Gypsy Gold (12 page)

B
rynna and Dad drove up as Sheriff Ballard began paging through Nicolas's journal. Spotting them, Linc must have sensed things were about to go even more downhill for him, because he slapped his palms against his legs and edged toward his car.

“I've done what I can of my civic duty, so I'll be—”

“Keep us company a minute more, Linc,” Sheriff Ballard said without looking up. Though it was phrased as a request, the sheriff hadn't offered Linc a choice.

Dad climbed out of his new truck and hurried to open the passenger's door for Brynna. He helped her down and for once, she accepted.

When Sam thought what a long, tiring day it had
been for her, she knew it had been even harder for Brynna.

But it was Dad who yawned.

“'Scuse me,” he said, covering his mouth. “I was hopin' for a nap after that blue mustang danced me all around the corral this morning, but we've had a little excitement over at our place.”

Holding his place in the journal, the sheriff met Dad's eyes and made a vague gesture toward Nicolas.

But Dad shook his head. “Linc shot my dog.”

The words seemed suspended in the afternoon air. Lace leaned forward against her harness and the creaking of leather was the only sound.

“I didn't kill no dog,” Linc snapped.

“Blaze is alive, but I just finished patching him up,” Brynna said.

“That's a mite different from what you told me,” Sheriff Ballard said to Linc.

“See here, Sheriff—” Linc began, but then he must have heard the rude jab of his words, because he adjusted them. “I mean, you know what I told you. Coyotes have been all over my property and who knows what they're up to. I did shoot one, but…”

Brynna squared her shoulders, and though she still wore her bright blue sundress, Sam saw her stepmother shift into biologist mode.

“What coyotes are ‘up to' this time of year, is teaching their pups how to find food so they can live on their own. The pups are small, and it would be
pretty surprising if they started out by hunting your half-grown calves. Still, if you do have a problem with coyotes, there are better ways to discourage them.”

Linc made a blustering noise, but Brynna didn't let him cut in.

“They don't like loud noises. Car horns, air guns, even yelling works pretty well. And rather than hang their carcasses on your barbed wire, as I hear you may already have done, try marking the edge of your property with simple ammonia. That works much better.”

“There's nothing illegal about what I did,” Linc insisted. “I'm in the clear on this one.”

“Let's get a couple things straight,” said Sheriff Ballard. “Coyote hunting is permitted in Nevada. They're not a protected species.”

“There, y'see?” Linc gloated.

“That doesn't mean you can discharge a rifle in a congested area or shoot dogs for no good reason,” Sheriff finished.

“A congested area!” Linc yelped. “We were out on the godforsaken range!”

“Your definition of ‘godforsaken' is mighty peculiar, Linc. By your own admission, there were two juveniles, a minor—you're not twenty-one yet, are you?” he asked Nicolas. “And some pretty valuable livestock within rifle range.”

“Lace is a Gypsy Vanner,” Jen recited once more. “One of only about a hundred in the entire country.”

“So you'll be getting a citation for discharging a weapon in a congested area,” he said, then turned toward Dad, “and you'll get one for letting a dog run at large.”

Dad's jaw dropped in surprise, but he managed to ask, “There's a leash law?”

“No sir, but your pets have to be under voice control.”

“Fair enough,” Dad said.

Sam was just thinking how she admired Dad's acceptance of his punishment, compared to Linc's whining, when Linc chuckled. At Dad.

“Now, if you Forsters want to press charges against Mr. Slocum for animal cruelty, you can,” the sheriff added.

“But that dog was running with the coyotes! If he'd stuck with his own kind, I wouldn't have mistaken him for one of 'em!”

“Wait. You said you were protecting him from the coyote,” Jen said.

“Blaze is black with a white ruff around his neck,” Sam added. “He looks nothing like a coyote. We're going to go get his son, so he'll be safe, too.”

“Sam,” Brynna said quietly, “Sheriff Ballard can handle this.”

“You all can tell it to the judge,” Sheriff Ballard said. “He might levy fines or lecture the shooter and order him to get some glasses. Now, anyone have questions?”

“Isn't it illegal for them to catch that coydog?” Linc asked.

“Interesting you should bring that up, Linc, because I checked it out after you called me this mornin', and according to NAC 503.140, they don't need a Division of Wildlife license or permit to possess a wolf or coyote hybrid.”

After that, Linc gave up and drove home, but the sheriff asked Nicolas if he would delay his trip just one more day.

“Norman White accepted his word on the dun colt,” Brynna said carefully.

“That's because Norman sicced me on him,” the sheriff snapped.

When he returned the journal, Nicolas took it with both hands and a sigh.

“I wish I could read that.” Brynna didn't ask permission, but merely pointed at the journal with a wistful expression. “I'm still charged with finding out what happened to the colt. If I found the herder who saw the colt hanging around his sheep, he might give me some clues.”

Nicolas's hands moved over the journal as if he was considering handing it over.

“Mr. Raykov, here's my situation. Clues are what I'm after as well,” Sheriff Ballard said. “Sam was instrumental in bringing in Flick—one of the horse rustlers I mentioned—and he's tipped us off to a place we can trap Karl Mannix, another bad one. Now,
Flick doesn't mind rolling over on both Karl and Linc, but he hasn't given me enough evidence to place Slocum under arrest.”

“I don't see where I come into this,” Nicolas said, “but I'm willing to help.”

“I wouldn't smear your reputation or nothin',” the sheriff began.

“Which means you would.” Nicolas laughed. He leaned against Lace, threaded his fingers through her black-and-white mane, and worked at a tangle before looking up with a resigned expression. “Still, a little slander this far from home, so my parents won't hear it, probably won't hurt me.”

Seeing that Nicolas and the sheriff were about to reach a compromise, Jen swung into Silly's saddle. When Jen glanced toward the sky as if judging the time, Sam reminded herself that Jen had left home three days ago and her family didn't know she was safely off the mountain and back in familiar territory.

“Here's all I want to do,” the sheriff said. “Hint, for just twenty-four hours, that you're a ‘person of interest' in this horse-rustling case. Then, I sit back and hope Linc will do something stupid.”

“I've already blown my schedule,” Nicolas said regretfully. “I might as well do a good deed in the process.”

Jen wasn't so eager to get home that she didn't have time for another clever idea.

“I know,” Jen said, pointing at Nicolas. “When
we were looking at your map, you figured a two-day detour around Darton. If you had a police escort, you could go right through the center of town.”

“Brilliant!” Sam said as Jen turned her smile on Sheriff Ballard.

“You got yourself a deal,” he said. “We'll call it a contribution to cultural diversity or something like that, shall we?”

Nicolas gave the new plan a thumbs-up in the same instant that Brynna fell asleep. Still standing, she slouched against Dad.

“I've seen a horse do that,” Sam whispered, “but never a person.”

When her stepmother sagged and her knees buckled, Dad wrapped his arms around her and guided her back to the truck.

Once she was tucked inside, still asleep, Dad turned to Sam.

“It's not easy being Brynna,” he said. He stood with one hand on the driver's door of the truck and wore an understanding smile. “She works hard to do everything just right. That's why I'm putting her to bed early and forcing her to sleep late. And woe to whoever wakes her up, got it?”

“I guess you're talking to me,” Sam said, and then, since Dad wore such a sweet expression, she added, “Tomorrow's a holiday for me, too, so mostly I'll spend it studying, except first thing in the morning
when Jake and I are going to take Blaze out to look for his son.”

She held her breath, waiting for something to go wrong. Dad could demand she be sensible or Jake could ask what the heck she was talking about. She crossed the fingers on both of her hands and waited.

“I don't know what we'll do with him once you've brought him back,” Dad said, “but I hate to see a young animal suffer if he wants help. You okay with this, Jake?”

Sitting behind Jake, Sam couldn't see his face. Though only a few seconds passed, it took him forever to say, “Sure.”

Then, without turning around to face her, just as if they'd discussed the details earlier, he agreed to meet Sam at the river before dawn.

“That's all fine. 'Til then, though, you're coming with me.” Dad was talking to her, but he looked pointedly at Witch until Sam threw her leg over the horse's tail and slid to the ground. “You can squeeze in next to Brynna,” Dad told her, “and maybe I can save your neck for one more day.”

 

It turned out to be the quietest night Sam remembered since she'd come home to River Bend Ranch.

After supper, Nicolas pulled his vardo up close enough to the barn that he could watch Lace and the dun colt in the big loose box stall.

As a faint drizzle fell, Gram brought Nicolas some Mexican hot chocolate. Sam went with her, then sat near the barn doorway on a bale of fresh straw, petting Blaze as she listened to the hissing rain and the sound of Gram making friends with Nicolas.

“I'm sure you've got all you need out here,” Gram said. “But I think hot chocolate's especially nice when it rains.”

The muted melodies that Nicolas played on his violin lured horses to the fence of the ten-acre pasture. Nicolas enjoyed Gram's ranch tales as much as the animals liked his music. As Gram told of spring and fall cattle drives, when her parents would load her siblings and cousins into caravan wagons much like his vardo, and take them way up from the ranch and into the little valley, Sam tried to picture Gram as a child. Had girls worn jeans in those days or were they still expected to dress in skirts? Had she worn her long hair in braids or twisted up in a knot as she wore it now?

“What did you do there?” Nicolas asked. He'd stopped playing to sample the cinnamon-spiced cocoa.

“Our buckaroos drove the cattle up in the summer and brought them down in the fall. We were just taken along to frolic beside this glass-clear stream.” Gram chuckled. “I suppose it figures that most of all I remember the food! One spring we had a cook, who'd been a Sister of Charity. Don't ask me
why she was no longer a nun. I was too young to wonder. But oh what that woman could do to sweet pink beans with wild onions and corn cakes cooked on a big black griddle. She set the men to catching trout at night and didn't waste a single minute between the stream and the frying pan. We wanted to stay up there all summer long,” Gram said.

Nicolas took the silent moment to play another song as background to the dreamy look in Gram's eyes.

“Of course, after the rock slide we didn't go there anymore, but my how we missed that spot…”

Sam smiled, thinking it would be cool to ride up there with Gram, if only to revive her happy memories. Since Gram had always lived on the ranch, the little valley must be nearby.

Dark Sunshine hung her buckskin head over the fence of the small pasture she shared with Tempest. She'd probably been drawn by Nicolas's violin, but maybe she was listening to Gram's stories, too, thinking of the summer nights she'd spent in a small, happy valley.

“Could you find it again, Gram?” Sam asked. “On one of Brynna's maps?”

“I can't say, Samantha. I haven't thought of that place for years. I remember what it looked like, but not how to get there.”

It was dark when Gram stood up, put her hands to the small of her back, and stretched.

“You make sure and tie up that colt tonight,” Gram told Nicolas. “See that he doesn't go wandering.”

“Oh, he's stuck with us for over a hundred miles,” Nicolas said gently. “I don't think anything will make him leave Lace.”

Sam sighed. Soon enough, the colt would have no choice.

Sam knew it was time to return to the house, but the rain had moved on and it wasn't a bit cold.

“I envy you your journey, Nicolas,” Gram said before she left. “I truly do, and we'll do what we can to see that no one delays you anymore.”

“I'll be in in a few minutes,” Sam said.

Her body was weary, but her mind spun with random thoughts and she knew she wouldn't sleep right away, so she lingered a bit longer.

Every horse on the ranch stood listening to Nicolas's music, and suddenly Blaze joined in as Nicolas sang of gypsy gold.

When his bow had eased over the strings for one last quivering note, Blaze added a mournful howl and an echo returned to him from the hills.

S
am couldn't sleep, but she wouldn't let herself look at the clock on her bedside table.

She'd been fretting for hours over Nicolas's departure, not because she'd miss him, but because she couldn't stop thinking of the Phantom's attention to each note floating from Nicolas's voice and violin that night in the forest.

Guilt gnawed at her. Nicolas had a long, dangerous trip ahead, and he was a nice guy, but she was far more worried about the silver stallion.

She tossed onto her right side. Cougar yowled when she rolled against him.

“Sorry, boy,” she apologized, but he just thumped his tail on her bed and left her wondering what Nicolas had meant when he said she was too trusting.

Sam turned onto her left side, found a cool spot on her pillow, and closed her eyes, but Cougar hopped up on the side of her body as if he were walking a tightrope between her hip and shoulder. She pushed him off, but the cat padded back up to face her, then patted her cheek with sheathed claws, telling her to stay still.

She blocked thoughts of the Phantom trailing behind Nicolas to Darton, pursuing him through the streets of Reno and beyond. She refused to listen to the whizzing of imaginary cars on freeways or the Phantom's challenging neigh. Would he follow Nicolas anywhere just to hear his song, like the Pied Piper?

That's not going to happen,
Sam thought. She flopped onto her back, arms loose at her sides, and tried to match her breaths to Cougar's. It worked to relax her until her eyelids drooped and she saw, all over again, an image of the dead coyote.

Knowing she couldn't let Linc get away with that or injuring Blaze, Sam crept out of bed and went to her desk. She wrote six notes, then nodded in satisfaction. She tiptoed around the house. She didn't exactly hide the notes. It was more like placing Easter eggs so really young children could find them. Still, she knew Dad, Gram, and Brynna would get the
point, even though Sam would be long gone, with Jake and Blaze, when they came upon the notes in the morning.

Satisfaction acted like a sleeping spell and Sam nodded off as soon as she crawled back into bed and laid her head on the pillow. Still, she would have slept better if her dreams hadn't been haunted with images of Nicolas skipping across the
playa
in a red scarf and gold earring, sawing at his violin as he was followed by hundreds of prancing horses.

 

The next time Sam's eyes opened, the clock read 4:33
A.M
.

Before the sounds of more tossing and turning could carry down the hall and wake Brynna, Sam edged out of bed. The minute her bare toes touched the floor, she felt better.

Sure, she was an hour and a half too early to meet Jake, but there was always something to do outside. She could check on Lace and the dun colt, kiss Tempest and Sunny on their velvet noses, or stare at the horizon until the first pink light of dawn outlined the Calico Mountains' peaks.

Sam dressed in a gray sweater and yesterday's jeans. Dried jerky, left over from her camping trip with Jen, made a stiff lump in her pocket, but her chest of drawers squeaked, and she didn't want to risk the noise of getting fresh clothes.

Sam picked up her waterproof boots. Just
because it had barely drizzled last night didn't mean the storm predicted for today would be mild.

It was a good thing her slicker was hanging on the front porch instead of here in her room. Its rustle would have awakened Brynna for sure.

Now she only had to worry about waking Blaze, Sam thought as she tiptoed down the stairs, carrying her boots. The Border collie would be alert to the opening of the kitchen door, even though he'd spent the night in the bunkhouse.

Thoughts of the sad dog made Sam hope he did waken when she went outside. It was still dark. She'd like to have him frisking at her heels as she prowled alone around the ranch.

But that would be selfish. The dog's injured side would be tested today as they tracked his coydog son, even though she and Jake had decided to take the truck. She'd let Blaze rest among the cowboys, for now, and only summon him when Jake arrived.

Standing in front of the coats hanging on the front porch, Sam's hand hesitated between her old yellow slicker and the new poncho hanging beside it.

Silver as starshine, the poncho reminded her of the Phantom. Though she hadn't told a soul, that's what had drawn her to the hooded garment in the store. Today she'd be driving out onto the range, into the Phantom's territory. Could there be a better day to wear the silver poncho for the first time?

She pulled it on, settled it over her shoulders, and
arranged it to cover her arms. Looking down, Sam saw it was a perfect match to her braided horsehair bracelet. Then she raised the silver hood and stepped onto the front porch.

Mist tossed through the darkness.

I am a princess knight, wearing a chain mail cloak,
Sam thought.

Many people would say she was too old for make-believe, but they were the same people who'd tell her she was dreaming if she insisted she could bid a wild silver stallion to come to her—and sometimes he would.

Sam smiled. Sure, the Phantom only came to her sometimes, but fairy-tale maidens didn't have a 100 percent success record for summoning unicorns, either.

Sam drew a breath of night air. When her bare feet had first touched her bedroom floor, she'd promised herself that she'd go looking for early chores. Now, though, dressed in her silvery poncho, she wanted to walk toward the river.

The minute she stepped off the porch, she spotted Lace nosing the flap of cloth covering the back of Nicolas's vardo. Was something wrong? Sam stared for a minute, waiting, and though she couldn't see the dun colt in the shadows, she had the feeling the Gypsy Vanner mare was only checking on Nicolas as he slept, and the idea made her grin. Sam was glad Nicolas had stayed on an extra day.

Instead of blowing from east to west or north to south, the wind skimmed along the ground, then jetted into sudden updrafts, climbing past her shoulders, past the rooftops, and into the cloud towers that would feed the storm.

Topsy-turvy air currents made her sure the coming storm would be fierce. If Nicolas had been out on the range, he could have crawled into his vardo for shelter, but what about Lace? It would be far better for the big mare to be here at River Bend Ranch, tucked in next to the barn.

Sam looked up into the sky. It seemed beige at first. As she walked past the chicken coop, she decided she was wrong. The sky glowed a pale aquarium green. Thunder rumbled and wind tugged at the hem of her poncho.

Crossing the bridge with quiet footsteps, Sam stared toward the Calico Mountains. She shivered in awe as forked purple lightning stabbed through the clouds.

Sam walked faster as a fine rain began falling.

Squinting against the moisture beaded on her eyelashes, Sam saw the willow trees trailing branches in the La Charla River. A fish jumped, making a small splash. She couldn't see it because of the fog hanging above the river.

At least that's what she thought at first.

She heard another splash and stared so long, her eyes stopped trying to pierce the fog and lifted higher.
There, moving like a shadow in the silver showers, was the Phantom.

My mystical stallion,
Sam thought. She celebrated the intuition that had drawn her here until she realized he was waiting for her, on this side of the river.

Fear flashed through Sam, fueled by the lesson of the mother coyote who'd died for coming too close to civilization, but she couldn't pick up a stone and throw it at him. She couldn't shout and break this spell. Once more, the Phantom offered her friendship, and she couldn't bear to scare him away.

Her boots stepped from one patch of dirt to another, avoiding rocks that might crunch or roll, but she needn't have been so careful.

The Phantom trotted her way. He stopped when she did. They stood near enough to touch.

She didn't ask herself what had drawn him to this place at exactly the same time she'd come here. She just tilted her head to look up into the Phantom's eyes and saw him staring down at her.

Old magic, made between them on the day the stallion had been born, flickered from the brown eyes staring through long moonlit strands of his forelock. Sam's veins burned cold-hot at her wrists and temples.

The stallion watched her and love swirled around her heart.

“Zanzibar,” she whispered.

His gaze broke away as he circled her at a walk. Pewter dapples shone on his frost-colored coat.

“Did you come to take me across the river?” Sam whispered.

He'd come to meet her, that was for sure, but if they galloped toward the valley as they had before, they'd move into the heart of the storm.

The warning voice in her brain was drowned out by the stallion's nicker, and the soft tread of their footfalls as Sam walked along the riverbank with one hand resting on the stallion's mane.

Before, she'd tried mounting him from a river rock and the sudden change in her height had made him shy away. Vaulting onto his back was dangerous, but everything about a wild stallion was dangerous.

Besides, their friendship had never been based on safety. When she and Jake had first schooled him as a shiny black colt, Jake had told her, “If he wants to strike you, you've had it. He's that fast. It's your job to make sure he never wants to hurt you.”

Sam was pretty sure she'd done that part of her job. She'd never hurt the Phantom and he'd always come back to her.

The stallion moved a step past her, so that she was staring at his side. Sam held her breath and picked the places she'd touch.

Softly, she lay her left hand on his withers. When his skin didn't shiver, she knew he understood what came next.

“Take me for a ride, beauty.”

Sam vaulted up, landing belly down across his back. Quickly, she swung her right leg over, just above his tail, and then she was astride.

The stallion tossed his head, snorting and prancing.

Don't get too far forward. Don't dangle your feet too close to his flank,
she warned herself. Suddenly she was centered. The Phantom felt it the instant she did and he pivoted toward the river.

Cold!
Autumn river water splashed up. It didn't feel like the La Charla in the summer, but she didn't have time to think about it. With no stirrups or reins, the only security she had was trust.

Once they reached the other side of the river, she tangled both hands into his mane, then braced herself for the stallion to shake the water from his coat. He did, and she stayed on, and then he moved into a flowing trot.

She should have heard his hooves striking the earth. She should have smelled wet horsehair and felt the sudden fear of cold and darkness and being all alone far from her family and her bed, but she didn't.

She rode in a dream and her thoughts came in far from sensible snatches.

Only along for the ride.
Sam had heard that expression before, but when she was astride the Phantom, it was completely true. She didn't guide the great horse. She went where he wanted to take her.

All at once it was too cold to ignore. It wasn't just the breeze blowing past her wet jeans. The wind hitting her face was freezing and the sky had turned sulphur yellow.

To the south, she saw turkey vultures riding the updrafts, and then something hit her cheek. A big raindrop? Another one struck her nose. She dared to take one hand from the stallion's mane and feel for whatever it had been, but she felt only moisture.

Before she could puzzle out what had hit her, more came. The Phantom lifted his knees, prancing over something like snow—no, it was hail.

No big deal,
Sam told herself, as popcorn-sized hailstones pelted her hands so fast she couldn't count them.

It happened all the time. It would let up in a minute.

But the vultures that had just been over there were gone.

Hail pounded all around her, bouncing off the back of her poncho even as they bent sagebrush down to the ground.

The hailstones got bigger and the Phantom's trot broke into a lope.

Ow.
They were actually starting to hurt now, and she could only hope the stallion didn't try to outrun them.

All at once she couldn't hear anything but the pounding hail. They galloped past a pinion pine tree
just as an onslaught of hail stripped a branch loose. As big as her fist and round as softballs, they could kill small birds or animals.

The hail kept hammering down. Sam searched her mind for a place to take shelter, then abandoned the idea. The stallion would know better than she did. And then, as if proving her right, the Phantom bolted into a gait faster than a gallop, faster than a run, and she could do nothing but hide her face against his mane and hope her cold-numbed hands kept their grip.

When the ground tilted up and the stallion deliberately took a meandering path, Sam knew where they were going. The stallion was taking her to the tunnel. Sheltered by stone walls, they'd be safe.

Sam raised her head and opened her eyes just as they entered the tunnel. The stallion only walked a few paces before stopping.

Swathed in darkness, Sam blinked, but she saw nothing.

Outside, the hail sounds turned from pounding, to pinging, to plops. At last, her ears ached in the sudden silence.

Without trying, her breaths matched the Phantom's. Finally they slowed to a normal pace, and Sam realized her hands had stopped holding the silver mane and now clung around the stallion's neck. Although the Phantom's heated body was keeping her warm and she felt incredibly peaceful, Sam
worked her interlocked fingers apart, and pushed herself up until she sat straight.

She wanted to thank the Phantom for his friendship, for the ride of her life, for finding shelter and safety, but instinct kept her quiet. Suddenly, she knew why.

Sitting still on the stallion's back in the stone tunnel, she heard something move nearby. Then the growling began.