McGraw, Gabe’s father’s rival.
“Hang on.” Gabe jumped off Bonita and, leading the mare, approached Reese McGraw. “Got yourself in a fix here.”
“I missed the hole. It was covered with twigs and dead leaves.”
Sinkholes weren’t uncommon in the desert, especially after heavy rains, though they were generally larger. This particular hazard was deceptively small, measuring three and a half feet at its widest point, and easy to miss.
“It happens,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Can you help me get him out?”
“I’ll try.”
She swallowed, and Gabe noticed the dried streaks on her cheeks. Had she been crying or was the cold wind responsible for her tears?
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” She shook her head, and a hank of shoulder-length strawberry blond hair loosened from its clip. As if sensing his gaze, she said, “I lost my hat when I bailed off.”
“We’ll find it later.” The hat didn’t matter. He was simply trying to calm her. She’d need all her strength for the ordeal ahead, along with her concentration.
She continued tugging on the reins, which the confused horse fought, jerking his big head to the side rather than using the added momentum to hoist himself out of the hole.
“Take it easy,” Gabe said.
“I can’t. If I do, he’ll sink deeper.”
“No, he won’t. Trust me.” Gabe put up a restraining hand. “Hold steady, but don’t pull. Not yet. Wait until I tell you to.”
“What are you going to do?” Worry filled her eyes.
Gabe hadn’t noticed their vibrant green color before. Then again, he generally avoided Reese. “Well, if we can’t drag him out, I’ll ride for help.”
Neither of them voiced aloud what they were doubtless thinking; there may not be time for that. Who knew the depth of the hole? One wrong move, and the horse’s own weight could drag him under the mud.
Gabe decided he’d seen enough death for one week. If it was at all humanly possible, he would save this horse.
“Focus on keeping his head up,” he told Reese.
Gabe lined up Bonita next to her. The mare obediently stood quiet. Next, he removed the coil of rope from his saddlebag and fastened one end to a metal ring on the right side of his saddle. Letting out rope a foot at a time, he neared the panicked horse.
“Easy now, partner,” he cooed. “That’s right.”
Sides heaving and nostrils flaring, the big paint stared at Gabe. Perhaps his imagination was working overtime, but he swore the horse understood he was trying to help.
He continued talking to the paint as he pondered how best to fasten the rope. Simply around the head wouldn’t provide enough leverage. They’d strangle the horse before they rescued him. No way could he feed the rope beneath the horse’s chest and behind his front legs, which would be ideal. He’d likely injure his hand in the process.
Gabe decided to run the rope through the girth on either side of the saddle. A tricky operation. One miscalculation and the results could end in disaster. For the horse and Gabe.
“Here goes nothing.”
Thankfully, the horse remained quiet while Gabe circled him and attached the rope to both sides, looping it behind the saddle horn for added resistance. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. By the time he finished, sweat had gathered on his forehead and soaked the inside of his shirt.
He removed his cowboy hat and combed his fingers through his damp hair.
“You holding up?” he asked Reese.
“I’m fine.”
Right. She looked ready to drop. He gave her credit, though. She wasn’t a quitter.
“Then, let’s get this horse out.”
He patted Bonita’s rump. She’d done well so far. What came next would be the real test.
Glancing over his shoulder, he inspected his handiwork one last time. The big paint cooperated by not moving. That, or he was past the point of fighting.
Gabe stood at Bonita’s head and gripped the side of her bridle above the bit. The rope stretched taut from both sides of her saddle to both sides of the paint’s.
“Good girl.” He rubbed her soft nose. “You can do it.”
Bonita nuzzled his hands, not the least bit concerned.
He peered over her back at Reese. “You ready?”
“Yes.” She didn’t look it. Her hands shook and her face was alarmingly pale.
“Your job is to keep that horse’s head up. Bonita and I will do the rest. You understand?”
“Got it.”
“Any sign of trouble, you let go. I mean it. Don’t put any of us in danger.”
She nodded.
“All right then. On the count of three. One, two, three.” He clucked to Bonita and yanked on her bridle.
Muscles straining, hide quivering, the mare took one step forward, then a second.
Gabe glanced back at the paint. He’d yet to move, other than stretching his head and neck out as far as they would go.
“Come on, boy. Now or never.”
They could only do so much. It was entirely up to the horse. If he didn’t haul himself out of the sinkhole and onto solid ground, he would die right where he was.
Bonita didn’t quit and, once again, Gabe admired the little mare he’d handpicked from his friend Cara’s herd of rehabilitated wild mustangs.
“He’s doing it!” Reese hollered.
Gabe looked. True enough, the horse had found the will to save itself. With tremendous effort, he dug his front hooves into the ground and, with the aid of the primitive pulley, climbed out of the deep mud.
“Don’t quit on us now.” Gabe wasn’t sure who he was talking to. The horse or Bonita or Reese. Did it really matter?
With a final mighty groan, the horse heaved himself out, landing with a grunt on his belly. Gabe let go of Bonita and rushed to the paint, afraid the unsteady horse would slide back into the hole.
One rope in each hand, he pulled with every ounce of his strength. It wasn’t enough.
“Help me,” he said to Reese.
In a flash, she was there.
“Grab
