Rancho Bonito

Chapter 9

Dawn dragged me out of a sleep I was strangely loathe to leave. Only when I was fully awake did I remember why. I clamped my eyes shut against the pain and opened them again to find Keith watching me solemnly.

"It's true, isn't it?" he said softly as though he hoped I would tell him it was all a bad dream. "There was a fire? The horses --"

"The horses!" I bolted upright and he followed me.

"Todd?"

"The horses, Keith," I cried. "Mistral and Glory. They weren't in the stable. They might have come back by now - we have to go look."

We threw on clothes and hurried outside. Darrel was already there. He had Quincy, Buzz and his own mount, a leopard Appaloosa called Whiskeyjack saddled and ready to go.

"I was just coming to get you guys. No sign of them. Terrains too rough for even 4-wheel. Besides." He patted Whiskeyjack's spotted side. "These fellas'll help us find their stable mates."

I swung myself up onto Buzz and turned around to look away from the burned out stable. I couldn't face looking at it yet. Keith's eyes mirrored my own despair. Grimly I followed Darrel out of the yard. We had barely moved onto the path that would take us out to federal land when Charlie came racing toward us. He skidded to a stop holding the cordless phone in his big hand.

"Call, Keith. It's Vincent - from the shelter? He said it's urgent. I think it has something to do with the fire."

Keith grabbed the hand set and barked into it. Charlie grabbed Quincy's reins to steady the nervous horse - all the excitement had put the animals on edge - and soothed him with a quiet voice.

Keith's face was ashen when he handed the phone back to Charlie.

"Sylvia and Donovan - the two new kids Vince told us about? They're missing. Vince thinks they may have started the fire. He found some literature in Sylvia's room from some hard core animal rights group."

"They killed Sally and Button? Whatever for?" My rage was coming back, hotter than before. Two kids had done this? Why?

"Are we sure the horses were in the barn?" Charlie ventured. His gaze swept from Keith to me. "Did anyone check?"

It turned out no one had.

There were still men at the site of the fire. One, his face blackened and weary came over to us when we rode toward them. His blue eyes met mine.

"This is still a hot area, sir. I'd suggest you stay clear --"

"Have you been inside yet?" I asked, my eyes finally straying to the ruined shell that had been intended to hold our future breeding stock. One entire side had been leveled, I could see right through to where Sally's stall had been. Now there was nothing but charred beams of wood and a single scorched wall supporting the opposite wall. The air reeked of the stench of burned wood and paint.

"Sir?"

"Two of our horses were in there," my voice broke and I looked away for a minute. My hands on the reins tightened and Buzz shifted uneasily under me. "Did you... did you see any sign of... anything?"

"No, sir," the fireman said. "There was nothing living in that building when it went up. If you had horses in there, they'd been removed before the blaze started."

"By the arsonist," I said flatly.

"Couldn't tell you, sir." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The police will be along shortly. I'm sure they can address your concerns, but you can be assured no horses died here last night. You have that much at least."

Not as much as I wanted, but I felt my heart soar. Sally and her foal were still alive.

We retreated from the still smoldering ruin. When we returned to where we had left Charlie he was still there. He must have read something in our faces because he smiled slightly.

"Good news?"

"They're alive --"

"As of last night," Keith said. "We still don't know what happened."

"Was the fire a cover then? Someone wanted to steal the horses and --"

"The rustlers!"

Charlie looked like he thought Keith was joking. When he realized no one was laughing he chewed on his lip and frowned. "Rustlers?"

But Darrel was shaking his head. "Doesn't make sense. If someone went to all that trouble to create a diversion why steal only three horses - four if you count the foal? Why not take them all? From what I've heard so far these guys are pros, this is too fucked up, pardon my french."

"Those damned kids." My mind kept coming back to the pair -- what were there names -- Sylvia and Donovan? Especially Sylvia. The blank hatred I had seen in her eyes.

"Kids? What kids?" Ty had slipped up beside Charlie and took his hand. "What's going on?"

I told him, at least as much as we knew. It was his turn to frown.

"I remember seeing some teenagers last night, didn't think much of it," he said. "I guess I just assumed they were with someone. "But why on earth would she start a fire that could have spread and killed us? Is that the kind of thing animal rights groups do now?"

"I'm not sure she's an actual member," I said. "I think she just had sympathies. Probably not realistic ones, either. She may not even know what they stand for. According to Vince she's pretty scarred."

"Abused?" Charlie asked quietly.

"I don't know. Vince never got into details." I frowned. "It may be time to find out, though. I want to know who we're dealing with."

"What about Mistral and the others?" Darrel asked.

I hesitated. I wanted to search for our horses, too. But I also wanted to talk to Vincent about Sylvia. I was surprised when Charlie spoke up.

"If it's okay with you two, Ty and I can help Darrel look. You go talk to Vince. We can meet back here in a few hours and compare notes."

I didn't know what to say. "This is supposed to be your holiday, man. You don't have to --"

"We want to," Ty said. "Don't we, Charlie."

"Definitely. And three sets of eyes are better than one. Go," Charlie said. He handed our phone back to Keith. "Call Vince."

I climbed down off Buzz and Charlie swung up on him. Ty clambered onto Quincy. They rode out of the ranch single file. Keith and I watched them go, then hurried in the house.

Chapter 10

Vince paced the confines of his small, cramped office. The shelter was housed in donated space that had once been a warehouse. Walls had been put up, and rooms constructed - all by volunteers - with little real thought to who would occupy them. Vincent's office held a donated printer, a couple of filing cabinets and a laptop that we had bought him from a fund raiser we'd held the year before.

Right now he was hunched over his desk looking over a pile of cheaply made Xerox^® copied pamphlets. I picked up one without saying a word and studied it with growing distaste.

First they showed the obligatory pictures of abused and tormented animals that came from images archived twenty years ago. I always wonder if the issue is so relevant why they can never find any more recent footage. I also dislike the use of the 'cute' animals to sell their cause. As though a seal pup, with its big eyes and furry-toy look is somehow more precious than an ugly creature. But it was the final inner page that had my blood steaming again.

"They're bragging about destroying a dozen businesses and freeing the animals - and they list livestock farms as well as fur and research facilities. Who the hell are these people?" I flipped back to the front cover. "Warriors for Animals in Peril. WAP?" It would have been funny if it hadn't been so damned serious.

"Sounds compelling, doesn't it?" Vincent said wearily. "Imagine how it reads to an impressionable kid who's dying to belong."

I put the pamphlet down and leaned over the desk. Beside me Keith looked grim. "Tell us about these two, Vince. What's going on?"

Vincent picked up what I recognized as an intake file from his shelter. It listed what they knew about a new client before entry. This particular form looked well thumbed.

"Sylvia von Neuumann, age fourteen. Originally from St. Louis, then mother and step father moved to Albuquerque. Mother remarried when Sylvia was two, biological father died four years ago without ever having contacted his family again."

"When did the abuse start?" Keith asked. If possible he looked even grimmer. Since we'd gotten involved with the shelter we'd learned more than we'd ever wanted to about what adult people did to the children in their care. It was enough to make me reach for a lynching rope at times. This was no exception.

"When she was seven. An older sister left home around that time - she was fifteen, what does that tell you? We haven't been able to contact the sister. Last her mother heard she was heading for Hollywood."

I winced. A fifteen year old runaway hitting the streets of Hollywood, thinking she was tough, that she's seen it all. How long would it take the land of celluloid dreams to chew her up and spit her out?

I doubted there was much left of the sister to contact. Vince knew it too. His mouth was pursed in a thin line as he continued.

"The abuse was finally investigated through complaints from the school - the usual signs. Bruising on the arms and back. Further investigation revealed extensive bruising on the buttocks and vagina area. The mother was non-cooperative. Complained the girl was a tramp. Had always been easy. The woman was totally submissive to the new husband. Wouldn't listen to suggestions he abused the girls. Said, and I quote "Lewis was always good to those girls. Bent over backwards for them. Is it his fault they got cheeky with him?'"

"Cheeky?" I tasted the foulness of the innocuous word. "She actually said cheeky?"

Keith curled one of the pamphlets around in his hand. "So it's her contention that, at seven years of age, Sylvia managed to seduce her step father?"

"That's her story."

"What about the other one? Donovan is it?"

"Donovan Wright. Passive little guy. Very soft spoken and easily influenced. As best we can determine he was sexually assaulted by a camp counselor. He actually reported it once he got home, but I'm afraid that's where his troubles started."

"Lack of belief?"

"Oh, no," Vincent said bitterly. "His parents had no trouble believing him. But they belong to a religious fundamentalist group. They believed he was a whore of Sodom and Gomorrah. Started taking him to these all day cleansing ceremonies where he got a mini vision of hell courtesy of some sadistic homophobic minister. Someone had the sense to alert the child services and they got him out before they could kill him to save him. Since then I understand his parents have disowned him."

"How did he and Sylvia hook up?"

"They were on the same intake group. Just fate, I think. I probably should have split them up right from the start, but I try to encourage the kids here to help each other. If they can find out that they're not alone in what they went through and that they can make friends it can go a long way to getting them through their problems and seeing that there is a light at the end of the tunnel."

I knew Vincent meant well and usually his instincts are right on the mark, but in this case he had screwed up. I was almost mad enough to tell him that, then I realized that Vincent had already reached that same conclusion and was already flagellating himself over his mistakes. Adding to his guilt wasn't going to get us any closer to recovering our horses or finding those two missing kids.

"Any idea where they might go?" Keith asked.

"Possibly. Donovan knows this area better than Sylvia, since he grew up around here. The camp he went to was up in the Pecos Wilderness in the Sangre de Cristos. If he tried to get back there..."

Over a million acres of wilderness, some as wild as the day people first arrived on this continent. How the hell do you search that kind of area?

I studied the desk in front of me. Watched Vincent's hands fuss over the intake forms. "Do we assume the horses are still with them?"

"Was any tack missing?" Vincent asked. "Any sign they planned on riding?"

"Did either of them even know how to ride?" Keith asked.

Vincent shook his thinning hair. "Donovan may have been exposed. I can't say for sure Sylvia never rode as a kid, but I don't see either of them having any real skill. Does that mean you think they're on foot?"

"Even if they managed to ride out in the beginning, I doubt they'd stay on horseback. Once you start climbing it takes skill to handle those trails back in there. The first wrong move and you're on the ground. The horses are probably already spooked enough to keep on going. Eventually they may find their way back..."

"Minus the kids."

"At least it's summer," I said quietly. "There's no chance of hyperthermia."

"But they have no supplies, either, right?" Keith frowned. "What about water? Some of those areas up there are pretty dry. Worse, if one of them is injured..."

Vincent winced. His hand reached for his phone. "We can't do this on our own. I appreciate your guys helping, but I have to call in the authorities."

Neither one of us had any objections. I knew Darrel and the others were looking, but they'd barely scratch the surface of that huge national park. Even if we looked for a week we'd still only see part of it. And those kids didn't have a week. Not to mention our horses. I was especially worried about Button. He was too young yet for this kind of trauma. I listened to Vincent's one-sided conversation as he called the police. Ten minutes later he hung up the phone and looked like he had aged about twenty years.

"They're on their way."