Wild Horses On The Salt

2

2“Sorry, I'm late. I had a visitor come in early in the morning. I wanted to be there when she woke up.”

“No worries, Gaby. We've had a lot of folks show up to help.” Beverly Winthrop, blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail, peered from behind dark designer sunglasses. She pointed a red-manicured fingernail at the rocky beach beneath her feet. “They found her right here, poor little thing. Someone shot her in the neck. Shotgun. She was already dead when we got here. She was only six months old.”

Gaby stared across the sparkling Salt River, splashes of light igniting as the water rolled over colorful river rocks. “No matter how many times I see this kind of animal cruelty, I just can't wrap my head around it, Bev.”

“Me either. But we have work to do. Two other horses were wounded and ran. A kayaker saw one down in the river, but the animal got up and bolted before anyone could get to it.” The executive director of the Salt River Wild Horse Volunteers tugged on the brim of her green cap, which bore the organization's logo: a brown horse with a white blaze rising up out of the water, pawing at the air.

“How long have they been searching?”

“First light.”

“I'll go set up the table. I've got sandwiches and hot coffee in the truck.” Gaby turned and headed back toward the pickup.

“You'll be the most popular person out here,” Bev called as Gaby mounted the knoll that led to the parking lot.

A short time later, Gaby was unloading another cooler of food from the back of her truck. A white SUV with a red-and-black logo depicting a happy-looking cow and the words River Rock Ranch emblazoned on its side pulled up and parked next to her vehicle.

“Hola, Noah!” Gaby raised one hand in greeting as a tall, dark-haired man descended from the truck.

“Sorry I didn't get here sooner. I had some work to do in Phoenix and couldn't get away until now.” Gold flecks sparkled in his light-brown eyes.

“No apologies needed, Noah! I live just a few miles away, and I didn't make it until about thirty minutes ago. Had a guest come in late.”

“I didn't know the inn was open.”

“Well, it's a long story.” Gaby nodded toward several people on the riverside. “Luckily, about twenty volunteers beat us here.”

“Good people.” Noah reached into the bed of Gaby's truck and hoisted a container filled with hot coffee.

As soon as they arranged the food on the table that Gaby had set up in a rocky area near a tall stand of bamboo-like plants called giant reed, volunteers almost miraculously appeared from the brush.

“I can smell that coffee from here!” An elderly bearded man smiled as he approached the table.

“Any sign of the injured horses, Bob?” Noah handed the man a cardboard cup filled with black coffee.

“Nothing.” Bob took the paper-wrapped sub sandwich Gaby proffered. “Maybe that means they weren't hurt too bad.”

“Here's hoping,” Noah said. “Condiments are at the end of the table.”

“This ain't my first rodeo.” Bob squinted. “I know where they are.”

“Yes, sir.” Noah grinned and tapped the brim of his brown Stetson.

A few hours later, when the sun had slipped behind the McDowell Mountains, not a sandwich remained, and the coffee containers had been drained dry. Gaby and Noah folded up the table.

“Just saw the last of the volunteers off,” Bev said. “Anything I can help you with?”

“We've got it.” Gaby hoisted her end of the table off the ground and helped Noah carry it up the hill. “Are we on call for tomorrow?”

Bev followed as they made their way to the parking area, the only sound the crunching of their boots on the rocky ground. “No. We found nothing. Maybe they're not badly injured. I'll post a notice on our website with the emergency number. Hopefully, someone will call if they see anything.”

“Any word from the sheriff's office?” Noah helped Gaby slide the table into her pickup.

Bev shook her head. “Nothing, except that description of the guy in the green shirt and black shorts. And the fact that there may have been two other idiots with him.”

“Are we thinking just typical dopes with guns who want to shoot something?” Noah lifted the tailgate of Gaby's 20-year-old truck, and the door latched with a clang. “Or something more politically motivated?”

“Who knows?” Bev waved one hand in the air. “Thanks for coming out.”

“See ya, Bev.” Gaby opened the driver-side door. “You didn't eat anything, Noah. You're welcome to stay for dinner.”

“I was hoping you'd ask.”