Shadow Dancer

By Steve Haskin

Shadow Dancer by Steve Haskin

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781645594086

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Shadow Dancer

Steve Haskin

ISBN 978-1-64559-407-9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64559-408-6 (Digital)

Copyright © 2021 Steve Haskin

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books, Inc.

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

1

It was a clear, lucent morning. The clouds—he always watched the clouds—were doing their usual slow dance: the cirrus, wispy filaments behind the cumuli slowly rolling in slow motion, tumbling east above the mountain horizon. Seven vultures circled gracefully, graceful only in flight, above the desert floor. Seven. That was unusual. Too many. One or two were to be expected, but seven? It meant something dead or dying; something big enough to attract this crowd was up ahead. He pushed down his hat and headed toward it.

It was a man he spotted through his binoculars. A man still alive but stumbling like a drunk. But he wasn’t drunk. He was dying. Cody saw him dying. As he watched, the man stumbled and fell to his knees, and then, without trying to save himself, he fell to his face and was still.

Cody dismounted, tied the horse to a spindly scrap of tree, and quietly approached. The man—tall, lean, hatless—was face down in the sand. Dead—he had to be dead; so still was his body as if melted into the earth. So still that Cody was amazed to see the arms by his sides twitch then push away from the ground, up to his knees, and then turn and smile. It was Dean Johnson or what was left of him smiling like a drunk. He pushed himself up to his wobbling feet and stood there, swaying and smiling and looking like a fool. He screwed his eyes and cocked his head like a pup. Cody? That you, Cody?

Dean, what in the world happened? You shot? You drunk? Goddamn, man, you’re gathering the buzzards from miles around. Seven up there waitin’ for you to fall the final time, and here you are, smiling like you’re walking down the street in town. What in the world?

Not drunk or shot, Cody, lost my horse is all. Been walking all night but… He trailed off, closed his eyes, and fell to his knees, and Cody stepped forward and caught him before he could fall to his face again.

Sit up here. Sit up. Don’t try to stand. Let me get back to my mount and get my canteen. Try to stay up. Take me a minute. He returned with the water, poured it into the cap, and lifted it to Dean’s lips.

Goddamn, that’s good. He looked around fearfully. You see anybody else around, Cody?

Anybody else? Good God, Dean. We’re miles from the road and more miles from my place. There’s nobody around. Who’d you be looking for? My God, Dean, if I hadn’t seen those buzzards, I would have missed you, and in another minute or two, they’d be gnawing on you and tearin’ you apart. In another minute, they’d be in your carcass, floppin’ around, and in a couple hours, the coyotes would have found you and there’d be nothing left, not even bones, and you’re looking for others out here? He stepped back, took off his hat, scratched his head, looked around, and then looked back. Now, Dean, why not tell me what happened? Lost your horse? Come on, what are you doing on my place on horseback? How’d you lose your mount? And who in the world are you thinking is gonna be around here?

Well, I’m not here, what you’d say voluntarily. I…okay, I didn’t exactly lose my horse. I mean, it wasn’t my horse. They, uh, they, the Stattler Brothers, kinda of put me on horseback, tied my arms behind my back, and set the horse to running, and I stayed on for the longest while till she came to quit running, then I managed to dismount, and the hard part was getting my legs through the rope and standing up and getting the rope untied. Took a while. Then I started walking, apparently in the wrong direction, and here I am.

Well, why didn’t you say so? The Stattlers are no good, and they’re always together and always mess with one man at a time, so they always win. But what in the world did you do to get on their wrong side?

Ha! Well, you know their sister, Donna Louise—

Oh, no.

Yep.

Well, then, Dean, you’re a damn fool. That’s all there is to it. She’s not worth the trouble but— Cody paused and looked around, up to the sky where the seven vultures still circled, back to his horse grazing in the dusty soil, and then back to Dean. Look here, you’re lucky to be alive. I’d say what they did was, number one, kidnapping, number two, attempted manslaughter, and you should go to the sheriff and report ’em. But look here, we have a problem: that old horse of mine can’t carry two men. That’s that. She’d fall. So here’s the deal: I’ll give you the canteen and you go up there underneath that scrappy tree there on the top of the bluff. Get in the shade and wait. I’ll be back in an hour with my good horse and take you back to the ranch, then into town to the sheriff.

I’m not talking to the sheriff, that’s for sure. Those boys would kill me cold, and you know it! No, sir!

Well, then, you do what you want, but get up under that tree, and I’ll be back, okay?

Yep, sounds good. Thanks, Cody. You’re right. I’d be dead without you finding me, so thanks.

Yep. See you soon. Cody walked back to the horse, mounted, and rode away west, glancing back to see Dean settling beneath the tree.

In her stall, in the cool darkness of the barn, Shadow Dancer stirred in her sleep. Something was wrong. In her dreams, she had been running across the grasslands between the silver hills toward the mountains behind which the sun rose every morning. And he was on her back. He who had come to replace the other who had ridden her for so long. Someone new, young, who smelled so fresh, so clean, like water in the stream, and so unlike the other who smelled of smoke and sweat and who kicked her as she ran. But this new man, so shy, so gentle, as he first touched her with hands so soft, his scent so sweet, she shuddered at his touch. The other was gone, she knew, forever, never to return as others she had known had gone. Gone into the darkness, like sleep without dreams as she knew she would go one day. As Maiden, her companion, would go someday soon. Shadow Dancer knew nothing of words; she knew only what she saw and heard and smelled. Scent was like a symphony, a horizon, more complex than any she could see, and she could see for miles, spot the eagle in the sky, and then look down and see an ant scurry among the boulders on the sand. And hear: She could hear the mice tiptoe beneath the hay and hear his steps so lightly approach. And beyond her senses, there were things she knew: The approaching storm, the coming danger, as now she knew that she and Maiden were in trouble. They were hurrying home to her, and she turned toward the broad swinging doors and waited.

Six years ago, Cody picked up his mail from the boxes at the foot of the stairs leading to his apartment above the laundromat. The mail, the stairs, his door, and the gloom of his rooms with the curtains drawn all oppressed him with their familiarity, their routine—always the same, over and over. His job, his car, even the friends he loved seemed gray or black and white, still and silent.

He longed for summer and the rivers and lakes instead of snow-locked streets, rutted and frozen. Despair and years of sadness locked him in a world where he felt nothing but this routine of coming home and spreading the mail out on the kitchen counter to sort into categories of bills and junk. The bills went in the drawer to be paid on Sunday morning, the junk into the trash beneath the sink; every day the same, but today, an envelope caught his eye: William Stanner, Attorney at Law, and beneath this, Helena, Montana.

His mouth opened; his eyes widened. Uncle Henry had died! It could be nothing else! Montana! The ranch! He held the letter before his eyes and noticed that his hands were shaking. He carefully opened and read the letter that told him his life in Minneapolis was over, and in just four days, his car packed, his job resigned, and his friends tearfully told goodbye, he drove up 29 to Highway 2 and headed west.

Now today, July 1, 1990, Cody didn’t push Maiden too hard. She was twelve and weakened by years of hard riding. Cody remembered the day six years ago; he had opened the barn doors and slipped through into the darkness, into the new strange world that was his. He’d first seen Maiden and cooed hello and touched her flanks, and he wondered at her beauty, her dappled gray sides and coal black tail and mane. From his cupped hand, she took the sugar cube with her lips as skilled as fingers. She snorted and sniffed the hand he held before her nostrils. Then Cody turned to the other horse, the one he had heard of but never met: Shadow Dancer.

She took his breath away! Even in her stall, she was dazzling. She towered above Maiden. She didn’t turn toward him. She looked straight ahead, aloof, proud. Cody approached her as he would a work of art. Awed. He was awed by her beauty. Utterly and completely black, her coat shimmered in the soft barn light slanting in between the rough red planks. He walked carefully toward her like a hunter not making a sound. She still looked away as he opened her stall door, and she seemed to glide into the center of the barn. She stood with head raised and switched her tail and waited.

Shadow Dancer, my name is Cody Lang. Uncle Henry has passed on, and as he and I agreed sixteen years ago, his ranch and land are mine. But Shadow Dancer, you are not mine. I am yours.

And she had turned toward him, looked into his eyes, felt his benevolence, his scent stirred through her, and she dropped her head an inch and accepted him. So today, Maiden carefully trotted across the familiar hills rolling toward the Missouri as it wound with its white cliff banks across Montana. She could smell the river’s clear sparkling water from miles away, and she wondered why they were headed west so soon.

She knew they were out for a stray and could feel that one of the cattle was not among the herd in the corral. She had done this work since she was a pony, when her mother, who’d done the work before her, was still alive. After her mother’s death, Maiden had been alone for years. Alone in the barn in her stall, waiting for the man to roughly mount her and take her out to roam the hills she loved. Alone until the momentous day when she’d heard the pickup, pulling the jangling trailer, drive up before the barn doors.

She smelled another horse! She thought of her mother returning, but the scent was all wrong. It was sharp and rich and foreign, unlike anything she had ever smelled. The doors had swung open, the day glare blazing in, and through the haze of light, Shadow Dancer had appeared. She had been astonished. She had never imagined the existence of such a horse. Her mother had great beauty and was swift through the hills, but this…this horse was magnificent! It stood a foot taller and towered above her.

The man was insignificant beside her. Nothing. The man, silent as usual, opened the stall beside her and led the horse in, closed the gate, and disappeared behind the closing barn doors, and they were alone. They shared their scents and made sounds of introduction that only horses know. They nuzzled each other across the fence between the stalls, and Maiden loved her, this new horse, her companion, her friend.

Cody saw the barn and house appear as they crested the last hill, and though he did nothing to encourage her, Maiden trotted faster. His pickup (his car long gone) was parked in front of the single-storied white house he had come to love. The barn doors were closed as he’d left them. All was well. He dismounted and dropped the reins and pulled the doors open. Shadow, I need you. There’s a man out there on the seventh hill east who needs our help. I’ll stay on Maiden, but I’ll saddle you up and tie you to the saddle horn so you can follow. Then we’ll bring him home. Okay?

She heard his words and knew she was needed for something unusual. She watched as he gathered blanket, saddle, and bridle from their places and walked toward her. She thrilled at his touch as he softly and carefully placed the blanket on her back and then the saddle. She remembered the rough and careless handling of the other man with distaste. She accepted the bridle.

He led her out, and she greeted Maiden with her eyes. Then she watched as he tied the rope to Maiden’s saddle horn and looped the other end loosely around her neck. She was to be led by Maiden. Why? She didn’t like this at all but acquiesced.

Later, as they approached the seventh hill, Cody was pleased to see the sky clear of vultures. Dean must have been okay. He smiled at the thought and looked forward to telling the story to the others at the saloon. He saw the tree and then saw beneath it the vultures gnawing at Dean’s body, ripping him apart.

Jesus, God, no! He dismounted and raced up the hill, screaming and flailing his arm. The seven took flight, hissing. They’d torn Dean’s face apart. His eyes were gone. Cody fell to his knees, gagging. Good God! Heaven, help me! Such words he had never spoken. Dean, oh, Dean. Oh my God, what happened? Then Cody Lang saw the bloody hole in Dean’s shirt. He’d been shot. Goddamn you, Stattlers! I’ll see you pay for this! You will pay for this!

2

Shadow Dancer was born in the harsh fluorescent light of the Stattlers’ stable, struggling to her feet in just minutes and instantly smelling her mother’s blood that just kept flowing and flowing. Ryan Stattler’s voice was the first thing she heard.

Jesus, she’s hemorrhaging. She’s not going to make it.

I told you she was too old for birthing, his brother, Kevin, said matter-of-factly. He had seen a half dozen mares die at childbirth, and this one, Shadow’s mother, was past her prime by years. The colt will make it. Look at her! Already standing, and she’s not even dry. Look at her! My God, she’s a beauty. He wiped his brow, smearing blood across it without knowing. I tell you, Ry, we’ll get ten grand outta her in a year. You watch.

Yeah, maybe so, but you don’t give a damn about this one here dying before your eyes? You don’t even care about Ma dying up at the house! You’re heartless. You don’t care about nothin’ but cash—

Shut your mouth, son. He stood up from kneeling by the colt and faced his little brother. Look hear, now, we’re all gonna die, you know that. When we bred her, we knew, you knew, she probably wouldn’t make it. But, God, we had to get a colt out of her.

Shadow stood there, shaking, smelling her mother’s blood, listening to the meaningless prattle of these men’s voices, and as her eyes began to clear and focus in the raw light, she lost her will to live. She let her legs buckle and fell.

Good God, oh no. Kevin again knelt beside her and carefully pushed his arms beneath her and lifted her to her wobbly legs. Ry, get the bottle, will ya?

Ryan did as he was told, and Kevin lifted the bottle, like a huge baby bottle, to Shadow’s lips. Without thinking, she pulled the nipple into her mouth and sucked, and suddenly, her will returned as the formula flowed over her tongue sweetly. She sucked and felt her spirit come alive. For this alone, she would live, this sweetness, this power she felt coursing through her. This man with the bottle with his sour smell and strange sounds, was he her mother? Had she come from him?

"Ry, this one’s