A light, cool breeze wafted the enticing smells of hay, clean bedding, and horses to me as I entered the Big Barn. The aisle was swept clean, and was free of tack trunks and other clutter that people sometimes left outside their horses' stalls, making the interior of the barn look like a teenager's messy bedroom.
Blackie's stall was the fifth on the left. When he was here his wooden door often remained open with a nylon stall guard up so he could hang his head out and socialize. Now, with all the doors closed, I found that the sameness of the stall fronts required me to count to be accurate. A vision of Nachtfeder scraping his teeth on the stall bars reared up in my mind. I stopped, spun on my heels, and dashed out of the barn.
Miguel was busy cleaning a different stall in the New Barn, and Delores stood in the aisle-way talking to him. I ran up, breathless, interrupting their conversation. From the concern painted on their faces, I'd alarmed them both.
"What if it wasn't Valerie who took Blackie?" I plunged right in to the middle of my epiphany.
"What do you mean?" Delores asked.
"I mean, Jorge didn't actually see the person who took Blackie, did he? What if it wasn't Valerie, but someone else? What if that person didn't know Valerie's horse by sight, but was told to come and get the dark bay horse in the fifth stall on the left?"
Delores cocked her head, eyes narrowed.
I held my hands out, stopping any possible comments from her. "If you walk into the New Barn from the front, Nachtfeder's stall is the fifth on the left. If you go into the Big Barn through the back door, which is where most people pull up with their trailers, the fifth stall on the left is Blackie's. I don't know why Valerie would send someone instead of coming herself, since the only people she trusted to handle her horse were Miguel and Uncle Henry, but it makes more sense that Nachtfeder should have been picked up." I sucked in a breath then continued. "Furthermore, Valerie had to have been alive when she arranged to send the rig over. I can imagine she would have been furious seeing Blackie walk out of the trailer instead of her horse. Maybe she was killed accidentally in an argument with the driver."
"Well," Delores said at a pace far slower than mine, "it would make more sense for Valerie to have her own horse picked up. But wouldn't that person, assuming it wasn't Valerie who took Blackie, have read the stall card to make sure they were getting the right animal?"
"They should have been able to do that," Miguel said, stroking his moustache. "The barns are not completely dark at night. We leave every third light on in the aisles so if there is an emergency we can see."
"What bothers me about your idea," Delores added, "is Valerie always told me when she was taking Nachtfeder away from Copper Creek. I'd get phone calls and notes a week ahead of time. She'd usually have Miguel bathe him, and have the farrier out, as well. It was always a big production."
The holes in my theory deflated my enthusiasm, but I couldn't shake the feeling I was on to something.
"I need to think about this some more," I said. "It makes more sense to me than Valerie stealing my horse."
I gathered, from their serious expressions, that Delores and Miguel were not dismissing my ideas out of hand. I left for my uncle's with more unanswered questions than before. Delores suggested my theory was something Detective Thurman was considering.
In other words, I should butt out.
I wasn't so sure.
Chapter Twelve
My new theory niggled away at the back of my mind while I led Blackie in from the pasture. But, once I got him inside and pulled off his turnout sheet, my thoughts of Valerie receded. Two days without grooming had left my horse with a coat full of loose winter hair begging to be curried out. I stepped back and scrutinized the situation. Blackie turned his head as far as the cross ties would allow and swiveled his ears at me. Then he gave himself a good shake. A cloud of tiny hairs launched into the still air. He turned toward me again, this time lifting a big fore leg and pawing daintily. I laughed. Who says horses can't talk?
"Okay, buddy, I get it. A ride it is."
I flicked a brush over his coat, picked out his feet and tacked him up. Then I led him to the arena and used the tall step-stool to mount. Once we'd walked for a few minutes, I asked him for what dressage riders call a "long and low" frame. He complied, reaching down for the bit with a swinging back.
"Just a little stretching today, Blackie. Don't want you getting sore and crabby."
I reached forward and gave his muscular neck a solid pat then asked for a trot. He moved obediently forward with big, softly springing strides. His ears, bouncing gently like little airplane wings, told me he was relaxed and concentrating. Occasionally, one ear would flick back, acknowledging an aid from me. The gymnastic exercises I guided him through were less intense versions of our usual routine; large circles, loopy serpentines, leg-yields, shoulder-in. And they did their time-honored job, as Blackie became progressively better balanced and more responsive. There was no doubt he was happy to be back at work.
Transitions between the gaits came next, and I murmured, "Good boy," to my friend as he correctly answered my seat aids. I relaxed into the power of each stride and focused on the timing of my requests. Despite my being in "the zone" my uncle's quiet voice did not startle me when he interjected a comment into my concentration. That finesse is part of his genius as a trainer.
"Very nice, yes, very nice."
I glanced at him. He was in his coach's stance; feet slightly apart, arms folded, head cocked ever so slightly. Relief washed through me at seeing him here, in the arena. I hadn't realized how anxious I was to get back on a normal footing with him.
I straightened up a touch and made the mental adjustment into my familiar "student" mode. From years of working with him, I knew Uncle Henry would expect me to continue, independent of his direction, until he called me over. Several minutes passed before I heard the familiar, "Come to me and let's discuss one thing."
He noticed something I needed to fix, and I knew he would make me figure it out. I rode Blackie to him at an easy trot and halted.
"This is looking very, very good," he said, and stroked Blackie's neck. "But there is maybe one thing, just something small, you could do that would create a better harmony."
I waited, knowing he wouldn't expect an answer from me yet. He wasn't finished setting up the scene.
"When we ride the horse, and have in mind the perfect trot, or shoulders-in, or whatever it is we decide to do, when we are pleased with the result and think, 'yes, this is it, this is what I want,' it is exactly as if we have become one with the horse, as if what we have thought in our own minds has been created at the exact same time by the horse. We go forward from that point, keeping focused on what is coming up, and plan. Part of our mind has to keep in touch with what is happening right now to be certain our aids are being answered, but the plan has to be dominant." He paused and tapped his lip with his index finger, watching me.
"Oh," I said, after a moment's thought. "I'm waiting to see if Blackie keeps doing what I ask before I plan."
"Yes." Uncle Henry nodded with satisfaction. "Exactly. Even on days when there is less intensity in the workout, this is important. Otherwise, the next day's ride won't be as good as it could be. Remember, you are one creature with complementary functions when you sit on him. Always. He wants this as much as you do, but you are the one who must make the effort to look ahead. He is there waiting for you, ready to follow your plan. You must always have a plan. That is your role in the partnership." My uncle smiled as he watched me try and wrap my mind around the image. "This is what you must practice, being one, functioning as one," he continued. "You make the plan and communicate to him with your aids what it is you want. Perhaps it will help to think of it as starting first, but then you must trust him enough to let him perform what you have asked and keep your thoughts on what should happen next. With the flying changes at close intervals this is necessary. You must ride your plan and trust him enough to do his job of executing it. It's all up here." He tapped his temple. "The movements are almost beside the point. It will happen, but it takes practice and trust." He gave Blackie another pat. "Do you understand?"