Buckskin Bandit (10 page)

“The lovely Mrs. Coolidge is a natural at everything she undertakes,” her husband proclaimed.

“Now Mr. Coolidge,” said his wife.

Catman and M hadn't spoken, at least not out loud. But I had a feeling they were saying volumes to each other, exchanging expressions at racehorse speed.

Mr. Coolidge revved the engine and shot down the bumpy driveway. “Sa-a-ay!” he shouted back. “What did the driverless car say to his friend, the bat?”

I started cracking up.

“Why are you laughing?” Sal whispered.

“You'll see,” I whispered back. Mr. Coolidge has so many corny jokes. All he has to do is start one, and I lose it. “I give,” I replied. “What did the driverless car say to the bat?”

“‘You drive me, Batty!' Get it? ‘You drive me batty!' ” He laughed in windy huffs that made me think of horses' snorting. “I've got a million of 'em!”

Sal cracked up too, shaking her head.

Mr. Coolidge tried out half a dozen equally corny jokes on us as he drove to Happy Trails. Most had something to do with horsepower. By the time we got there, Sal was laughing so hard her mascara was running in streams down the sides of her face.

Hawk and Kaylee were already at the stable when we drove up. They came running to the car and grabbed me the second I opened the door.

“I told him our friends were meeting us here, and we'd need all eight horses,” Kaylee whispered.

“And,” Hawk continued, “that man insisted they only have seven horses.”

“Then—” Kaylee took over again—“that old woman, the one who yelled at us before, poked her head out of her house and asked what all the arguing was about.”

“The large man's face turned white,” Hawk said. “He was definitely frightened of her. You should have seen Kaylee. She told the old woman that we had wanted our party of eight to ride together. But since Happy Trails only had seven horses, none of us would be riding.”

“Way to go, Kaylee!” I wished I could have been there to see it.

Kaylee picked up the story. “Then Leonard said it had all been a mistake, and of course they had eight horses for us. So he walked out to the pasture and hasn't been back since. The woman went back inside her house, but we're still waiting for Leonard to bring the eighth horse. It's got to be Bandit.”

“You did it!” I couldn't believe our plan was actually working.

Kaylee and I made our way to the barn, while Hawk stayed outside to greet the other riders. We found the seven horses saddled and bridled, waiting in their stalls.

From behind the barn came a squeal, followed by a smack. Then Leonard plodded into the barn through the back door. Bandit, ears flat back, walked stiffly behind him.

I had a good idea of what Leonard had been doing to the horse—from the squeal, the smack, the look of terror and anger in Bandit's eyes.

It made me want to grow three feet taller and 200 pounds heavier and give Leonard a dose of his own medicine.

Bandit's head jerked with every move Leonard made as they did a tug-of-war up the stallway. The buckskin's eyes were rimmed white, and his flanks quivered. He looked ready to bolt.

“I might have known you'd bring your little friend,” Leonard grumbled.

Bandit slammed on his brakes, his forelegs stiff. He threw up his head.

“Get up here!” Leonard shouted, jerking the reins. “I'll show you who's boss!”

“Stop it!” Kaylee cried, running up to them.

“Maybe now you can see why I try to keep this horse away from the customers,” Leonard said, pulling on Bandit's leadrope. “He's no good. I told the old woman we ought to get rid of him.” He looped the rope around a stall post and pulled a broken-down saddle off the railing.

Bandit tugged against the rope.

“You stop that!” Leonard bellowed. He charged the gelding, then stopped, as if realizing he wasn't the only human in the barn.

“I'll saddle him,” I offered. “Please?”

He frowned at Bandit, then at me. “Knock yourself out.” He tossed me the saddle, almost knocking me out himself.

I set down the saddle and walked up to the quivering Bandit. I could see myself in his watery eyes. From outside the barn came Mr. Coolidge's voice as he told another joke, while Sal choked with laughter.

Kaylee moved up to Bandit's head and held out her hand.

Bandit's ears shot back.

“Careful, Kaylee,” I warned.

She took her hand back. “Oh, Winnie. He's worse than before. What are we going to do?”

“I'll tell you what we're not going to do,” I said, touching Bandit's neck lightly, then increasing the pressure to a scratch. “We're not going to ride him. Not like this.”

“You're right,” she agreed. “He's so scared, Winnie. I can't stand it.”

One by one Leonard led the seven tired horses out of the barn. Each time he returned for another one, he smirked at us. With just the dun remaining, Leonard stopped in front of us. “So, couldn't even get that beast saddled, could you?”

“I changed my mind,” I said. “I don't feel like riding.”

“No refunds!” Leonard barked.

“That's okay,” I said. “I'll just stay here until the rest of them get back.”

“No way, Winnie!” Kaylee cried. “I'm staying with Bandit!”

“Well, whoever's coming better come,” Leonard said, shoving Bandit into the nearest stall.

I tried to get Kaylee to go on the ride, but she refused to leave Bandit. Finally I gave up. “Okay. But don't go into the stall. Promise? Just stay here. Talk to Bandit. Laugh. Let him see what it's like when people are happy.”

I joined the others outside. Hawk was helping Mrs. Coolidge onto a dirty Palomino. Then she moved over to Sal and gave her last-minute riding instructions.

Leonard led out the dun last and handed him to me.

“Outta sight!” Catman cried, sliding off the bay he was mounted on. “Swap, Winnie? That horse looks like a Siamese cat, man.”

I'd never thought about it, but Catman had a point. The dun was cream-colored with brown shadings like a Siamese. “Be my guest,” I said.

I held the dun while Catman mounted. Then I climbed into the stiff saddle on the bay. “Did this horse used to be a Trotter?” I asked Leonard. “A Standardbred?”

“Yeah.” Leonard looked surprised. And suspicious. “How'd you know that?”

“Trade secret,” I said. But it wasn't that hard. The horse was powerfully built, without the refined look of a Thoroughbred. His body was long, with sloping shoulders and short legs.

I glanced around at the horses the others had ended up with. All the horses seemed so tuckered out that I didn't think we'd have much trouble with them on the trail.

“Tallyho!” cried Mr. Coolidge.

Leonard pointed to the trail and told us to ride out and back. At least that was one good thing. None of the horses had to carry him. “Them horses could do the route blindfolded,” he said, getting into his battered pickup. “I'll be back before you are.”

“Hawk, you lead!” I hollered as she mounted a sorrel mare. “I'll bring up the rear.”

The horses lined themselves up as they plodded on the rough trail toward thick trees. Mrs. Coolidge pulled her horse out of second in line and let Sal go in front of her. She said she wanted to be in front of her husband. Mr. Coolidge's hat was crooked, and I hoped his toupee would stay on. He leaned to the side, but I didn't want to insult him by telling him to sit up straighter.

For the first 15 minutes, Hawk couldn't get her horse to move faster than a painfully slow walk. I had to keep pulling up the Trotter so he wouldn't trot into the back of M's horse, who would then ram into Catman's horse.

Sal, who had moved in behind Hawk, kept a steady conversation going with her. After a while, Sal turned back and shouted, “Hey! You're all invited to Winnie's barn for a horse birthday party Saturday morning! Amigo will love it! M, you can hang with Buddy. Catman, we know you'll bring cats.”

“Sal, I—” But I didn't know what to say. I still hated birthdays—my birthday anyway. I'd vowed I'd never celebrate March 24th again. Too many pictures stored up in my head.

But some of the older pictures were good ones. A photo shot to my brain. I must have been about eight because Lizzy and I were almost the same height. Mom was holding Buttermilk, her buckskin, so I could ride her. I was wearing new boots I'd gotten for my birthday. But the real gift was Mom trusting me with her horse.

“So aren't you going to say anything, Winnie?” Sal was twisted around in her saddle—one hand on her horse's rump, the other clutching the saddle horn. “We're bringing the cake and everything—unless Lizzy insists on baking it. Hint, hint.”

I looked up to the front of the line. Hawk was staring back at me. Our eyes held each other's. And I knew. It wasn't that she had forgotten how I felt about birthdays. Hawk understood. She just wanted to kick me past it.

“A horse birthday party, huh?” I said slowly. When I looked at it like I was somebody else, somebody whose mother hadn't died like mine had, it was just about the nicest thing anybody had wanted to do for me in a long time. “I like it.”

“That's better.” Sal turned back around.

Ahead of me, Catman was staring at something, holding it up to the sinking sun.

“What have you got, Catman?” I hollered.

He waved what looked like a tiny leaf he must have pulled from a tree.

M grabbed a leaf from a tree as we passed by. He held it up, exactly like Catman.

I plucked a leaf off the next tree and stared at it, holding it up to the sun. It was green and nice and everything, but nothing special. “I don't get it!” I shouted.

But M did. “Blocks out the sun,” he explained. “Decidedly amazing.”

I looked at the leaf again. M was right. As we rocked along on our horses, I stared at the leaf and couldn't see the sun behind it. Amazing that something that small could block out something so big.

“Mrs. Coolidge?” Mr. Coolidge's panicky voice startled me. “Darling, where are you going?”

“I'm not doing it!” she hollered back, terror in her voice.

I dropped my leaf and saw that Mrs. Coolidge's horse was very slowly walking past Sal's horse, reclaiming her rightful spot as second in line.

Mr. Coolidge yelled, “Stop that horse! It's running away with my wife!”

“No, it's not, Mr. Coolidge!” I shouted up. “The horses are used to taking the trail in a certain order. She'll be fine when she's back in the right slot.”

But he wasn't listening to me. “Mrs. Coolidge!” he cried. “Hang on! I'm coming!” He gripped the saddle horn. “Yeee-haw!”

I'm not sure what he did next. But suddenly his horse sprang to life. The mare gave a little buck I could have sworn she didn't have in her and broke out of line in a trot.

“Pull back on the reins!” I yelled as loud as I could.

But he was only holding the tips of the reins. So when he pulled, nothing happened. In fact, the mare trotted faster, past Sal, past Mrs. Coolidge, past Hawk.

“Stop!” cried Mr. Coolidge.

But the mare had a taste of the lead and wasn't about to give it up. She broke to a canter, sending Mr. Coolidge farther sideways. His legs stuck out. One hand continued to grip the saddle horn, and the other clutched his hat as his horse took off through the woods in a real, live runaway.