Malachi found the wagon first, busted up in a ditch at the bottom of Harper’s Hill, just as Porter had said. The horses were another matter. Judging by the flattened prairie grass, they’d gone off the road about a quarter mile past the end of the hill. Mal scoured the landscape for the big black Shires he recalled from his first meeting with Porter back in Seymour. The oversized draft horses stood at least sixteen hands, if not taller. White stripes down their faces. White, feathery socks at their hooves. Massive creatures. Much like their master. So why couldn’t he find them? He saw nothing but prairie grass waving in the wind.
Until he followed the trail down a crumbling embankment. Turned out he’d been looking too high. The poor beasts had fallen to the ground about a hundred yards out from the road.
Mal dismounted and approached the downed pair cautiously. As strong as they were, one kick from a hind leg could take out his knee. Like most draft horses, Shires were docile and obedient creatures under normal circumstances. But these were far from normal circumstances.
The horses must have heard his approach, for the one that lay half on top of the other lifted his head and tried in vain to struggle to his feet.
“Easy,” Mal cooed, worried the beast might do serious damage to his partner if he continued flailing. “I’m here to help. Just gotta see what we’re up against.” He crept around the pair, giving them a wide berth as he circled first past their hindquarters, then around to their heads.
He understood why Porter had been in such a tizzy. The geldings were still fastened together. Neck yoke hung intact beneath the collars. Crosslines over their backs. No wonder they’d been unable to get up. One had probably stumbled over the irregular ground and taken his partner down with him.
Holding his hand out in front of him, Mal took a step toward the fallen pair. The black on top—Hermes? Or was it Helios? Mal had no idea which was which—snorted and shook his head as if trying to fling the blinders away so he could better assess the threat and protect his friend.
“Whoa, Hermes.” Mal decided using a name the horse had at least heard before, even if it was the wrong one, was better than nothing. The faster he could establish trust, the greater the chance they’d get out of this without serious injury. At least for the top horse. Mal hadn’t witnessed much movement from the one beneath. But then, having nearly a ton of horseflesh pressed against you would make movement difficult for even the hardiest creature.
Mal shifted slightly to the left, putting himself in the horse’s direct line of sight. He stretched his hand out toward the beast’s nose. “Easy, boy. Porter sent me. He’s real worried about you and Helios, there.” Mal took another step, hunching low over his boots. “I can help you get free if you’ll let me.”
Almost there.
Hermes snorted again, his eyes wide, but his head settled to an occasional gentle bob. And when Mal cupped his open hand around the end of the horse’s nose and crooned soft words, the black gradually stilled. Mal patted the horse’s cheek with his free hand and stroked his forelock. Hermes’s side heaved, but the shuddering sigh seemed to be one of relief, not fear.
“That’s right. Just relax. Let me do all the work.” Mal continued talking in low tones and stroking the frightened horse’s neck as he worked his way closer to the yoke.
Not wanting to damage Porter’s harness any more than necessary, Mal kept his knife in his pocket and worked at the buckle on the breast strap first. Hermes tried to get a look at what he was doing, and nearly slammed his horse collar into Mal’s head.
Mal dodged, then patted the black’s neck and gently pushed his head back down. “Lie still, big boy. If you knock me out, you’ll have no rescuer. Then where will you be?”
Finally, he worked the buckle loose and tugged the breast strap free of the ring on the neck yoke. The martingale loop slid off next. Now all Mal had to do was find a way to climb between a pair of beasts weighing nearly two tons to cut the crosslines and any other tangles that held the animals together without getting squashed or trampled.
Not any more dangerous than blowing up mountains. Or at least that’s what he told himself as he edged between the two massive heads.