The Challenger (6 page)

G
ram's Buick slid up to the bus stop with just minutes to spare. Sam climbed out of the car, took a deep breath of the icy air, and got ready to apologize, but Jen didn't look up.

Was she really searching for something in her backpack, or just pretending? Sam couldn't tell, but Jen didn't shift her attention until the bus stopped and opened its door.

Then, she rushed ahead and took their usual seat.

“Cool sweatshirt,” Sam said, sliding in beside her. “Did you tie-dye it yourself?”

“My aunt did it,” Jen muttered. “About a hundred years ago.” Her answer was better than a simple no, Sam decided, but Jen just stared out the bus window after that.

“See anything?” Sam asked finally. “Llamas, flying squirrels, alien aircraft?”

Jen turned from the window, but she pressed her
spine against the seat back and still didn't look at Sam. From the side she looked pale, and there were gray smudges under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept.

“I'm not ready to make up,” Jen said. “My dad may be a jerk, but he's still my dad.”

“I know,” Sam began.

“No, you don't. You have no idea.” Jen's voice was cold, brittle, and completely unlike her.

Tears pricked the corners of Sam's eyes, but Gram had just finished telling her that ranch folk hid their feelings. Sam lifted her chin and cleared her throat. She refused to cry on the bus, where everyone would see her.

When Jen gave a sigh, the sound might have been the opening of a valve releasing the pressure from inside Sam's own chest.

“I'm not going to be mad forever,” Jen said, sneaking a quick glance at Sam. “But please don't make me talk.”

“Okay,” Sam said.

She tried to think of something else for the length of the ride. She slid her fingers through her hair, trying to improve the shape of the caplike cut Brynna had given her the night before school started.

She really needed to get it trimmed. Any other morning, she'd convince Jen they needed to make a trip to the Crane Crossing mall. There had to be a cheap stylist there, but today the idea seemed too frivolous to discuss.

And asking Jen to go look for the cougar was definitely out. Sam knew she'd have to revise her plan, but she wasn't sure how until the bus arrived at Darton High School.

Sam and Jen parted without promises to meet at lunch. They gave silent waves and hurried across the parking lot toward class.

Sam had almost made it to the school building when she saw a familiar blue pickup truck pull into a parking spot.

It was like a clown car, Sam thought. How many Ely boys could actually fit inside and in the truck bed? They spilled out, all with black hair and blue jeans. Sam stood still, waiting in the cold shadow of the building.

When Jake walked within range, she'd pounce. Here he came, dressed just like the others, except for his scuffed brown leather jacket.

Jake scoffed at most of her plans, but he was just as worried about the cougars as she was. If she presented this problem the right way, Sam knew she could make him go with her after school.

Wait, he must have seen her. Why else would Jake have changed direction and headed for the front of the building rather than entering the door closest to his locker?

“As if you're going to escape,” Sam muttered.

She pushed through the door and rushed toward Jake's locker. Even though he had longer legs, she
could be there waiting when he arrived. If she hurried.

Sam dodged elbows and backpacks. She didn't look at her watch for fear she'd see how little time remained before the first bell rang.

She wanted to go to her own locker, too, to drop off some of the books weighing her down. But that could wait until she'd extracted a promise from Jake.

Mr. Blair stepped into the hall just in front of his classroom door, blocking Sam's way.

She'd never beat Jake now. But Mr. Blair was her journalism teacher and advisor to the school newspaper, the Darton
Dialogue
. And Mr. Blair was a big guy. He stopped traffic so effectively, he might have been a brick wall.

“Forster,” he boomed.

Mr. Blair extended a raggedly opened letter toward her. Behind him, Sam saw RJay, editor of the
Dialogue
.

Sam took the letter. She didn't want to look at it. There was still time to find Jake, but RJay was already announcing what was inside the envelope, so Sam didn't have much choice. She had to look.

“Second place,” RJay told her. “You got second place in the Night Magic contest.”

Sam skimmed the letter. Two teachers—Mr. Blair and Mrs. Ely—had encouraged her to enter the photo contest. After her success in photographing Hammer, the stallion who'd challenged the Phantom,
Sam had been eager to enter. She'd almost missed the deadline, though, after all the turmoil over the mustangs slated to be destroyed.

Finally a photograph had just presented itself while she was holding the camera. When Sam mailed it in, she'd been proud.

The picture showed Jake with Faith, a foal owned by Trudy Allen, the owner of a neighboring ranch.

Faith was blind, and she'd wandered off in the midst of a snowstorm. Sam had been among those searching for Faith, but she hadn't been the first to find her. The lucky little filly couldn't have known that a guardian angel, in the form of the Phantom, would herd her toward a hot springs and watch over her.

After riding for hours, Sam had found Faith. When Jake had come along, they'd decided he should carry the foal home across the withers of his mare, Witch. It was snowing hard and Jake had looked like a tender grizzly bear, burly but careful as he scooped up the filly and carried her. Sam had been holding her camera. One touch of her finger and she'd had the picture.

While Sam was remembering, RJay and Mr. Blair were arguing.

“She should've earned first prize,” RJay insisted.

“She should've focused,” Mr. Blair contradicted him. Then he waved aside RJay's annoyance.
“Besides, she's just a freshman, and she earned a gold-edged certificate.”

“With that and a buck, she can get a tuna sandwich in the cafeteria,” RJay snarled.

Boy, you could get away with a lot if you were the editor, Sam thought. The bell rang, covering Mr. Blair's response, but he didn't look too annoyed.

Rather than jump into a discussion that would probably go on without her, Sam shoved the letter back into its envelope and detoured around Mr. Blair and RJay.

“Thanks!” she shouted. “See you after lunch.”

Then, with no time to take her books to her locker, Sam ran for her history class. And she made it.

 

During the daily announcements over the school intercom, Sam heard there was a math club meeting during lunch. Jen always attended, so Sam wasn't surprised to be eating lunch alone.

She munched an apple and decided it was okay if Jen got a little more time to think things over. Besides, Sam had a meeting of her own to arrange.

She ambled toward a hidden position outside the cafeteria and waited. This time, Jake wouldn't escape.

He and his friends were creatures of habit. Every day they gobbled lunch, then left the cafeteria in a group. Obnoxious Darrell always led the pack, while Jake, the quietest in his rowdy crew, always exited last.

There went Darrell, jeans flapping. Next came
Jake's brother Brian. Then a few other guys, but no Jake.

Sam had followed the group only a few steps when Darrell spotted her. “No need to stalk me, Sam,” Darrell said, loudly enough that heads turned. “Just say the word, and I'm yours!”

“In your dreams,” Sam said, but she could feel the heat of a blush. “I'm looking for Jake.”

“Check over your shoulder, honey.” Darrell leered and pointed.

Sam whirled. Jake was right behind her. His leather jacket was open over his white tee-shirt. Though his black Shoshone mane was tied back with its usual leather shoelace, he looked different today.

Sam couldn't figure out what had changed. Was he standing taller? Holding his head a little higher? Whatever. She wasn't here to analyze his appearance.

“I need you to go ride with me after school,” Sam blurted, “and help me track the cougars up on the ridge.”

“Help
you
track the cougars?”

“Well, I tracked one of them to our chicken coop this morning,” Sam said. That was almost the truth, although a witness might argue over who was tracking and who was hunting.

“Yeah?” Jake asked, sounding lazy.

Sam folded her arms. It was risky trying to wait Jake out. On the range, he'd stay silent for hours, but sometimes at school he got restless before she did.

Sam watched a boy quarreling with his girlfriend.
She watched a puzzled gull circle over the rally court. Then she studied a crack in the sidewalk where one hardy weed was still sort of green.

This time, Jake's patience broke first.

“Why do you want to go following them?” he asked.

Sam wanted to applaud herself, but she didn't.

“To scare them off so Slocum won't find them and shoot them.”

“Doesn't sound smart, scaring animals that can swipe the horse right out from under you and have it for dinner. What's the point?”

Sam glared at Jake. He was annoyed that she'd outwaited him, so he said something like that. But she didn't give up.

“The point is, Slocum has a pack of lion hounds, a bunch of electronic tracking equipment, and…” Sam let her voice trail off when Jake began rubbing the back of his neck.

He and Dad both did that when they were uneasy.

Quit while you're ahead,
Sam told herself.

“All that stuff for one injured cat,” Jake mused, looking down at his feet.

He seemed to be thinking something over. His stillness reminded Sam of what Nate had told her. Jake had been bothered by a dream he'd had, a dream about cougars.

He should ask his grandfather to explain the dream, Sam thought. Jake joked that the old man
lived in the past, but he was a tribal elder and a respected interpreter of spirit dreams.

“Are you going to call your grandfather about your dream?” Sam braced herself for Jake's temper.

“I already talked to him.”

Sam swallowed. “You did? You actually called him and asked him about your dream?”

Jake's wooden expression softened into something that might have been amusement or wonder. “No, he called and asked
me
about it.”

Sam licked her lips and tried to think of something to say. She couldn't, so she took advantage of Jake's attention.

“After school, tell me about what he said, okay?” she asked.

“Don't know why you have to be so pushy.” Jake still looked unsure. “Think you're goin' alone, if I don't go with you?”

“Of course I am.”

“Not if I tell Wyatt.” Jake didn't sound protective. He sounded like a ten-year-old tattletale.

“Jake,” Sam said, rolling her eyes in impatience. “Haven't we outgrown that?”

Sam realized they'd been standing in the hall talking an awfully long time. Darrell and the others had gone off somewhere and the bell was about to ring.

“Please, Jake. It will be more fun with two of us. And safer,” she admitted.

He made a grumbling sound, then pointed his index finger at her. “Four o'clock at the trailhead
behind your place. Be there and ride…” Jake shook his head. “Shoot, I wish Ace was bigger, but yeah, ride him. We won't have long.”

Sam nodded, but she didn't understand why Jake was fussing about Ace's size and the amount of time they'd be riding.

“No way am I keeping you out after dusk,” Jake added. “That's when cougars get hungry and serious about hunting.”

 

At three forty-five that afternoon, Sam was ready to leave River Bend. She'd rushed through her after-school chores, promised Gram she'd do homework right after dinner, then hurried to saddle Ace.

As the mustang watched Sam, his black-edged ears tipped and swiveled to each sound she made. He seemed annoyed by her nervousness.

When Sam adjusted his bit for a second time, making sure it sat in his mouth so he'd feel her slightest signal, Ace nuzzled her.

“Are you telling me to lighten up? Hmmm, boy?” Sam tried to laugh at herself, but she couldn't help stepping back to slide her hand under Ace's cinch.

The latigo strap that held the saddle in place lay smooth and flat. Ace hadn't pulled his old trick of holding his breath, then letting out air so the cinch swung loose.

Actually, he hadn't tried that stunt for a long time, but this would be a bad time to make a mistake.

Sam slid her boot into the stirrup and swung up, letting her weight test the saddle's position. Then she threw her right leg over and settled in.

“I don't know why I'm so worried,” she told Ace. “You've probably seen lots of cougars.”

Sam rode through the old pasture and let Ace step over the downed fence rails. She kept watch on the faded sagebrush around her and aimed Ace toward the trailhead. She'd heard cougars loved the meat of young foals. Sam closed her eyes, but the awful images wouldn't vanish.

She wanted to believe the Phantom's watchful, protective mares wouldn't give cougars a chance to snatch their babies, but she knew it could happen.

The cougars had to be chased away, for their own safety and the safety of the wild horses.

Ace would be a big help today. He'd lived free. Before he was captured by the BLM, he must have seen mountain lions and come to know them as enemies. He would scent the big tawny cats before Sam saw one.

Still, she kept looking. The trail went weaving up the hillside, past boulders and brush. A cougar could be hiding anywhere. What sounded like wind rustling through branches could be a cougar gathering itself to pounce.

Why had she pictured the cougars running away from her? They were predators. Horses—with or without riders—were their prey.