Sarah Paddyfoot is thinking the same thing. Mighty smooth answer, she thinks.
Ah, well, the night is growing cool, the moon is settling a bit, the sea laps peacefully, and the world is spinning so smoothly that a person cannot help hut yawn and feel a bit snug, a bit happy, as if everything in the universe is in its proper place.
When Mary McCamley crawls into bed, between her own blankets, Abbey comes to settle down beside her. They snuggle close, for the night has grown cold.
Hmm, thinks Mary McCamley. Magic ponies, too. I think I’ve dreamed it all, I think I’ve dreamed this day. But still, I seem to be awake, and the straw is a bit stickery. That wouldn’t be in a dream, now would it?
I wonder. Those Sand Ponies, I wonder if one could be tamed, could be broke. It has been a long time since I rode a horse. Why, I was younger than Karen. I want to see them. I want to see the wild little things, wish or not; there is something magic about anything wild, I guess. Something all of us yearn for.
She closes her eyes, and soon she is asleep, and through her dreams Sand Ponies run, rising from the dunes like fairy ghosts and streaking away before her.
The twins dream of Shakespeare, who has gotten strangely mixed with Roland into a symphony of screaming witches, white beards, pale dying ladies, bloody swords, and charging horses. Wonderful mysteries, here, to be unlocked. And with a real live teacher in the house, oh, what joys lie ahead!
CHAPTER 17
Dan Elber stretches his legs out and leans back in the sheriff’s most comfortable chair. “It’s them, all right, moving around up in the hills. Shouldn’t be hard to catch. Whole bunch, except the mare. Afraid I’ve lost her. Her time’s right due, may have holed up someplace, but it worries me. She was a nice little mare; gentle.”
“Got some news for you,” the sheriff says, getting his feet nicely settled on the desk. “Found your mare, too, Dan.” Dan sits forward, eager. The sheriff continues, “Holed up in a draw near Lindley’s Ranch; his boys found her. Got yourself a nice new filly, too. Born yesterday.”
Dan Elber is grinning. “She all right?”
“Both of them are. Boys took them in, said the mare was gentle as could be, glad to get some grain. Got ‘em up at the ranch. Want to go have a look?” “Sure do,” says Dan Elber, getting up.
“It’s her, all right,” Dan Elber says as he opens the stall door. “Hello, Tolly, girl.” The mare nickers softly. “Look pretty good, for going so far. Good keeper, you are, my girl. Well, can’t move you for a while, now. Didn’t like that snow much, did you, girl?” He is examining the colt. “Nice filly. Got us a nice new filly, sure,” he says, rubbing the little ears. “Next thing is to get your buddies back,” he tells the mare. “Fine bunch of no goods, taking you off like that. Suppose that buckskin pony had something to do with it. Smart aleck little thing. Well, won’t be hard to catch ‘em. Got room for a few strays someplace?” he asks the rancher.
“Sure, get my boys saddled up any time you say. Sheriff’ll come, too, I expect, give us a hand. Plenty of room, plenty of feed, till you can move ‘em. Wouldn’t mind buying that mare, though. Nice little thing. Nice filly, too.”
“Well,” says Dan Elber, “I don’t know about that. Thought for a long time about moving out of that high country. Gets pretty lonely, winters. But I don’t know, hadn’t thought about selling the mare. If she’s gonna run off every spring, though, maybe I ought. We’ll see. More inclined to find me a little place around here, nice winters, and raise a few colts. Retire, sort of. We’ll see.”
Saddled and mounted, the men start out from the ranch. It is a long way up the draw to the hills where the horses were last seen, and late morning by the time the men spread out to work the hills. Kippy watches them, and backs farther into the brush, nipping at the others and bunching them. No sense in running; stay here, good cover, be quiet, that’s the best thing.
In the hills not far away Charley jerks at the ropes of a sprung trap, swearing. Every trap is sprung, the grain gone. “Dirty little beggars, look here! Every last one!
Tip grins, turning away. He likes to see Charley foiled in anything. He is thinking, If Charley could ride, he’d go after them horseback. I wonder why he don’t. Never have seen him on a horse; only trapping them.
Setting new traps in new places, the men work over the hills, Tip and Ed sullen, but doing as directed, Charley growling at them when they are slow. By the time all the traps are set in scattered spots evening is coming on. They get back into the truck and start for the ranch, Charley gruff and bad-tempered. As they round a curve he slams on the brakes and leaps out of the truck, for directly ahead of them the Sand Ponies have started up, heading for the draw.
Grabbing a rope and looping it out, Charley starts down the draw on foot, running through the bracken like a moose. The men sit and watch him. “He’s crazy,” Tip says. Ed laughs.
Below, hidden by some wooded hills, the cowboys from the Lindley Ranch are slowly working toward the bracken-filled canyon where Kippy and his band are hidden. Kippy is growing uneasy. He twists an ear, listening. Something else is happening, off to his left. Suddenly, over the hill, a band of ponies comes running, straight for Kippy’s hiding place. The cowboys are behind him; the ponies are coming on fast. Kippy leaps at the three horses, driving them out of the brush and down the draw as the ponies charge through the bracken nearly on top of them. The cowboys head for them, shouting, whirling ropes. It is nearly dark. The horses stumble, but down the ravine they go, hoofs pounding, a great swirling mass of them, Kippy in the middle.
The riders are on both sides of them now, trying to turn them; then one rider is in front, then another. Ropes whirl. Men shout. The band of horses breaks, spilling up the sides of the hills and down to the beach, running in the near dark. There are colts here, frightened, screaming. Kippy puts his head down and runs like a small fury toward the beach.
Then he is jerked up short, nearly falling. He turns to fight the rope, which cuts into his neck. Ginger, too, is caught. The others have disappeared.
Rex is running in a tight little hand that is headed for the beach, the pinto pony beside him, both stumbling as they hit the soft sand, then swerving away as two riders gain behind them, ropes ready.
Suddenly there is the roar of a truck on the road, the screech of tires, a crash, and then silence. The horses leap out onto the beach, jumping from the dunes down onto the wet hard sand and running along it until finally, pursued no more, they turn back into the hills, slowing to blow a little. All is quiet behind them.
On the road there are lights and loud voices. Riders are coming and someone on foot is running.
There is a groan from the wrecked truck, then another groan. Then there is a pistol shot; then a man’s voice—“My God! Poor thing, truck ran right into her. What were you trying to do, mister?”
“He can’t answer, he’s too hurt,” the sheriff says. Charley lies with his arm pinned painfully under the truck, unable to move. Ed and Tip have jumped from the truck and disappeared into the darkness.
“What happened?” asks Dan Elber, riding up.
“Hit a Sand Pony,” says the sheriff. “Darn little critters. Really messed us up back there. Turned this truck over, too. I shot the pony.”
“Sure it was a Sand Pony?” Mr. Elber asks, coming into the light. “Yes, poor thing. Well, she’s out of her pain. Look here, she had a colt. Wonder where it’s got to. May be hurt. We’d better look.”
Kippy and Ginger have been led slowly up the hills to the ranch. It is a long way, and Kippy is almost too tired to fight.
Rex and the pinto settle down, then slowly begin to work deeper into the hills with the Sand Ponies.
Mary McCamley has gone to walk on the beach. The sky is nearly black, the sun long gone, and the sea is wind-swept and mysterious. As the wind strengthens she finds a sheltered place between the dunes and sits with her back against a sandy hill still warm from the day. Tall grass rustles above her and a few late birds hunt along the shore.