Alberta's wild horses are near and dear to my heart. Ever since I was a kid I've loved wild horses. The first ones that came to my attention were the ones in British Columbia and I poured over magazine articles and books back in the days before the internet. I fed my dreams on books by Walter Farley, and others. My favourite one was Beyond Rope and Fence by David Grew and also Smokey, the story of a cow horse, by Will James. I have Fred Remmington and Charlie Russel calendars pasted on my wall and only recently did I throw out decades worth of Western Horseman magazines. (they were old and musty but it still was a wrench)
This is White Spirit, the Alberta wildie that inspired the story and who the stallion Coal is modeled on. Photo credit to Darrell Glover
Below is a short excerpt from Wild Horse Rescue to whet your whistle:
The Dedication:
To all horses and beasts of burden, both wild and domestic, may you live in Peace as the Universe intended.
Wherever man has left his footprint in the long ascent from barbarism to civilization we will find the hoofprint of the horse beside it. John Moore
This is from part way through the story:
“I mentioned the horse trap to my dad,” Joey remarked.
Laurel and her two friends rode side by side across the short grass, heat waves shimmering over the prairie. The smell of curing hay mixed with the faint sent of crushed wild flowers under foot and dry dust blown by the hot wind.
“What did he say about it?” Laurel twisted in her saddle to see him better.
“He wasn’t too happy to hear about it. You know he loves those horses as much as we do.”
“Did he have any ideas?” Coll frowned into the distance.
“No. He wasn’t too happy about me getting involved with any tearing down of other people’s property.”
“But it’s illegal! Or it should be,” Laurel exclaimed. “He won’t say anything, will he? Dad would kill me if he knew I was involved with sabotaging Mr. Cullen’s trap.”
Joey shook his head. “Nope. He hates how those horses get treated. I think he might be willing to help us, if we need it.”
“Really? He’d really help us?” Laurel’s heart leapt in excitement. If Harry would help them, maybe there was something they could do about the situation. Harry Good Smoke was aware of the young people’s obsession with the wild horses and encouraged it. Maybe there was hope for Coal and his band after all.
“He said to wait and see how things shook out. Maybe the government will change their mind about the cull.” Joey shook his head and clucked to his stocky pinto gelding. “This one came from Coal’s band, you know. The mare got killed and Pa found this little guy by her body. Brought him home and we raised him. Pa let me help break him.”
“He was born wild? That’s brill!” Coll exclaimed turning to take a better look at the horse walking calmly by the side of his horse.
“A horse is a horse. Treat ’em right and gentle them without scarin’ the crap out of them and the wildies are the best horses you could ever have.” Joey ran a hand down the thick neck and tossed the long mane all to one side.
“That’s true, Joey. But I’d rather see them stay wild, the way they were born. Iinii is different, he was an orphan and he’d never have survived on his own,” Laurel said.
“That’s an odd name. What does it mean?” Coll reined his horse closer to Joey.
“Iinii is buffalo in my language,” Joey told him.
“Well, I never! That’s right brilliant,” Coll exclaimed. “What’s the word for horse?”
“I know that one.” Laurel laughed. “Ponokaomitaa. Translated it’s elk dog.”
“Elk dog?”
The Cornish boy’s expression made Laurel giggle.
“When the Blackfoot first saw a horse the closest animal in size they knew was an elk, but the horse was used to carry things the same way we used big dogs at the time, so…elk-dog,” Joey explained.
“I guess it’s kind of like the way we still call the old tin mines wheals and stuff. And your grandfather the selkie calls rocks karrek,” Coll mused.
“Wait! What? Your grandfather was a what?” Joey pulled his horse to a halt and stared at Laurel.
Coll flushed with guilt and shrugged at Laurel. “Oops, sorry.”
Laurel sighed. “You have to promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Dad would literally kill me if this ever got out. Promise?”
“Sure. You know I can keep a secret. What’s a selkie?” Joey persisted.
“Coll, you want to explain? You probably know more of the old stories than I do,” Laurel said.
They set their horses in motion again, following the wide trail toward the river.
“Cornwall is full of old legends and myths, but like my gramma says, most of them have a grain of truth to them.”
Joey nodded. “The old aunties and uncles say that about our stories too.”
“A selkie is a shapeshifter…” he paused to see how Joey was taking his words.
“Like Napi the trickster. He is sometimes a coyote.”
Encouraged, Coll went on. “Laurel’s Gramma Bella lived in Cornwall when she was a girl and was friends with my gramma and Sarie. They met a handsome man and didn’t know he was a selkie until later. His name is Vear Du…that means Great Black in old Cornish. Anyway, I don’t know all the details but Bella and Vear Du got…you know…close…and anyway…Laurel’s dad was the result.”
“No shit?” Joey turned to Laurel. “That’s pretty hard to believe.”
“It’s true. But Dad won’t ever admit it. I’d be grounded until I’m ninety if he ever finds out anybody else knows about it.”
“Who knows?” Joey frowned. “More than your family…and him?” He nodded in Coll’s direction.
“Yup. People in Cornwall, but only close friends of Gramma Bella. Mom, Dad, Coll’s gramma, Sarie, me, Aisling and Gort, I think that’s it,” Laurel replied.
“Don’t forget that old guy, Red, your gramma told you about. The one that used to work for your Grampa D’Arcy,” Coll reminded her.
“Yeah, but that was a long time ago. He’s gone now, but he was there when Dad was born,” Laurel agreed.
“Wow! Like a legend come to life. That’s pretty cool.” Joey shook his head.
“Just remember you can’t breathe a word of it. To anyone,” she cautioned him.
“No worries. I sure don’t want your dad mad at me,” Joey agreed.
“Me either, so let’s keep mum about me opening my big pie hole,” Coll worried.
“I’m just glad him and Gramma Bella are speaking to each other again,” Laurel remarked while her horse picked his way down a steep slope toward the river.
“I thought your gramma was staying in England?” Joey said.
“She is. But her and Dad saw each other for the first time since I was a kid when we were there last Christmas. I have no idea what they said to each other, but he hugged her before she left, and he even agreed to meet Vear Du and be civil to him. It took a lot for him to swallow his anger and do that,” Laurel said.
“You mean old Mr. Rowan really wasn’t his father, right? Wow…” Joey stared off at the horizon. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I found out Pa wasn’t my dad, let alone that some Napi character actually was.”
Laurel snorted. “As far as Colt Rowan is concerned D‘Arcy Rowan is his dad and nobody is ever going to know any different around here.” She nudged Sam with her heel and urged the gelding into a lope along the grassy river valley. “C’mon, let’s go see if anybody rebuilt that trap.”
“Maybe we’ll see that stallion again.” Coll loped easily beside her.
“The foals will be gettin’ big, and I bet some of those bachelor stallions will be getting pushed out of the band. That’s always exciting to watch.” Joey caught up to Laurel and Coll.
A quick check satisfied Laurel the horse trap in the cottonwoods near the river was still dismantled. They rode a kilometer or so further up the valley to ease her mind further that there were no more traps in the vicinity. The sun was lowering in the western sky when they came up out of the coulee onto the rolling prairie. Joey waved a hand in farewell and loped off toward home while Laurel and Coll jogged toward the Rowan homestead.
“What does that mark on the cows mean?” Coll wondered when they passed a herd of red brockle-faced cattle.
“That’s our brand. Grampa D’Arcy’s dad registered it way back in the forties, I think. It’s how you can tell who owns what cattle. Every rancher has his own unique brand.”
“How do you read it? Looks like random marks to me.” Coll frowned and turned his head sideways trying to make sense of the marks.
“Take it apart. The thing that looks like a roof? That’s a ‘rafter’, below that is a reversed R. So, you read it as ‘rafter, reverse R’ on the right rib.
“You mean it matters where you put the brand?” Coll turned his attention back to Laurel.
“Of course. When you buy and register your brand the Livestock Identification Service checks no one else within a certain distance has a similar one already registered and where you can place the brand on the animal. The symbols also have to meet their standards.”
“Sounds complicated. I don’t think we have anything like that at home.”
“Race you home!” Laurel leaned forward and urged Sam into a gallop.
“Hey!” Coll yelped from behind her. “No fair!” He sent his mount after her, blinking against the dust raised by Sam’s hooves.
