Saddle Up(10)

Unable to contain his unease any longer, Keith determined to do some first-hand recon. Although the helicopter did an aerial flyover twice a day, there was no way to discern from the air what would be readily evident on the ground. “I’m going to ride out there and take a closer look,” he told Trey. “Radio me when you’re ready to lift off, and I’ll head straight back to the trap.”

*

After driving across seemingly endless desert, the trap site finally came into view, marked by scattered pickup trucks and several horse trailers. In addition to Mitch and Beth, Miranda counted eight wranglers, all male, of various ages. “We have a really great crew here,” Mitch declared with obvious pride. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you around.” He scanned the group with a wrinkled brow. “Donny,” he asked one of the young men, “where’s Keith?”

“He’s our head wrangler,” Beth explained to Miranda.

“He rode out about an hour ago,” Donny replied. “Said he wanted to check on the horses on the north ridge. He told Trey to radio him when he’s ready to lift off.”

After introducing Miranda to the rest of the roundup crew, Mitch led her to the helicopter where the pilot appeared busy with preflight preparations. “Miz Sutton, this is our son Trey.”

“Ma’am.” Trey acknowledged Miranda with a tip of his hat. He was good-looking in a rugged, slightly weathered kind of way. Although probably only about thirty, he looked older.

“Miz Sutton is here to film this gather,” Mitch continued. “Think she could go up in the chopper with you?”

Trey pursed his lips. “I don’t particularly like the flight conditions right now.” His voice was slow and even, but his brow was creased with concern. “Sorry, Miz Sutton, I don’t feel comfortable taking a passenger. We’ve got some fog over there reducing visibility.” He jerked his head toward the mountains. “On top of that, the wind’s a bit iffy. If it picks up at all, I’m grounding the bird. Maybe I can take you up later if the conditions improve.”

“I understand,” Miranda said, barely hiding her disappointment. A few minutes later, she filmed the helicopter lifting off and disappearing into the fog-enshrouded mountains.

“This is the main grazing area,” Beth said, “but as you can see, the water here is almost completely dried up.” Miranda did a slow pan of the barren landscape and then zoomed in on the muddy creek bed. “Trey’ll start moving the smaller family bands together into a larger herd, and then direct them toward the trap. He’ll radio Mitch once they get close.”

About fifteen minutes later, a squawk erupted from Mitch’s radio. An incomprehensible buzz of words followed. “Roger that,” Mitch replied and then holstered his radio. “Trey’s only about half a mile out with the first group. Get ready, boys,” Mitch shouted to the wranglers.

Beth pointed toward the mountains. “Just keep your eyes on that ridge over there. They’re gonna come in from that direction. You might want to climb up on the rig.” Beth nodded to the semi parked nearby.

“For a better view?” she asked.

“That too, but also to keep you out of harm’s way. We wouldn’t want you to get kicked or trampled.”

With no further time for questions, Miranda paused her camera and climbed on top of the tractor trailer, where she panned the ridge. Within seconds, the Hughes 500 helicopter popped into view. She followed the maneuvering aircraft with her camera as it dipped behind the band of trotting horses. In fits and starts, the chopper coaxed the animals toward the trap, herding at their heels like an airborne border collie.

“Do you see those?” Beth pointed to a long V-shaped corridor fabricated of T-posts and brown jute. “We call that the wing. It acts as a funnel to guide the horses into the traps.”

Nearing the wing, the chopper began to push more aggressively. Miranda’s pulse raced with adrenaline as the herd approached. The rhythmic whop-whop of the rotor blades was soon joined by a thunderous echo of galloping hoofbeats as the horses picked up speed.

“Look over there.” Beth pointed to the end of the wings. Miranda zoomed in tight on a horse that was stomping and tossing his head. “He’s the Judas horse. His job is to bring them in.”

Beth indicated four wranglers positioned in pairs behind the jute wings. “When the horses enter the trap, the wranglers’ll jump out and shut the gates. Once the horses settle down, we’ll sort and load them into the trailers. The whole process usually takes only a couple of hours if nothing goes wrong.”

Breaking into a contagious canter, the horses produced a ground-quaking reverberation she could feel even from her perch on top of the truck, and raised a cloud of dust large enough to obscure her view of the mountains. As the front of the herd approached the wings, Mitch’s radio squawked again, but Miranda couldn’t make out the words over the stampede. A moment later, the high-pitched buzz of a twin engine plane joined the chaotic cacophony of galloping horses.

“Shit!” Mitch kicked the ground. “It’s happening again.”

“What’s wrong?” Miranda asked.

“There’s a Beechcraft Baron on Trey’s ass. This is all about to go FUBAR.”

Miranda zoomed in on a photographer leaning out the plane window, snapping pictures as it swooped down in front of the horses, a maneuver that effectively split the herd down the middle. She quickly panned back to the wrangler who’d released the Judas horse. The fretful animal bolted, charging to the front of the fractured herd in an attempt to lead it into the catch pens, but only half of the herd entered the trap, while the others galloped wildly past.