered over the land, their breeding left to chance for the last several years. His grandpa probably rolled in his grave over what his son allowed to happen to the place. Brig prayed grandpa would think better of his own weary efforts.
Dropping his feet to the floor, he reached for the feed invoice, hoping somehow the numbers wouldn‘t be as large when he looked this time. He still had to pay off the bill before fall came around again and he needed to salt back a little for emergencies and repairs. Several pieces of equipment needed parts plus the payroll was always higher in the summer. Planting and haying, round-ups, culling and branding, inoculating, and medicating always meant more men. Then the house could definitely use some work.
There were always vet bills, utilities, supplies, and the list went on and on. He recently gave up all the cell phones and went back to the old radios due to the need to cut expenses. The reception’s not that great out here anyway, he consoled himself. The bookkeeper was the next to go, but now the ledgers and payroll also fell to him once his other chores were done. It made for long days and even longer nights.
Tossing the invoice back to the desk, Brig stood and stretched before moving to the window. Lord, if I could just worry the problems away, they’d be gone by now. At the stock sales, cattle demand grew, but the prices were down.
Brig stared at nothing as he stood with slumped shoulders, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans in front of the window. The first of the spring calf crop hadn’t brought in near what he expected. The early hay cut wasn’t enough to replenish their stock pile, let alone have some to sell as he’d hoped. Do I sell the next cull of calves to have money in hand or do I hold them and trust prices will go up? What would grandpa do? He rubbed his hand over his taut, unshaven jaw and longed for the days when he could have asked him.
Walking back to the desk, he dropped in the chair and reached for the keyboard to the old, but still serviceable, computer. Diversification seemed to be the only answer to making a profit at all these days. Many of the independent outfits in the area about to go bust sold out to mining corporations and land developers. A few turned to dude ranching to make money on tourists, but Brig would fight doing that to the bitter end. This was his grandfather’s land, then his father’s, and the only real home he knew.
Until he left to serve in the military at eighteen, he’d never been out of the state of South Dakota except to go to a few quarter horse competitions, rodeos, and a cattle sale or two. He loved it here and was glad to be back, even if he was having some difficulties making the adjustment to civilian life and to being the boss. The responsibilities seemed staggering when all he really wanted to do was ride a good horse and let someone else make the decisions for a change.
“I have to come up with more ways to make this place pay. This new line of horses might just add to that, Lord willing, if I can hang on long enough,” he determined out loud. He would just have to trust he could stretch the money he had saved from his military checks and make some good business decisions.
Chapter 3
Once again, the girl sneaked into the stable at two-thirty in the morning. The horses had become used to her coming and going. They were usually quiet when she entered, but tonight they sounded restless. Her large black friend greeted her nervously and moved away to stare toward the front of the stable through the heavy mesh covering the top third of his stall. His ears were laid back and he stamped his front hooves as he angrily shook his head. Several of the other horses bumped the sides of their stalls and snorted as they moved around anxiously. She wasn’t sure if it was the stallion upsetting them or if something else spooked them.
Then she realized a strange odor drifted on the night breeze. She sniffed and tried to identify the odd chemical smell. Quietly, she stepped back to look down the hallway. She listened for a moment then crept up the center aisle of the horse barn to find out what was stirring up the animals. Sometimes something as simple as a hungry fox or a raccoon could cause a panic in a stable, but that wouldn’t account for the unusual smell. She only went a few feet when she heard steps near her and turned quickly. A fleeting glance of a half-covered face preceded a sudden flash of pain in her head. Everything went black.
Moaning with pain, the girl put her hands to her ears to try to shut out the strange screeching and thumping noises that wouldn’t stop. As she rolled over and tried to get up, she realized the sound was the frantic screaming of terrified horses kicking at their stalls in panic. Oh God, please no, she thought over and over as she pushed to her knees. Then she smelled it.
The acrid, ashy, smoke burned her nose—she could taste it on her tongue. The heat almost seared her throat as she inhaled. In spite of the pain in her head, she knew one of her worst fears was coming true. She was in a stable fire—a horse lover’s most horrific nightmare.
Flickering red and yellow lights danced before her eyes throwing strangely shaped shadows throughout the center aisle. They added to her growing terror. Shrill neighs and pounding hooves echoed in the long building signaling animals going out of their minds with fear. Crawling to the nearest stall partition, she pulled herself up and staggered back to the corner stall holding the black stallion. She saw vague movement through the swirling haze and firelight toward the front of the stable. Shouts indicated the arrival of others as they began working to rescue the horses from the burning building.
The smoke grew thicker with every moment. Flames roared through the wooden structure like a runaway locomotive. The back side of the stallion’s stall was already an inferno. He lunged repeatedly at the solid Dutch door on the inside aisle in an effort to escape. Rearing, he smashed his front hooves against the wood.
Reaching out, she shakily unfastened the latch and began talking as calmly as possible to the terrified horse. He screamed his fear and jerked back when a portion of the ceiling caved in near her, directly in front of his stall. Embers flew into the air all around them. Straw ignited as the flaming cinders landed. Then the stallion reared and lunged, nearly stomping her feet.
Moving fast, she stepped in close to the stud’s side. Grabbing a handful of mane she swung herself onto the broad, black back. That seemed to be the safest place to avoid the huge hooves. It was also the only chance she might have of bringing the panicking animal under any sort of control.
Amid the noise and confusion she used her knees, heels, hands, and voice to urge the trembling stallion forward into the stall doorway. The horrible smells of singed hair, burning wood, and smoldering straw filled the stifling hot air. As flames crackled and popped among the fallen timbers on the stable floor, loud creaks and groans warned that other parts of the roof were giving way. They were trapped with no way out.
The horse reared and whinnied shrilly, almost unseating her when a burning ember landed on his rump. She quickly reached back flicking it off while trying to keep her seat on the bare back of the dancing animal. The fire spread rapidly across the floor of the stall and the smoke got darker and thicker. The blistering heat caused creosote to bubble from the stable supports.
It can’t end like this, not after all we’ve been through. She was about to give up hope when a portion of the back wall collapsed outward. Again using her knees and hands and all her strength, she turned the black toward the flaming opening it made. Not as big as I’d like, but it will have to do.
“Trust me. Go! Now! Get up!” she demanded frantically and gave him the signals to move forward and jump.
Confused and terrified, the horse refused, backing instead, shaking his head and snorting loudly. The smoke caused the large horse to wheeze with each indrawn breath. He snorted repeatedly trying to clear his nose. Her own lungs felt as if she couldn’t draw another breath without them bursting into flames.
She could no longer see farther than a couple of feet in front of her and that became wavy and blurry. Her eyes streamed tears from the smoke and from the very real knowledge they might die. The heat was unbearable. She felt her clothes almost melting to her skin. Having no choice, she kicked her friend firmly with her heels, urged him forward two steps, and again gave the signal to jump. If he refused she would have to get off and use her shirt to cover his head, but that might take more time than they had left.
The big stud finally responded. With her clinging low over his neck to avoid being scraped off, the horse gave a mighty lunge. It carried them through the remains of the burning wall and out into the corral. The gate stood open and the stallion raced through it to escape the flames and his own terror. Without a bridle, it took an incredible effort to gain control and finally slow the fleeing stallion before he hurt himself or ran over someone.
She wanted nothing more than to let him run. To escape during the confusion and noise and just keep going with him would be the easy way out—for the moment. But her head hurt, she couldn’t breathe well, and most of all her four-legged friend needed attention after all the smoke he inhaled and from bursting through a burning wall.
* * * * *
Brig jerked awake to screaming and banging from the direction of the stable. The odd light flickering in his window alerted him to the reason for the disturbance.
Fire! The stable’s on fire.
Diving into a pair of jeans, he ran down the back stairs, hastily shoved his feet into his boots on the mud porch, and rushed out. Several of the men ran toward the burning building from the bunkhouse and were grabbing up water buckets and dousing burlap sacks.
“Forget the building! Save the horses!” Brig shouted to be heard over the confusion and threw open the wide double doors of the stable. The walls were already burning in several places and the sudden rush of air only fed the flames. Fire licked upward, leaping for the roof. There was only a matter of minutes to save the horses trapped inside.
“Cover their eyes, don’t let them drag you down,” Brig yelled to the men while fighting through the thick smoke to reach the first of the hysterical animals.
Using saddle blankets, handkerchiefs, and even their shirts the men worked to cover the animals' eyes, gain control, and free the horses. As soon as they would get a horse outside the door they would hand it off or release it and go back for another. The night became filled with the roar of the growing flames, piercing whinnies, pounding hooves, and men shouting.
A man went down, thrown off his feet by a frantic animal gone wild with terror. Brig and a soot-covered cowboy dragged him away from the leaping flames. They turned him over to the cook for first aid then raced back to try to save more horses.
Finally, Joe grabbed Brig by the arm. He pulled him back as a section of the roof crashed down in a shower of sparks blocking their way. Another man was down, struck by a falling beam, but several of the hands grabbed him up and carried him outside to safety.
“It’s too late—no more we can do now. God have mercy,” Joe told them.
Brig hated to admit it, but knew his friend was right. “Get out, men! Get out of here! It’s going to fall in,” he shouted to his hands. They saved almost all of the horses—except the two in the back corner stalls. The entire structure glowed and it would be foolish to risk anyone’s life to get to them now. As they backed away from the flame-engulfed stable, the men tried to shut their ears to the pained squeals of the trapped animals.
Finally, the welcome sound of sirens and the flashing red lights of the fire trucks proclaimed the arrival of more help.
* * * * *
Brig was devastated by what was happening, but he continued to try to make order out of the chaos. Sparks and cinders flew high into the air. “Bart, you and a couple of men take hoses and wet down the house,” he called out.
“Hey, watch out for those horses,” he warned as several galloped wildly from behind a fire engine and almost mowed down a fireman.
The nervous, overwrought horses needed to be gathered up for their own good and the safety of everyone working in the area. “Tyler, catch up those horses. Walter, help him.”
Brig directed hurt men and those overcome by smoke to the first-aid station hastily set up in the yard close to the house. He saw Helen there in her bright yellow robe carrying cups to the smoke-choked ranch hands and firemen.
The rescued horses would have to be checked over and treated for burns and injuries by the vet once they were caught. He asked Joe to set up a place for them in the old barn at the back-side of the house.
Two of his men were seriously injured—he didn’t know how badly. Treated by paramedics then dispatched in an ambulance, they were quickly on their way to the hospital in Hill City.
Not only had most of the stable gone up in flames, but he lost a good cutting gelding to the fire. His new stud was gone as well and several of the horses the hands released had raced off in a panic and might be hurt. He wasn’t usually one to question, but why me Lord, definitely crossed his mind more than once as he kept giving directions.
Turning to see that no stray horses were in the drive, he noticed the lights from the fire engine flicker over a large black shape headed toward him. Moving to meet it, the ranch owner hoped to see one of the horses returning. He was stunned to see his singed, but very much alive stud horse with what he thought was a child curled over his neck.
The small figure sat up straight then slid off when the horse stopped a few feet from him. A handful of mane kept the child-like creature upright when her feet touched the ground.
In a smoke-roughened voice, she asked, “Where can I take him? He needs to be seen about.”
“Where the devil did you come from?” Brig managed to ask when the worst of the shock passed.
The girl shook her head and coughed. The horse snorted and wheezed. When the coughing stopped she whispered, “Please, he needs some water.”
“Stay there. I’ll get some of the men and a halter. Just don’t spook him before we get a rope on him,” Brig cautioned. He couldn’t tell for sure under all the soot and ash, but he was almost certain that he’d never seen this kid before. She definitely wasn’t one of his regular helpers. He didn’t have any girls working for him right now.
“I can—handle him,” the girl whispered hoarsely between coughs. “He’ll follow me.”
Something in the girl’s confident manner and the docile way the horse stood with her convinced Brig she was right. In all this confusion and noise, the horse waited calm and meek. He got the idea this wasn’t the first time the two had met. And somehow she either saved the horse from the fire or found him when he got out then brought him back. He guessed he owed her a little trust just for that.
“This way.” Brig led the way along the dirt drive circling the house.
The girl fell into step beside him and the large stallion followed right along.
“Hold up a minute,” Brig told her and stepped over to one of the men manning a hose and spraying water on the house.
“The breeze is carrying the sparks away from the house now, Bart. Go find Joe and tell him the stud got out after all. We’re taking him to the big barn.” Very quietly he added, “Have him bring Whit around to the barn with him. Something’s up with this kid. She‘s not a local.”
“Right, boss.” The man dropped the hose and hurried off to follow orders.
Brig rejoined the girl and the horse then led the way along the drive. Glancing back he saw his stable collapse completely into a pile of burning ruins. Thank you, Lord, for not letting it spread. It could have been a lot worse. I’d appreciate you looking after Dan and Al who got hurt and are on their way to the hospital, Amen
.* * * * *
The big barn had been on the ranch for as long as Brig could remember and housed several large metal rail enclosures of varying sizes. They were usually reserved for the breeding bulls, sick animals, or orphan calves. There was also room for multiple pieces of farm equipment. A narrow office in one corner now served as a tack room, and a huge loft overhead stored hay and straw. Double grain silos stood like sentinels to one side and open bays for equipment maintenance ran across the other side.
All of the lights were on inside and the barn teemed with soot-covered men in various stages of undress. It was obvious no one gave a thought to clothing and grabbed whatever was at hand in their rush to get to the fire to help.
Some of the men moved equipment outside and strung lines across bays to form temporary housing for the homeless horses. Others were tending the animals’ injuries and filling water buckets for them to drink from to soothe their burning throats.
“Hey boss,” Tyler edged up to Brig carefully to avoid spooking the large black stud following behind the slim girl. “We moved Midas out of his stall and put him in the outside pen for tonight. You want this one to have it?” He pointed his thumb at the stallion and rubbed at the grime on his bare chest with his other hand. He wore jeans, boots, and long streaks of black soot.
“That will work out good, Ty, thanks. It’s the strongest pen here and should hold him just fine.” Brig saw the once white bandage on Tyler’s forearm and stopped to ask, “You hurt, Tyler?” The boy had been the first teen Brig took on and he was now a permanent hand since graduating high school. Brig felt responsible for him, especially since Ty‘s father died a few months back.
“One of the mares was still a bit upset and I rushed her. She grabbed a chunk of my arm. It was my own fault.”
“Did a medic see to it and give you a tetanus shot?” Brig wanted to know.
“One of the paramedics dressed it for me, said it didn’t need stitches, and I had a shot just last year. He said I didn’t need a booster or nothing. I’ll go make sure nobody’s put any horses in that bull-pen yet.” Tyler hurried ahead into the cavernous opening of the barn.
“I’ll go on ahead and get a rope,” Brig told the girl. “I’m not letting him loose in there with all that’s going on.” He was amazed at how docile the stud acted so far, but refused to take chances.
The girl cleared her throat, tried to speak, but coughed several times. She ended up just nodding her head.
“Wait here,” he directed and walked into the barn. With just a few words, he cleared a path to the large metal-railed pen designed to hold a massive bull. A cotton rope hung over one rail and he took it in hand, fashioning a rough halter with a few flicks of the wrist.
The girl accepted the rope halter and carefully slipped it over the stallion’s head. She then led him slowly forward into the large opening of the barn. A hush quickly settled over the interior and all eyes in the place watched her lead the horse. The occupants of the barn stayed silent while she walked the stud into the circular pen, turned, and carefully closed the reinforced gate. When the gate was firmly shut, the noise and activity started up again.
Brig stood outside the gate and observed as the girl moved straight across to the plastic water pail and wriggled her fingers in it. The horse followed closely and dipped his head, drinking thirstily. He coughed, snorted, and drank again. Without a word, she dropped the end of the halter rope and began to run her hands over the still quivering black hide to check for injuries.
“The vet will be over here in a few minutes. Does he seem to be hurt?” Brig softly asked.
After another fit of trying to hark up her lungs, she told the tall, lean, bare-chested cowboy, “He’s got several singed spots and some scrapes from coming through the wall. But I think he’s okay—I was worried about his breathing, but it sounds better now.” She smiled in relief, her teeth showing stark white against her smoke-blackened face.
Looking at her in the bright lights, Brig could see she wasn’t a child exactly, but maybe a very petite teenager. He also noticed streaks of dried blood mixed with the soot on one side of her face.
“You’re hurt, too, and no telling how much smoke you took in. We’ll get you checked out before the paramedics leave,” Brig told her. He was going to ask her name and how she came to be there when he looked up and saw Joe and the County Sheriff headed to join them.
Chapter 4
Brig stepped forward to greet the Sheriff and accepted his hand shake.
“Really sorry about your troubles, Brig. Looks like somebody started the fire on purpose.”
“Lord-a-mercy,” Joe said, almost under his breath.
“Why? What happened?” A shocked Brig couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you sure?”
The Sheriff went on, “A couple of firemen found spray cans and some cheap butane lighters in the outside edges of the fire. They’ll have to wait ‘til later today or tomorrow to go through the rest. It’s too hot right now.”
Brig shoved the dark, sweat-soaked tendrils of hair back off his forehead and turned away—fighting the anger welling up inside. He walked a few steps away and stopped to stare down at his clenched hands. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. After repeating it several times and taking a few deep breaths, he regained his control. Returning to the Sheriff and Joe, he clenched his jaw and asked, “Anything else?”
Whit put his hand on Brig’s shoulder. “Just need to know if you’ve had any trouble with anybody lately? Had to let a hand go? Run off any kids? Anything you can think of that might help us figure out who did it?”
Brigham Montgomery’s family had always been kind, God-fearing people. They treated their neighbors and hands well, went to church regularly, and were active in the community. Brig started the project to keep teens off the streets as soon as he returned from the military to take over running the ranch. Several other outfits soon followed his lead. The Montgomery’s could always be counted on in an emergency and more than once they opened their home and their wallets during a disaster. The Sheriff felt more than a little concerned about this type of problem on this ranch in particular.
“I truly can’t think of anything, Whit. But I can’t place that girl,” he gestured at the bull pen with his chin. “She just showed up with my horse during the fire when the rest of us already gave him up. I was just about to ask her who she is when you showed up. She still needs one of the medics to check her out—got some blood on the side of her head.”
They all looked toward the female figure working around the large, black horse. The vet was inside the pen with her, but stayed several steps back from the horse while pointing and offering advice. The usually difficult horse stood still and let the girl smear burn ointment on his singed spots and spray antiseptic on scratches.
The Sheriff cleared his raw throat. “Well, I could sure use something cold to drink. And you sound like an old bull-frog. Why don’t we take this up to the house and talk there?”
“That sounds good to me,” the ranch owner agreed wearily. “Joe, you got any problems to bring up I don’t know about yet?” Brig turned to look at the stable manager.
“Just minor stuff, Brig. All the injuries been took care of. Most all the horses have been caught up and doctored. Nothin’ serious, thank God. A couple are missin’ but should show up when all the racket dies down or feedin' time comes if they’re able. Nothing else we can do ‘bout it tonight anyhow.” Joe wore black sleep pants covered with red and green chili peppers and a soot-smudged, once white, tee-shirt. Like many of the others, he looked like he jumped from bed and stuffed his feet in his boots as he ran for the door. He was now covered in splotches of black with ashes in his long, graying hair. “If‘n I was a bettin’ man, I’d bet she knows that horse,” Joe observed to no one in particular.
“I think we found out who’s been grooming him. Let’s go find out what’s going on.” Brig walked over to the bull pen gate as the vet came out.
“That’s a fine animal, Brig. He sure was better for her than he was for us when we gave him his shots. He checks out okay except for a few singed spots and some scratches,” Paul assured him. “But it’ll take a few days to make sure there’s no respiratory infection from the smoke inhalation. You'll have to watch all of them for that. I’m going to hang around a little longer to make sure nothing else shows up then I’ll head on home.”
“Thanks, Paul. We really appreciate you coming out like this. Let me know if you need anything and be sure to pray for us.” Brig and the vet shook hands.
The owner of the ranch took a deep breath and turned back to the gate. “It’s time to go up to the house with us,” he told the girl.
She stroked the stud’s face and whispered to him which brought on another coughing spell. When it was over she opened the gate and slipped out, turning back to make sure it locked securely.
“Joe, send someone to bring one of the medics up to the kitchen at the house. Tell him be prepared for smoke inhalation and some cuts. Then come on up and join us, if you can,” Brig requested as he and the girl reached Joe and the Sheriff.
“I really need to get back to Beth, boss, unless you can’t get by without me.” Joe’s wife was a lot younger than Joe and expecting their first child. “I sent someone earlier to tell her we were all okay, but she’ll still be worried sick ‘til she sees this ugly old mug of mine.”
“That’s fine, Joe. Go let her make sure you’re in one piece,” Brig slapped Joe on the shoulder and watched him walk away. “Tell her I really like your pajamas,” he called after the old man. Joe and Beth made an odd couple, but they seemed to have a good solid relationship based on love, faith, and hard work. He hoped to have that good a marriage some day.
Brig caught hold of the girl’s elbow and told her the identity of the heavyset man before her. “This is Sheriff Whit Ellington. We’ve got some questions for you.”
The Sheriff remarked as he looked her over, “Bet you could use a long cold drink, couldn’t you girl? I know I’m dry as toast.”
“You can let go. I won’t run,” she rasped to the man holding her arm. “And some water would be nice, please.”
Brig released her and gestured toward the large opening that would take them outside. “Then let’s go on up to the house.” He walked beside her and the Sheriff followed them.
They entered an old fashioned, but functional, mud-porch that opened directly into a large country kitchen. A full carafe of coffee waited in the drip coffeemaker on the counter and several pitchers of ice water lined the counter. A stack of large disposable cups stood nearby.
“Sit down,” Brig insisted to the girl and pulled out a chair behind the old scarred oak table. “Help yourself, Whit.” He moved to pour a cup of ice water for himself and one for the girl.
She took several sips when he set the water in front of her, but started coughing almost immediately. Brig sat down at one end of the table and the Sheriff took the chair at the other end. They drank deeply then just looked at her until a paramedic came in the back door carrying his medical cases.
“Brig, Sheriff,” the medic greeted the men then turned to the girl. “Hi, I’m John. I hear you took in a little smoke.” He began to take out what he needed to check her out.
“Yes,” she agreed hoarsely.
“That sounds painful. You can just nod if you want. Are you on any medications?” At the negative shake of her head, he followed up with several more questions while he took her blood pressure and placed a gadget on her finger to check her oxygen level. Then he moved to her head injury. “Did something fall on you during the fire?”
She shook her head and croaked, “Someone hit me. A man—he had on a mask, I think.”
The paramedic glanced at the Sheriff. Whit shook his head to end that line of questioning.
“Well, whatever happened, I bet you’ve got a booger of a headache. Your eyes seem to be dilating to light okay,” he muttered as he flicked a little pen light on and off in her eyes. “Any nausea? Did you lose consciousness at all?” At the negative shake of her head, he swabbed the cut in the edge of her hairline with alcohol and cleaned the area around it. He then put antibiotic cream on a gauze bandage and taped it over the cut.
“It doesn’t need stitches, but you’re going to have a lump there for a few days and some shore nuff bruising. If you get dizzy, nauseous, or have trouble waking up, you need to see a doctor. Drink lots of liquids and eat some crushed ice for that throat. Take aspirin, or whatever you usually use, for the headache. If you start coughing up blood or green junk see a doctor or go to the emergency room. Coughing up some black soot will be normal for a few hours.” John stowed his equipment back in his cases and stood up. “That’s all I can do for her, Brig. Don’t see the need for her to go to the hospital.”
“Okay, John. Thanks, we’ll keep an eye on her. Grab something to drink,” the rancher offered.
“Nah, thanks anyway. I got to get back to my unit. We’re about ready to pull out. Nothing left for us to do now. One truck and a few men are going to stay, though, in case of flare-ups and hot spots.” He picked up his cases and moved them to the back door. “Sorry bout your troubles, Brig.”
Brig thanked him again, closing the door after him before returning to his seat at the table. He nodded to the Sheriff.
“You want to tell us your name, girl?” Whitt asked immediately.
She shook her head, no, and watched warily as the Sheriff grimaced.
“You gonna tell us where you’re from, then?”
Again she shook her head, no.
The Sheriff leaned back, crossed his arms, and glared at her. “Okay then, you sure better tell us, did you start that fire? Maybe accidentally? You slipped in to see the horses and dropped a lighter or cigarette? Or you and your boyfriend thought it was a good place to meet. Maybe you were huffing spray paint and smoking a joint and a spark set it off?” The sheriff gave her a wry half-smile to indicate he understood teens and the things that could happen.
She once again shook her head no. “I swear I didn’t start the fire,” she whispered fervently. “I would never risk hurting a horse, or any animal for that matter, especially not like that. Sheriff, there really was a man in a mask.” She shuddered as she thought of all those screaming horses and the man who probably started the fire.
There was a knock at the outer door of the mud-porch. Brig went to answer it. The Fire Chief followed him into the room. The man had shed his turn-out gear and helmet. His hair was slicked to his head, his shirt soaked with sweat. He carried a clip-board and a small plastic case. After pouring a cup of water, he joined them at the table.
The Sheriff gestured to him. “This is Bill Lyons, the Fire Chief. It’s his job, as well as mine, to find out who did this, why, and how. He’s really good with the how and I pretty much leave that part to him. You got anything for us yet, Bill?”
Bill looked at the girl. “I can’t tell you much. Rubble’s still too hot for digging. We found six aerosol cans, might’ve been spray paint, but I figure some sort of lubricant. The labels are burned off, so we won’t know until the lab tests them. There were two cheap disposable butane lighters, melted, but recognizable. The largest blaze, the one that jumped into the loft so quick, started at a rear corner where it looks like someone took the time to pile up straw. Additional fires were ignited halfway on each side and at the front edges of the structure. We have no way of knowing yet which were set first. But it sure looks like someone wanted that stable to burn down and do it fast.” He leaned back while crossing one leg carefully over the other then took a long drink from his cup.
“Alright girl, I’m going to ask you one more time—were you and a boyfriend huffing something out there and started that fire?” The Sheriff spoke loud and firm. He stared directly into her eyes.
“No, Sheriff, I didn’t do anything to start the fire,” she insisted, meeting his eyes.
“Has she washed her hands yet?” The fire chief wanted to know. She was obviously still sooty, as they all were, but she might have washed her hands.
Both the Sheriff and Brig told him no, no one took the time, yet.
Bill stood up and moved around the table to the girl. “Hold out your hands,” he ordered. He opened his small case and took out two small vials of liquid and some cotton swabs.
She immediately put both hands out toward him. They were smudged, the knuckles on one skinned. Both visibly trembled.
He sat on a chair beside her and caught her by the wrists, raising her small hands to his face. Sniffing carefully of each finger, he worked his way across and around both hands.
She didn’t resist but let him manipulate her hands as he pleased. He opened one vial and applied liquid to a swab before wiping it across the fingertips of both her hands. Repeating the action with the second vial, he inspected her fingers closely again.
“She used some kind of chemical recently, but it smells like medicine, some kind of antiseptic, definitely not paint or lubricant which would have showed red when I applied the second swab.” Bill let go of her hands and moved back to his original seat on the other side of the table.
She clasped her hands together on top of the table. “I treated the horse after the fire with antiseptic,” she reminded them in her hoarse whisper.
Brig spoke up, “I did see her using the antiseptic after the fire. Would you be able to tell if she sprayed anything else, Bill?”