The Horse Keeper Page 4

  His sojourn had been completely fruitless. Not even the scent or sign of a single horse had manifested itself. Now this was the first time he had begun to realise that to live like Harding was a long and lonely vigil, with no sure-fire booty at the end of the road. To add to his problems, some of the stretches of flooded plains had been deceptively deep in places and he had been forced to make long, round detours just to gain a few miles. Finally he had decided to move northwards, between Sunflower River and deer Creek. He had also discovered that insects and bugs may be pleasing to the ear, but they can also bite and inflict infuriating irritations, even under clothing. As he moved north into country riddled with winding, overgrown rivulets, that had only ever been graced by presence of the rare Indian hunter, he began to wonder if he had made a mistake.

  It had been his eleventh night in the wild. His enthusiasm had dwindled dramatically as he lashed up and stowed his gear. He had been pondering the thoughts of holding out for another day or two and then heading home. He was no defeatist, but horses normally left some sign or indication that they had visited or wandered in an area. There had been nothing whatsoever to give him a line of further investigation, besides, he was becoming extremely uncomfortable.

  Then, as he forded yet another muddy stream, to cross the expanse of another watery plain that stretched to infinity he pulled Long Horn to a sudden halt. In the distance he could see what he thought was a moving rainbow on the glass-like water. It was horses. A lot of horses, moving at speed and casting up cascades of spray as they ran. He could not hide his sheer delight as he shouted gleefully to Long Horn.

  “Harding was telling the truth, they’re real, real as you and me. Let’s git after ‘em!”

  He dug his heels sharply into Long Horn’s ribs and pulled his reins to guide him towards the rapidly rolling rainbow. The horse responded perfectly and once they had cleared some clumps and clods of growth they were away, gliding through the shallow water at speed.

  The wind caught Wayne’s thick blond hair and the excitement of the chase rocketed up from his solar-plexus, like fire. But this band of phantom horses were moving away at incredible speed, fuelling Wayne’s spirit, with wild abandon.

  “Yah won’t git away from me like yah did ole Harding!” he shouted and laughed.

  But to his amazement, they were getting away, rolling away through a cascading, dancing rainbow. He kicked his heels as hard as he dared into Long Horn and the powerful streamline horse thundered into a long spanning gallop. Wayne had never handled a horse as fast and strong as Long Horn and he could not believe that any horse could out run him over a long stretch. But these beauties were, and there were at least a hundred of them. Then quite suddenly Wayne could see that the ground rose up from the water, into a long slanting gradient, decked sparsely with pines and solitary oaks.

  The rainbow vanished into thin air as they panned out from the water, onto the high ground and now he could see them clearly. Blacks. Browns. Whites, and mixed colourings of the biggest and most beautiful beasts that he had ever seen.

  “Come on Long Horn boy, come on, they can’t keep this pace up…!” he yelled. But they could and were, the rising ground had not stifled there pace at all, it had only spread them out. And still they kept moving, darting and probing like a rising tide. As steed and master cleared the final stretch of water that had now begun to ripple on a sweeping downwind, Wayne wondered if Long Horn could carry on at this pace for much longer. But the horse could feel and breath the heart and soul of his master and as they rode up onto the high ground the noble, gracious beast found his second wind.

  Wayne’s eyes were watering from the gushing wind and he had to blink consistently to drain the tears down his cheeks. But he never took his eyes away from the host speeding before him. The ground gradually began to even out and slant downwards and Wayne found he was now guiding Long Horn downwards to another water plain.

  Gratefully Wayne observed that the host had slowed down as they approached the shimmering water. And by the time they had glided into the shallow lake, most of them had slowed down to a canter. Wayne breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  “Oh Long Horn, it looks like they’re in home territory, now we just gotta keep a distance and follow ‘em… Well done boy, well done. I knew I could rely on yah.”

  Wayne had never known a family of horses that were so sensitive to unfamiliar noise, so aware of each others presence, and very fast to react to even one or two of them being alarmed. They also knew each other implicitly. Wayne had been following them at a safe distance for two days and nights. Tiredness had only become a slight inconvenience for him, because sheer excitement had completely engulfed his emotions. How he would catch even one of them was another question. But over the past two days he had contemplated this question from another position. Did he really want to catch even one, or just find out where they went and ultimately vanish as Indian legend and the dogmatic Harding professed. He had camped as close as he dared when they had stopped to graze and settle for the night, using clusters of bunched trees and bushes as cover. Sleep had only come in uncomfortable and staggered bouts, because he did not want them to slip away quietly as he slept.

  After another two days of careful tracking, the land had become a lot more overgrown and tangled, with saplings and gorse bushes slashing Long Horn’s legs. Wayne thought that this was the ultimate no mans land, where only wild animals could live by brook and stream, safe from man. The horses knew the lay of the land well, and led Wayne even through the densest areas quite easily, while he deftly followed them.

  Then, as they entered onto a grassy plain Wayne was struck by the sight of a large outcrop of rocks, tall and sheer clustered in the centre of the plain. This is where Harding must have lost them, all those years ago.

  The grass here was lush and an odd Lincoln green in colour, and the horses stopped and hungrily devoured it. Wayne remembered what Harding had told him and thought that it would be nigh on impossible to escape a seasoned old tracker like Harding from this prime position. But as it became apparent that the horses intended to stay here for the night, Wayne had an instinct that he would have to watch their every move. There was a mysterious chill in the air.

  Wayne’s gut feeling had been right, because in the early hours, just as dawn was breaking, a magnificent black stallion began to canter in a large anti clockwise circle. Wayne watched in amazement as all of the rest of them began to follow suit, until they were all moving together in perfect harmony. He became galvanised and filled with awe, as he had never seen anything like this before. Then quite suddenly, the stallion that had instigated this strange dance peeled away from them and started slowly moving towards the rocks. The rest followed in single file, keeping at exactly the same pace and distance between each other. Wayne began to follow the last one, staying as close as he dared. They began to weave through the rocks, some of which were gigantic. Some looked like tall, black tombstones planted by an invisible giant hand.

  Wayne had not seen any rocks like this in the area, they appeared completely foreign to the terrain, as if they had been dropped from the sky. The centrepiece was a hundred feet high twin spire, which looked like twin stone barrels rammed together and bulging at the base. As the horses moved towards the base, weaving through boulders and sheer rock faces, the ground dropped sharply. From his position Wayne could see that the peculiar looking centrepiece was surrounded by a natural and very deep moat, giving the impression of an impregnable castle. The moat was at least fifty yards wide and as the line of horses headed down towards it, Wayne thought that they were going to quench their thirsts, but he became electrified as the leading stallion dithered for a while and then began to walk into the water. Surely it must be far too deep and sheer to bathe in, but the horse floundered for a while and then its hooves found solid ground.

  The beast appeared to be concentrating on what it was doing now, as it slowly moved out at a right angle towards the face of the rock. Then slowly, in single file the rest followed h
im in exactly the same manner, without wavering. Wayne predicted that they were following a sunken causeway that nearly covered their shoulders, but where were they heading for? He could clearly see the tide mark at the base of the rock, which was at least six feet above the present water line. This meant that in the rainy season the causeway would be at least ten feet under water. Then the leading horse began to climb the rock face on some jagged steps that could not be seen from the shore. Suddenly it appeared to vanish into the rock face, about twenty feet up the side. Wayne blinked his eyes and watched the rest follow. It took him some time to adjust his sight and when he did he realised that they were entering a small dark fissure, that could just about accommodate a big horse. It looked no different from any of the outer fissures, or pockmarks that decked the rock face, and was perfectly camouflaged.

  Wayne knew in his heart that this must be the source of the story from Indian legend. And if this place was deemed sacred and out of bounds to the ancient Indians, then he was probably the only human being who had ever witnessed this. He could not turn back now, he must find out where they had gone.

  “Come on Long Horn, let’s see if we can follow ‘em,” he said quietly.

  Long Horn’s initial steps into the water were very timid, and Wayne could sense that the horse was afraid. But the animal’s love for its master overcame its fear and gradually after some delicate foot finding, its hooves found the pebbles of the causeway. Wayne carefully guided his trusted horse by gently tugging on the reins either side. The adrenaline began to churn around in his stomach as he realised that the causeway was very narrow and dropped sharply into deep water on both sides. Finally after what seemed like an eternity Long Horn began to rise out of the water and cautiously climb the sheer, narrow steps. Wayne had to duck low as he coaxed the horse into the blackness of the fissure.

  He put a match to a torch, which he had taken from his saddlebag. About twenty yards inwards the fissure spanned out into a dome-like cave and at the end of the cave he could see daylight. He aimed Long Horn towards the daylight and noticed that it emanated from another narrow fissure.

  As he passed through the fissure into the daylight, he could not believe his eyes. All around him there was greenery, trees and coloured flowers of which he had never seen before. He was standing on the edge of what could be interpreted as the Garden of Eden. By some freak of nature the twin rocks had become like an enormous flowerpot, enclosing black fertile soil and watering it with small waterfalls that cascaded down the sides of the sheer walls. In one corner was a deep blue lake of pure mountain water that was naturally serviced by underground caves that drained and changed the water, so it never flooded. He could see that the horses were prancing around in the shallows.

  They had come home, probably as they had done for countless generations, after long expeditions of foraging. Come back to perhaps two acres of paradise, completely protected by the wind. Various birds nested in the sheer walls, occasionally leaving their nests and soaring up and over the heights. This explained the marked contrast in trees and fauna. Huge oaks and maples, shaded violets, poppies and daffodils, the seeds from all of this plant life brought in and dropped in the dung of birds that had migrated to and from far off lands. There were cuttings and caves at the base of the walls, providing perfect shelter for a lot of horses. The same type of deep green grass that circled the parameters of the citadel was here in abundance. The minerals from rock and water feeding and colouring it through the black, fertile soil. Sunbeams had begun to penetrate downwards and sweep over everything. The blue of the water, green of the trees, the warm caress of the sun and sound of cascading water overwhelmed Wayne’s senses. A deep peace came over him, and he wished that he could share it, share it with somebody, although he did not know whom.

  He would never recapture this sense of peace again for a long time, because the seeds of another kind were slowly being scattered and sown. And they would burst forth in less than three years down the line. They were the seeds of war and they would not spring in colour and morning dew. They would sprout in blood, anger, and tear the hearts from thousands of innocent young men. But at this moment in time Wayne’s only thoughts as he carefully negotiated the causeway and made his way back onto the delta plains were, ‘did he tell anybody about what he had discovered? Or did he keep it all a secret?’ He finally concluded, ‘who would believe him anyway.’

  Suddenly a loud distant thunderclap, followed by the burble of rolling thunder brought him back to reality. Long Horn became unusually disturbed and for some strange reason, so did Wayne. Bolts of lightning stabbed down onto the land, from black rolling clouds, warning the humid air of its stormy intent and presence. Both man and beast were familiar with the roar of thunder, it had been a frequent visitor lately, although keeping at a safe distance. Wayne gently reassured Long Horn.

  “Don’t fret boy, it ain’t cannon fire. It can’t hurt us. Easy boy, easy, easy.”

  It had occurred to Wayne that he used the words, ‘cannon fire’ when addressing his horse and wondered why. The only cannons he had ever seen were the ancient, highly polished ones that graced the big doorways of the Boucher place, as ornaments. He did not expect to see or hear such a weapon in his life, and he certainly did not want to witness what this weapon could do to the human body. But he would; he would see canister and shot rip human flesh and bone to shreds. He would see what multitudes of heavy guns could meter out, in countless battlefields. Battlefields that were at the present time sleepy hamlets and pleasant fields and turnpikes. Pleasant romantic names would turn into names of horror, blood and death, as if an ugly black shadow had swept over and desecrated them, indelibly stamping their names in the ether forever.

  But for now he was a boy of nineteen, full of the hunger, wonder and soul searching anticipations of youth. And as he kicked Long Horn into a slow trot, he felt wild and free. It felt so good to be alive.

  CHAPTER 4

  I don’t pree-fess to know.

  Wayne was walking with Ty Murphy along one of the winding lanes that circled the vast expanse of the Boucher plantation, Ty towered over Wayne and his big, heavy boots were leaving deep imprints in the dusty path. Wayne had been nursing a feeling of trepidation as they rounded a sunken bend, overgrown with weeds and gorse. He did not really want to see a dead body, in particular one that had been hanged. But Ty had insisted, besides he wanted to talk to Wayne in private.

  Ty said enthusiastically, “he’s just round this corner. Ole Boucher won’t cut him down for a few days.”

  “What did yah wanna talk ‘bout Ty can’t think of a worse time and place.”

  Then just as they rounded the bend Wayne saw him and gagged with horror. The young black slave was hanging fifteen feet above the ground, from the branch of an ancient oak tree. The bright yellow rope that had strangled the life out of him was blatantly the insignia of Ben Boucher, like a macabre advert or veiled warning.

  “Okay Ty, I’ve seen him and I don’t like what I see… Now what…?”

  “Well, what do yah notice ‘bout him Wayne?”

  “Well, apart from being as naked as a jaybird, he looks like he was a big strong fella.”

  “Come on Wayne. What else do yah notice ‘bout him?”

  “He’s been horse whipped real badly, just look at those welts. Whoever did that to him must of done it with hatred in his heart, beyond belief.”

  “Come on Wayne, what else do yah notice ‘bout him?”

  “Well apart form his dick is nearly as big as Long Horns, he’s very dead.”

  “Exactly, his dick, or size of it…Now I know why you call Long Horn, Long Horn.”

  “Your powers of dee-dution Ty, could make even Plato look like a damn fool.”

  “Plato? Who’s Plato?”

  “Some ole Greek dude my brother Wyatt is always reading ‘bout.”

  “Do yah know why ole Boucher hanged him?” said Ty, grinning from ear to ear.

  “No I don’t Ty. Now will you get to the damn point
Ty.”

  “Because of his dick, or the size of it and what he was using it for.”

  “What was he using it for Ty? To lasso damn hosses,” said Wayne in exasperation.

  Now Ty had become thoroughly delighted, because Wayne did not know why.

  “Wade Cockburn works for the Boucher’s, knows ‘em all, includin’ the three gals, Martha, Olga and Mari Jo. Well, Wade say’s that Mari Jo is nothing like the other two Miss prim and Miss proper. Mari Jo is completely wild and rebellious. Apart from that crazy dude brother Tom, she hates all of ‘em with a vengeance, I mean vengeeee-ance.”

  “Okay Ty, what’s all this leadin’ up to? Can see you’re dyin’ to tell me.”

  “Well Mari Jo took a likin’ to this beg fella and sadused him.”

  “Seduced him Ty, seduced him.”

  “Yeh, yeh, that’s what I meant. She even used Wade for excuses to take her out to the slave quarters to get her hands on him. When Wade found out he was being used by her, he shit himself. Can you imagine Boucher if he found out Wade was in on it? Even if he didn’t know he was being used at the time.”

  “Wow, Wade must be sure glad he ain’t hangin’ up there next to this fella.”

  “He sure is, he sure is. When Wade found out the real reasons why he was ferryin’ her out there in that darn crazy lookin’ woman’s buggy, he told her he could not keep doing it, as ole Boucher would surely think he was complissip in her subfuse.”

  “Complicit in her subterfuge Ty.”

  “Yeh, that’s what I meant Wayne, that’s what I meant.”

  Wade Cockburn was Wayne’s best friend and cold sweat began to trickle down Wayne’s back, as he tried to picture himself in Wade’s position.

  “Well how did ole Boucher find out? And how come he didn’t suspect that Wade was not directly involved? I mean men like Boucher don’t take no darn prisoners.”