The Devil's Highway Page 9

  Most of the men crushed together in the middle, tryng to find the ball and whacking each other with the sticks.

  Suddenly a shout of victory came from one of the teams. The players all piled their kapuchas behind the goal they had defended and then gathered in a large circle in the center of the field. Hannah put her hand on Zeb’s arm. “Brave Horse,” she said, “if you are going to enter the horse races, you better go out to the field. But please don’t make any wagers.”

  “Is that why you didn’t want me to notice?”

  “This isn’t like any horse race you have ever seen.”

  Zeb doubted that there could be a horse race unlike any he had ever seen before.

  He was sure that there was no horse race he couldn’t win.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Gentling the Horses

  Nashoba handed Zeb a loincloth and a leather belt similar to the ones Nashoba and the others wore to play ishtaboli. “You better get ready,” Nashoba shouted over the noise. “Looks like the village of Red Dog has chosen you to race.”

  Zeb tried not to let his face show what he felt. Obviously Nashoba didn’t think much of Christmas as a racehorse. Well, he thought, Nashoba and Hannah were in for a big surprise.

  Zeb looked up at the bright sun. Early afternoon. A little hot for racing, but Christmas had raced when it was hotter.

  In the midst of the crowd, some of the older boys were already taking off their shirts and pants to put on the loincloths. No one seemed to pay any attention to the naked young men. Zeb thought about changing the way they were doing it, but at the last minute, he lost his nerve. He ran over to the edge of the forest, stood behind a bush, took off his pants and shirt, and put on the loincloth and belt as quickly as he could.

  He ran back to Hannah, handed her his clothes, and continued toward the open field. “Get Christmas for me,” he called to her. “Someone can help you with the saddle.” Hannah just stood there and smiled at him, his clothes tucked under her arm. Nashoba shouted as he trotted alongside Zeb toward the center of the field, “The Choctaw don’t use saddles.”

  Zeb wondered how he would do, racing against people who never used saddles. Riding bareback would be no advantage to him now.

  The braves formed a huge circle around the field. Each of the six villages was allowed to choose one rider. The men of the village of Red Dog, to which Zeb now belonged, all but pushed him into the center of the circle.

  The Alikchi was helped onto the field. He held up his hand, and when it was silent he sucked on his long pipe and blew three puffs of smoke into the air. Then he began to chant. Nashoba whispered, “He is calling on the Great Spirit…. ‘Oh Great Spirit,’” he translated, “‘give each of these, our braves, the courage and the skill and the strength to win. Protect them from harm. Guide them that they compete in this and in all things with honor.’”

  The other riders ran in place and flexed their muscles. The boy nearest Zeb looked at him with a clear challenge in his eyes. The Alikchi began to instruct the racers. Nashoba translated. “He is saying that you will each gentle your horse, and then ride it from here to the poles at the east end and then around the poles on the west end, returning to the center. The first one to cross the stick he will place on the ground will be the winner.”

  It certainly sounded simple enough. This was just a country road race, a lot like the races in Franklin. He kept looking back at the council house. When will I be able to go and get Christmas? he wondered. He shuffled his feet in the fine dust, wishing that they would finish with the ceremony and get on with the race. He told himself that he was not nervous, but his mouth felt dry.

  The old man was helped to the sidelines. Everyone was looking toward the council-house clearing. Six young braves ran toward them, each one leading a horse. The horses rolled their eyes and danced away from their handlers.

  Zeb whispered to Nashoba. “What’s going on?”

  Nashoba grinned at Zeb’s surprise. “Those are the horses you and the others will ride. They have never been ridden. I wouldn’t have bet that you could do it, but Hannah thinks you can.”

  “Where did they get them?”

  “We breed our horses. You saw some of them tied up near the council house. If any of the colts aren’t exactly what the breeders want for size, build, and temperament, they save them for these games. No one is allowed to ride them. These horses are more like the Chickasaw horses than ours.”

  Zeb looked over at Hannah. She was grinning. Did she really think he could gentle an unbroken horse and then ride it in a race? He had helped his grampa gentle a lot of horses. It usually took hours just to get them used to his voice and his hand on their backs. This contest is going to go on a long time, he thought, before anyone will be racing down that field.

  Each horse had a simple leather noose around the nose, with another thong running up behind the ears to hold the nose strap on. A pair of leather leads attached to the back of the noose, to serve as reins. This form of bridle was similar to the hackamore they sometimes used on the farm. The hackamore was far from painless, but it didn’t damage the horse’s mouth the way some bits did.

  Five of the six wild horses were bays. They looked strong and healthy. The sixth was a dark gray, broader in the hindquarters than the others and much stockier. He stood at least sixteen hands high. The horse fought the handler all the way onto the field.

  The other horses were now more or less calm, but the big one still danced around and tried to pull away from his handler. He kicked out at the other horses whenever they moved near him, and then ran in circles around the handler. Zeb shook his head in admiration. If anyone can gentle that animal without getting killed, he thought, he’ll never let another horse pass him in a race.

  The Miko held out a handful of straws and each of the boys chose one. The young brave who had picked the shortest straw got to choose which horse he wanted, and he went directly to the big horse.

  Zeb kicked the dirt, raising a cloud of fine red dust. His teeth were clamped tightly together. He would have loved to work with that spirited horse.

  The boy took the leather lead from the handler and began to walk the big horse back toward the other braves. The horse reared, almost lifting the boy off the ground. He trotted in circles around the young brave, kicking out his hind feet. He reared again. The boy leaped to one side as the horse’s front hooves narrowly missed him. The boy pulled hard on the leather thongs, leading the horse back to the handler. He then chose one of the bays.

  The other two braves who had drawn short straws looked over all of the remaining horses, but they ignored the big gray. Zeb couldn’t fault their reasoning. The big, powerful horse would probably be faster in a race, but he might take a lot longer to gentle enough to ride.

  Zeb was the fourth to choose. In spite of his misgivings, he walked directly to the big horse. He took the leather thongs from the handler and tried to lead the horse back to where the six riders had been standing. The horse turned his head, looking down at Zeb, his eyes wide and daring. Zeb stroked his neck, trying to control him by pulling gently on the thongs. The horse jerked his head away, almost tearing the lines from Zeb’s hand. Zeb held on and turned back toward the other braves, walking slowly forward as the horse danced behind him.

  When the sixth horse had been chosen, the Miko raised his arm and then lowered it. Nashoba shouted to Zeb, “That’s the signal to start the race.”

  Zeb loosened the noose slightly. He began to stroke the horse, talking to it quietly. “Calm down. Atta boy. Calm down. You can do it. Not gonna hurt you. Calm down.”

  For a moment the horse stood quietly, then he yanked his head up, almost lifting Zeb off the ground. Zeb tried to act as if nothing unusual had happened.

  He continued to talk to the horse and stroke its long nose and cheek. When he moved his hand back down the neck, the horse danced away from him. Zeb looked around at the other riders. They were doing the same thing he was, talking quietly to the horses. The two nearest him d
idn’t seem to be talking as much as simply making low guttural sounds. Their horses were a little calmer than his.

  Zeb placed his hand on the horse’s back and walked around with him as he circled. When the horse stopped prancing, Zeb pressed his hand down on the horse’s back, still talking quietly to him. “That’s all right. Good boy!”

  Zeb kept talking and touching the horse. He stroked the horse from the withers to the middle of his back. Zeb leaned his chest against the side of the horse, mixing his sweat with the horse’s. Then he turned once again to the head, running his hands down the face, talking quietly. He ran his hand over the soft muzzle, then back up, slipping his fingers under the thong to loosen it even more.

  There was a sudden roar and then laughter. The big horse pulled hard on the leather thongs, dancing away from Zeb. He held on and looked over to where the other boys were working with their horses. One of them had tried to mount and was immediately thrown.

  What made that fool try so soon? It usually took hours of work with the horse to be able to mount the first time and even more time and patient training before you could ride it.

  The horse that had thrown the young brave wasn’t able to run very far. A huge circle of Choctaw men and women stood along the sidelines of the playing field. As the horse approached them, they lifted their hands and shouted. The horse turned and ran along the side of the field.

  A mounted Choctaw brave burst onto the field, raced alongside the frightened horse and threw a leather lasso over his head. The boy ran over to retrieve it from him.

  All of Zeb’s efforts to calm the horse now seemed to have been wasted. His horse was dancing again and kicking his hind legs. Zeb’s muscles ached. He wondered how long he would be able to keep this up.

  The horse jerked his head away, almost tearing the lines from Zeb’s hand.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Race

  Zeb decided to start over. “Calm down. Calm down,” he whispered. “Everything’s gonna be all right. Atta boy. Calm down.” He stroked the horse as he led it in a circle and then changed direction.

  One by one, the boys vaulted onto the horses and then slipped off again. Zeb did the same. “There,” he said, “that wasn’t so bad was it?”

  He loosened the thong a little more. He knew that the noose would give him control, but he wanted to reduce the possibility of hurting the horse as much as possible.

  Zeb continued to talk with the horse. He led him around in a larger and larger circle, first going clockwise and then counterclockwise. He ran ahead of the horse until the horse was moving at a fast trot, and then he suddenly stopped and held the thongs until the horse stopped running in a circle around him. “Good boy!” he whispered. “You did it!”

  He stroked the horse again and vaulted on and off several times. The horse seemed less frightened of him, more trusting. Zeb led him again, running in front and suddenly turning to the left or the right, pulling a rein hard as he did so. The horse began to anticipate him, turning before he pulled the rein.

  Zeb relaxed for a moment. His muscles didn’t seem to ache as much. He smiled for the first time since the race had begun, whispering to the horse, “You are quite a horse, my friend. I’d like to take you home with me.”

  He could taste on his lips a salty mixture of sweat and dust, so familiar to him from the long hours he worked beside his grandfather. He ran his hand across his face, trying to keep the sweat from burning his eyes.

  He vaulted onto the horse’s back and stayed there for a moment while the horse danced sideways, and then he slipped off. He tried it again and again, each time staying on a little longer. Finally, he vaulted on and pulled the right rein lightly. The horse ignored him at first and then it turned right and trotted in a large circle. Zeb slipped off. He patted the horse. “Good boy!” he whispered. “You’re almost ready.”

  He thought that he had better see how the others were doing. He knew he could learn a lot from them. Nashoba had told him that Running Bear, the brave working next to him, was the oldest and most skilled of the group. He had been one of the six boys, along with Nashoba, who had been chosen by Nashoba’s father to be taught how to read and write English. If he won today, he was in line to be the head brave of the district. Zeb was determined to make him work for it.

  When Running Bear looked up and saw Zeb watching him, he turned his back as if he didn’t want Zeb to see what he was doing. He vaulted onto the horse and urged him around in a circle, just as Zeb had done. Then he pulled on the other thong and the horse turned and circled the other way.

  Zeb noticed that the shadows from the western posts stretched long across the field now. He looked at the huge crowd gathered along the sides of the field. Most of the spectators had long been seated on the ground. He saw Hannah and Nashoba in the front row, watching him.

  He couldn’t resist the temptation. He swung up on his horse again and tried to make the horse do a figure eight. In the middle of the maneuver, his horse twisted suddenly, and Zeb found himself on the ground. He still had hold of the reins, though. He was sure that his face was red. They must think I’m a greenhorn, he thought.

  He got up and talked calmly with the horse as if being thrown off was what he had expected. “Good boy!” he said. “You are one clever horse.” He stroked the animal’s muzzle and then vaulted on once more.

  Immediately the horse twisted again, but this time Zeb was ready for him. He relaxed and moved with the horse, and then he steered him to circle in one direction and then the other. He looked over at Running Bear, whose body was also glistening with sweat.

  Running Bear was still working with his horse, vaulting on and off and making circles. Mounting again, Running Bear looked over his shoulder at Zeb and then suddenly turned his horse toward the posts at the end of the field. Running Bear squeezed his legs and released the pressure on the leather noose. His horse moved from a fast trot to a full gallop, running hard toward the goalposts. The onlookers at that end of the field scrambled up and out of the way to give the horse plenty of room. The race was on!

  Zeb wasn’t sure that his horse was ready, but he couldn’t resist the challenge. He squeezed his legs around the horse and chased after Running Bear. Just as Zeb expected, the horse seemed to be as competitive as he was. The horse raced after Running Bear, thundering toward the crowd at the end of the field. Zeb began to pull back a bit on the thongs, worrying about making the sharp turn around the goalposts. These horses had never raced before. They didn’t know anything about making a sharp turn with riders on their backs. The horse didn’t slow down at all. If anything, he galloped harder.

  Running Bear had reached the posts and was trying to make his horse come around. The horse was fighting the leather noose, his head turned to the left but his body still going straight. He was running away with the rider! They were at the edge of the forest.

  Running Bear pulled back hard on the leather thongs. The horse began to slow down. By this time, Zeb had reached the goalposts. He pulled on the left rein and leaned to the left at the same time. His horse responded to the pressure of the thong and Zeb’s legs, just as he had learned in the hours of gentling, making a sharp left around the goalposts. Zeb hoped that Running Bear could see their turn.

  But just as the horse was in the sharpest part of the turn, Zeb felt the horse slip. The hind leg was going out from under him! There was no way to stop it. Zeb leaped off just as the horse fell.

  He rolled over and then ran to the horse, grabbing the reins as the horse scrambled back on his feet. Zeb walked the horse back and forth, stroking the animal. The horse’s neck was covered in lather and he was breathing hard. His eyes were wide once again, watching Zeb. Zeb spoke calmly to the horse. “That’s all right,” he said. “That was my fault. Too sharp a curve. We’ll have to work on that.”

  There was no way to stop it. Zeb leaped off just as the horse fell.

  Zeb looked up. Running Bear was riding by him, headed toward the other goalposts. He waved his arm at Z
eb. “Come on,” he shouted.

  Two of the other boys had started to ride toward him. They barely had their horses under control. It would take them a while to get to the first turn.

  “Are you all right, boy?” Zeb asked the horse.

  He ran his hand down each leg to make sure the horse hadn’t injured himself. Then he slowly trotted him around in a small circle to see if the horse favored any leg.

  When he didn’t see any sign of damage, he vaulted back on the horse and raced toward the other goalposts. Running Bear was already halfway down the field. Zeb squeezed his legs tighter and the horse responded. Zeb wondered if they would be able to catch up to Running Bear. He urged his horse even more, but the distance between them remained the same. At the other goalpost, Running Bear leaped off his horse and led him around in a circle. When Zeb caught up with him and rounded the post, Running Bear swung back up. “Now we race,” he said.

  Why had Running Bear waited for him to catch up? he wondered. Zeb knew that he himself wouldn’t have waited for anyone. He squeezed his legs once again. To Christmas that was the signal to take off and fly. But the horse didn’t seem to need the signal. He was running at a full gallop.

  But Running Bear kept his horse just in front of Zeb’s. No matter which side Zeb tried to pass him on, Running Bear’s horse was there, in the way. The two horses galloped across the finish line with Running Bear ahead by a length.

  It took half a field for the horses to slow down to a walk and return to the center.

  Everyone was screaming and laughing. The two riders pulled up in front of the old Alikchi, who was standing near the stick he had placed on the ground. The boys slipped off the horses and stood in front of him. Running Bear said something in Choctaw. The Alikchi put up his hands. “We will wait for the others,” he said in English.