Horsepeople

Chapter Seven

Before the sun had risen and the land was still covered in its purple shroud, Jo climbed out from under the evergreen tree and stretched. She returned the candle to her empty saddlebags, irked that there was no food left in them. With a long moan, Cricket stretched in her pen, first leaning so far back that her front legs stuck out in front of her, then stretching each hind leg out behind her. The mare's silver breath puffed from her nostrils and Jo rubbed her hands together in the frisk morning.

The weather had cleared. Gone was the fog, revealing a cloudless sky that promised a fine, blue day. In this little corner of town, nestled against the creek, untouched by fire, it was hard to believe anything was amiss.

Gathering her tack, Jo walked over to Cricket and began saddling her. The metal buckles were cold on her fingers and the leather creaked in protest. When she swung into the saddle, they left the rodeo grounds at a jog to warm the stiffness from their joints. On their way to Lebel they passed the abandoned storefronts of main street, most of their windows broken. Leaves, litter, and ash blew down the abandoned road. Turning right up a hill out of the river valley, Jo came to rest in front of an ornate brick building that looked over the old part of town, built for that purpose in nineteen-ten by the town's first prominent businessman.

As soon as she arrived, the door creaked open and Maryanne peaked out. Then she swung the door wide and out she came with her three companions from the previous night. Following them were two older women, one nearing seventy with a hunching back and stick-like limbs, the other still erect but greying around the edges. Holding the oldest woman's hand was a young boy of about eight with brown hair and eyes. He held his chin out with a small pout on his lips, daring the world to throw something else at him.

"Goodmorning," Maryanne said, and pointing to the boy and seniors, "this is Mary and Nicolai, and Liza." Looking at Mary now, with her shuffling walk and folded posture, Jo wondered how she was going to make the trek to Beady's camp, let alone Lille.

"Mornin'," Jo replied. She shuffled her feet. "We had best get going, it's a little less than twenty kilometers to where the Blackfoot are camped. It'll take us about four hours. We'll be at Lille by nightfall." Mary gasped a little and then clamped her wrinkled lips shut with a determined look.

"I can do it," she said, a faint tremble in her voice.

"You don't have to," Jo told her, "you can ride Cricket here and I'll walk." Leading her mare up to the old woman, she explained how she would lift her up by the knee and that she must swing her other leg over. "One, two, three!" And Jo lifted her onto the horse. Mary fell forward onto Cricket's neck and the horse tossed her head; she had never been ridden by anyone other than Jo. Nervous of how the sensitive mare would react to a sloppy rider, Jo held her bridle in a firm grip and stroked her neck. Once calmed, Jo placed the woman's feet in the stirrups and her hands on the saddle horn, taking Cricket's reins herself.

Mary beamed, "I haven't been on a horse in sixty years."

"You might regret it by the time we get there," Jo said.

"Impossible," the old woman replied.

To Liza, Jo explained that if she could manage the first four-hour walk, she could ride in the wagon for the rest of the trip. Liza patted her arm and said, "Thank you, I'll be just fine." Nodding to each other, they set off north through Pincher Creek just as the sun cast its first light from the east.

Walking towards the highway, they were soon out of the sheltered old town site and the group drew in fresh air, only becoming aware of the miasma once they had left it. Without death hanging over them, their steps became lighter, optimistic even. Leaving the town, only warehouses remained on their right. One of these was the Wal-Mart, it's faded blue stucco reminiscent of cheerful consumerism, but upon seeing it, Jo felt dread. She directed the group, despite their protests, to continue walking; she would catch up. Handing Cricket's reins to Maryanne, she made the detour to the doors of Wal-Mart.