A Novel Idea Page 3
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The Appaloosa Connection
(Because the first chapter of this book is very short, I’m including the first two chapters.)
March 27, 1855
ROSS Garvey woke early, feeling good. The first was not unusual—he prided himself on rising as early as any of the men he hired. The latter was a pleasant surprise. He’d had few good dreamless nights in the last six months. He stretched leisurely before he rolled out of bed.
The sun was barely breaking over the tips of the Rockies, its light splintering into the morning. Looking out his second-story window at it, Ross could see the sunspots swimming in front of his view of the ranch. Today he felt good about everything. His ranch was doing well and with Sundance ready to breed, he was anxious to see to her. It was too bad he’d have to wait almost a year for the colt; although the mare always dropped a good spotted foal, each one was a new wonder. He pulled his eyes from the sunrise and yanked on his boots. Better get to it.
Crossing the yard to the barn, he nodded to Manny Polk, his foreman, headed for the east corral. Manny appeared surprised at Ross’ energetic smile, but then how often had any of the men seen their boss smile lately. Too often Ross caught the pitying, sidelong glances they cast each other as he went by. He could imagine what they thought—boss man’s wife left him so he throws himself into his work. The horses are all he’s got, poor guy. Ross knew. But today it didn’t bother him. Maybe things would be better from now on.
He strode into the sudden blackness of the barn and went straight to Sundance’s stall. Usually she met him, neck outstretched, lips questing for a treat. Not today. Wondering, he walked up to the half door and looked in.
The stall was empty.
Ross’s mind went blank. He stared at the trampled straw, the empty manger, the bucket in the corner. There was no horse. There was no Sundance. But she had to be here. She had to.
His brain and body flipped into action at the same time. He ripped the stall door open and stepped inside. One of the men had her. They were walking her, or they put her in a corral getting ready to clean her stall. Even as he imagined the possibilities, he knew they didn’t fit. The hair on the back of his neck rose dangerously, and his head began to pound. Anger and disbelief fought for control of his brain.
He exploded out of the barn like a steam engine, compact and ready to belch fire. His hands were clenched into white fists at his side.
“Manny!” he shouted. “Manny! Where’s Sundance?”
The foreman spun around crazily at the corral fence, his face a mask of confusion.
“What?”
“Sundance is not in her stall. What the hell’s going on around here?”
Manny sprinted to his boss and they returned shoulder to shoulder to the stall door. They both stared incredulously at the empty box.
Manny swallowed hard. “Hell, Ross, I don’t know,” he swore. “She was here last night.”
“I know that,” Ross steamed, “but where in holy hell is she now?”
Manny’s jaw worked nervously but no sound came from his mouth.
“What’s going on?” voices called from outside. Two sauntering, chuckling cowboys came into the barn. Ross turned on them like a moon-struck demon.
“Do either of you know where Sundance is?” he demanded. His blue eyes flashed dangerously in the dim light.
The men fell back, confused. “Sundance? Ain’t she here?”
“No, we don’t know.”
“She was here last night.”
Enraged more than he thought possible, Ross brushed past his men and ran for the bunkhouse. Bellowing his questions, he attacked every man he saw but always got the same answer; no one knew. It was the same at the house and out back at the corrals. No one knew. Sundance was gone. Finally Ross began to shout instructions—bring out Ace, the bay gelding, saddle him with packs. Ross was going after Sundance.
Manny, one step ahead of his boss, was already scouring the dirt yard around the barn. The prints were hopelessly buried beneath the morning’s confusion but after investigation, Manny found hoof tracks. One set. He called to Ross and the two men followed the prints, accompanied by one set of boot tracks, to another set of horse prints. Here the dirt was patterned with hoof marks, as if a man sat a restive horse that would not be still and held another. Finally, three sets of hoof prints struck out heading south. Ross scowled.
“Manny,” he said, his eyes on the southern horizon, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but you’re in charge.”
“Sure, Ross,” Manny said. He stuck his hands in his pockets helplessly.
“What kind of a lead do you think they’ve got on me?”
“Hours, maybe six or seven. At least four.”
“That’s about what I figure, too,” Ross nodded. “Shit!”
“You gonna take someone with you, Ross?” Manny asked as they walked back to the house.
“No. The only thing I want to be concerned with is Ace, and he’s got the biggest heart of any horse here. And even he’s going to get pushed to his limit. No, I don’t want to have to worry about anyone else.”
The bay stood saddled and packed, supplies for several days tied up behind the cantle. Ross put a hand on the saddle horn.
Manny knew better than to argue with his boss. He’d seen Ross’ bullish temper and stubborn streak before, but not like this since Mrs. Garvey left—thank God.
“Well,” Ross said, holding out a hand, “take care of things, Manny.”
“Sure thing, Ross,” the foreman said. They pumped hands once. Ross swung into his saddle and reined the bay around.
Turning south, he remembered how he’d felt this morning. Well, he’d been half right—today was the start of something new, but it didn’t look like it was going to be anything good.