Wild Blue - The Story of a Mustang Appaloosa Read online

  Blue awoke, the wild, free cry still echoing in her ears. There it was again! Blue raised her muzzle to the branches above, searching the trees for her dream bird. And just as she realized she was awake, she saw him: With a flash of white throat and belly and the swoop of a dark wing, the hawk launched from his nearby nest and swept up and out into the morning sky.

  With a grunt, Blue braced her forelegs and clambered to her feet. She gave a few good shakes, setting dust motes and flakes of dried mud loose from her coat. Slowly, she made her way over to the creek bed and bent her head to drink. The cold, fresh water was almost a shock as it poured down her throat, so different it was from the warm, stale buckets she’d drunk from for so many weeks. Blue drank and drank, savoring the taste of home in every mouthful. When her thirst was quenched, she splashed a little in the stream from sheer rising spirits, and then it occurred to her that if the water here was this good, what must the grass be like?

  The previous night had been moonless and cloudy, so Blue’s sense of the land through which she’d traveled was mostly of its smell and outline, and of the quiet that lay over the hills. The night air was cool and smelled of flowers and ponderosa pines and living creatures. Blue hadn’t paused to eat after the sun set. She had simply walked, following her inner course north and east until she caught the scent of water and finally rested. Now the Appaloosa was curious to see her surroundings in the light of day. She bounded a bit stiffly out of the stream and trotted with purpose to the opening in the stands of willow trees whose long, graceful branches made a protective curtain around the sun-dappled glade where she’d spent the night.

  For a horse that had spent weeks in the world of men, the meadow that stretched before the dazzled filly was like another continuation of her dream of home. Oh, she had longed for space, and here was space! The bunchgrass prairie stretched out as far as Blue’s eyes could see, peppered with paintbrush and the bright wildflowers of high summer. The stream where she’d watered continued northeast, edged by pine trees teeming with sparrows and squirrels. The morning sky was blazing blue, the creek burbled merrily behind her, the meadow’s tall green and dun-colored grasses swayed in the breeze. The tired filly ran out to meet it all. She ran out to freedom.

  As she cantered into the sunshine, Blue couldn’t help but feel that there was something familiar about this land. Of course the absence of men and the presence of unfenced space reminded her of home, but the rolling prairie was very different from the mountains that sheltered her family. Yet her spirit responded to these verdant, life-filled fields as if she were returning to a beloved place, half remembered, perhaps visited only in a dream.…

  After a long, luxurious graze and another drink from the creek, Blue was ready to move on. The sun was climbing the sky, the day was growing hotter, and the filly didn’t know how far she still had to travel or where this path would lead. But for the moment, the path itself was almost as good as home.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Blue found herself at the foothills of a series of buttes rising from the prairie. She didn’t stop to graze or to make a sidetrack for water: A view was exactly what she needed most. She swung into a jog and headed up the slope, eager to see what was on the other side and to take stock of the road ahead. While she hadn’t encountered any animals larger or more frightening than a mule deer, Blue knew that she shouldn’t let her guard down. And like her father, she did her best thinking with a long range to contemplate. But nothing could have prepared Blue for what she found when she reached the top of the butte.

  The prairie continued to stretch out before her, as rich and inviting as the fields through which she’d just traveled, but now Blue could also see a soaring line of white-tipped mountains that plunged down into canyons just visible to the east. The land seemed to undulate before her eyes, as dynamic as a rushing river: flowers and grass, forest and glade, mountain and rock! Snow and sun, sparrow and hawk! Stream and river, prairie and butte, deer and … horse!

  The scent hit her nostrils just as Blue threw up her head, and she skidded to a halt. Her eyes followed the breeze’s direction down and to the east, and there, sure enough, loping along the line of trees that Blue guessed edged another stream, appeared two horselike figures … but what was on their backs? Blue stared in confusion, trying to make sense of the ropes looping about the horses’ heads and the strange forms that rose behind their withers. And then another all-too-familiar smell hit her: men!

  Her mind reeling, Blue turned circles atop the crest of the butte, every movement speaking her amazement. She tossed her head frantically and pawed the earth. A neigh rose and died in her throat. What could this mean? How were the men and horses combined? Finally, her frustration and fear broke through and Blue screamed a high, wild note that echoed over the valley like the cry of an eagle. She screamed again, raising her forelegs to scratch at the sky and to show her defiance of the bizarre creatures below. She would not show her fear. Like her father, she would announce her presence and expect to be heeded!

  Heeded she was: At the sound of her piercing whistle, the two quarter horses froze in their tracks. Their startled riders looked for the source of the eerie noise and were almost as surprised by the sight of the small gray filly rearing her full height at the top of the butte as Blue had been surprised by them.

  Someone’s got a loose horse.

  A loose crazy horse, from the looks of it.

  Let’s go check it out.

  The quarter horses needed little encouragement to start up the hill: They were straining with eagerness to inspect the strange horse, and they bounded forward, ears pricked and eyes alight with curiosity.

  Blue could hardly believe it. Instead of yielding, the horses and men were coming straight for her! She took a few steps back and shrieked again but still they came on. Now she could see them in more detail: The lead horse was at least two hands taller than Blue, well fed, with a glossy chestnut coat and a white blaze that gave his face an open, friendly expression. A smaller palomino mare followed; she, too, appeared unfazed by Blue’s threatening signals. Both horses moved easily under the men on their backs—men who were riding them … using them like their trucks!

  It’s an Appaloosa! Don’t the Indians still breed them?

  Sure, but in Idaho. Kinda far for her to travel … and across Hell’s Canyon, no less.

  I don’t suppose you protect any wild horses on the preserve?

  Wish we did, especially if they were like this one. But I expect she’s some rancher’s half-broke runaway. I’ll make a few calls when we get back.

  Hang on—is that a brand on her neck? See there, just under her mane?

  Let’s try to get a little closer.

  As the horses and men again moved toward her, Blue bolted. She could hear a plaintive whinny of disappointment from the friendly chestnut, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care who these horses were or where they came from. They were from the world of men and that was all the filly felt she needed to know. Here, in this beautiful place that had felt like home, there were still men. And even worse, there were men on horses!

  Blue no longer paused to graze or to water or to enjoy the view. Though the horse-men didn’t pursue her, nor did she encounter any more of them down the trail, she did see cows, and where these placid creatures were, Blue had learned, there were men nearby. Her heart hammered in her chest as she galloped over the prairie, slowing to a jog to catch her wind, then powering forward when panic struck again. Soon her fears were confirmed: fences ahead! A building! A road! The building was distant and the narrow dirt road was empty, but Blue was taking no chances. Legs churning beneath her, the Appaloosa plunged toward the forest that edged the canyon she’d seen from the butte.

  When she slipped among the forest’s protective branches, a dappled shadow amid shadows, the tired filly finally rested. Unlike most horses, Blue was used to the woods and used to finding shelter in them. She had even, she remembered now with a pang, found Doe in them.

  Blue
did not pause for long: The urge to put more distance between herself and the men was too strong. Soon she was picking her way through the ponderosas and down the rocky hillside. Blue tread warily: The slope was growing steeper and she had caught a glimpse of what looked like a snake warming itself in the late-afternoon sun. But she could see the river below, a narrow band of gleaming blue, and knew she would feel more at ease once she reached the other side.

  * * *

  The sun was setting as Blue climbed the last few steps up to the top of the craggy ridge. Behind her, the quiet bend of the Imnaha River reflected the sky’s copper and salmon glow. Before her, shrouded in the blue twilit shadow of the promontory on which she stood, wound the Snake River, twice as wide as the Imnaha and banked by rock-strewn canyons. It was going to be a hazardous descent, especially as the sky lost light, but Blue was a filly of the mountains, tough and sure-footed, and she was confident in her ability to navigate rough terrain. She started down the trail, toward the sound of rushing water below.

  Suddenly, a shape loomed out from a shadowed crevice just ahead of her. Blue paused mid-step, her nerves tautening as she peered wide-eyed into the gloom of the rock formations. Softly, she sniffed the air, but the thing was downwind. She carefully lowered her hoof, trying not to make a sound. There could be cougars here, or bobcats … or men. The shape was a darker shadow against shadows and appeared to be crouching. It wasn’t bothering to conceal its presence, either: Blue could hear it tap-tapping along the rocks. The filly took a tentative step backward, wondering if she could find another route to the riverbed. And then: BAAAAA! An incredible noise that must have come from the creature echoed through the canyon. It rang again, even more insistently: BAAAAAAAA! The sound of Blue’s clattering hooves as she spooked was drowned out by the answering chorus: BA! BAA! BA! A whole pack of the horned, woolly beasts now emerged from the twilight, braying their heads off. As they drew nearer, Blue could see that the animals had hooves and were much smaller than she. They were also, she thought as her breathing returned to its normal rate, exceptionally silly looking. Feeling silly herself, the mustang snorted haughtily at the sheep and resumed her trek down the canyon.

  Moonlight painted the river silver and cast the surrounding sandy banks in a soft, dreamlike glow. The canyon was filled with the sound of the river as it rushed north. Upstream, Blue could just make out the froth of white foam where the water met rock, but this bend appeared calm. Still, she could not gauge how deep or how fast the river ran, nor what was beyond the curve downstream, at least not from her perch on the banks. It would be safer to wait until sunup to attempt the crossing, Blue knew, but she was unnerved by this forbidding land. It was a place of stones and treacherous pathways, strange creatures and plunging cliffs. It had taken all of the sense and care the hardy filly could muster to pick her way safely to the canyon floor, and she was not at all certain that all of the eyes that gleamed at her from the darkness belonged to sheep. She shuddered when an eagle screamed from a nearby pine; this was not a riverbank where she wanted to linger.

  The water that flowed around her fetlocks as she took her first tentative step into the Snake was bracingly cold. Blue went a few more strides in—so far, the current seemed calm. The mustang had never swum this distance before, but she and her sister liked to paddle in the narrow, but deep, stream at home. Thinking of Doe, Blue steeled herself and plunged forward toward the heart of the river.

  By the time the water was to her shoulder, Blue’s hooves were dragged out from under her and she was sucked downstream so forcefully, it was as if she had been struck by the eye of a hurricane. She was spun violently around, now swept hindquarters first by the sickeningly strong current. Struggling to keep her muzzle above the roiling water, the Appaloosa desperately tried to get her legs coordinated beneath her to swim, to struggle, to do anything to stop this mad catapult in the current’s grip.

  It was no use: No matter how hard she pumped her legs, she was powerless against the river’s strength. She was turned helplessly around and around as if she were no bigger than Shadow, and as she spun, her body collided with rocks and bracken lodged in the riverbed. Nothing seemed able to stop her painful plunge, but still Blue fought desperately. She fought for her life.

  Suddenly, the river’s roar grew even louder and Blue caught a glimpse of something large and white looming ahead in the moonlight. Then her head went under. Crack. Her left hind leg smashed against a hidden boulder. Blue frantically tried to get her head up, but she had been thrown on her side and couldn’t right herself. Smack. Her poll smacked a rock, shooting stars before her eyes.

  It’s over, Blue thought through the dizzy clouds that filled her head. I can’t make it. And the battered filly let her body grow slack as she and the river rushed inexorably toward the rapids.

  Perhaps it was the cessation of her movement that did it—Blue never knew—but like a storm-tossed boat that finds its way to shore, the mustang’s hooves suddenly scraped sand. She moved her forelegs feebly, and again they dragged against the bottom! She was instantly awake, alive … there was solid ground beneath her and she was going to make it, if only she could find the strength to battle the current one last time. With all of the force of her passionate, free heart, and all of the power of her small, tough body, the Appaloosa lunged toward the riverbank and pulled herself out.

  CHAPTER 9

  Joe saw the Appaloosa first.

  It was his favorite day of the week (Saturday, when his grandfather drove up to Moscow to pick Joe up and take him back to the reservation to spend the weekend); he was in his favorite place (the hot vinyl seat of his grandfather’s ancient pickup truck); and they were on their way to do one of his favorite things (fishing). Plus, his grandfather was taking him to a new spot, one that was only accessible by a rough dirt road that wound over the Joseph Plains, over creeks and knolls that jounced and jostled the rusty truck and threw grandfather and grandson into fits of gleeful laughter.

  “It’s like riding a bronc!” Joe gasped as they hauled out of another rocky creek bed.

  “If we don’t make it, can you push the truck back? I’m too old.” His grandfather, Sam Gray Wolf, chuckled. “You’re ten now, big and strong.”

  “Sure, Grandpa. Or I could carry you to Great-uncle Josiah’s ranch on my back, like one of his horses.” Sam Gray Wolf’s brother bred horses on a small ranch just north of the new fishing spot—it had been Josiah who’d suggested it—and they were supposed to bring back their catch for dinner with him and his wife, Joe’s great-aunt Mary.

  “I hope my crazy brother knows what he’s talking about,” Sam muttered as the truck lurched wildly left, pitching Joe practically into his grandfather’s lap. “This spot better have fish jumping onto the banks.”

  “That would be nice,” Joe sighed. He hadn’t caught a thing their last two trips. He grabbed hold of the strap hanging from the truck’s ceiling, bracing himself for the next hill, and peered through the dirt- and fly-specked windshield at the overcast summer day. A great day for fishing, or so his grandfather said. Sam insisted that fish didn’t like to see their shadows. Joe glanced over at him and couldn’t help smiling—his grandfather always stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth when he was concentrating, and Joe saw it peeking out now as Sam steered with a death grip on the wheel.

  When he looked forward again, Joe saw her. At first he wasn’t sure what exactly it was he was seeing—something gray and dappled slipping into the trees … too big to be a deer.…

  “Grandpa, stop the truck for a second.” Joe stuck his head out the window to get a better look.

  “I may never get it started again,” Sam grumbled. “You can’t wait till we get there?”

  “No, it’s not that. I thought I saw something going into the woods. Like a horse.”

  “Now, that would be unusual,” Sam replied, and he braked so suddenly that Joe’s forehead nearly smacked the windshield. “Sorry, Joey.” His grandfather grinned ruefully. “But it would b
e unusual. And interesting.”

  Grandfather and grandson hopped out of the truck simultaneously, and the curiosity that lit their faces made them look like older and younger versions of the same person, though Sam wore his hair in a long single braid and Joe had his cropped short. Sam had also put on a few pounds around the middle with age, and Joe, though not especially tall for his age, was wiry.

  To Blue, their similarities or differences hardly mattered. She had tried to escape into the trees when she heard the truck coming, but now she knew it was useless. They were pursuing her on foot, and she couldn’t outrun them. Not this time. Though she could not flee, the filly could at least face her enemy. Slowly, she hobbled around and raised her battered head high in defiance.

  As they drew nearer, Sam gave a low whistle.

  “Grandpa, what happened to her?” Joe stared at the bruised and bloodied horse in dismay.

  “I have no idea. But I think we’ll have to save the fish for another day, Joey. We’ve got to get this horse some help.”

  * * *

  The voices filtered in and out of Blue’s consciousness.

  She’s a Bureau horse.… Reckon someone adopted her and she escaped?… Probably should call the folks in Moscow … Funny that we found her so close to the crossing … She looks like one of the old ones, doesn’t she?