Ширли Мерфи - The Sand Ponies

Grabbing a rope and looping it out, Charley starts down the draw on foot, running through the bracken like a moose. The men sit and watch him. “He’s crazy,” Tip says. Ed laughs.

Below, hidden by some wooded hills, the cowboys from the Lindley Ranch are slowly working toward the bracken-filled canyon where Kippy and his band are hidden. Kippy is growing uneasy. He twists an ear, listening. Something else is happening, off to his left. Suddenly, over the hill, a band of ponies comes running, straight for Kippy’s hiding place. The cowboys are behind him; the ponies are coming on fast. Kippy leaps at the three horses, driving them out of the brush and down the draw as the ponies charge through the bracken nearly on top of them. The cowboys head for them, shouting, whirling ropes. It is nearly dark. The horses stumble, but down the ravine they go, hoofs pounding, a great swirling mass of them, Kippy in the middle.

The riders are on both sides of them now, trying to turn them; then one rider is in front, then another. Ropes whirl. Men shout. The band of horses breaks, spilling up the sides of the hills and down to the beach, running in the near dark. There are colts here, frightened, screaming. Kippy puts his head down and runs like a small fury toward the beach.

Then he is jerked up short, nearly falling. He turns to fight the rope, which cuts into his neck. Ginger, too, is caught. The others have disappeared.

Rex is running in a tight little hand that is headed for the beach, the pinto pony beside him, both stumbling as they hit the soft sand, then swerving away as two riders gain behind them, ropes ready.

Suddenly there is the roar of a truck on the road, the screech of tires, a crash, and then silence. The horses leap out onto the beach, jumping from the dunes down onto the wet hard sand and running along it until finally, pursued no more, they turn back into the hills, slowing to blow a little. All is quiet behind them.

On the road there are lights and loud voices. Riders are coming and someone on foot is running.

There is a groan from the wrecked truck, then another groan. Then there is a pistol shot; then a man’s voice—“My God! Poor thing, truck ran right into her. What were you trying to do, mister?”

“He can’t answer, he’s too hurt,” the sheriff says. Charley lies with his arm pinned painfully under the truck, unable to move. Ed and Tip have jumped from the truck and disappeared into the darkness.

“What happened?” asks Dan Elber, riding up.

“Hit a Sand Pony,” says the sheriff. “Darn little critters. Really messed us up back there. Turned this truck over, too. I shot the pony.”

“Sure it was a Sand Pony?” Mr. Elber asks, coming into the light. “Yes, poor thing. Well, she’s out of her pain. Look here, she had a colt. Wonder where it’s got to. May be hurt. We’d better look.”

Kippy and Ginger have been led slowly up the hills to the ranch. It is a long way, and Kippy is almost too tired to fight.

Rex and the pinto settle down, then slowly begin to work deeper into the hills with the Sand Ponies.

Mary McCamley has gone to walk on the beach. The sky is nearly black, the sun long gone, and the sea is wind-swept and mysterious. As the wind strengthens she finds a sheltered place between the dunes and sits with her back against a sandy hill still warm from the day. Tall grass rustles above her and a few late birds hunt along the shore.

The little hollow is still and quiet. Maybe, thinks Mary McCamley, if I am patient I will see the Sand Ponies come down to the shore.

The wind stirs the grass, and behind the faint rustle Mary McCamley imagines she hears horses running, faintly, almost not a sound at all, running along the beach. Sand Ponies, running on the beach, she thinks dreamily, running over the dunes. The sound grows louder. Suddenly she stirs, sits up. I’ve been dozing, she thinks. The noise is louder. It is a noise; it is horses running; closer, getting louder. She stands up to see, but it is too dark. Now the pounding is like thunder. Men are shouting. Can she run? But where? Into the sea? There is not time.

Then suddenly there is the sound of screeching brakes, a crash, and the pounding thunder is nearly on top of her. She crouches down into the hollow in the dunes, huddling there. The pounding is all around her; dark bodies break across the dunes above her, leaping to the beach. More bodies, leaping across the dunes; then they are past, running down the hard-packed sand along the edge of the water.

She can hear men’s voices behind her. She waits. There is no more sound of horses; she gets up. She doesn’t want to see what is behind her, she wants to get away from it. She starts down the beach toward home; then she stops. There is something on the beach ahead of her. Something no bigger than a dog. She goes closer.

It is a tiny colt, looking dazed, shaking and breathing very hard. She takes off her scarf to tie him, but then she thinks, He won’t know how to lead. Can I carry him? She tries to pick him up. He is heavy, but she gets him settled, finally, legs dangling. He is too tired to resist her, his sides wet and his breath still coming in great gasps. She hurries as fast as she can, nearly falling when she reaches the barn.

“Bring him in, bring him in,” says Sarah Paddyfoot, seeing Mary standing uncertainly in the door. “My heavens, child. What on earth have you got? Get some straw, John. Tom, fix a stall. Poor thing, poor little thing.”

They get the colt into a stall, still standing, but dazed. “Get a blanket, John, and wrap him up,” Sarah says. “Hurry!” But John is already there with one, folding it around the little creature.

“What’s the matter with him?” Karen says. “Oh, poor thing!”

“I think he’s only tired and frightened,” Tom says, feeling the colt all over.

The twins have come to the doorway, pajamaed and staring. “It’s a fairy colt, a Sand Pony colt,” Lisa whispers. Jana nods, eyes wide. “Where is his mother?”

“It’s a little stud colt,” says John, rubbing the tiny head with a towel. “Looks black, but he’ll be gray, I’d guess.”

“A little stallion,” says Tom, “with one white foot. Whatever happened to him? How did he get off by himself?”

It is much later when Jack Tillman comes in with the sheriff and Mr. Elber. The colt is warmer and moving about, sucking canned milk from John’s fingers. The twins are snug in one corner of the stall, covered with a blanket, and Mary sits in the straw near them, watching the colt.

“Why, here he is,” says Dan Elber. “Here’s the little one. Spent half the night looking for him. Let’s see, boy. Why, he looks fine. Orphan,” he says. “Mother hit on the road. No marks on him?” he asks Tom.

“No. He’s all right, I think. But what happened?”

“First, better fix it so he can get some more milk in him,” says Jack Tillman. “Get an old inner tube, John.”

Soon the rubber inner tube is cut and folded into a makeshift nipple, and the colt is getting his dinner, Mary McCamley holding the bottle as he drinks.

“I’ve got a mare with a new colt. Might take this one, too,” says Mr. Elber. “Don’t know, but we can try. We’ll take him up there in the morning and see what she makes of him.”

“But he’s yours, I reckon,” says the sheriff, seeing Mary McCamley’s face. “Finders, keepers, looks like. Sand Pony colt.”

Mary smiles and hugs the colt.

“Told you! Told you it was a fairy colt,” shouts Jana. “Sand Pony colt!”

“Shhh,” says Mary, “you’ll frighten him.” She looks at Jack Tillman. “People say you can’t tame them. Is that true?”

He smiles. “No, you have a young one there. He’ll he tame as a kitten, if you care for him like that, Mary McCamley.”