Wild Horses, Wild Hearts 2 Page 2

  “Alright folks, up & at ‘em,” he said, though in a tone and volume more reasonable than the professor’s had been. “Y’all heard the fat man. We got a long night of work ahead of us, so let’s get a move on...now.”

  His comrades collectively groused once more, but they began extricating themselves from their ramshackle beddings, stretching, yawning and occasionally muttering quiet obscenities at having to be awake at such an unholy hour. Once they were all standing, Chase herded them out of the car and out into the star-studded night awaiting them.

  All along the train, Chase could spy other members of the show mimicking their movements, disembarking from the cars and moving to help assemble the show. It was always the same routine in every town: everyone on the train had a job assigned to them for when they arrived and when they left a week later. As long as everyone stuck to their usual duties, and no one slacked off, the show would be assembled well before morning and performers and laborers alike might have a chance to catch some extra sleep.

  Chase had been a member of Professor Monro’s Wild West Show for the better part of two years, having first joined the traveling oddity when he was 23. The eccentric Professor Monro had sought to craft an entertaining oddity that could differentiate itself from the likes of travelling shows, such as the circus run by Phineas Taylor Barnum and James Anthony Bailey. As such, he had decided on a show themed around the American West and all of the mythos that people associated with it.

  Chase had been making his way as a show rider at various festivals and annual celebrations when Professor Monro had approached him and asked him to lead his troupe of experienced show riders. The young cowboy had been gobsmacked by the offer, and he had been traveling with the show ever since, performing feats of horse riding and marksmanship in every town and city they visited.

  All Chase knew of their current location was that they were somewhere west of the Mississippi River. The only reason he knew that fact was that the professor had told the entirety of the show’s ensemble that they were finally taking their show west to see how well they could manage in the landscape that their entire performance was based on. That may not have been much of a help, but at least he had a miniscule idea of where he stood in the grand scheme of things.

  Leading his team of riders further back along the train, they all gathered at the door of a vented stock car. Like clockwork, they unlatched the door, slid it open and were greeted with the whinnying and foot stomping of their personal horses.

  Chase easily identified his mount, a two-toned white and roan coated charger he’d named Cannonball. He’d picked up the swift mount when he’d taken to being a wanderer of the roads five years previous, and the two had been nigh inseparable since then.

  It didn’t take long before Chase and his riders had their personal mounts out of the car and saddled. Now comfortably perched atop his horse, Chase began to feel a little better.

  “Beats being stuck on that infernal train, eh, Cannonball?” he asked his horse with a scratch behind his ears.

  Cannonball huffed in what Chase took to be agreement.

  Looking to the next car on the train, Chase could see that the draft horses were being unloaded as well. The thick-legged workhorses would do the bulk of the moving in order to get the show set up.

  Should be hitched up and ready to work in no time, he thought satisfactorily. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can figure out just where we are.

  Giving Cannonball a gentle spur, the two started off in the direction of the nearest local structure—the railway station. Chase maneuvered his horse across the crisscrossing rails and ties, keeping his wits about for any approaching trains.

  Despite the stars above providing some light, Chase could only make out the shape of the station. Looking up at the sky, he could tell that the moon was obscured by a few passing clouds, meaning he wouldn’t be able to make out a sign giving the town’s name until he got right up close to it.

  It’s gotta be someplace well-to-do if the size of that station is any indicator, he thought, though he felt a brief flash of familiarity regarding the building’s silhouette in the darkness.

  When he was only a few tracks away from the station, the moon was relieved of her cloudy curtains and shown her light down on the station. As the light illuminated the plaque bearing the town’s name, Chase McAllister brought Cannonball to a grinding stop as he felt his heart leap into his throat.

  The name on the board read CHEYENNE.

  Oh no, Chase thought grimly, feeling a knot of apprehension form in the pit of his stomach.

  MCNEAL RANCH LAND, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, August 1885

  The sun’s rays crept slowly over the horizon, casting a warm glow over all they touched. This included one of the corrals on the McNeal ranch which was currently occupied by a herd of wild horses milling about, occasionally nibbling at the grass that grew on the ground.

  Standing along the fence of the corral were Leyla, Margaret, their mother Abigail, and John Baldwin.

  Leyla looked over the herd of wild horses with a mixture of excitement and trepidation in her eyes. The herd had been brought in late the previous evening, just as John had said they would.

  Now I have to choose which one I want to be mine, she thought uneasily.

  She nearly jolted as she felt a hand come to rest on her shoulder. Looking back, she was met by a reassuring smile from her sister. “Take your time, Leyla,” Margaret said softly. “There’s no rush to be had. Choose the one that feels right.”

  Leyla felt another hand clasp her opposite shoulder. Turning her head, she encountered John Baldwin’s confident grin. “The Natives who taught me said that the bond between a rider and their horse is a sacred thing, as the two are bonded in spirit,” he spoke. “Feel, don’t think, and you will discover the one meant for you.”

  The words of reassurance from her sister and John, both expert riders, calmed Leyla and she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts.

  When she reopened them, she gazed at the herd as though she were looking at it for the very first time. Her eyes roamed slowly from one horse to another, examining each as thoroughly as a jeweler might examine a rare gem.

  She had looked over half of the herd when her eyes met those of a white colt galloping around the corral. In that moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. As the two continued staring at one another, Leyla felt a stirring in her soul unlike anything she’d felt before. The closest feeling she could relate it to was her memory of when Margaret had first started teaching her to ride.

  “That one,” she breathed, her eyes focused on the white horse.

  Margaret, Abigail and John followed her line of sight toward the white steed. With a knowing glint in his eye, John handed a lasso to Leyla. Leyla gripped the length of rope as if it were a sacred artifact, relishing in the feel of it beneath her fingertips.

  “He’s all yours,” she heard Margaret say just before she climbed over the fence and landed in the dirt of the corral.

  The herd reacted to the sudden intrusion almost as one. Many of the wild horses gathered together at the far end of the corral, away from the figure that had entered their domain. Only the white one kept himself removed from the herd, centered in the middle of the corral and facing Leyla, as though daring her to approach.

  As though by natural reflex, Leyla uncoiled the lasso and began twirling it above her head, the loop moving perfectly around her head like a halo. Slowly, taking her time to aim, she loosed the lasso from her hand and watched as it flew straight & true, encircling the horse’s head and pulling tightly around its neck.

  The horse immediately reared back on its hind legs, pulling the rope tight. Leyla dug her boot heels into the ground and pulled back on the rope, refusing to budge an inch.

  Once the horse came down on all fours, Leyla began approaching him, keeping the line taut with each step. The horse gave a blast out of its nostrils as she moved closer, but Leyla kept her resolve, feeling a
s though all of her training had been building up to this one moment.

  As she reached the horse’s muzzle, she brought her hand up in a calming gesture. When the horse didn’t immediately snap at her hand, she grazed it against its long face.

  “Easy, easy,” she breathed, keeping control of the situation. When she was certain that she had somewhat calmed the horse down, she moved to the side and, using what she’d learned from John, climbed up on the horse’s back.

  The horse quickly took objection to her maneuver and tried to buck her. Leyla kept her hand fastened to the rope around the horse and worked to keep her balance centered on the horse.

  More and more the white steed bucked around, trying to shake the rider loose. But Leyla kept her grip on the rope, refusing to give in. Every time the horse shifted to try and throw her off balance, Leyla moved her weight to compensate, never letting herself be thrown off.

  For what felt like an eternity, Leyla rode the bucking bronco around the corral, clinging to its back with all of her might. Finally, the horse seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to jar the woman loose and he settled down, giving his mane a shake.

  Leyla breathed a sigh of relief, reaching down and running her hand along the horse’s lustrous mane. The horse bridled slightly at her touch, but soon he became used to it as well.

  It was at that point that Leyla became aware of cheers and whistles. Looking back toward the corral fence, she saw Margaret, her mother, John, and a few of the ranch hands who had been stirred by the sound of the bucking horse applauding and whistling at her.

  I did it, Leyla thought, ignoring the exhaustion her body felt. I lassoed and broke my own horse.

  Leyla held her head high in that moment, feeling like a champion. She spurred her new horse toward the corral gate which John opened for her to pass through before closing it again. Everyone who had watched her perform the feat gathered around her as she sat atop her mount.

  “See?” John cheered. “That’s exactly what I was talking about! You found the horse that was right for you on your own!”

  “I know your father’s probably waking all of Kingdom Come up with cheers about his little girl’s skills right now,” Abigail praised, getting a laugh from everyone.

  “You did it, Leyla,” Margaret beamed proudly. “You’ve finally found your own horse. Now what are you going to name him?”

  Leyla’s smile faltered for a moment. Until that moment, she hadn’t given any thought whatsoever to what she’d name her horse once she had one. There were so many possibilities that she couldn’t possibly choose at that moment.

  “I—that is I...I...” she stammered slightly.

  A brief gust of wind chose that moment to blow through the ranch, rattling a few windows, roof shingles and nearly taking a few hats as well. Leyla felt her horse try to rear up on its hind legs once again but she kept him calm just like Margaret and John had taught her.

  “What was that all about?” jeered one of the ranch hands.

  “Nothin’ more than a rogue whirlwind,” one of the others answered.

  ‘That’s it,’ Leyla thought brightly, her face lighting up with a smile in the sun’s morning rays.

  “Whirlwind,” she said proudly. “I’ll call him Whirlwind.”

  The rest of the ranch applauded her choice of name as Leyla guided Whirlwind toward the stable, where she’d be able to fit him with a proper saddle.

  CHEYENNE, WYOMING TERRITORY, August 1885

  “You should have seen her, Fergus! Mark my words, that girl will be as excellent a rider as her sister Margaret!”

  “Cheers to that, Johnny boy!”

  John and Fergus clinked their shot glasses together in a toast to young Leyla McNeal and her triumphant breaking of a horse. John had stopped into Fergus’s saloon in Cheyenne while running a few errands for Margaret in order to pass the news along to the old Irishman.

  “Her father’d be proud he would, God rest his soul,” Fergus sighed, remembering his dear friend. “To see both his little girls become expert riders would’ve made his heart soar like a hawk.”

  John nodded his affirmation before he looked around, as though checking to see if anyone was listening or watching. When he was certain that no one else in the saloon was paying them any mind, he leaned in close across the bar top.

  “Say, Fergus, can I trust you with a secret?” he whispered conspiratorially.

  Fergus quirked an eyebrow at the Kentucky boy’s odd behavior, but he decided to play along.

  “Certainly, Johnny,” he answered. “What troubles your mind?”

  John answered with a smile. “Not trouble, Fergus,” he breathed as he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled something out of it, his fist wrapped around the object.

  When he opened his palm up, Fergus’s old eyes opened wide in surprise as his gaze rested upon a simple silver ring with a humble blue gemstone set inside of it.

  “Johnny,” Fergus began slowly, “is that what I think it is?”

  John couldn’t suppress the smile that was stretching his face. “That it is, Fergus. This was the ring my father gave to my mother when he asked her to marry him. With it, I’m going to ask Maggie to marry me. I wanted you to be the first to know about it.”

  “Why me?” was all the bartender could think to ask as his eyes remained fixed on the ring. “I’d think Abigail would be a better choice first.”

  The ranch boss smiled sheepishly as he returned the ring to his pocket. “Missus McNeal has already given me her blessing, if not in words then at least in her actions. As to why you, you were the first friend I made here in Cheyenne and if it hadn’t been for you, I’d have never met Maggie in the first place.”

  Fergus looked away, though John couldn’t miss the old barkeep’s hand as it reached up to his eyes, more than likely to brush away a few tears.

  John was about to reach a hand out to pat the older man on the shoulder when a great ruckus sprang up outside, ensuring that every head in the saloon turned toward the door.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE TOWN OF CHEYENNE!” They all heard a jovial voice boom. “ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF; I AM PROFESSOR THADDEUS MONRO, AND I COME BEFORE YOU TO INVITE ALL OF YOU TO WITNESS THE MARVELOUS DISPLAYS OF GRANDEUR PERFORMED BY MY TRAVELING SHOW!”

  John and Fergus looked at one another in confusion before they both made their way to the saloon’s swinging doors to see what all of the hullabaloo was about. At the door, they spied a hefty carpetbagger in a top hat, standing on top of a soapbox and addressing the ever increasing crowd around him.

  “THAT’S RIGHT FOLKS, THE PROFESSOR MONRO WESTERN SHOW IS GUARANTEED TO ASTOUND ALL WITH PERFORMERS AND WONDERS FROM ALL ACROSS THE GLOBE! YOU’LL LAUGH AT THE COMEDIC ANTICS OF OUR HERDING HARLEQUINS AND BE DAZZLED BY THE ACROBATIC ABILITIES OF OUR SHOW RIDERS, LED BY THE INIMITABLE CHASE MCALLISTER! COME ONE, COME ALL!”

  At the mention of show riders, John and Fergus looked to one another with matching grins. Both of them knew of a pair of ladies who would be more than interested in seeing what some traveling riders from the east thought of as skilled riding.

  “So when were you thinking of asking her, Johnny?” Fergus questioned, returning to the previous line of conversation.

  “Well, I was thinking of asking after dinner this evening, but I think it can wait a day if the McNeal sisters would rather take in a show,” John replied with a grin.

  Fergus answered with a laugh. “Aye, Johnny, I think they would. You best be on your way back to the ranch then. No doubt the ladies would like to freshen up a tad before spending a night on the town.”

  John didn’t need to be told twice as he clasped his friend’s hand in a parting gesture and bolted for Longbow.

  As Fergus watched the young Kentuckian ride off, he gave one of his bushy white chops a scratch as he suddenly remembered something the showman outside had said.

  “Chase McAllister,” he pondered aloud. “Now why does that name sound familiar?”

  “CHASE
MCALLISTER?” Leyla echoed, her eyes widening. “As in the Chase McAllister?”

  Margaret and John gave the redhead twin looks of confusion. John had just returned with news of the impending show and at the mention of the name Chase McAllister, Leyla had gone star struck.

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Margaret shrugged, unable to grasp what was so special.

  “Maggie, are you fooling with me?!” Leyla blurted out, jumping up from her seat. “Chase McAllister is one of the best professional show riders east of the Mississippi! They say he’s pulled tricks on horseback that other show riders have never even dreamed of! We have to go!”

  Abigail McNeal giggled from where she sat in the parlor room, smiling at her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Leyla’s right, Maggie,” she said. “While I’ve only heard his name tossed around here and there, some would say that his skills could rival your own.”

  “Oh is that so?” Margaret growled, her eyes narrowing at the hint of a challenge. “Well, we’ll just have to see about tha—”

  Her declaration was gently cut short as John clasped her hand in his. “Now Maggie,” he began gently, “if he’s in this wandering circus as a show rider, then that means he has more time to devote to his riding than you do. But can he run the most successful cattle ranch out on the plains with nothing more than his wits and determination?”

  Margaret huffed a little, still annoyed that anyone could think to compare her to some gussied-up circus rider, but John’s words soothed her annoyance and she let it slip by.

  “Please, can we go see this show tonight?” Leyla repeated again. She turned her eyes to her sister, giving her the best pleading look she could muster. “Please, Maggie? The ranch will be fine for one night. Let’s all go out and have some fun watching someone else ride for once.”

  “I agree with Leyla, Maggie,” their mother chimed in. “Besides, tonight we should celebrate Leyla’s victory. Why not take in a show?”

  “What do you say, Maggie?” John asked with his signature grin. “Let’s be part of the audience for once instead of the main attraction.”