Gabriel's Horses (9 page)

Y
ou goin' to win today, Gabriel,” Jase says confidently as he strides down the aisle next to me. “You and Savannah will beat that Flanagan.”

“I won't win wearing these boots,” I grumble. “They're pinching my toes.”

“So kick 'em off.”

“Ma says I have to wear them. She says Pa wore them when he first started jockeying. She says they'll bring me luck.”

Jase chortles. “Ain't gonna bring you luck if they hurt your feet. 'Sides, you always listen to your ma?”

I don't answer because it would make me sound like a mama's boy. When I reach Savannah's stall, I peer inside. The filly's eyes are like moons in her black face. She's pacing around the stall, kicking up straw and manure.

All this morning, curious folks have been stopping by her stall to stare. Like Annabelle said, the whole farm's making bets on this race, and Savannah's smart enough to know something's up. Something scary.

“All the barn hands are betting on Savannah to win,” Jase tells me. “They say she's lightning.”

I know he's lying because of his shifty eyes. “I don't care beans about the barn hands,” I say, then I repeat Pa's words. “This race is about me and Savannah.”

“Then you in trouble.” Standing on tiptoes, he's looking over the half door into the stall. “'Cause that filly's as twitchy as a cat-cornered mouse.”

Frowning, I give Jase a hard pinch on the arm.

He squeals. “What'd you pinch me for?”

“You best be rooting for
us
.”

“I am.”

“He'll be the
only
one rooting for you, then,” someone says behind us.

Jase and I spin around. Flanagan's standing in the aisle. He's wearing shiny black boots and pure white breeches. One gloved hand grasps a riding whip, which he taps against the side of his leg. Spurs stick out from the heels of his boots.

Flanagan laughs when he sees my raggedy britches, pointy-toed boots, and homespun shirt. “See you at the finish line, laddie—
if
your horse makes it that far.”

“Humph. Fancy clothes don't mean a man can ride,” I mutter as he saunters down the aisle. I pull Savannah's bridle from the peg and touch the bit with my tongue, making sure Newcastle didn't smear some nasty tonic on it, then check the straps for slices in the leather. Newcastle ain't gutsy enough to defy Master and come at me with the whip. But a mean man is usually a cheating one, too.

I open the stall door. Savannah shoves her muzzle in my hand. Her ears flick like blackbird wings. Last night I slept in her stall. I wanted her to know my smell as well as her own—and besides, I didn't trust Newcastle not to tamper with the filly.

Savannah is already wearing her saddle. I put it on her first thing this morning to give her back muscles time to warm. I run my hand under the pad, hunting for burrs or prickers, and then tighten the girth.

“Saddle up!” Cato calls out.

I peer over the door and down the aisle. Newcastle and Flanagan hover outside Captain Conrad's stall while Tandy tacks up the colt for them.

Jase brings me a box. Standing on it, I bridle Savannah, humming and singing all the while. She likes “Amazing Grace” and “Lorena” the best.

“Filly ain't singing in the church choir, Gabriel,” Jase grumbles.

“I'm just soothing her,” I tell him. Soothing
me
, too, only I don't admit that.

“Captain's all tacked up,” Jase reports from the doorway. He's hopping from one foot to the other like he's as nervous as I am. “Tandy's leading him down the aisle.”

I jump off the box. “We're ready, too.”

“Can I lead her?” Jase pleads.

“Not this time. Savannah knows me, Jase. To win this race, I've got to keep her trust.”

“I reckon. Might be you could use this, too.” He digs in his pocket and pulls something out. He gives me a shy look, then hands me his lucky rabbit foot.

Smiling, I slip it down my right boot.

Moments later, we're walking through the gap in the fence and onto the grassy track. Field slaves and barn workers are strung along the rail like it's a holiday. Even the armed guards have quit their posts to watch. Some folks nod. Some wish me luck. I pay them no mind, all my attention on Savannah. Yesterday she cantered sweetly for me. But then the fields weren't bright and noisy with folks, and now the filly's dancing on my boot toes.

“Nothing to be scared of,” I tell her.

Flanagan's already mounted on Captain Conrad. The colt's neck is arched and he's mouthing the bit, eager to get along. Savannah floats toward them, each step hesitant.

“Come on, boy, get your horse over here!” Newcastle shouts at me. “We ain't going to bite.” The two men guffaw.

I look for Master Giles. He's by the finish line pole, checking his watch. “Oliver will start you,” he calls. “Then go twice around.”

Cato boosts me onto Savannah. I warm her up with a trot down the homestretch, and she rolls her eyes at the onlookers. Newcastle hollers to quit wasting time and get on with the race, but Master acts like he doesn't hear.

By the time we reach the starting line, Savannah's quit goggling at the crowd. Reaching down, I run my palm softly along her neck.
This is it
, I think.
This is my chance to prove that I should be Woodville's new jockey.

I perch forward, my weight in the stirrups. Before I can twine my fingers through Savannah's mane, Newcastle yells, “Go!” and smacks Captain on the rump.

The colt springs forward, Savannah right with him. Only
I'm
almost left behind. Landing hard on the saddle, I lose my right stirrup. Savannah's cantering sideways, and field hands jump out of her way. Heart thumping, I grab a handful of mane, pull myself forward, and catch my balance. Then I kick my foot out of the left stirrup. Gathering the reins, I steer her straight.

Captain Conrad's at least seven lengths ahead. His powerful hind muscles churn; his hooves kick up clods of turf.

I take deep breaths, slowing my drumming heart. Hunkering low, I jiggle the reins with my fingers so the filly can feel me. Savannah has a mouth soft as cotton. She needs reassuring, not pulling. Least that's what she told me those three days I exercised her.

“Two miles,” I whisper. “There ain't no rush, Savannah.”

Her stride's steady as she canters downhill. Captain Conrad's still a good distance ahead. Master's exercise track ain't like the Kentucky Association track; it's grassy hills and swells, trees and bushes. We canter through a stream, the water spraying Savannah's belly. Then the track winds back toward the barns.

Sensing home, Captain Conrad charges faster. Flanagan's standing in his stirrups, fighting him because he knows we got another mile.

I smile. Fighting taxes a horse as much as running.

We fly past the crowd, Captain Conrad ahead by five lengths. Movement by the willow tree catches my attention. It's Ma and Annabelle waving colorful ribbons.

“Win, Gabriel!” Annabelle hollers.

We gallop away for a second lap around. The sun's high and hot, and the wind burns my cheeks. Savannah's sweaty neck shines like a polished boot, but her head's still tucked and her gait's strong, so I know she's got speed left inside. I slow her to a canter as we head up the hill from the stream. It's the last hard pull. If she can save a burst for the homestretch, we can win.

The hill tires out Captain Conrad, and slowly we pull alongside. The colt's neck is stretched flat and his nostrils flare pink. But he's got height and muscle on the filly, and he ain't going to quit.

Flanagan ain't going to quit either.

Digging his spurs in Captain's side, he pushes the colt on. His whip hand flails up and down, and the slaps of leather on horse flesh make me wince. I steer clear, making sure he doesn't use the whip on Savannah or me.

I aim my eyes on the finish line pole.

Propping my hands higher on the filly's neck, I whisper, “Now, Savannah.”

I chirp, Savannah flows into a gallop, and we pull effortlessly past Captain Conrad. I grin, seeing that finish line ahead.

Only something is wrong.

The crowd is scattering. Cato's waving both arms. Master's running for the barn.

We thunder past the finish-line pole. By the willow tree, I see Ma and Annabelle staring panic-stricken toward the Main House. As I rise in the stirrups to slow the filly, Cato's frantic shout reaches my ears. “It's One Arm and his raiders! Get the horses to the barn!”

T
he thudding of a hundred hooves on hard ground comes from the direction of the Main House. Chills prickle my arms.

I pull hard on the right rein, swinging Savannah toward the willow tree. “Get to the house. Bolt the doors!” I holler at Ma and Annabelle, and they dash off in a flurry of skirts.

Master Giles and the armed guards are hurrying toward the oncoming raiders, who jog their mounts past the house toward the barns. My heart quickens.

They're after the horses!

As I trot down the track, I lose sight of Master Giles, Cato, and Oliver. The field slaves are shooting like buckshot into the cornfield beyond the track. Flanagan jumps off Captain Conrad and yanks him toward the gap in the fence. But the colt staggers and almost falls. With a frightened glance toward the raiders, Flanagan drops the reins and runs after Newcastle, who's fleeing toward the barn.

Savannah halts behind Captain Conrad. I leap from the saddle, land on one leg, and tumble to the ground. “Jase!” I holler as I scramble to my feet. Jase worms his way through the scattering people. “Take Savannah to the barn. Untack and cool her. Tell Tandy to hustle out here with a bucket of cold water and a rag. Captain's got the shakes.”

Jase runs off leading the filly.

Captain sways. Pa says the shakes happen when a horse's insides get so hot its body can't cool itself. In the distance, I hear men shouting. I see a handful of raiders in front of the carriage barn. They're dismounting and their guns are drawn.

Thoughts of One Arm make me tremble. I want to run into the corn with the field slaves, but I can't abandon Captain.

Leaving the colt, I speed down the hill toward the icehouse, which is hidden in the bank near the stream. I lift the latch and throw open the wooden door. The small room's dark and cool. Ducking inside, I kneel on the dirt floor. There's a hole in the middle of the floor. Deep in the hole, ice stays frozen most of the summer.

I uncover the hole and pull up the bucket, praying for ice, not snakes.

My hand touches a slippery chunk.

I wrap it in my shirt hem, close the door over the hole, and run back up the hill. Tandy's struggling from the barn with a bucket of water. Captain's leaning against the fence rail, his head drooping.

“Get the saddle off, Tandy. We got to cool him.”

Tandy sets down the bucket. He tries to unbuckle the girth, but his fingers are shaking and he keeps looking uneasily over his shoulder.

Pulling off my shirt, I wrap the ice in it and press it against the vein in Captain's neck. “Is it truly One Arm and his raiders?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

He nods miserably. “I s-s-scared, Gabriel. I don't want to die.”

“You ain't going to die. One Arm's after
horses
, not us.” I peek over Captain's neck. “Where's Master Giles and Newcastle? Are they guarding the barns?”

Shrugging mutely, Tandy pulls off the saddle.

“Take the rag and wash the water over Captain's back. We got to cool him, so he can walk. Then you hide him in the icehouse. Raiders won't go there.”

By the time the ice has melted, Captain's somewhat perked up. “Go, Tandy. When Captain's safely tucked away, you come back.”

Tandy hurries off down the track, Captain following unsteadily behind. I doubt Tandy will come back. Later, we'll find him shivering in the icehouse with Captain Conrad and the snakes. Not that I blame him. Raiders are worse than snakes.

Pulling on my wet shirt, I sprint to the barn. The back doors are shut tight and secured from the inside. I scratch on the wood. “It's Gabriel.”

I hear the board being lowered and Cato cracks open the door. I slip inside. When he shuts it behind me, I can't see.

Cato grips my shoulder. “Master's talking with One Arm,” he whispers. “Two guards are posted in front of each barn, but they ain't no match for twenty-five raiders.”

I know my way round the barn day or night, so I walk down the aisle, peering into each stall. The windows are shuttered, but I can see the horses in the slivers of light. Sympathy, Arrow, and Tenpenny rustle uneasily in their stalls. Jase is rubbing down Savannah with a rag. Blind Patterson's throwing his head, confused by the sudden change in sounds. Daphne and Romance are nervously munching hay. Lastly I check on Aristo.

My heart sinks. The horse ain't been right since Newcastle tied him up, and now he's wringing wet with fear. When I open the stall door, he throws himself into a corner.

I stand quiet, waiting for the colt to see it's me. Finally he comes over and lips my hand. I stroke his sweaty neck. My throat's tight. “'Risto, I ain't going to let nothing more happen to you,” I choke out. “I promise.”

“Gabriel, I hid Captain like you said.” Tandy's standing behind me in the stall doorway. His skinny knees are knocking together. I grin, glad he was brave enough to come back.

Loud arguing from outside makes us both start. With a moan, Tandy flattens against the doorjamb. “They's coming to get us, Gabriel.”

“They ain't after
us
,” I repeat, but my heart's banging, too.

I scratch under Aristo's forelock. “Be back in a jump,” I whisper before leaving the stall. Tandy tags after me down the aisle.

Cato's at the front of the barn, the side of his head against the wooden door like he's listening. Flanagan's beside him, jawing a wad of tobacco. When I come up, he spits a black stream by my feet.

I ignore him. “Can you hear what they're saying, Cato?”

He motions for me to listen.

I press my ear against the wood. I can hear Master's voice. He's telling One Arm that there's no call for violence.

“Ha. Lies from a bloody Yankee,” a deep voice replies. “You fly the British flag, Mister Giles, but you ain't on the side of us Rebels.”

“Now, Captain Parmer, didn't I give you fair warning the other day that the Union soldiers were after you?”

“Reckon you did. But it weren't to save me. It was to save your
horse
.”

I swallow hard. One Arm hasn't forgotten about Tenpenny. If only I could see what was going on.

Then I notice a circle of light at my feet. There's a knothole by my knees. Stooping, I put my eye to it.

Tandy plucks at my shirt. “Can you see?” he whispers. Jase comes up the aisle, eager for a look, too. I wave them off. Master and two guards are in the middle of the circle of raiders. One Arm is still on his horse. The others have dismounted and are holding their horses, which are a sorry lot. They're so thin and spent it's a wonder they're still standing.

“You were hiding a racehorse that day, Mister Giles,” One Arm continues. “Name of Tenpenny. I heard he won at the Lexington meet the next day. I figure you owe me.”

“You're right, I do.” Master puts his hand inside his coat. Instantly, One Arm aims his revolver. The two guards nervously raise their rifles. Twenty-four weapons cock in response, and the guards hastily drop their rifles on the ground and stick up their hands.

One Arm chuckles. “If you're thinking about reaching for a weapon, Mister Giles, I'd think again.”

“No, no.” Master pulls out a wallet. “I was aiming to pay you what I owe.”

One Arm laughs. “Hear that, boys? He thinks we want
money
.” He presses his lips into a thin smile. “Well, we
do
want money. But what we want
more
are fresh mounts. As you can see, ours are played out.” Cocking his pistol, he points the barrel at Master's head. “Empty out your barns, Giles. I want those Thoroughbreds.”

I stifle a gasp.
No, don't let him have the horses!

“And what do I get in return?” Master calmly asks.

One Arm sweeps his arm in an arc. “Why, we'll swap our fine horses for yours. Seems fair.”

“Your rode-to-death mounts for my purebreds?” Master shakes his head. “I doubt that's fair. I see broken knees and split hooves, and not a Thoroughbred in the bunch.”

“You also see the end of my gun barrel.”

“And I have armed men at every barn. There will be a fight.”

“No problem.” Using the butt of his gun, One Arm tips up the brim of his hat. “Corporals Keen and Hardy!” he hollers over his shoulder. A moment later, two riders trot up with burning torches. “When I count to ten, set the barns on fire.”

“Stop!” Master shouts. “That won't be necessary.” Shoulders slumped in resignation, he nods toward the barn that houses the carriage horses. “I'll personally escort your men into the barn and let them pick their horses.”

I jump up. Tandy and Jase push each other, trying to take my place at the knothole.

“Cato, did you hear that?” I whisper excitedly. “Master's taking them to the wrong barn.”

Cato nods. “Master's smart. Buying time. 'Cept those renegades know horseflesh. They ain't gonna be fooled for long.”

“Long enough for us to get the Thoroughbreds to safety!”

Cato frowns.

“This is our chance to save the horses,” I rush on. “You've heard the stories 'bout how the raiders ride their horses to death. We can't let that happen to Penny and 'Risto and the others. If we ride the horses from the barn, there ain't no way their mounts can catch us.”

Jase and Tandy are looking up from the knothole like I'm crazy. Flanagan snorts. Even Cato shakes his head. “No suh. They ain't my horses. An' this ain't my fight.”

“Tandy? Jase?”

The two slowly stand. Jase is chewing his lip and Tandy's staring glumly at his toes. Neither can even sputter a
no
.

“Flanagan?”

“Why should I care about some rich man's horses?” He shoots tobacco juice past my leg. “Mister Giles can just buy new ones.” Arms crossed, he saunters down the aisle.

My fingers curl into fists. “Then I'll do it alone.”

Squatting, I peer out the knothole. One Arm and a handful of his men are following Master. More than a dozen raiders still wait outside, but their attention is on the carriage barn. I can take the horses out the back door—

Only there's no way I can lead all of them.

Which one do I leave behind? Blind Patterson? He's no good to the raiders, but they might shoot him out of spite. Sweet Savannah? Tenpenny?

My temples throb. I
can't
take them all. But if I don't do something fast,
none
will be saved.

Suddenly I know what to do. I'll ride Aristo and lead Patterson and Savannah. I'll let the others free. Hopefully, they'll follow us. If we can make it across the river, we can hide in the woods.

It ain't the best plan, but at least I can try. I hurry down the aisle and grab Aristo's halter.

Jase taps my shoulder. “I'll help,” he whispers.

“Me too,” Tandy says behind him.

My spirits lift. We
can
try and save them all!

“Good. Now, listen carefully. Tandy, you bridle Tenpenny. You'll ride him and lead Arrow and Romance. Jase, you ride Savannah—she's still bridled—and lead Sympathy and Daphne. I'll take Aristo and Blind Patterson. We'll gallop out the back barn doors at the same time, then spread out to confuse the raiders.”

The two nod eagerly.

“Tandy, you'll ride into the cornfield. Jase, you circle round toward Major Wiley's farm. I'll head to the river. If the raiders get close to you, let go of the horses you're leading and ride for your life. Got that?”

The two nod again. Grabbing bridles and halters, they dash down the aisle. Cato's in Patterson's stall putting a halter on the stallion. “I won't ride with you,” he says solemnly, “but I'll help you get away.”

I hurry into Aristo's stall. The colt is tense. He throws up his head, and I know I ain't going to coax the bridle on. I clip two ropes to the halter.

Clucking, I lead him out of the stall and over to the front doors of the barn. Jase is mounted on Savannah, waiting by the back doors. He's holding the leads of Sympathy and Daphne. Cato's helping Tandy climb on Tenpenny. Bending, I peer through the knothole. My pulse sets to marching double-quick.

One Arm and Master are coming out of the carriage barn, followed by a group of raiders. One Arm has a gun to Master's temple. “No more tricks, Mister Giles,” One Arm is saying. “I don't want wagon horses. I want Thoroughbreds and
I want them now
.”