Page 19

She tossed him the chunk of cheese, and Camo snapped it out of the air.

“I don’t think he even tasted it.”

“Yep. Just straight down the gullet,” Arden said.

Jodie leaned over and dug into her tote bag. She pulled out a thick binder full of photographs of horses, along with all the information she’d gathered over the past couple of years volunteering.

“I narrowed it down to about twelve you might want to keep an eye on if they’re removed,” she said as she opened the binder across her knees. “Assuming they’re eventually offered for adoption, of course. Four mares, three geldings, a couple yearlings who might be good candidates for your ranch. And there are three more I put in the maybe pile because I want to see what happens with their bands first.”

Arden smiled. “You say that like you haven’t already ranked them in your head.”

Jodie grinned. “Well…”

“You have.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

Arden laughed. “What else have you got?”

Jodie turned several pages until she found the first horse she wanted to show her, a bay mare with a narrow blaze and one white hind sock. The binder was full of photographs sent in by volunteers, sighting reports, handwritten notes, and printouts from the database Jodie maintained for the group.

The Sand Wash gather was still two months away, but it had already taken over far too much of Jodie’s brain. The Bureau had told the advocacy groups that the operation would use bait and water trapping rather than helicopters. Jodie wanted to believe them, she really did.

Unfortunately, another Colorado gather earlier in the year had begun with similar assurances. And then the helicopters showed up and the advocacy groups were denied access to the corrals afterwards. Several horses did not survive the process.

Arden tapped one of the photographs. “What about her?”

“Sagebrush. She’s seven, maybe eight. Good body condition, calm mare, and she’s raised at least three foals that we know of. She’s raising one now, sired by a black stallion named Jet. She also doesn’t seem to panic as easily around vehicles as some of the others.”

“You think she’d adjust?”

“I think she has a better chance than some.”

Arden studied the photograph. “Put a star next to her.”

Jodie grinned. “Already did.”

“Of course you did.”

Camo lifted his head from between the chairs as if the conversation had become relevant to him, then dropped his chin back onto his paws.

“I hate this,” Arden said quietly.

“Me too. And the waiting. Not knowing what they’re actually going to do until they do it.” Jodie closed the binder halfway.

“They’re still saying bait traps…” Arden trailed off.

“Yeah. But that’s what they said about the other gathers earlier this year then showed up with helos anyway.”

Arden smiled ruefully. “Okay. They don’t have me convinced, either.”

Their group didn’t work for the BLM. Quite the opposite, most of the time. They monitored the herd independently, documented what happened during gathers, tracked removed horses afterward, and pushed for more transparency whenever they could get it. Their only formal relationship with the agency was an MOU covering fertility control, because keeping more horses on the range without letting the population explode was one of the few goals everyone could occasionally agree on without coming to blows.

The gather itself was another matter.

“Please tell me they’re still planning to use Hank’s place for temporary holding, right?” Arden asked. Hank Presser owned a ranch bordering the public land. He ran a horse rescue that worked with veterans like himself.

“As far as I know. He agreed because he loves the horses and they’ll allow controlled observer access there, and he trusts our people not to interfere.” Jodie’s mouth tightened. “Which is another reason I want the horses moved there instead of somewhere nobody can see what’s happening.” She glanced at the binder on her lap. “I’ll keep updating the list as we get closer.”