'Hey, come on now you, that's enough,' said Grace, reining him in, getting control. Pilgrim settled back into a walk and Judith, still grinning, shook her head and turned to face the trail again. Gulliver walked on, thoroughly unconcerned by the antics behind him, his head moving up and down to the rhythm of his feet. Along the trail, every twenty yards or so, bright orange posters were pinned to the trees, threatening prosecution for anyone caught hunting, trapping or trespassing.
At the crest of the ridge that separated the two valleys was a small, circular clearing where normally, if they approached quietly, they might find deer or wild turkey. Today however, when the girls rode out from the trees and into the sun, all they found was the bloody, severed wing of a bird. It lay almost exactly in the middle of the clearing like the mark of some savage compass and the girls stopped there and looked down at it.
'What is it, a pheasant or something?' said Grace.
'I guess. A former pheasant anyway. Part of a former pheasant.'
Grace frowned. 'How did it get here?'
'I don't know. A fox maybe.'
'It couldn't be, where are the tracks?'
There weren't any. Nor was there any sign of a struggle. It was as if the wing had flown there on its own. Judith shrugged.
'Maybe somebody shot it.'
'What, and the rest of it flew on with one wing?'
They both pondered a moment. Then Judith nodded sagely. 'A hawk. Dropped by a passing hawk.'
Grace thought it over. 'A hawk. Uh-huh. I'll buy that.' They nudged the horses into a walk again.
'Or a passing airplane.'
Grace laughed. 'That's it,' she said. 'It looks like the chicken they served on that flight to London last year. Only better.'
Usually when they rode up here to the ridge they would give the horses a canter across the clearing and then loop back down to the stables by another trail. But the snow and the sun and the clear morning sky made both girls want more than that today. They decided to do something they had done only once before, a couple of years ago, when Grace still had Gypsy, her stocky little palomino pony. They would cross over into the next valley, cut down through the woods and come back around the hill the long way, beside Kinderhook Creek. It meant crossing a road or two, but Pilgrim seemed to have settled down and anyway, this early on a snowy Saturday morning, there would be nothing much about.
As they left the clearing and passed again into the shade of the woods, Grace and Judith fell silent. There were hickories and poplars on this side of the ridge with no obvious trail among them and the girls had frequently to lower their heads to pass beneath the branches so that soon they and the horses were covered with a fine sprinkling of dislodged snow. They negotiated their way slowly down beside a stream. Crusts of ice overhung it, spreading jaggedly from the banks and allowing but a glimpse of the water that rushed darkly beneath. The slope grew ever steeper and the horses now moved with caution, taking care where they placed their feet. Once Gulliver slipped lurchingly on a hidden rock, but he righted himself without panic. The sun slanting down through the trees made crazed patterns on the snow and lit the clouds of breath billowing from the horses' nostrils. But neither girl paid heed, for they were concentrating too hard on the descent and their heads were filled only with the feel of the animals they rode.
It was with relief that at last they saw the glint of Kinderhook Creek below them through the trees. The descent had been more difficult than either girl had expected and only now did they feel able to look at each other and grin.
'Nice one, huh?' Judith said, gently bringing Gulliver to a stop. Grace laughed.
'No problem.' She leaned forward and rubbed Pilgrim's neck. 'Didn't these guys do well?'
They did great.'
'I don't remember it being steep like that.'
'It wasn't. I think we followed a different stream. I figure we're about a mile farther south than we should be.'
They brushed the snow from their clothes and hats and peered down through the trees. Below the woods a meadow of virgin white sloped gently down to the river. Along the near side of the river they could just make out the fence posts of the old road that led to the pulp mill. It was a road no longer used since a wider, more direct access had been built from the highway which lay half a mile away on the other side of the river. The girls would have to follow the old mill road north to pick up the route they had planned to get home.
Just as he'd feared, the road down to Chatham hadn't been cleared. But Wayne Tanner soon realized he needn't have worried. Others had been out before him and the Kenworth's eighteen heavy-duty tires cut into their tracks and grabbed the surface firmly. He hadn't needed the damn chains after all. He passed a snowplow coming the other way and even though that wasn't a whole lot of use to him, such was his relief that he gave the guy a wave and a friendly blast on the horn.
He lit a cigarette and looked at his watch. He was earlier than he'd said he would be. After his run-in with the cops, he'd called Atlanta and told them to fix things with the mill people for him to deliver the turbines in the morning. Nobody liked working on a Saturday and he guessed he wasn't going to be too popular when he got there. Still, that was their problem. He shoved in another Garth Brooks tape and started looking out for the entrance to the mill.
The old mill road was easy going after the woods and the girls and their horses relaxed as they made their way along it, side by side in the sunshine. Away to their left, a pair of blue jays chased each other in the trees fringing the river and through their shrill chatter and the rustle of water on rock, Grace could hear what she assumed was a snowplow out clearing the highway.
'Here we go.' Judith nodded up ahead.
It was the place they had been looking for, where once a railroad had crossed first the mill road and then the river. It was many years since the railroad had closed and though the river bridge remained intact, the top of the bridge across the road had been removed. All that remained were its tall concrete sides, a roofless tunnel through which the road now passed before disappearing in a bend. Just before it was a steep path that led up the embankment to the level of the railroad and it was up here that the girls needed to go to get onto the river bridge.
Judith went first, steering Gulliver up the path. He took a few steps then stopped.
'Come on boy, it's okay.'
The horse gently pawed the snow, as if testing it. Judith urged him on with her heels now.
'Come on lazybones, up we go.'
Gulliver relented and moved on again up the path.
Grace waited down in the road, watching. She was vaguely aware that the sound of the snowplow out on the highway seemed louder. Pilgrim's ears twitched. She reached down and patted his sweaty neck.
'How is it?' she called up to Judith.
'It's okay. Take it gently though.'
It happened just as Gulliver was almost at the top of the embankment. Grace had started up behind him, following his tracks as precisely as she could, letting Pilgrim take his time. She was halfway up when she heard the rasp of Gulliver's shoe on ice and Judith's frightened cry.
Had the girls ridden here more recently, they would have known that the slope they were climbing had, since late summer, run with water from a leaking culvert. The blanket of snow now concealed a sheet of sheer ice.
Gulliver staggered, trying to find purchase with his hind feet, kicking up a spray of snow and ice shards. But as each foot failed to hold, his rear end swung down and across the slope so that he was now squarely on the ice. One of his forelegs skewed ; sideways and he went down on one knee, still sliding. . Judith cried out as she was flung forward and lost a stirrup. But she managed to grab the horse's neck and stayed on, yelling down at Grace now.