Katie and the Mustang, Book 3 (8 page)

“May I sit on the bench?” I asked Mr. Kyler. I wanted to be able to see the river, to see that the Mustang was all right with the mares still.

He nodded.

“Polly or Julia want to come with us?” Mrs. Kyler asked. “Or Hope?”

Mr. Kyler shook his head. “I didn't ask, but they're all settled in their own wagons, Mary. Let's leave it alone.”

She glanced at me and nodded, then smiled cheerfully. “Hop up, then, they're about ready.”

Sitting on the wagon bench was strange at first. The wagon swayed and rolled with the lay of the land. We were about halfway back in the line, so by the time the Kylers' oxen waded into the water, we'd watched so many wagons make it safely across, I wasn't a bit scared. I just wanted the whole wagon line to get across fast so that I could lead the Mustang again.

As the oxen waded out and struggled for footing in the mud, the sky to the west rumbled quietly. The sparks of lightning made me look up. The dark clouds in the west were coming our way now.

Mr. Kyler popped his whip, but the crack was lost in the next round of crackling thunder. It wasn't loud or close, and no rain was falling, but it made me uneasy. I twisted around on the seat, trying to get a glimpse of the Mustang.

The wagon lurched and slid sideways for an instant. Mrs. Kyler gripped my arm, steadying me, then the wheels caught hold, and the oxen strained, moving the wagon up out of the water at last. Mr. Kyler reined in a few hundred feet from the river, falling into place behind Mr. McMahon's rig.

Mr. Teal was riding up and down the line, shouting advice and instruction to the drivers. I slid down off the seat and turned to watch the last of the wagons come across. Then I held my breath as Andrew and his brothers drove the stock forward.

Mr. Teal rode to the edge of the river. The Mustang was at the rear of the herd, nipping at the flanks of the mares to get them into the water. For a moment, it looked like he was doing the herding, not the Kylers.

“Turn them back!” Mr. Teal shouted. “Turn them back!”

He waved as he shouted, a big, sweeping arc of his arm, trying to get the herders' attention. From a distance it was easy to see that they weren't looking at him. They were watching the horses and mules, riding toward them slowly, forcing them into the water. I saw the Mustang plunge to a stop, looking upriver. Then he lunged forward again.

”Spread them out!” I heard Andrew shouting. “Don't push so hard! They'll step on one another.”

Mr. Teal was spurring his horse into the water, roaring, waving one arm over his head, pointing upstream. I followed his gesture and understood at last. There was a wall of brown water coming, taller than a man, roiling with foam. I stared at it, unable to look away. The shouting and screaming around me blended into the sound of the river.

As the wall of water came closer, I saw tree limbs churning within it; then I caught a split-second glimpse of a wide, rough-barked trunk. The flash flood had uprooted a cottonwood tree.

I glanced at the far bank. Most of the horses were in the water now. The Mustang and the two mares were toward the rear of the herd, but they were standing belly-deep in the river. The Mustang was rearing, plunging in the water, driving the mares backward.

A sudden crack of thunder overhead was followed by a blue-white flash of light. Mr.Teal's horse reared, its mouth open as it fought against the tight reins. It lost its footing on the mud and gravel on the river bottom and went down. An instant later it was struggling to get back up, thrashing at the water with its forehooves. Mr. Teal slid sideways in the saddle, and I saw him wrenching around to look upstream. Then the flash flood engulfed him and his horse.

Twenty men sprinted toward the river, shouting. The wave roared past, the tree inside it windmilling, its broken branches thrusting up out of the water, then disappearing again. It was swept onward, churning the water into foam, flinging up stones and gobbets of mud.

The Mustang had gotten the mares back to safety. There were three horses still in the river. One was dead. The other two were fighting to get out of the current.

I stared. Behind the wave, the water was deeper than it had been. Mr. Teal's horse was struggling to stand, whinnying in terror. It took the men on the bank a few seconds to plunge into the water, all of them glancing upstream every few seconds.

They dragged Mr. Teal back to the bank. There was blood trickling down one side of his face and soaking through the right leg of his trousers. His horse, by some miracle, seemed to be all right.

I looked across the river and saw the horses milling in the shallows, squealing and scared. Andrew and his brothers were all safe, reining their horses back and forth in the shallows, trying to keep the herd from scattering.

The Mustang was way off to one side, his eyes wide, his tail lashing back and forth. The mares stood near him, their heads up and their nostrils flared wide. The water level was dropping fast. I started running.

CHAPTER NINE

 

 

 

T
he Mustang had herded Delia and Midnight far up on the bank by the time I got to the edge of the water. The rest of the horses were frantic, some of them plunging into deeper water, scattering as the men struggled to bunch them up and get them out of the river.

I glanced back. The men were moving Mr. Teal farther up the bank. Mrs. Kyler had a blanket and was spreading it on the ground. People were shouting at one another, running back and forth.

Across the river Andrew was still riding circles around the stock with his brothers, trying to force them back into a herd—all but the Mustang.

He had run the mares back even before Andrew had noticed the danger. He was standing apart from the others on the far bank with the mares, his head high, his eyes wide open and rimmed in white.

I knew the Kylers would forbid me to go back across, but I had to. I couldn't leave the Mustang with just the two mares off to one side like that. He was excited, and I could see the wild look in his eyes. If something spooked him, he could take off and I would never see him again.

I slid down the bank and waded in, watching the upstream side with every step. The water hadn't looked so deep on the wagon wheels, but it had risen, and it came almost to my chest in the deepest part. The current skidded me downstream and I was scared, but I managed to stay on my feet.

“Katieeee!” It was Mrs. Kyler—she had finally noticed what I was doing.

I didn't glance back. I was almost across, and I kept looking upstream, terrified that another drowned tree would come rolling toward me, but none did. I waded up out of the shallows, my dress plastered to my legs, water streaming out of my hair, shivering and weak-kneed.

“Stand easy,” I called to the Mustang. “Just stand easy now.”

I could hear the elder Kylers shouting at me and their sons yelling at the milling stock, but the rushing of the river dulled all the voices.

“I just need to come stand with you,” I told the Mustang. I kept walking toward him. He was holding his head high, and his ears were twitching, but he never tried to back away from me. He stood still as I reached up to slip my hand through the halter. I longed for the lead rope, but it was coiled up inside the Kylers' wagon.

Andrew's horses were still skittish and circling at a gallop, scaring one another now that the real danger had passed. The Mustang lowered his head and the grassy smell of his breath—and its warmth—made me smile. “Will you come with me?” I asked him. “Maybe we should just get you across in case Andrew's horses decide to bolt.”

He shook his mane and stamped a forehoof, splattering my legs with mud.

“I hope that means yes,” I said as calmly as I could. I looked up the river as far as I could see. There was nothing but the rushing brown water, the level dropping fast. Thunder rolled in the distance as I put a gentle, steady pressure on the halter, urging the Mustang forward.

He took a single step, then balked for a second; then he followed me again. The mares came along as though they were being led as well, one on either side of the Mustang,their heads even with his withers.

I could see a crowd on the far bank and was sure they had gathered around Mr. Teal. I hoped that he wasn't hurt as bad as it had looked.

The center of the river wasn't as scary with the Mustang next to me, with his weight and strength to anchor me in the rushing water. Midnight and Delia stuck close. Coming up the bank toward the wagons, I looked toward the circle of men again.

Then I saw Mrs. Kyler coming toward me. Her face was flushed and angry. “Katie, I know you love that horse, but you can't—”

“I'm fine though,” I interrupted her as politely as I could. The Mustang tossed his head, and I was pulled off my feet for an instant. I ignored Mrs. Kyler's little gasp and gestured toward Mr. Teal.

“Is he hurt bad?”

“Benton says it looks like it,” Mrs. Kyler told me. “One leg is all smashed up.” I saw her eyes darken with worry, but she didn't say anything more. She just took Delia's halter strap and led her up the muddy bank. Midnight stayed close without being led at all. I followed with the Mustang.

We didn't go another foot westward that day. The menfolk circled the wagons a ways uphill from the river in case the storm caused more flash floods in the night. It was an unhappy camp, everyone worried about Mr. Teal, scared of the idea of being without a guide.

Mrs.Kyler knew a little about doctoring, and she straightened Mr. Teal's broken leg and splinted it to a plank. We all heard him screaming. It was awful.

It rained again that night, big pelting drops that made it impossible to keep a campfire lit and drove everyone into the wagons early. I brought the Mustang and the mares close to the wagon so they could shelter their faces some, then went to sit inside with the Kylers. None of the girls were there; it wasn't a night to go visiting.

The oil lamp burnt low while Mr. Kyler read an almanac and Mrs. Kyler mended clothes. I read my mother's book, the words as familiar as the taste of beans and bacon.

The Kylers settled me into the feather bed. I sank into the softness and felt the whole long day's weariness settle on my bones. I closed my eyes and lay there, thinking. What would I have done if the Mustang had gotten away? And what would we do if Mr. Teal couldn't go on?

I thought about my uncle Jack and his family. I pretended I was already at their house, telling them about the whole long journey. They were listening to me, their eyes wide, his daughters sitting with their hands over their mouths, amazed at all my adventures....

“What?” I heard Mr. Kyler ask, his voice strained.

My imagined storytelling stopped instantly, and I was wide awake again, listening.

“I think they'll end up taking him back,” Mrs. Kyler answered. It isn't just broken—the bone came through the skin. His knee was twisted so hard, it'll be swollen three times its size tomorrow. He is dizzy-headed. He can't ride or walk.”

There was a long silence, and then Mr. Kyler said, “We aren't anywhere near the rough part yet.”

“I know,” Mrs. Kyler said softly. Then, after a long pause, she sighed loud enough for me to hear. “Who do you think will carry him back?”

Mr. Kyler hesitated, and I could imagine him with his chin in his hand, thinking. “There's more than you think would like to go back given any excuse, and a few of the young men are talking about heading south to Mexico if the war lasts. Or Texas.”

Mrs. Kyler made a soft, sad sound. “I hear them bottoming out, their spirits tired—and they know the worst is ahead yet. Some are afraid of the war spreading northward, too. What do you think on that?” Mrs. Kyler asked him.

He made a sound of disdain. “It's going to be a mess for years, I suspect, but it's a long ways off. Unless one of our boys decides to gallop off and volunteer, we won't be touched by it at all.”

Mrs. Kyler hushed him. “Don't put anything in their heads, Benton. At least they are all married now; that always settles a man down.”

My Kyler chuckled. “Worked that way for me,” he said. I heard him kiss her on the cheek. They blew out the oil lamp and crawled into their bedding.

The rain let up, then came down hard again. The storm rocked the wagon, but the featherbed felt like I was sleeping on clouds after months of sleeping on the ground, and I knew the Mustang wouldn't set off in this weather—he was much too smart. I closed my eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.

CHAPTER TEN