Dark Sunshine (14 page)

“BLM,” she said. “That's it.” Wide-eyed, she looked at Sam. “Flickinger. Flick. Remember?”

Sam felt her brain trying to catch up. She was almost there when Jen blurted her conclusion to Brynna.

“It's him, isn't it?” Jen asked. “Curtis Flickinger is Flick, that guy with the long droopy mustache who used to work for Slocum.”

Brynna nodded. “I checked BLM's payroll records and it is him. He worked for us while he was working for Slocum,” she said.

Brynna stared at Sam. Then, just in case Sam had forgotten one of the worst days of her life, Brynna added, “Curtis Flickinger is the man who caught the Phantom.”

S
AM GRABBED THE
saddle horn.

On the cattle drive, Flick had made her miserable. It had been her first week back in Nevada, and he'd mocked her horsemanship and called her a dude. He'd teased Jake, saying he'd better take care of his “little girlfriend.” Flick also made a point of calling mustangs “range rats.”

She might have forgiven it as “joshing” if he hadn't captured the Phantom.

Flick was an incredible roper, on horseback or afoot. Yards of lariat flew and tightened at his whim. That's why Slocum had hired him to rope the Phantom.

“It
was
Flick up there,” Sam realized. “He'd shaved off his mustache, but…” Sam saw the scene at Lost Canyon replaying in her mind. “It was his lazy way of tossing his loop, and he used the whip the same way. It's him.”

In Lost Canyon, Flick had missed his throw for the Phantom. Instead of feeling hopeful, despair weighed Sam down. Flick was too good to miss a second time.

“Law enforcement has done casts of the tire tread from the truck and trailer in Lost Canyon,” Brynna said. “But they won't do us much good until we have a real tire to compare with them.”

“So you'd have to impound a truck, then, see if they match, right?” Jen asked.

Brynna nodded. “I have a theory, which might hurry things up a little.”

Jen leaned forward in her saddle, listening. Sam was interested, but she straightened an edge of saddle blanket instead of looking into Brynna's eyes.

“If they branded those horses the day they trapped them, the burns shouldn't look fresh by now. Add that to the fact they've had time to fatten them up, and I think the rustlers will bring them to the Mineral auction yards this Tuesday.”

“And you're going to be waiting for them,” Jen said.

“Right, with a brand inspector and two rangers. But it would help if I had a witness to verify they're the right guys.”

Sam couldn't help but look up then. She was the only witness.

“On Tuesday?” Sam asked.

“If I get Wyatt's permission for you to miss
school, would you ride along with me?”

Brynna's expression was hopeful. Sam knew there was more at stake here than the rustlers. Brynna wanted Sam to like her, to approve of her affection for Dad.

Sam didn't want to go, but how could she refuse? The rustlers were a danger to all horses. The Phantom, his herd, maybe Dark Sunshine, could be trapped and sold for dog meat.

“Okay,” Sam said, but she looked away from Brynna's smile.

 

That night, Sam sat up late.

She'd finished her homework and slipped it inside her backpack. She'd put out clothes for the morning and was about to throw her dirty jeans in with the laundry when she remembered the hair from the Phantom's mane, stuffed in her pocket.

Sam ran her fingers through the silky, silvery strands. She'd hoped they'd send a message to Dark Sunshine, and now it was too late. Just the same, she wove the hair into a tiny braid.
Let Zanzibar stay safe
. Sam lifted the right strands over the middle ones.
Let Dark Sunshine stop being terrified
. If the men who'd abused the buckskin caught her again, what would become of the mare?

Sam lifted the left strands and braided them in.

Hope was plaited with every strand, but hope wasn't enough. As Sam knotted the ends and slid the
bracelet over her wrist, she vowed to be brave. She had not done enough to help catch those rustlers, but that was about to change.

 

Sam ambushed Jake in Darton High's rally court, a grassy rectangle in the center of the school and a busy place during lunch.

“I'll be right back,” she told Jen.

“Don't take no for an answer,” Jen said. “Next time it could be Silly or Ace.”

Sam nodded and gave Jen a thumbs-up. Then, working like a cow pony, Sam cut Jake out from the rest of his friends.

A few of the guys made comments, and Darrell, with his baggy pants and lazy-lidded eyes, gave Sam an approving nod as she towed Jake away.

“What is it?” Jake crossed his arms and waited.

“If those rustlers don't show up at the auction tomorrow, you have to help me catch them. And you can just quit looking like I've gone nuts, Jake Ely, because those rustlers
will
be hiding from the rangers. We could go up the canyon during Slocum's Brahma-que, when no one else is out driving around. We can catch them, I know it. They won't suspect a couple of teenagers.”

“There's a good reason for that, Sam.”

Sam stared at him. Jen had convinced her silence could be an effective argument. She waited.

“Why me?” Jake complained. “Why don't you get Jen—”

Jake must have seen her satisfaction, because he shut his jaw and glanced over to where Jen waited.

“What am I saying? You and Jen riding alone in the canyon? They're criminals. There's no telling what they'd do. I won't be part of this.”

“That's too bad.” Sam shrugged. “I could've used your help.”

“I'm telling Wyatt.”

“Do you know how immature that sounds?” Sam wanted to wipe the smile from Jake's lips. He thought he had her now. “You were never a tattletale, Jake.”

He stayed quiet. How could she have thought she'd win the silence game over Jake?

“What if they'd rounded up our horses while they were loose? What would you have told Mr. Martinez if they'd gotten Teddy Bear?”

Jake's eyes opened a millimeter wider, encouraging Sam to keep talking.

“I need you to do this with me,” she insisted, “because you're really good at tracking, because you can drive”—Sam dashed her fingers through her auburn bangs—“and because I'm a little afraid to do it alone.”

“You should be, Brat. It's dangerous.”

Frustrated, Sam looked past Jake to where his
friends stood waiting. Darrell was using the time to slick back his hair. Sam thought about saying
I bet he'd help me
, but she didn't. Instead, she told Jake the one thing he didn't know about the rustlers.

“The rustler in the gray hat who acted like a cowboy, who tried to rope the Phantom? He's Flick.”

Jake's face grew still. She'd heard Flick harass Jake and seen the unspoken scorn that had to do with Jake being Shoshone. What other grudges might Jake have against Flick?

The bell rang, ending the lunch hour.

“I'll think about it,” he mumbled, and moved back toward his friends.

 

Gram and Sam drove into the ranch yard after school to find Mikki sitting on the front porch, alone.

“What is she doing here?”

“I'm rather surprised myself,” Gram said.

“Jake's not here,” Sam said. “What should I do?”

“Let her work with a horse, I'd say.” Gram climbed from the car and Sam had no chance to argue.

As Sam faced Mikki, she could smell the charred wood soaked by fire hoses. The stench still hung over the ranch yard, following Sam as she passed the blackened posts, all that remained of the old bunkhouse.

For once, Mikki looked her age. She wore a wrinkled yellow tee shirt and jeans. Her knees were
tucked up against her chest with her arms wrapped around them. Instead of being moussed into spikes, her hair lay close to her head. She looked like a dejected baby duck.

Sam did not feel sorry for Mikki. The girl had traumatized Popcorn. She'd set the ranch on fire. She'd gloated over Dad liking Brynna. Sam stood next to Mikki and looked down on her.

“If Brynna reports me, I'm out of the HARP program for good.”

If?
Sam couldn't believe there was any doubt.

“Do you think she will?” Sam asked.

“Why wouldn't she?” Mikki snapped, but then she seemed to melt. “After I did this pilot program, I was supposed to be able to come back in the summer. And if I did really good, Brynna said I might be able to assist in one of the California programs. I'd be working with horses all the time, if I didn't get in any trouble.” Mikki's voice soared, then stopped.

Chin in her hands, Mikki stared out at the ten-acre pasture. Buddy was touching noses with Teddy Bear. Strawberry and Banjo stood head-to-tail, swishing the flies from each other's faces.

If Mikki didn't get in trouble with HARP, she would with Dad. Sam knew that for sure.

“You'll know soon enough,” Sam said. “So, you'd better take advantage of today.” She reached for Mikki's wrist and tugged the girl to her feet. “Popcorn was doing all right before.” Sam didn't slow
down when Mikki faltered.

“He was just watching me, is all.”

“Watching, but then he followed you a few steps as you left, remember? We put him in the round pen since…” Sam swallowed. “Since Dark Sunshine is still gone.”

“I'm sorry,” Mikki said.

“You should be,” Sam said. “If we do catch her, she could be hurt, or crazy.” Sam stopped and reined in her anger.

Before she unlatched the gate to the round pen, Popcorn's nicker greeted them. “Go on in. I'll bring you a scoop of grain. He might be ready to eat from your hand.”

“If he does, will you tell Brynna? Maybe, if she hasn't already told, she'll know I'm good at this.” Mikki looked up at Sam. “I
am
, aren't I? I just messed it up, like I always do.”

Like I always do
. Sam knew there was something important in those words. For some weird reason, Mikki wouldn't let herself succeed. But telling her that might only make it worse.

“I'm going to let you borrow something,” Sam said. With careful fingers, she lifted the horsehair bracelet at her wrist and slid it off her hand. “It's made from the Phantom's mane.”

Mikki stared at the bracelet as if she expected jolts of magic powers to come crackling from it.

“I might break it,” she said.

“You won't.”

A dozen questions chased across Mikki's face as she looked at Sam, but she didn't ask even one, just extended her bony arm.

“I'll want it back when you come out,” Sam said gruffly. Because Mikki's hand was shaking so hard, Sam had to steady it to slip the bracelet on.

“I'll give it right back.” Mikki nodded furiously, squared her shoulders, and walked into the pen.

 

Twenty minutes later, Sam peered through the close-set fence rails. It was like watching a big-screen TV. Popcorn and Mikki were right in front of her, framed by wood.

Sam saw the minute Popcorn decided he'd been lonely long enough. She saw him walk across the pen, long mane sweeping forward at each step. She saw him stop, blow through his lips, and start lipping grain from Mikki's palm.

Mikki stood statue-still. Only her braceleted arm moved from the albino's questing nose. Soon, Mikki's cheeks were shiny from tears.

When the grain was gone, the horse still stood there. Mikki's eyes slid toward the rails where Sam stood. She fixed Sam with a what-should-I-do-next? look.

The white gelding had chosen to trust Mikki, but his faith must keep building.

“Just stay there,” Sam said.

Popcorn's ears pricked toward Sam's voice. His muscles rolled, ready to run if anything frightened him.

But nothing did, and Popcorn leaned forward, his muzzle thrusting at Mikki's empty hand. The girl's fingers opened. She turned her hand and gently touched the gelding's face.

Popcorn snorted. His head swung away, but his hooves stayed in place. He shifted his weight until his shoulder grazed hers. And then he leaned against Mikki as if she were another horse.

They stood that way for minutes before Sam saw Mikki's chest moving in gasps. She was trying not to scare the horse with sobs she could barely keep inside.

After a while, she made for the gate, sobs breaking as she returned the bracelet.

“I don't deserve him,” Mikki managed.

“No one does,” Sam said. She kept her voice low, and Popcorn didn't seem to mind. His white eyelashes fluttered as his eyes closed. “All day long we go to school and forget about horses. Then we come home and expect them to do whatever we want. And usually they do.”

“But I—” Mikki's voice caught, and Popcorn's eyes opened. The girl slowed her breathing before she went on. “I didn't ignore him. I was mean to him.”

Sam felt almost dizzy with responsibility. She concentrated, trying to think of a way to respond to
Mikki's confusion. Outside the ranch yard, across the bridge, La Charla rushed along. Sam heard no answers, but Mikki was waiting.

“That's how love is, I guess,” Sam said. “Sometimes you get it even when you don't deserve it. All you can do is try.”

Mikki's deep sigh said she was satisfied, but Sam didn't know where the words had come from.

She had the weirdest feeling that someone wise and understanding had stood beside her, telling her what to say. She'd never admit it to anyone, because it sounded crazy, but Sam could almost imagine the silent voice had been her mother's.

S
AM GOT UP AT HER
regular time, had cereal and toast while Gram and Dad ate omelets, and reviewed what the three rustlers looked like. If she didn't recognize them, no one would.

“I don't have to worry about identifying Flick,” she told Gram and Dad. “Even without a mustache, I'll know him.”

“So will Brynna.” Dad's eyes didn't lift from his newspaper. “You know, it's a darn shame that woman works for the government.” Quickly, Dad forked another bite in his mouth, almost as if he wanted an excuse not to explain.

Sam stared across the table at Gram, who'd paused with a coffee cup halfway to her lips. Why didn't she say something?

Gram shrugged, then coaxed Sam to keep thinking. “What about the other rustlers?”

“The one wearing camouflage was stocky, with a
broad face and freckles,” Sam said. “The other one had bushy white hair and eyes like a scared rabbit.”

“I don't think they're from around here,” Gram said.

Neither did Sam. What if they'd taken the horses elsewhere? Brynna was probably dragging her off on a wild-goose chase.

Dad pushed his chair back from the table. He was frowning, and Sam crossed her fingers, hoping he'd come to his senses about Brynna.

“Don't plan on using Mikki with Popcorn,” he said instead.

“What's going to happen?” Sam asked.

“When you get home this afternoon, there'll be a Dumpster sitting next to what's left of the bunkhouse. And Mikki will be shoveling every bit of burned wood and ash into it.”

“Wyatt, that's a huge job,” Gram said.

“You bet it is,” he agreed. “And with every shovelful, she can look at our house and barn and the other bunkhouse and think what could've happened from her carelessness.”

“What about Popcorn?” Sam asked.

“He'll keep,” Dad said. “Mikki starts today. When she's finished, then we'll see about horses.”

 

Frost clung to the edges of Brynna's windshield when she picked Sam up. She drove a tan sedan instead of her usual BLM truck, but she had on her
khaki uniform and her hair was in a tight French braid. Although Brynna smiled as Sam climbed into the warm car, everything about her said “On duty.”

Sam was glad. It probably meant Brynna wasn't planning on a heart-to-heart talk.

Now, Sam and Brynna were driving away from the bus stop, away from school, toward the Mineral auction yards.

Red rock formations jutted from the land around them. The last time Sam had traveled this highway, she'd been coming from the airport in Reno. Dad had been driving her toward home when they saw a BLM helicopter pursuing wild horses.

Sam smiled, remembering how she'd thought her imagination conjured up a silver stallion standing under a stone overhang. Now, she knew he'd been more than imagination.

“There he is.” Brynna nodded down the road.

Sam caught her breath and stared, but Brynna wasn't pointing out the Phantom. She was looking a mile down the road as she lifted the handset of the car's police radio. Then she spoke into it.

“Hey, Jim,” she said.

“Gotcha in my rearview mirror.” A male voice came from the radio as a Jeep with a roof bar of amber, blue, and red lights pulled from the roadside and eased into the lane in front of them.

“That's the brand inspector, Jim McDonald,” Brynna explained. “He'd be going out to Mineral
anyway, but we're traveling together, just in case.”

“You have Wyatt's girl with you?” asked Jim McDonald.

“I do.”

“Samantha, just speak up if you see something you don't like. Or if you recognize a driver, a car, a truck—anything.”

The radio voice clicked off before Sam could say she would. As they drove in silence, Brynna sipped from a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

Brynna and Jim McDonald stayed in the slow lane, so other traffic passed on the left, where Sam could peer past Brynna and take a good look.

Two cattle trucks chugged by, but Hereford steers were visible inside them both. A silver car towed a matching horse trailer past, but the paint horse inside was not one of the mustangs.

“Did Wyatt mention we were going to Slocum's Brahma-que together?” Brynna sounded nervous.

“Like a date?” Sam asked, but Brynna didn't really answer.

“He was supposed to.” Brynna hit the steering wheel with the flat of her hand, which probably meant it wasn't just a car pool.

Sam twisted toward the front so quickly, the shoulder harness of her seat belt tightened.

It was bad enough Dad wanted to go out with Brynna Olson. Why couldn't he have explained it himself? Had he been about to, this morning, when
he'd said he wished Brynna didn't work for the government?

Sam would bet she was the last to know. It wasn't fair.

And then Sam heard pinging. The rustler's truck had a pinging engine. She stared past Brynna to the fast lane.

The Ford truck was black, not yellow-brown like the one from Lost Canyon, but it
was
towing a stock trailer. The trailer had been painted black to match the truck, but it had an orange reflective stripe. That and the pinging convinced Sam.

“Sam, what is it?” Brynna asked.

“I think…” Sam shook her head. She'd feel dumb if they pulled the vehicle over and it was filled with potted plants or something. “Do you think they could have painted the truck?”

“Of course. That black Ford?” Brynna had already spotted it. She increased her speed and lifted the radio microphone. She turned to Sam once more before calling Jim McDonald. “Take a good look, Sam. Is that it?”

“Don't call,” Sam fretted. “I'm not sure.”

But then the truck drew ahead and she saw into the trailer. Three horses' rumps were visible: a bay, a roan, and a gleaming black.

“Do it,” Sam said. “I'm almost positive it's them.”

The instant Brynna spoke, the lightbar on Jim McDonald's car flashed on. Red lights bounced from
one side of the bar to the other, and a siren yipped.

The black truck and trailer swayed toward the roadside, then slowed with a crunch of gravel.

Jim McDonald's car nosed in behind the trailer. Brynna stopped just inches behind him. As the brand inspector climbed out of his truck, Sam noticed he wore a gun.

Brynna switched off the car. “Let's go.”

Brynna tugged on a khaki cap that matched her uniform. The pretty woman with a crush on Dad had disappeared. In her place stood a cold-eyed professional. Those rustlers had better watch out.

Jim McDonald approached on the driver's side, while Brynna strode toward the truck's passenger door.

“Stay behind the trailer,” Brynna said without looking at Sam. And she did.

Gunplay in the movies was exciting, but here on a lonely Nevada road, it sounded scary.

Sam felt safer back there with the horses. As the animals jostled against each other, Sam felt certain they were the mustangs. Each wore a different brand, but even to her beginner's eye, the burns appeared to be at the same stage of healing.

The black mustang's coat was stiff with sweat. He was curious, trying to look at Sam, but each time he tried to sling his head around, he hit the side of the trailer.

Quietly, Sam smooched at him. “Okay, pretty horse. Things will get better real soon.”

At the sound of Sam's voice, the roan tried to get away, but he could go nowhere. Sam stayed silent, then, afraid the animals would hurt themselves.

“Out of the truck, gentlemen.” Jim McDonald sounded casual.

“What's wrong?” The voice rasped. Sam thought the voice might belong to the white-haired rustler with the bulgy eyes.

“Why'd you stop us?” said a second voice. “We ain't breakin' the speed limit.”

That one sounded too young to belong to the rustlers she'd seen. What if she
had
made a mistake?

“I'm wondering if you've got some papers on these horses,” Jim McDonald said, “and hoping you can show them to me.”

“Why would we want to do that?” the rusty voice demanded.

“Because he's the state brand inspector,” Brynna said cheerfully. “Not only can he impound this truck and trailer, he can put you two in jail if he doesn't like the look of the brands on your horses. They are branded, I suppose?”

“'Course,” said the young voice.

Sam heard Jim McDonald shuffle through papers. Dissatisfied, he asked the men to unload the horses.

Truck doors creaked open, boots hit the pavement, doors slammed. Sam saw the white-haired man first. He really did have the eyes of a startled rabbit.

The other one was a gangly guy with a long chin. He wore sneakers and couldn't be over nineteen years old. Neither he nor Rabbit Eyes were eager to unload the horses. The men made aimless motions, each hoping the other would do it. Finally, Rabbit Eyes stepped forward and glared at Sam.

“Out of the way, girly.”

Girly?
Surprise kept Sam quiet until she thought of a good way to let Rabbit Eyes know that she didn't like being called
girly
. She looked past the men to Brynna and gave a firm nod.

Jim McDonald saw, but he didn't say anything right away.

The roan launched a two-hooved kick at the trailer door and the white-haired man jumped back.

“You sure this is necessary?” Rabbit Eyes asked.

“You mean to tell me you can't handle your own stock?” Jim McDonald looked startled.

“Shoot, these nags are wild as bobcats. They just came off the range.”

“Which range would that be?” Brynna asked.

The rustlers looked at each other. Neither had an answer. If they named a local ranch, their story could be checked. If they said the horses had been free on BLM land, they'd be fined. They didn't know how to stay out of bigger trouble than they were already in.

“Gentlemen, I'll tell you what,” said Jim McDonald. “Those documents are forged, and the way you're so afraid of 'em, I'm thinking those horses
just don't belong to you.”

Neither man spoke. To Sam, their silence proved the brand inspector was right.

“I'm impounding your whole rig,” Jim McDonald continued. “A couple of rangers are on their way. One'll give you a ride back to the Darton jail. The other will drive these ponies to the Willow Springs holding pens until we determine who owns them.”

“But they're not stolen!” the younger man shouted.

“You shut up,” Rabbit Eyes grumbled.

Sam watched as Brynna and Jim zeroed in on the younger one. Even Sam saw he wasn't as committed to the crime as the older man.

“Lucky it's not the old days,” Jim said. “They used to hang horse thieves.”

“I tell ya, they don't belong to nobody!”

“Of course they belong to someone.” Brynna laughed. “They're wearing brands, aren't they?”

“But they were wild! They just—”

Brynna grabbed Rabbit Eyes's arm before he slugged the younger man. “He's not telling us anything we didn't already know,” she said. “So simmer down.”

“Things could go a little easier on you,” said Jim, “if you tell us where to find the other two gentlemen.”

Rabbit Eyes's glare warned the younger man to keep quiet.

“I bet the other guys are worried sick that these
two won't do what they were supposed to do,” Brynna teased. “I bet they're waiting at the auction yards right this minute.”

“Maybe they are, and maybe they're not,” said Rabbit Eyes.

“Here come the rangers to take these tough guys off our hands.” Jim watched the approach of another car, but Sam noticed him give Brynna a wink. Without meaning to, Rabbit Eyes had confirmed that there were two other rustlers.

 

After the rangers and rustlers left, Sam and Brynna spent all morning at the auction yard. They strolled between corrals and trailers, looking for Flick and the freckled man. Sam's eyes burned by the time she and Brynna decided to start for home.

One down and two to go.

Sam tried to celebrate, but she couldn't. She stared out the car window, searching the range as she always did, watching for the Phantom and his band.

A swath of pale green grass covered a hillside, indicating there was water nearby. Water was life to the wild horses, but if she'd noticed it, so would Flick. No horses were safe while Flick was still out there, and Sam couldn't stop worrying.

“I hope you feel good about saving those three mustangs,” Brynna said to Sam. “If you hadn't recognized the truck and trailer…Well, Jim probably would have sorted out those brands, but who knows?”

Sam nodded, but she kept gazing from the window. She should probably praise Brynna's smooth handling of the rustlers, but Sam didn't want to. She couldn't stop seeing Brynna in Dad's arms the night of the fire. There were plenty of unattached men in Nevada. Let Brynna date one of them.

Apparently, Brynna didn't get the message in Sam's silence.

“By now,” Brynna said, “those horses are at Willow Springs with someone looking after them and tossing them flakes of hay.”

Sam pictured the horses gobbling hay. Would the mustangs be freed or held for adoption? Would the Phantom miss the two mares and that fine black yearling who reminded Sam of the Phantom at that age?

Would the black grow up to look like his sire? She'd probably never know, but at least now he'd have a chance to grow up.

The trail of grass swept down from the hillside and ended at a red rock wall that looked like crowded-together columns. Nearby, cottonwood trees shaded a dark spot that might be a brook.

Sam couldn't see the water, but the movement of a half dozen mustangs slowly lifting their heads caught her eye.

After that first movement, the horses stood still as the tree trunks. A glint of sun sifted through the cottonwoods and dappled one horse with spots that shone like silver coins. Hidden in the shadows stood the Phantom.