Moon Shadow (5 page)

Callie thought she saw a pale flash of palomino, but it quickly disappeared into a swirling sea of colors as the wild horses continued to churn up the dirt in the pen. A loud scream drew her attention to the end of the arena, where two stallions had squared off and were preparing to do battle. Even in the middle of total chaos, the brave studs were ready to defend their harems.

After a brief skirmish, the smaller stallion retreated to the other end of the corral and did his best to herd his mares with him.

It seemed an eternity before the horses calmed enough to settle into their own places in the large pen. They stared at each other, their foam-flecked sides heaving and their eyes rolling in terror.

When the dust settled, Susan pointed to a pale shape lying in the middle of the corral. Callie's breath caught in her throat and her heart hammered against her chest. She prayed that the mare lying in the dirt, groaning and gasping for breath, wasn't the horse she had admired so often. But the four white stockings and the sweat-stained blaze on her face told Callie all she needed to know.

Moonbeam had been captured, and she was in big trouble.

Five

“Grab my bag, Callie!” Susan turned and signaled to the cowboys for help. “We've got a problem. That mare's in labor and she's not looking good.”

Callie snatched up the vet's bag and, without thinking, jumped over the fence. She ran toward Moonbeam, desperately wanting to help save the mare. She was halfway to the downed horse when the little mustang raised her head and snorted in fear. Then the horse bolted to her feet and trotted away in a lopsided gait. Callie could hear the veterinarian hollering at her from the gate, but she only had eyes for Moonbeam. The mare stood in the corner with her head lowered, wheezing and groaning.

“Hold on there, Callie!” Sam shouted from the other end of the pen as he moved his horse toward the gate. “Get out of that pen before you start another stampede.”

Callie turned to run, but froze in her tracks as a well-muscled bay stallion screamed in challenge and charged toward her. He stopped between Callie and the fence and boldly pawed at the ground, shaking his long, tangled mane and arching his neck.

“Don't move!” Justin called to Callie from atop his horse outside of the pen. “Any movement might make the stallion attack.”

Callie gulped. Move? With her heart lodged somewhere in her throat and her blood roaring so loudly she could barely hear the young cowboy's words, she doubted a team of mules could move her. Her feet felt as if they were rooted in the ground like the surrounding sagebrush. She stared into the angry stallion's wild gaze. “Easy, boy…” the words slipped past her lips. “Whoa, son.”

The mustang stopped his posturing and pricked his ears, listening intently to the gentle sound. His nostrils extended as he sucked in a giant breath, trying to get the scent of the human who stood before him. He blew hard through his nose, snorting a warning to his mares before lifting his tail over his back and charging in a wide circle around Callie.

She felt a tinge of excitement along with the cold adrenaline rush of fear coursing through her veins. The bay stallion was magnificent! He wheeled around her in a wide arc, his rhythmic hoofbeats pounding a wild tattoo on the dirt floor of the corral. Callie spun in a circle, keeping her eyes focused on the mustang.

“Yaw, yaw!” the cowboys yelled as Sam and Justin entered the pen and rode hard toward the bay stallion. The stud slid to a stop and turned to face the men on horseback, then quickly whirled on his haunches and galloped back to the herd.

“Get back over that fence, young lady!” Sam ordered, then he turned his horse and herded the mustangs to the other end of the large pen. He returned to Callie and swiped his hat from his head, running his shirtsleeve across his sweaty forehead. “You could have been killed!”

Callie bent over the fence, catching her breath. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to help.”

The big cowboy softened his voice. “You're a good vet's helper, Callie. You care about the horses.” He leaned across the front of his saddle and looked down at her. “But you're not made of steel. If that stallion had decided to charge, you'd be dead right now. If Susan wants a particular horse, she'll call it out and we'll go get it,” he said. “That's what Justin and I are here for.”

Callie brushed a tangle of hair away from her hot, sticky face as she glanced at Justin. The boy just shook his head and turned away.
Great
, Callie thought.
I've made another good impression.

Susan peeled her white knuckles from the fence rail and came over to Callie. “Are you okay?” she asked. When Callie nodded, the vet turned to the cowboys and pointed to the herd of mustangs. “I need that yellow mare in the corner. That run was probably too much for her. She's about to foal, and after all that running, it may be turned. We don't want to lose that foal.”

Callie gasped. Not Moonbeam's foal! It was bad enough that the mare had been captured and would be put up for adoption, but she couldn't bear the thought of losing the foal, too! She watched as the cowboys closed in and lifted their lassos above their heads. Justin threw his loop first, but it landed on the back of the palomino mare. His father was a better shot. His rope slipped neatly over Moonbeam's head. In the next moment, Justin recovered his lasso and tossed his own rope over the struggling mare's proud head.

Callie watched in horror as the men slowed their horses and tightened the rope around the mustang's neck, effectively cutting off her wind supply. “Do they have to do it like that?” she asked Susan.

The vet nodded. “I know it seems cruel, but it's the quickest way to isolate the mare.” She pushed up her glasses. “Time is of the essence right now. Every minute counts when you've got a foal on the way.”

The cowboys pulled the mare into an empty pen and waited for Susan's instructions.

“Let her go and let's see what she does,” the vet said.

The cowboys dropped their ropes and exited the corral. They all watched as the mare paced the far wall of the small pen, the two lariats dragging in the sand. Her beautiful head lowered to the ground as she walked. Every now and then she stopped to groan and nip at her sides.

“Is she going to be all right?” Callie asked. She wrung her hands as she watched the little mare drop to the ground and roll, her sweaty coat picking up even more dirt than before. After a minute, the horse rose and began pacing again.

“It's hard to say.” Susan rifled through her medical bag and pulled out a bottle of tranquilizer and a syringe. “From the looks of her milk bag, I'd say she was probably a week or two away from being ready to foal before this roundup.”

Callie bit her bottom lip, secretly wishing she had thrown a rock or two at that stupid helicopter. Moonbeam and her unborn foal
had
to be all right! She looked to Susan, afraid to voice the question for fear that her trembling words would give away how scared she was.

The vet lifted the syringe to the waning light and flicked it with her thumb and forefinger, dispelling any air bubbles. She gave Callie an encouraging smile. “The mare should be okay, as long as there aren't any complications.”

“What's going on here?” Harvey Smith shuffled up to the pen, moving as fast as his bowed legs and walking stick would carry him. “I could hear all the hollering going on from the office. What are you so excited about?”

“Some new mustangs have been brought in,” Callie said. She peeked through the fence. Moonbeam's knees buckled as she lowered herself to the ground and stretched fully onto her side. “This mare's ready to foal, but Susan thinks it's too soon.” Callie shook her head. “I've followed this mustang for a couple of years. She's my favorite. If she makes it through this, I'd like to adopt her. I'll need to find a way to earn some extra money, though, and then I'll have to talk my parents into it.”

The veterinarian smiled. “Maybe we'll get lucky and you'll have a two-in-one package.” She turned to the Sam and Justin. “Do you think we can get her into the squeeze chute to give her a tranquilizer?”

Justin ducked through the fence. Moonbeam eyed him warily, but stayed where she was, her sides heaving as she quivered in pain. She moved to a more upright position with her legs tucked under and turned her head to nip at her flanks before lying back in the dirt again.

“I don't think that cayuse is going anywhere.” The gruff, nasally voice came from Ron Jeffers, the head man at the mustang pens. He walked up and stood beside Harvey and Callie, his thin frame towering over them. “If she doesn't make it, get the tractor and haul her around back.” He flipped a knowing look to Susan. “You know the routine.” He gave them all a dismissing nod as he walked away.

Callie frowned at the slang term Mr. Jeffers had used to refer to Moonbeam. Cayuse was the word people used to show how little they thought of mustangs. As far as she was concerned, this mustang was worth more than Mr. Jeffers.

Harvey put a comforting arm around Callie's shoulders. “Don't pay him any mind,” he advised. “Right now we've got to think about that little mare out there, and how to help her.”

Sam got off his horse and walked toward the exhausted mare. “One of the other men and I can hold her head down while you get the needle into her neck,” he volunteered. He gestured to a large man who had helped bring in the herd. “No mustang's going to die on my shift,” he muttered, casting an angry glare in the direction of the boss.

Susan looked doubtful. “I guess it's our only choice,” she said. “Callie, you run up to the house and get me two buckets of warm water. Put some Betadine in both and be quick about it.”

Callie took one last look at the suffering mare, then turned and ran as fast as she could toward the ranch house. She knew it was only a matter of minutes, but it seemed like an eternity before the buckets were full and she was sloshing her way back to the pens. She set the pails down next to the vet. “How is she?”

Susan shook her head. “It doesn't look good. Her water broke, but we don't have any front feet showing yet. It's possible that the baby hasn't turned completely, or was jostled into a bad position during the capture.”

Callie set her jaw and stared at the waning sun. The calm beauty of the desert belied the struggle that was going on here at the corral.

“Okay, here we go,” Susan said. Everyone gathered around the outside of the pen to watch. After what seemed like an extremely long wait, two tiny black hooves emerged from the mare.

Callie smiled and breathed a little easier. Everything was going to be all right.

They waited for the nose to appear on the next labored push from Moonbeam, but nothing happened. After several more attempts to expel the foal from her body, the mustang groaned and closed her eyes, breathing in quick, shallow grunts.

“Something's definitely wrong.” Susan pulled on her latex gloves. “Men, I need you to hold the mare again. I think the foal's head is out of position. I'm going to have to go in and realign it.”

Callie planted her hands on her knees and bent down to watch the vet work. The sight of blood made her woozy, but her fear for the mare and foal outweighed the dizziness and the tiny white dots that danced before her eyes. She held her breath and wondered if anyone could see how scared she was. She glanced up at Harvey, hoping for some sign of encouragement, but he looked nervous, too.

Callie wiped at the sweat that covered her face despite the cool evening breeze. She felt old Harvey's gnarled hand on her shoulder and smiled her thanks.

The vet worked quickly, trying to reposition the foal. Moonbeam groaned and struggled against the men, but their body weight kept her head pinned to the ground. After another painful wheeze, the mare submitted to human help.

“I've got it!” Susan manipulated the foal, carefully guiding it into position.

Callie fought the wave of blackness that threatened to pull her into its depths. She breathed deeply, huffing along with Moonbeam as the mare groaned and stiffened her legs with the next contraction. Harvey braced one of his scarecrow-thin arms around Callie's shoulders, and she leaned against the frail old man, hoping that her little bit of weight wouldn't be enough to knock him over.

“Here we go,” Susan said as Moonbeam gave a mighty push.

Callie wanted to jump and shout when a tiny pink nose appeared between the small black hooves. She felt tears gathering in her eyes. With the next push, the foal's neck and shoulders appeared. Moonbeam rested for a moment, then began the final push.

“Come on, you can do it,” Callie whispered, sharing a small smile with Justin from across the pen. He seemed a lot nicer when he smiled, she thought.

As they looked on, the little foal's nostrils, which had been pinched closed for the birthing process, spasmed open, gathering a first breath even before the foal was completely free from its mother's body.

Callie forgot about fainting. She leaned closer, wanting to place an encouraging hand on Moonbeam's coat, but she knew better than to touch the wild mare. For now she'd have to be content to lend moral support.

The palomino grunted again and strained to relieve her body of the foal. The new baby slipped into the world, eyeing Callie and the veterinarian as it lay in the dirt, attempting to raise its delicate head.

Goose bumps galloped up and down Callie's arms. “He's perfect,” she whispered in awe as she stared at the buckskin foal. The colt had the exact shade of pale yellow coat as Moonbeam, but its mane and tail were black like its sire's.

“She,” Susan corrected. “It's a filly. Hand me the iodine, then grab a clean cloth. I'll take care of the umbilical cord while you clean out her nostrils. We've got to work quickly. I want to have this filly checked out before her mama gets up.”

Callie crouched in the dirt beside the still-wet foal. The metallic scent of blood mixed with amniotic fluid and the drying sweat of the exhausted mare assaulted her nose and caused her stomach to roll. She tried to ignore the waves of nausea and concentrated on the light perfume of desert peach that drifted on the evening air. “Shouldn't she be standing and trying to nurse?”