The Challenger (14 page)

Her back ached as if she were carrying a hundred-pound backpack. Was this how it felt to be in shock? If so, how was she supposed to deal with it?

Think.

Hooves sounded behind her.

“Jake!” Sam yelled, but she kept backing. “Why didn't you come help me? Did you see it? All your tracking skills…What if something's above you leaping around from rock to rock, looking down, just waiting for a chance to bite your neck?”

Sam heard her voice echo. Below her boots, the dirt turned level. She smelled mud, grass, and horses. And then she heard a familiar nicker.

S
am stood on the floor of the arroyo.

The
pogonip
had thinned to a faint shimmer in the air. An earthen floor spread away from her. She had left the cougar on the mountain. She was sure of that, because here there was nowhere for him to hide.

The low nicker came again, and finally Sam dared to look over her shoulder. In the distance, she saw dark shapes. She turned and walked toward them.

Wild horses moved in a cautious herd, seeking ground a little farther away. But right before her was their king.

The Phantom stood in the turquoise stream. Mist swirled around him as he walked to the riverbank.

Sam's feet moved. She didn't tell them to, but they carried her toward the stallion.

He lowered his head, watching Sam come closer. His neck curved so he could face her. His silver hide wrinkled like silk, except in that one place where he'd
been scarred by a rope.

Sam stopped walking.

The Phantom stood just a few feet away, near enough to hear her whisper.

Sam tried to say his secret name, but she only croaked. She swallowed. Her throat had been working a minute ago. She'd been talking to herself, hadn't she?

The stallion tossed his forelock free of concerned brown eyes. Sam reached out a hand, telling him not to worry.

Prancing like a colt, he danced in the stream, sprinkling her with drops of water. Sam let them hit her face. The moisture felt good. Why was her face so hot? Maybe she really was in shock. Maybe the silver stallion was a fever dream and she was still alone up on that trail.

No. It wasn't a dream.

The Phantom was greeting her just as he used to before the rodeo. Just as he'd come to her in the river the first night she'd moved back from San Francisco. Just as he had when he was Blackie, the colt she'd mounted in La Charla river, years ago.

It was happening all over again. And it was real.

“Jake always made me wait for a sign you were ready,” Sam managed to whisper. The stallion stood, still and alert, so she kept talking. “In those days, you'd lower your head so I could slip the bridle over your nose, remember? And then you'd dance, waiting for me to swing onto your pretty back.”

Chills rained down Sam's arms as the stallion lowered his head and stamped a shower of stream water. Could he have understood every word?

He was asking her to ride him.

Sam caught her breath, daring to hope. But what if he wasn't? What if she tried, and fell, drenched herself, and had to spend the night here, soaked and waiting for rescue? Then she really would get hypothermia.

Even worse than that, what if she scared him so much he abandoned her forever?

Sam's shoulders sagged. Her knees buckled. She lowered herself to the ground. It was cold, but she didn't care. She couldn't have stood another minute.

The weakness was from the attack. She'd had the scare of her life. But the tears filling her eyes were from indecision. More than anything, she wanted to believe the stallion had forgiven her for what other men had done.

“You have to tell me, boy.” She smooched, and his ears swiveled to her voice again. “Do you trust me? You can, you know. And if you carry me out of here on some secret wild horse path, I'll never tell anyone. Not in a million years.”

He splashed closer. One hoof pawed the bank, then he thrust his nose at her, lifting her arm with a sharp jerk. Sam reached out her hand and the stallion touched it with his nose.

His muzzle felt like velvet.

He was telling her she could do it, but should she? Had he learned to trust only her and not other humans who'd harm him? The stallion nuzzled her hand, seeking more of her touch.

He'd learned. He knew she was the only one.

“Zanzibar,” Sam whispered. Her voice was growing rusty again, but the stallion's silver ears flicked to catch every word. “It might only happen once, here in this arroyo. I'm going to do it.”

She wobbled to her feet. The stallion walked in slow steps away from her, but he kept looking back to be sure she followed. Finally, he stopped and Sam saw two flat rocks. They formed stepping stones between her and the stallion.

Stream water rushed over them, making them slippery, but she wouldn't have to wade. One long step took her to the first rock and a shorter step took her to the next one.

“The only thing, boy, is that you're facing the wrong way.”

Sam laughed. She rubbed her forehead in frustration, then stared at the small smear of blood on her hand.

“Okay, pretty horse,” Sam said, moving into position. “I can't expect you to do everything.”

The Phantom tossed his head in a nod. How could she keep him happy? Months ago, when he'd first come to her, she'd sung “Silent Night” and he'd loved it.

“Well, the season's right,” Sam told him. “If I sing, will you put up with my clumsiness?”

Sam sang and the river accompanied her, but the song was jerky and the rock too slippery. When Sam tried to fling her belly over his back, the Phantom skittered away two steps and she nearly crashed into the icy water.

Both arms out for balance, she watched the horse.

“All right,” she said, panting from the exertion. “It's okay.”

The stallion's ears flicked at her breathless voice. His silver hide shivered and his tail switched with impatience. She had one more chance to get it right.

“I've got to remember how Jake taught me to do this, and I've got to remind you.” Sam closed her eyes, turned her face up to the pale sun and remembered.

In memory, summer banished the river's snowmelt. Eyes still closed, Sam stood as she should have the first time. Shoulder to shoulder with the stallion, she faced his tail, with her left palm tented over his warm withers.

Think summer,
Sam told herself, and the cramped muscles in her legs seemed to stretch. She lifted her sodden right boot from the water and swung it toward the horse, then away. When he didn't shy, she did it again.

“This is what it looks like, remember? I throw this leg over and the other one lifts off, and—” Sam's voice caught. How could she have forgotten this
part? “And I kiss the far side of your neck before I straighten up and ride you away.”

She opened her eyes, breaking the trance of memory.

This couldn't be done in a tangle of arms and legs. It had to be a single movement, fluid and graceful.

She let her fingers move on his withers. That left hand wasn't meant to lever her up. It was there to steady them both.

The Phantom's muzzle nudged her spine. He was ready.

Sam swung her right leg. Its arc cleared the stallion's back and lifted her left leg from the river water. Momentum made her right leg hit the stallion's far side. Her stomach rested on his neck and—there!—she kissed the right side of his neck, then pushed herself, trembling, upright.

“Oh, my gosh, boy,” Sam said through chattering teeth. “It's really happening. I love you, Zanzibar.”

Gooseflesh raced up her arms and down again. She was cold and confused, and more excited than she'd ever been before.

She leaned forward, rested her cheek on the stallion's mane, and the confusion faded away. Her arms hung and her hands trailed like rain on his silken neck. The Phantom shivered, but he didn't move until Sam sat tall.

The stallion's head came up as she straightened.

“We've done this before, boy.”

Sam balanced and held a lock of mane in her left
hand. Her trembling right hand rested on her thigh. She sighted ahead, through the stallion's curved silver ears.

“Here we go, boy.”

Before she tightened her legs, the Phantom took a step, testing, then stopped. Sam kept her fingers wound in his mane, but she smoothed her other hand over his shoulder.

“I remember this, don't you?” Sam said, and then she leaned forward.

The stallion moved down the stream. A few curious nickers followed them, but the Phantom trembled with the memories. Strength coursed through every muscle. It was clear to Sam that the great stallion was letting her command him. For now.

He lurched left. Sam grabbed his mane with both hands as the stallion vaulted onto the bank and leaped into a lope.

Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, don't gallop.
Every inch of her body trembled. She was not a good bareback rider. She didn't want to fall. Something black showed in the rock wall ahead.

The stallion entered a tunnel. She ducked her head, but then the Phantom slowed to a walk and her head snapped back.

Sam took a shuddering breath.
I'm okay. We're fine. This might never happen again. I'm not afraid. I'm in heaven.

This tunnel wasn't as dark as the one that led to the stallion's hideaway in the Calico Mountains. Could it be part of the same passageway? Excitement
made it hard to think.

The ceiling was so low, the stallion dropped his head to the level of his chest. Sam flattened on the stallion's neck and still the rock grated against her back.

Light flickered through cracks in the stone walls. It gave their journey a strange underwater feel, until Sam's eyes focused on the wall on her right.

Horses. Drawings of rust-red horses marked the wall. They looked like they'd been drawn by a second grader. And then Sam realized what they were. Petroglyphs. The drawings had been made by ancient tribes. Maybe they'd been daubed by Paiutes or Shoshones, or by families before there even were tribes.

Sam knew one thing for sure: Horses and people had lived together in this valley many, many years ago.

Sam felt a warmth in her chest. She must be the only person alive who knew this tunnel. By the time she tried to tie the drawings into some sort of story, they were gone.

The light at the end of the tunnel grew bright.

“Thank you, boy,” she whispered to the stallion.

He stopped. Then, to Sam's horror, his back legs lashed out.

“Easy, boy.”

The stallion gave a snort and kicked out again. This time, his legs twisted, loosening the grip of her legs. He wanted her off. Now.

“Zanzibar, I understand.”

Holding tight to his mane, she slipped from his back. Her feet had just reached the stone floor when
the stallion began backing away. His head bowed. His mane rushed forward to veil his face. He was going…

Suddenly dizzy, Sam braced her hands against the side of the tunnel. Silence claimed the air around her. When her senses stopped spinning, she focused on the spot where the Phantom had been. There was nothing but blackness.

Now she began to shiver seriously. She rubbed her hands up and down her parka arms, hearing the skid of her abraded palms on the nylon. She turned her back on the dark tunnel.

“Walk,” she ordered herself. Then she heard another voice.

She jogged toward the light as fast as she could without falling. She didn't know where this tunnel ended and she didn't care, because somewhere ahead, she heard Jake calling her name.

The mouth of the tunnel opened behind a rock. Sam had to climb, pulling herself up with painfully cold hands. This couldn't be the way the horses exited. Following the light must have led her away from the mustangs' path.

Her heart vaulted up, rejoicing. She wouldn't give away their secret.

“Good! Oh, good!” Sam chuckled as she lowered herself toward a gravelly path. Her feet shot out from under her, and she rode a dirt slide down the face of a foothill.

Jake was sitting on Witch, holding Strawberry's reins, gawking at her.

Sam staggered to her feet. She brushed at the seat of her jeans and looked over her shoulder.

“I think I slid through the denim,” she said, giggling.

“I think you're hysterical.” Jake dropped Strawberry's reins, ground-tying her, then moved to stand in front of Sam.

“Hey, you weren't down there, were you?” she asked.

“Down where?”

“In Arroyo Azul?”

Jake shook his head.

“But then, who was?” Sam asked. “I was following the tracks of a single horse down through Lost Canyon, past the overlook, and down into the arroyo.”

“Sam, I called your house this morning and no one answered. Tell me what happened.”

She covered her mouth to keep from laughing. She was feeling giddy, which really didn't make sense.
What happened?
It was kind of a lot to cover. She'd had the most terrifying moment of her life and the most wonderful. Part of it she'd never tell anyone, but she numbered off the three events on her fingers.

“First, I was following the horses. Then, the cougar attacked me. Last, Strawberry ran away.”

“The cougar—” Delicately, Jake turned her so that he could see her back.

“Jake, don't look at my pants. I ripped the seat out—”

Jake's hand fell away from her shoulder. He turned awfully quiet, even for him.

Feeling embarrassed, Sam looked up at Jake's frozen face. Then she stared at his fingers, which held a tiny white feather.

“The goose down in your jacket is floating out through claw rips in the nylon,” he said softly.

“My parka's wrecked?” Sam asked.

Jake stared at her as if she'd missed the point.

“Can you ride?” he asked.

“Of course I can ride.” Sam snatched Strawberry's trailing reins, jammed her boot toe in the stirrup, and swung aboard. “If you only
knew
how I can ride,” she muttered to herself.

She kicked Strawberry into a gallop. Jake shouted and Witch came thundering after the other mare.

Sam hated to make Jake worry, and she hated to run away from the magical hour she'd had with the Phantom. Most of all, she hated going home, but that was why she had to hurry before she lost her nerve.

Once there, she would have to tell Brynna the truth about the young cougar. When she did, there was a very good chance someone would go to Lost Canyon and shoot him.