At the bottom of the valley, curling along the edges of a flat grassy area like a string of silver, was the Yellow Wolf River, winding its way down from the Continental Divide, and down the slope to the Pacific Ocean. The mountains on the far side of the valley, jagged peaks of gray, were half-misted in fog, as if there was the threat of rain from somewhere, but the water gods were holding back for now.
“This is it,” said Zeke. He was looking at a folded bit of topographical map that he held against his thigh. “Aungaupi Valley.” Lifting his head, he seemed to scan the valley, and Cal saw what he was looking for almost as fast as Zeke did. “There are the mustangs. Let me call it in before we go down and I lose cell signal.”
Cal pulled Applejack to a halt, his hands gentle on the reins, and Applejack seemed content to look over the valley while they waited, his ears pricked, his copper mane glistening in the sun. Cal thought he could hear the mustangs calling to them, high-pitched bugles of question and greeting.
“We’re here, Gabe,” said Zeke. “We’ll set the temp fence up, check the herd over, and get back to you. Any estimate on when they’ll be able to cut a path through the slide?” Zeke paused, his gaze flicking to Cal as a cool wind swept up from the valley bottom. “As fast as that?” he asked. “I’ll try reaching them by cell after we take care of the mustangs.”
Zeke clicked off the call and put the cell phone in his breast pocket.
“We’ll go slow down to the valley,” he said. “Take your time and if you get dizzy, focus between Applejack’s ears.”
Cal understood what that meant about halfway down, when the switchback created a hairpin turn and, for a wild second, Applejack’s nose and his gaze were focused directly down. But he followed Zeke’s advice and looked between Applejack’s ears and trusted his mount.
Even so, by the time they had gotten to the bottom of the valley, his skin was slick with sweat and the cool breeze was quite welcome as he stopped Applejack to take off his straw hat and wipe the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
They rode the rest of the way along the Yellow Wolf River, where the water turned from churning over rocks into a wide glassy slide, with only a few ripples here and there to indicate where the rocks were, and the deep pools beneath them.
They let the horses stop to take a drink, then hurried to the round, metal temporary pen where the mustangs had been left for quick and easy transport by trailer that had never come. The mustangs, rangy and wild-haired, whinnied their greetings,while some dashed around the small pen as if looking for a way out.
“Normally,” said Zeke as he dismounted next to the pen and tied Flint to one of the rails. “We’d look after our mounts first, but the mustangs have been waiting. Let’s get to it.”
Cal dismounted and tied Applejack to the rail, then hurried to help Zeke pull the canvas tarp off a stack of flimsy looking poles laying near the metal pen alongside large, orange reels of plastic rope.
“How do we—?” he began to ask, but he didn’t even know the question that would help him figure out what they were about to do.
“It’s a Gallagher smart fence,” said Zeke, as he separated the poles into longer black poles with an edge at the bottom and shorter poles with white circles on them. “You push the main posts into the ground with your boot, then you unspool the reels of rope. Then you create tension on the fence with the stay wires. The horses can see the fence, and as long as they’ve got something to eat and water to drink, they don’t tend to rush it.”
Zeke shrugged and laughed low in his throat. “It’s been a while since I installed one, but I think we can keep the mustangs safe until the handlers come.”
They pressed the black poles into the ground, all the way to the river’s edge and back, creating an area of water at the bank where the mustangs could drink. Then they made a wide circle with the black poles as Zeke walked backwards with the reel, stringing out a four-tiered fence line as he went.
Cal followed behind Zeke, tucking the stay wires into the ground, then twisting the wire guide to create the tension. Pretty soon they had a good-sized pasture where the mustangs could spread out and relax, rather than being crowded in a small, round paddock.
“You hold open the gate on that side,” said Zeke. “I’ll let them out of the paddock and into the pasture, and then you rush to shut the gate tight, okay?” The gate in question was a single thick wire, electrified by a six volt battery, and secured by a plastic handle that was bright orange. “That’ll do in a pinch, and we’ll keep our eyes on them, as well.”
Up to his boot-tops in thick green mountain grass and holding the plastic handle in two hands, Cal held his breath as Zeke lifted the metal gate to move it aside. Then, with urgent clicks of his tongue, he urged the mustangs to separate from their clump and to move into the broader swath of the paddock.
“That mare will lead the way,” said Zeke, pointing with his chin at an all over ginger colored horse with a narrow face.
How Zeke knew what the mare would do, Cal had no idea, but he watched with amazement as the mare, biting and snapping at the other horses, got the whole herd to move into the paddock with dusty trots and wind-flecked manes and tails.
A few galloped about, but most almost instantly dropped their heads and began tearing at the cool, waving grasses. A few more went down to the pool along the river’s edge and dunked their noses in the water to drink.
“A job well done, I think,” said Zeke, as if he knew how hard Cal’s heart was pounding at the sight of those mustangs, rangy with stocky necks, their manes and tails knotted and twisted as if a whole flight of fairies had been riding them in the moonlight the night before.
“Yes,” said Zeke with a nod, turning his full attention to Cal. “They’re going to be just fine. We’ll look them over in a minute, but let’s take care of this bunch first.”
They took the saddles off Flint, Dusty, and Applejack, and laid those and the blankets carefully on the top rail of the paddock. Then, slipping on halters and off bridles, they led the horses to the river for a good long drink.
The mustangs sniffed the air as the domesticated horses came close, but they must have realized they had nothing to fear from the newcomers, as they quickly went back to grazing.
Together Cal and Zeke groomed Flint, Dusty, and Applejack and set them in the paddock with the feed they had brought along and a small chunk of salt.
“We’ll get them cookies later,” said Zeke. “Let’s set up the tent, check over the mustangs, and call it in. Then we can get some lunch.”
The breeze along the river seemed to come down from the gray mountains beyond, keeping Cal cool even as he began to sweat as they set up the single tent.The single tent.
He and Zeke would be bunking together again, simply because Cal had been stupid enough to leave one tent behind. He couldn’t imagine that he’d done it on purpose.
