One
Light in a Dark Valley
-all
rights reserved (This passage may not be used or duplicated
without the author's written permission)
CHAPTER
ONE
1854,
Pellman, Northern Oregon Territory
Anne
would
shiver if she hadn’t been trained better. Her buckskin was
cold and clammy
against her skin. The deep summer grasses were still soaking with the
night’s
dew, dappled silver in the predawn light except for the dark swath of
her
passage. The wet path from which every chilling drop had penetrated
directly to
her skin, as if she’d crawled naked through the stalks. The
warmth of her camp
with blanket, coffee, and campfire lay a half mile and a weary hour
behind her.
But she was almost there.
She
reached the looming boulder with none the wiser, dropped her coil of
rope, and edged
up the steep face. Lying on the top she had a sweeping view of the
mountain
meadow. For the first time since she’d started in the early
morning darkness,
she allowed herself a sigh of relief. The herd was still there, right
where
she’d left it the previous night. The air smelled so clean,
as if it had been
washed in the night.
Half
a
hundred brood mares, younglings, and a handful of stallions, though
none that
could argue with their leader. In the absolute stillness that only
happened in
the mountains, a few grazed upon the grass. The rest nodded in sleep
like four-legged
plants rooted to the rich soil. A light mist wrapped about them so that
they
appeared to float, the meadow and the horses, as if they would all
drift away
and not be remembered were they not anchored by the giant boulder on
which she
lay.
The
first
time she’d seen the leader was ten years before, his coat as
dark on the rangy
colt as it was now across his massive torso. Not a single light mark,
as if he did
not exit in this world, just a hole in the daylight. Ten years ago,
when she
was little more than a youngling herself, she had sat on this very rock
with
Soaring Hawk.
“That
one,” the old Indian had said pointing with a blade of grass.
“That one will
rule the herd one day.”
The
wiry
colt was not with its mother. It wasn’t prancing about with
the rest of that
season’s colts. It was dancing forward and back, making false
attacks on the
old appaloosa leader gone gray in the muzzle with age.
“I
shall
name him Great Shadow, for his strength will one day be able to hide
the herd
in shadow as if they had crossed over to the other land.” His
voice was wistful
in her memory. A longing for times gone by, when as a young man he had
ridden
among the wild horses.
She’d
turned
to him and squinted against the midday sun that shown from behind him.
“We
are
not hunting today, so you are permitted to speak.” The aged
man, with his hair
in gray braids down to the middle of his chest and his face etched with
more
lines than the furrows in papa’s field, considered the sky.
“Will
they
go away?”
Despite
her whisper being twice as soft as Soaring Hawk’s easy
speech, a squirrel who
had been crossing between them jerked in surprise and run away
chattering
loudly. That set off a quail who launched from her nest with a wild
flapping
buzz to distract predators, “My nest isn’t here.
Follow me. My nest isn’t here.
Follow me.” That in turn set off the horses. All play
stopped. Great Shadow ran
for his mother and the old appaloosa chased the herd down the meadow
with all
the energy of a two-year old.
She
bit
her lip hard not to cry. She’d never learn.
“The
voice
of the land does not come to a child of seven as it comes to a man of
seventy.
Patience, Miss Anne. You will learn.” He’d always
called her Miss Anne.
“You
are
like that young colt. You and Great Shadow will grow up together. He
shall rule
the herd. You,” he inspected her carefully, “that
is for the future to see, not
an old Indian.”
As
Soaring
Hawk had foretold so long ago, Great Shadow did indeed take over the
herd. He’d
allowed the old appaloosa to live out his days drifting along at the
back of
the herd. The day the former leader hadn’t been with the
herd, Anne had sat
again on this rock and cried for hours. Cried for the loss of the
horse, of her
father, and most of all for an old Indian who had done his best to
teach her
about life.
She
shook
off the past. No wise man today. Just her and the horses and a rock
that was
fast sapping the last of her body heat as she lay there.
Great
Shadow
had let her take the occasional mare from his heard, though
he’d certainly not
been happy about it. Today she had her eyes on a dusty brown, her
swollen belly
slowing her movements. Tonight she’d have a horse and soon a
foal to tame and
sell. Two for the work of one.
The
sun reared
her mighty head above the etched black crags of the Cascade Mountains
as Anne
lay there matching her silence to the world about her. Blue sky the
color of
the silk scarf hanging in Pellman’s General Store window was
shot with beams of
the sun’s gold.
An
eagle
cried far above, a black cross silhouetted against the azure sky, her
white
head blazing like a torch in the morning sun that had yet to touch the
sleeping
horses. Great Shadow and a few of the mares looked aloft and snorted.
The
stallion watched it for a while and then scanned the meadow for
intruders as
the mares returned to their slumber. His watchful gaze passed over her
and left
her with a deep shiver crawling up her damp skin, but it
didn’t linger. She had
finally learned that silence was not in action but rather rooted in
intent.
When she joined nature, became a part of it, then she could truly move
in
silent harmony with the world about her. Though the night chill on the
boulder
was definitely a bad combination with her dew-soaked buckskins.
She
heard
a nearby snort as the leader returned to his grazing. Very nearby.
Edging
forward across the boulder, she could see a tall-shouldered gray
directly
beneath her perch. He’d been threatening Great Shadow just as
the black
stallion had threatened the appaloosa so long ago.
But
the
gray wasn’t challenging an old, worn-down elder, past his
prime.
Soaring
Hawk’s lesson came back to her of when they’d
watched the horses watering along
Duwapish Creek. “You can not take a fiery colt too soon, Miss
Anne, or he will
always be rough. And not too late, after the leader has chased him off
and
taken the fire out of his belly.”
The
gray
was cast off to the side, grazing alone this far from the herd. Was it
too
late? No, he hadn’t given up. Great Shadow was directly
between the gray and
the herd. Guarding against the gray’s next bid for authority.
She
was so
close she could smell his horsey musk. He’d sense her in a
moment, she’d
breathe too loudly and some dumb animal would complain. And all of the
silence
in the world would not hide her human scent. Her rope lay at the base
of the
rock below. Her chances of retrieving it silently enough were slim.
Before
she
could think about it, she gathered herself and leapt.
And
landed
squarely on the back of the gray.
The
gray
turned to see what had struck him. His head raising first and then
swinging
toward her. Her own surprise was nearly as great as his. Everything
happened in
slow motion. His head bobbing slightly as if he were a puppet on a
string. A
half-chewed clump of grass dangled from one edge of his mouth. His ears
swinging from forward to flat back against his head.
She
jerked
free her leather belt and swung it around his neck as makeshift reins.
His
eyes wide
in disbelief that such a freakish occurrence could happen on such a
beautiful
morning.
When
her
belt slapped against his neck, he bucked. If she hadn’t
caught the other end of
the it on the first try, she’d have been airborne.
He
landed
stiff-legged, jarring her so hard she cried out.
Her
cry
set Great Shadow into motion. With a bray and a few well-placed nips he
had the
herd, docilely grazing and dozing a moment before, pounding across the
grasses
like thunder. As the gray once again tried to fling her upward, the
black
stallion took one last look at their struggle.
She
wanted
to laugh. If ever a face said, “Good riddance!” as
clearly, she’d never seen
it.
Her
laugh
was cut off. The gray bolted and only her legs wrapped tightly about
him kept
her astride. She scrabbled for her belt, but lost one end. She leaned
down to
swing it around his neck again, just as the first branch slapped
against her
arm causing her to lose her grip, her belt dropping to the leaf-covered
earth.
“Smart
boy,” she called to the gray. He hadn’t tried to
run across the open grasslands
to get rid of her. Instead he had headed into the woods she’d
spent the whole
dawn creeping through. He’d scrape her off his back if there
was no other way.
She
avoided the next branch by lying flat on his neck. She held on with her
legs
and ran her hands as far as she could around the sides of his neck.
Muscles.
Hugely powerful muscles bulged as the gray strained forward, veering to
bring
her perilously close to an alder tree, then a fir. He forced her to
swing one
leg then the other clear of nearby trunks, twisting sharply after the
second
tree in an attempt to fling her off before she could regain her seat.
He’d
make
her bloody before this one was over.
Even
as
she had the thought, the end of a bough slapped against her face and
threw her
back until she lay for a moment on his hindquarters.
Anne
managed to struggle upright before the gray figured out how precarious
her
position was.
Her
face
stung. Her hand would be blood-speckled if she’d dared take a
moment to press
it to her cheek. Her legs were aching already and she was sweating from
the
struggle to stay astride. Next time, she’d go for the slow,
pregnant mare.
The
gray horse
dove between two trees that scraped either side of his belly. For a
tense moment,
she stretched lengthwise down his back, her feet on either side of his
tail.
They
burst
clear of the woods. The rock she’d crouched upon was off to
the left. He’d led
them full circle back to where they’d started, perhaps
seeking help for the
awful terror that wouldn’t get off his back. But the herd was
long gone,
disappearing with the morning mist, leaving him to his own resources.
Which,
she’d bet, weren’t tapped out yet.
As
if he’d
heard her, he jerked to a halt, digging in all four hooves. She smashed
her
chest against his withers bruising one breast and nearly bloodying her
nose
against his neck.
“That
does
it! You don’t get rid of me that easy!”
Soaring
Hawk had always said she was brash. There was a way to tame horses and
a way
not to. He’d taught her all he’d learned from
thirty years of taming the mounts
for his tribe, except for what he’d forgotten in the next
thirty years of
drinking.
“You
are
always stepping where no wise man who knows horses would go, Miss Anne.
What I
do not understand is why tricks that have never worked for the
strongest brave,
work for you.”
For
an
instant, the gray had stopped considering his next action. He swung his
head to
her and aimed a vicious bite at her knee.
She
kicked
him.
Hard.
He
sprang.
There was no other word for it. He put his feet together and sprang
upward as
if aiming to push her into the sky.
One
fist
wrapped deep in his charcoal mane, the other arm free to swing for
balance. And
her legs squeezed so tight she wondered if she could hurt him that way.
He
leapt,
spun, danced, bucked, and reared. He tossed her left and right. He
bounced her
just high enough to be off his back and then slammed upward again as
she
descended. It hurt worse than her mother’s switch or the
nun’s paddle in grade
school, each reinforcing her stolen time with “that nasty old
Indian.”
She
stuck.
She
almost
missed it when the gray threw himself to the ground. She jerked her leg
clear
just a moment before he would have crushed it. He scrubbed at his back
in an
effort to roll over on her. By throwing her shoulder against his, he
was forced
to roll back.
She
leapt
onto her seat as he rose.
For
the
second time he bolted.
But
not
for the woods. Instead he crossed the field with a speed unmatched by a
bird of
prey diving to the Earth.
A
whoop
drove from her lungs and echoed off the perfect sky. A hundred horses,
none had
run like this.
His
muscles bunched between her legs and drove forward. His gait was so
even that
he might have been gliding down a road rather than galloping over rough
ground.
A
dirt
track led up into the foothills, and she considered jumping clear.
Riding a
panicked horse up the cleft could prove fatal to both of them when it
opened
into the narrow cliff-edge trail farther along. Her glance at the
rock-strewn
terrain delayed her decision too long.
“Well,
if
you go over, I’m going over.”
Committed,
she lay down against his neck and they flew. If they were going to die
today,
she was certainly going to make the most of the best horse
she’d ever ridden.
His
hooves
echoed up the tight ravine. The sharp dust of the narrow track tickled
her
nose. His breathing, deep but not frantic, echoed off the close walls.
This
horse could run all day and never tire.
They
burst
free of the ringing of hooves on rock back into the howl of the wind.
He pranced
sure-footedly along the narrow trail, the terrifying drop passing in a
blur of
speed, and soared into the high alpine meadow. The sun slammed down as
if
someone had found a way to turn night into day between one instant and
the
next.
Now
he
ran. He just ran. His ears, which had been laid back since the moment
she
landed on his back, twitched forward despite himself.
She
didn’t
try to guide him, just mimic his steady rhythm, smooth out his stride.
His
ears
swung fully forward as he lowered his head into the wind. She lay down
upon his
withers as they flew over clouds of white daisies smiling up at the
horse and
woman passing so swiftly by. He slowed to a canter as they rounded a
bright
patch of the purple and red of wild roses nestled around rock
outcroppings as
they threaded their way upward.
“Hawk.
That’s your name.” He didn’t argue, just
stretching out to a mile-eating gallop
across an upper meadow she hadn’t known existed. Hawk him in
honor of her old
teacher and friend.
“Hawk.”
The name sounded right in her ears and her heart. He lifted his head
but didn’t
slacken his pace, for they both loved to run.
This
is
one horse she’d never sell, her old bay would just have to
get used to company.
#
# #
By
the
time they rode back down out of the hills she was exhausted, hungry,
thirsty,
and so cold she wondered if she’d ever be warm again. Clouds
had moved in as
she and Hawk descended. Not trusting him yet, she hadn’t
dared to dismount to
recover her rope or camping gear.
As
he had
happily grabbed at leaves and grass, her growling stomach informed her
it had
not appreciated missing breakfast this morning because she’d
been too
impatient, any more than it had enjoyed missing lunch and now dinner.
As
he
drank deeply from a passing stream, her throat cried for moisture.
Without a
saddle to brace against, she couldn’t slip low enough to
scoop up a single mouthful.
She
considered a quick dismount. He wouldn’t bolt. That was when
she’d caught Hawk
eyeing her carefully, and she’d chosen to stay astride. He
flapped his upper lip
with a great sigh before turning down the trail she’d
indicated. Or maybe it
was a laugh. The rascal.
The
view
from the crest of the narrow valley was one of the sweetest sights
she’d ever
seen. As happened every time, the wonder of the place came over her.
The
sun
hung low above the stand of Douglas Fir covering the western wall of
the valley
as if they held up the sky. The stream which had been growing as she
and Hawk
descended along its course, now expanded and pooled above a sudden
waterfall
that filled the valley with its rippling song. It had flowed silver
this spring
with salmon so thick she’d had problems dipping a bucket of
water without scooping
one up.
Across
the
shallow ford, well dappled with enough rocks to make a dry crossing on
foot easily
done, lay a neat little kitchen garden and the log cabin her father and
Soaring
Hawk had originally built as a hunting cabin. When James Harker had
died, he’d
passed the land grant for the valley on to her. Their special place.
Their haven
away from his wife, her mother, and all of her social pretensions at
the house just
outside of town. It even smelled of home. The unique coming together of
the
Douglas Fir, the stream, blackberries on the vine, and a home for
horses
blended into a heady mixture she loved.
All
that
was missing was the light in the one narrow window. Whenever she rode
to the
wild horses, her father had always lit a lantern against her return.
Now the
little cabin sat dark and empty in the evening shadows.
She
and
Hawk jogged slowly down the trail. The water looked so good she
considered
riding Hawk right directly into the waterfall. But thirst and pain
warred
within her. An entire day on horseback, especially in wet deerhide, had
rubbed
her bottom beyond raw.
She
rode
on to the corral. The bay came nickering to the rail until she spotted
Hawk.
Usually
Lily
greeted new horses, often fawning over them and mothering them until it
drove
the horse near to madness. Others craved all the attention because they
missed
their herd. Either way, Lily had a way of helping domesticate the wild
horses.
As
she
rode Hawk up to the gate, Lily settled oddly quiet and watched, her
ears about
halfway back. The tall, gray stallion was one she wasn’t so
sure of.
It
took a
bit of negotiation, but she managed to kick the gate open while still
astride
Hawk and get him into the corral. Sliding gratefully to the ground, her
legs
almost buckled from beneath her. She’d been this tired
before, she was sure of
it. She just couldn’t remember when that might have been.
She
plunged her head into the cool water of the rain barrel and drank until
she had
to jerk upright and take a breath. Catching her hair in a practiced
twist, she
wrung it until the water stopped pouring out of it. And spotted Hawk
looking at
her with a sidelong glance.
If
Hawk
hadn’t been trying to mosey so casually or it had been darker
by fifteen minutes,
it might have worked. Hawk shambled toward the still open gate with
such a
leisurely inattention, it would be hard to credit him with any ulterior
motive.
She slapped his behind, shooing him back into the corral, and closed
the gate.
“It’s
not
that easy to get by me. You should know that by now.” Her
voice was a croak.
Her head spun from even such a minor action. Every part of her ached,
from the
dried blood on the scratches on her face to where the insides of her
legs had
been chafed as raw as her sore behind. “Not that easy to get
by.”
“That
does
not surprise me in the least.”
Anne
spun
to face the deep voice, for a crazed moment wondering how Hawk had
managed to
keep silent throughout the day.
The
spin
didn’t stop as she took in the outline of a broad-shouldered
man astride a tall
roan looking down at her from the night sky.
