“Huh.” He pretends to be offended. “Not me you come to see. Just that fucking horse.”
“And how is my boy, Niyol?” I’d named him the Navajo word for wind when I was helping Jacob break in the young foal. Jacob’s blamed me ever since for being the reason he goes like his namesake. Too much for the paying customers who Jacob takes trekking in Sabino Canyon to handle.
“Like always. Causing havoc amongst the mares.” But the softening of Jacob’s eyes shows me the respect and love he has for the stallion. He tilts his head to one side. “Fucking horse knows you’re here, Tse.”
Before I was forced to leave Tucson, here’s where I first learned to ride. It was one of the few areas where my Navajo mother had gotten her way. My Anglo father wanted me brought up as a strictly white all-American boy, but he gave in on the riding, something for which I’ve always been grateful, especially when I discovered I had an innate ability, and a deep love for horses.
Like my MC brothers, I love the freedom of my metal steed, but a flesh and blood one? Nothing can top that.
Alongside Jacob, as a fourteen-year-old boy, I had worked with Niyol for a year, breaking him to the saddle. He’d been a wild one then, and though now he must be in his late teens, he hasn’t much calmed. Sometimes Jacob rides him, less often he’ll let an experienced customer mount the stallion, but mostly Niyol’s not worked until I come around. Something I try to do at least once a month.
“You taking him out?”
I nod, my eyebrow raised as I wait for permission.
“Knock yourself out. I’ll be taking thepaying customersthe usual route. Got some novices…”
“I’ll keep clear.” I avoid the reference to the fact money doesn’t pass hands when I take his horse for a ride. I’ve invested enough in these downtrodden stables over the years. Don’t need thanks, which he’s well aware of. We say what we have to by trading insincere insults.
Slapping the old man on his back, leaving him to prepare for what sounds like a boring trek to see the sunset tonight, I grab a rope halter and go to the furthest corral. There, already stamping his feet with impatience, is the sixteen-hand black stallion I’ve come to think of as mine.
The whites of his eyes are showing.Like that, is it?“Hey, boy.” I stand at the fence, just waiting. “Can’t come every day, you know. And Jacob doesn’t neglect you, so don’t give me that look.”
Another stamp.
I dig into my pocket and pull something out. “Got a carrot with your name on it.”
An impasse. He doesn’t move, neither do I, as we play the game we’ve played ever since I returned to Tucson, some eight years ago. I’m sure he can read my every expression, as I can his. I do nothing as I wait for him to approach me. I don’t smile, don’t speak, and definitely don’t frown. With a shake that starts at his nose and ends at his tail, at last the black stallion moves.
When he’s taken the carrot, I climb the railing. Standing alongside, I stroke my hand down his neck. “Up for having some fun?” I croon softly, as I slip his halter on.
With Niyol content to munch on hay, I groom him until he gleams, taking care to stand at his side when I brush his tail out. Usually with me he’s calm and patient, but if he’s in a mood, he can have the tendency to kick out. I only had to learn that lesson once, a nice horse shoe print bruise on my thigh something tobe avoided. When he’s ready, I untie the halter and loop it around his neck. He accepts the bit in his mouth without too much head tossing, and calms as I put the saddle on his back and clinch the girth tightly. Then he starts stamping impatiently.
Without delaying, I leap onto his back, taking up the reins quickly. “Whoa, give me a moment, boy.” He prances while my feet find the stirrups.
As soon as my heels touch his flanks, he’s off. I give him his head, knowing he’s as full of pent-up energy as I am. Steering away from the route Jacob will be taking, I head off on a different, less used track.
Niyol’s flanks are heaving and covered with a sheen of sweat when I slow his pace, leaning forwards and patting his neck.Just horse and man enjoying the solitude, the quietness.Letting my body move as one with his, we plod on, covering ground, heading onwards.
The air feels fresh, the sky above me darkening as the sun starts to drop over the mountains. Old friends, knowing each other well, I’m now walking with a loose rein. Suddenly Niyol rears. I throw myself forward, easily keeping my balance. When his four legs are back on the ground, I look around, wondering what had startled him. What’s that?I thought I heard something.I did. The finer-tuned ears of the horse had picked it up first, but now I can hear it clearly. The sound’s not far away. It’s screaming. A woman.
We’re off the main tourist drag. There shouldn’t be anyone out here. I strain my ears, nope, can’t hear anyone else.Doesn’t mean she’s alone though.It’s the panic in the next scream that gets me dismounting, looping the reins around the branch of a tree. I’d rather approach quietly and discreetly on foot until I find out what’s going on.Could be screams of delight. A lover’s tryst I’ll be interrupting.But that’s not what it sounds like. I’veexperienced enough cries of fear to recognise one when I hear it.
Silently, using tracking skills I learned as a youth, I walk up the path, then push quietly through the undergrowth until I come to another little-used track, then stop. My brain is analysing the situation as fast as any computer I use. A woman standing tall, her backpack held over her head, waving it at something standing in front of her in a clearing…
A bear. A fucking bear.She looks like she’s going to scream again at any moment.
Noiselessly I approach her from behind. One hand going around her mouth, the other holding her still, imprisoned against my body. She struggles, her writhing brings her ass into contact with my cock. Ignoring everything, I bend my head to speak into her ear, “Listen to me. I’ve got you, okay?” As I talk, I straighten my legs, making myself as tall as I can. Taking the backpack from her I hold it high and still with my free hand. I tower above her smaller frame. She stiffens.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Raising my voice so the bear can hear, I use a tone similar to the one I use on Niyol when he’s in a spat. “You just got to be quiet and calm down. Gonna remove my hand now. Don’t say a fuckin’ word. I’m letting the bear know we’re human, and that we’re not a threat, but also, too much for him to take on.”
The slightest nod of her head. Keeping her flush to my body, I use my now free hand to slide my gun out of its holster. Don’t want to shoot a bear, but if she’s enraged it, it could either be it or us. And I’d rather it not be me.
“We’re going now, Mr Bear,” I say calmly. Keeping my voice steady, I instruct her. “Turn to me, sideways, so we can keep an eye on the bear. We’ll back away so he knows we’re leaving him alone.” In the distance I can hear Niyol’s feet stamping, the far-off jingling of his bridle. Time seems to stand still, but at leastshe’s obeying me, and slowly we’re putting distance between us and the threat.
The bear stares at us, two sets of eyes watch him back as we edge away. “Look at the ground, not at him,” I whisper, trusting she’s doing as I ask. “That’s it. I’ve got you. Just follow the lead of my body.”
She relaxes slightly, I take a step back, then another. Then risk a glimpse up over her shoulder. The bear’s on all fours now, no longer standing up.Could mean we’re no longer a threat, could mean he’s preparing to charge.
