Chapter 16 #3
The girl took them without comment, holding the chestnut’s reins in her left hand and her own bay’s in her right, while the man disappeared into the trees.
It was clear the chestnut still hadn’t forgotten about the tarp.
His energy was coiled and unsettled, his attention shifting and suspicious, and having the man’s weight off his back hadn’t calmed him at all.
Instead, he pulled against the girl’s hold, swinging his head around, his feet moving in short, restless steps that brought him bumping against the bay’s shoulder.
Jewel turned Sundancer to face them. “Don’t hold him so short. Just let him have a little more length. If you give him somewhere to put his head, he’ll settle a bit.”
The girl loosened her grip on the horse’s reins, and he stretched his neck down, blew out once, and stood.
From somewhere back along the trail, she heard the sound of approaching hooves.
The next group appeared around the bend at a posting trot, with four riders moving at their own pace, not paying attention to anyone stopped ahead of them.
As soon as they saw her group, they immediately pulled up, but the sound of their approach was enough.
The chestnut immediately reared up, swinging his hindquarters sideways, and Jewel quickly moved Sundancer alongside him before things could get worse, pressing her mare’s calm, steady shoulder against his flank.
He shook his head and danced, but the wild edge came off him slightly.
The man emerged from the trees, took in the scene, and looked at Jewel with an expression that was not one of gratitude. “I had it.”
She moved back slightly. “Of course.”
With a quick wave and an apology, the other group passed them and moved on. The chestnut watched them go, still trembling lightly through his shoulders.
When the man reached for his reins, Jewel looked at him pointedly, unable to stay quiet any longer. “He might settle down more if you gave him a longer rein on the trail. He’s not a bad horse, just wound-up. There’s a difference.”
For a moment, the man just stared at her, then he gathered his reins, swung up, and said nothing.
They rode on in silence.
The second station sat in a small clearing where the trail widened around a mossy-banked creek crossing.
The water was shallow, clear, and cold-looking, flowing smoothly over rounded stones with a soft, gentle sound.
Two volunteers stood next to a wooden post with a rope and pulley attached, a bucket hanging mid-height from the rope, and beside the bucket, a collection of stuffed animals in various sizes arranged on a small folding table.
One of them pointed to the table. “Pick whichever one you fancy, toss it in the bucket, and hoist it up to the flag. It’s that simple.”
Once again, Richard went first. He chose a medium-sized bear, then tossed it from his horse’s back with a smooth, easy underhand throw, dropping it directly into the bucket.
He pulled on the rope, the bucket lifted, and when it reached the flag at the top, a small bell jingled, which seemed to delight him very much.
Emma’s bay needed a moment with the rope, which moved against the post in a way he found philosophically troubling, but she gave him time, and he settled. Her bear—the largest one she could find, naturally—went into the bucket on the second throw, and she pulled it up and rang the bell.
Sundancer stood beside the table, watching the entire operation with bright, curious intelligence.
Her ears tracked the rope and pulley with alert interest, appearing genuinely fascinated by the whole process.
She picked a small rabbit from the table, leaned over in her saddle, and gently dropped it into the bucket from close range, with no drama at all.
Emma grinned at her fondly. “Show off.”
With a small smile, she hauled the rope up and rang the bell. Sundancer watched the bucket ascend with an expression of deep personal satisfaction.
The bay moved next, carrying the young woman to the table patiently.
After selecting the closest bear, the girl leaned to the side and threw it with more enthusiasm than accuracy.
The bear bounced off the rim of the bucket and landed in the creek.
One of the volunteers retrieved it with a long-handled net, suggesting this wasn’t the first time a stuffed toy had been dunked.
The girl tried again, this time successfully getting it in, then pulled the rope with both hands, shrieking with delight when the bell rang.
For a moment, the girl looked about sixteen and truly happy, and Jewel found herself almost liking her.
Then it was the chestnut’s turn.
The man managed to bring the antsy horse close enough to lean over, grab one of the bears by the foot, and toss it into the bucket without incident. Then he pushed his chestnut to approach the bucket, and that’s when everything seemed to happen all at once.
He reached for the rope with one hand, reins in the other, but the moment the rope moved against the pulley with its dry, rasping sound, the horse left the ground.
Not slowly, or with any warning, but explosively, its front end lifting in a rear that snapped its rider forward onto its neck.
The man grabbed the mane with both hands, losing his grip on the rope entirely in the process.
The bucket started swinging wildly, while the pulley shrieked, and the bell rang in a wild, discordant clatter that bounced off the trees and echoed back from every direction.
As the chestnut swung around, the man’s stirrup caught the edge of the table, toppling it and scattering stuffed bears and rabbits into the creek in a bright, absurd kind of tumble.
Both volunteers stumbled back, while all of the horses jumped and skirted away from the ruckus.
Unfortunately, even the bay, which had so far shown the calm patience of a saint, had its limit, and that limit was reached.
It lurched sideways, and the poor girl, who had been half-turned in the saddle watching the chestnut, never stood a chance.
Her weight shifted the wrong way and kept going, and then she was off, landing hard in the soft grass at the creek’s edge with a loud thud that Jewel could feel in her chest.
The bay stood over her, its reins trailing, and looked down, faintly apologetic.
Meanwhile, the chestnut was still going.
He came back down from another rear and immediately went sideways, the man now clinging to his neck, one foot out of the stirrup, the other jammed through it at the ankle in a way that made her blood run cold.
The horse’s eyes were wild and white-rimmed, its breath coming in heavy grunts, and it started heading toward the tree line at the edge of the clearing with the frantic, instinct-driven urge of an animal that had stopped thinking and was just surviving.
“Good God, his foot!” Emma’s voice started sharply from behind her.
But Jewel was already moving.
Sundancer responded before her question was fully formed, covering the ground between them in three strides.
She leaned out from the saddle, grabbing a handful of the chestnut’s bridle just as they reached the tree line.
Turning him into Sundancer’s shoulder, she used her mare’s body as a wall.
The chestnut hit them, bounced, and came around, still trembling and blowing but now contained, circling rather than bolting.
The man finally got his seat back and freed his foot from the stirrup.
For a moment, the only sounds were the creek, the bell still swinging on its rope, and the heavy breathing of the chestnut coming down from the edge of a panic that could’ve ended much worse.
Instead of looking thankful or relieved, the man just glared at her.