Chapter Two, a Little Late

Sorry for bein' late! My sister was baptized today, and then we had an celebration party afterwards, and then my cuz came over, so I've had a busy day and totally forgot to post! LOL! 

Chapter Two

Supper was a very quiet meal. Bertha sat in her chair, swirling her mashed potatoes around with her fork, then nibbling a little, and then setting her fork down, sighing, and then repeating. Dan slouched in his seat, stewing over the rustlers and thieves, a hint of anger flashing in his eyes; plate neglected. Abby sat tight-lipped and straight-backed, finishing her supper only to pick at her berry crisp. Mark teased Maggie a bit, then got frustrated and pulled her braid. When Maggie howled and kicked him under the table, Bertha snapped at them to “Be quiet an’ eat yer supper!”

Brody sighed and stabbed the crisp. It was delicious – Bertha’s specialty – but he had no will to eat. His brain turned the subject of thieves over and over in his mind, and before long it started to drive him nuts. He stuck a bite of crisp in his mouth, swallowed with a bit of a struggle, and stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back.

“Brody?” Bertha glanced at him questioningly. “Are ya okay? Ya look a mite pale.”

Brody shrugged. “I – I’m fine. It’s just – I feel horrible about the thieves and the missing cattle and horses, and I – I need to go see Sunny.” It sounded pathetic, but it was his heart’s wish and he mournfully gazed at his father. “Really, Pa, I’m terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Dan simply shrugged and shoved his veggies into a pile of potatoes. He grunted.

Pa’s out of sorts, Brody thought, watching his pa waste food he’d never waste. I guess I am,

too. I usually eat faster than Mark and – He turned to where the younger boy was devouring his second helping of crisp – and Mark eats fast, and he also eats a lot. Brody shook his head and discouraged his thoughts of food. Quickly, he skirted the edge of the table and broke out of the dining room. Lengthening his stride, Brody burst outside and broke into a run.

After reaching the barn, the boy hurried to Sunny’s stall. He stroked the sturdy neck. Whatever shall I do for Pa? He’s so worn out already just thinking of the missing Mustangs and cattle.

The next thought that broke into his head startled him.

No, I can’t do that, Brody argued with the thought. That’s too dangerous.

Really? he argued back. You could try. It would help your pa lots.

Brody stared at Sunny, maybe hoping the mare could help him decide. The horse just grabbed more food and closed her eyes. The boy sighed. Sure. I’ll do it.

Brody stepped out of Sunny’s stall, rushed to the barn door, and stuck his head outside. Daylight was fading fast. If he wanted to follow his plan, he’d need to saddle the buckskin quickly and hurry down to the Mustangs canyon before darkness fell.

So he turned to grab Reckless’ – the buckskin – saddle and then ran to tack his gelding up, not knowing what he was getting himself into.

***

The whole time Reckless was trotting down the steep trail leading into the canyon corralling the Mustangs, Brody’s mind chanted Stop the thieves, stop the thieves. That was what this was all about: he’d stop the thieves from stealing more animals, and in doing so relieve his pa of the work that came with catching rustlers.

Many questions had filtered into Brody’s mind as he rode his buckskin towards the large herd, now minused in size. Like, are the horse thieves cohorting with the rustlers, or are they both loners striking at the same time? And, are the horse thieves and rustlers the same people, striking out for both animals so they can start a good ranch? He remembered the suspicious family that moved onto the barren ranch neighboring the border of the Sharps’ ranch. Could they be stealing? Mr. Grey seemed odd enough, and very quiet, sneaky-eyed, and sly. Mrs. Grey was gossipy some days and tighter lipped than a stone-statue on others. Their kids?

Bullies, Brody thought, reining Reckless in. He sat ride by the lead mare of the herd. She was a dark brown, Roman nosed mare and when Reckless nickered, the horse gaze him a ruthless glare. She snorted and pawed, blowing fire from her nostrils.

At her restless pawing, the herd shifted as one. Then a horse –a sturdy, majestic pinto – leaped from the other side and thundered up to Reckless. It was the stallion. It reared up and screamed at the gelding. Brody yelped and Reckless sidestepped.

When the stallion at last realized Reckless wasn’t here to steal his mares – that were remaining – and the lead mare saw Reckless as friend, not foe, Brody was finally able to lead his mount calmly to a bush, tie him up, and settle himself quietly under a rocky overhang. He leaned back, pulled his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them, his head relaxed back on the rock, eyes watching the moon. It was a peaceful night.

And it stayed peaceful. No riders came into view, no new horses; not even a bird or owl or bat flew about. A coyote howled once, then all was still. Brody drifted off to sleep.

He work with a start. The sun peeked over the eastern horizon, just saying its first small hello. Brody didn’t know what had woken him, but all he knew was that he’d somehow gotten from his curled-up position on the wall, to a sprawled position under the massive stomach of Reckless.

Brody groaned and rolled out from under the gelding. The horse looked at him, shocked that this obnoxious human being had come out from under him. Brody glared back and stood up, brushing the dust from his clothes. “I think, since there’s no horses stolen, that –”

Crack!

Brody yelped and flung himself at Reckless. The horse’s head jerked up and he neighed in fright. Suddenly, a loud “YAHOO!” split the air. Close to stampeding, the Mustang herd tensed, but then relaxed when a very rambunctious Mark Sharp appeared.

“There you are!” Mark shouted, waving. He straddled his horse bareback, in overalls, and

all the horse wore for a bridle was a rope halter with a rope fastened to the nose piece. “I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. Ma’s worried sick.”

“Great. Ma found out.” Brody peered towards the east, hand over eyebrows. “It’s late early already?”

“It’s six o’clock. Ma’s been up for an hour already. So’s Pa. He’s wondering why you aren’t getting up to help herd the Mustangs back to the prairie and the cattle back onto the flat.”

Brody moaned.

Mark continued. “Looks like you’re already with the Mustangs. I’ll go tell Pa.”

“Oh.” Brody unwound Reckless’ reins from the bush. “Okay. Well, I could always ride back with you. No biggy. I –”

Another sharp crack echoed about the canyon. It was a louder one, more like a gunshot. It only took moments for Brody to realize the sound was a gunshot. He shouted to Mark and quickened with his work on Reckless’ saddle.

Too late. Another deep explosion closer made the canyon’s loose rocks shake and drop. A few small rockslides dropped from the walls, the rocks thudding against the ground. Then shouts rose, coming from the entrance to the canyon: course laughs, hoarse voices, and words that made Brody’s mind flip to his folks and Mark’s eyes widen. “Are they cussin’?” he asked.

Brody made no comment. The chaos around him continued and then, in a split second, the Mustangs screamed, whirled, and stampeded, manes and tails flying. Reckless watched in awe, wondering why he wasn’t joining in. Then, with a whinny, Reckless kicked up his heels and bolted. Brody’s arms yanked hard, his shoulders feeling torn from the sockets. Mark shouted, Brody felt sharp, horrible pain radiate through his body as Reckless dragged him over sharp rocks and pointy branches. Shirt and skin were torn away, leaving a bloody mess. Brody watched as his arms became redder and redder with blood, and then he started to shout. “Mark! HELP!!” He was cut out when Reckless’ hoof pounded into his elbow, and then his rib cage. His fingers slipped on the leather rein and then somehow he got caught under Reckless’ hooves again, the reins were so short.

Crunch. Blood was left on the ground when the gelding stepped on Brody’s fingers. He caught a glimpse of the crushed, helpless fingers – he couldn’t move them, he couldn’t feel anything there except for pain – and then Reckless’ hoof hit his head.

He screamed.

And then all was still. Reckless broke away and ran far, far away, disappearing with the herd.

Brody lay still, trying to breath (he couldn’t), trying to control the pain. It was so great: his fingers were demolished, gone, hurting so much he couldn’t bear it; his rib cage screamed; his limbs protested with every move; his head pounded, throbbed, ached, screamed, stung, and bled and bled and bled. At last he staggered to his feet, aching. He groaned, bent over, hands on knees, weaving back and forth. Dizziness engulfed him. The irony stench of blood filled his nostrils, his eyes were gritty with dirt.

Mark shouted again, this time his voice filled with fear. Suddenly, his voice was muffled and he made sounds of struggling. A curse erupted, followed by more scuffling and grunts. Brody straightened up fast, but that was a mistake. Very, very dizzy and in lots of pain, Brody tried to gather his wits. I’m gonna faint, he realized with disappointment, his stomach turning over. Gagging, Brody blinked against the brightening sun, his world spinning.

Before he blacked out, a rough hand wrapped around his mouth. “Wonderin’ why ya two boys are out ’ere, lad.” A rough chuckle cracked in his ear. “Too late t’ make an escape, though. I gotcha and yer brother, and ya never are gonna get away. I know ya both are the sons of Mr. Dan Sharp, and ya both are gonna help get the cattle and horses t’ be ours; all ours.”

Brody fainted, the pain, dizziness, and shock too much for his brain to handle.

Push HERE to read Chapter Three

Thank y'all for praying! 

~IZZY WEST