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    Cassie and Jasper: Kidnapped Cattle
    Cassie and Jasper: Kidnapped Cattle
    Cassie and Jasper: Kidnapped Cattle
    Ebook118 pages1 hour

    Cassie and Jasper: Kidnapped Cattle

    By Bryn Fleming

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    About this ebook

    Cassie’s family's ranch is struggling financially and the ranch will go under if the cows and calves aren’t brought down safely from high summer pastures before the weather turns cold. The stakes are high: if the cattle are lost, so is the ranch and their way of life. Cassie and Jasper head for the mountains to bring the cattle home. Trail riding, camping, and herding cows is nothing new for the seasoned ranch kids, but an early snowstorm, rustlers, and other dangers turn the weekend into a fight for survival for kids and cattle alike. It will take all of their courage, cowboy skills, and some horse-shoe-charm good luck to get them and the cattle home.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWestWinds Press
    Release dateOct 11, 2016
    ISBN9781943328659
    Cassie and Jasper: Kidnapped Cattle
    Author

    Bryn Fleming

    Bryn Fleming was born and raised in Portland, Oregon, and graduated from Portland State University with a degree in English. She taught creative writing classes at Portland Community College, and has been published in Highlights, Cricket, and numerous poetry journals. Bryn volunteered at a wildlife care center as a teenager, worked in seven different National Parks, traveled and worked in Australia, New Zealand, and the Caribbean where she crewed on sailing yachts and worked at the Oregon Zoo for ten years. She now lives in Central Oregon with rescue dogs Bandit and Pippin, shelter cats Amber and Angel, horse Sky, and an adopted wild burro Biscuit and mini-mule, Mercy. She is currently employed as a fish biology field technician helping to restore endangered wild steelhead to Oregon rivers.

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      Book preview

      Cassie and Jasper - Bryn Fleming

      Chapter 1

      Soaked by the freezing rain, I leaned far out from atop the muddy cut bank over the storm-swollen river. My head was bare, my ponytail swinging drenched and matted.

      I scanned the water roiling below me for any sign of Jasper. Logs, branches, a drowned jackrabbit twirling round and round in the current. The cold rain blurred my vision. Then I saw it: Jasper’s black cowboy hat.

      I watched as it whirled twice around an eddy, following the jackrabbit carcass, catching for a few seconds on a half-submerged juniper branch. Then, whoosh! It hit the rapids. White water grabbed the hat and sucked it under, spit it back up a few yards downstream, then swallowed it again.

      Gone.

      The cattle bellowed behind me, the cows comforting their calves after the swim across the river. My paint horse, Rowdy, stood beside me at the water’s edge, blowing dirty river water from his nostrils and shivering. The cold rain pelted down on us.

      I held my breath. The cattle had made it across. Rowdy and I had waded and swum and scrambled onto the bank. I’d watched Jasper’s horse, Tigger, pull herself ashore downstream of the rapids, but my friend and his dog were gone.

      This was all my fault. I brought us up into the mountains, into the storm: now, the worst may have happened. How could I live with myself?

      You’re probably wondering how two twelve-year-old ranch kids had gotten themselves into such a predicament. Right?

      Here’s how it started:

      It was early October; the pastures brown and dry and streams barely trickling in their gravel beds. The low autumn sun warmed up the days but nights had a wintry bite.

      My best friend, Jasper, from the next ranch over, and I were on our horses, vaccinating calves in the corral by the house.

      Jasper’s big old blind dog, Willie, lay in the shade near the corral, dozing. I could hear him snore and saw all four of his paws twitch in rabbit-chasing dreams.

      The calves we were tending were bummers who’d lost their mothers or been rejected by them. Having lost my own ma, I was a sucker for an orphan, so Jasper and I had bottle-raised them. We kept them down here at the ranch when the rest of the herd was driven up to the mountain pastures last spring.

      Jasper and I were giving the bummers their second round of shots. They were like our own little herd, and we were responsible for them. I liked the feeling.

      The other calves on the ranch all got branded, vaccinated, and ear-tagged at once. A whole crew came in to help. It was like a party (but not for the cows and their babies, of course.) Ranchers and cowboys moved from ranch to ranch to help get everyone’s cattle done each spring.

      Sometimes, I pretended the ranch was mine, not my pa’s, and the miles of fence were mine to mend, the acres of hay mine to water and cut and bale, the cattle mine to raise and care for and sell.

      I was on my horse, Rowdy, although I could have done my part on foot. I loved working cows on horseback. Couldn’t get enough. I guess it’s in my blood from my pa and my ma before she passed away and their folks before them.

      I may be the last in my family of Central Oregon ranchers. In fact, this very ranch was homesteaded by my great-great grandpa when he came over from Arkansas on the Oregon Trail. But that’s another story.

      My dream has always been to stay on this land working cows forever. Well, for the rest of my life, anyway.

      Get behind him, Jasper, I pointed with my chin at the last calf, my hands being full of lariat and reins.

      ¡Claro! Jasper said. ¡Estoy intentando, Cassie! Jasper was half Mexican, on his ma’s side, a small, wiry, quiet kid, and he lapsed into Spanish sometimes, especially when he got excited.

      Jasper wheeled his horse, Tigger, to the left and cut off the calf’s escape. Tigger and the black calf had a stare down for a few seconds. Jasper sat low and straight, sunk into the saddle like he’d been working cattle forever. I think he felt best there because his limp didn’t show.

      Tig stepped forward; the calf stepped back. I urged Rowdy in behind the calf, leaving it nowhere to go. I was a pretty good horsewoman myself, a head taller than Jasper, but not as good with a rope.

      Slow and easy, Jasper shook a loop on his rope, dangling it against his leg on the side away from the wary calf. I kept my own rope in my hand, ready if Jasper missed his throw. But he never missed. The calf bawled once as the loop hung in the air then settled over its neck.

      Good job, Jas.

      Jasper backed Tig up, tightening the rope between the saddle horn and the calf. The calf ducked his head, struggling against the rope, reared up on his hind legs, then lowered his head and kicked up his small back hooves.

      He’s a wild one, I said, admiring the animal’s spunk. He’ll be daddy to a lot of good calves when he’s grown up.

      Between the two of us and the two horses, we finally got the calf to stand with all four feet on the ground. I swung down and hooked my arm around the calf’s neck, talking in my most soothing and convincing voice, It’s for your own good.

      I stuck the needle in his haunch and pushed the plunger down with my palm.

      Got him, I said.

      Jasper snaked the loop loose from where he still sat on Tig. Maybe you and I could buy this calf and start a herd of our own, he said. Something to think about.

      I slapped the calf lightly on the rump and sent him running back to the others where they were milling around in the corner of the corral.

      I unhooked Rowdy’s cinch and hauled his saddle off, propping it against the barn wall. I led him into his corral and took off his bridle. Jasper swung down off Tigger and tied her to the fence rail in the afternoon shade of the barn.

      Our own herd. I considered it out loud. Sounded good. Start with a couple cows and a bull. Pretty soon they’d have babies. Then we’d have yearlings. Keep the heifers to have more calves, sell the bull calves at auction.

      Right now, Jasper and I were just helping out on our families’ ranches. Just kids playing cowboy, really. But our own herd, that would be different. A lot of responsibility.

      If the cattle fattened and had good calves, we’d make a slim living; if the winters were harsh, the hay got rained on, the calves got scours or worse, we’d lose everything and have to start over. Cattle ranching was a precarious business.

      I lifted the handle on the hydrant in the barnyard and let the cool water rush over my dusty hands. I splashed my face and rubbed the back of my neck, then stood back to let Jasper do the same. He stuck his whole head under the faucet, then turned it off and shook his soaked black hair like a dog coming in from the rain.

      I better get home, he said. Dad’s cooking chili tonight. And corn bread.

      Your favorite.

      Yep. He untied Tig and tucked his left foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over. See ya on the bus tomorrow. Ven, Willie. The big black dog stood and shook the dust from his coat. He followed Jasper’s voice and fell in behind the horse.

      Oh yeah. Monday. Thanks a lot for reminding me. Sitting in school was not my favorite way to spend the day, but you probably already figured that out. Especially this time of year, when the days were getting shorter and there never seemed to be enough time to ride and play after homework and chores. Wish it was still summer.

      Pa stuck his head out the back door as I waved goodbye to Jasper.

      Jasper rode up the hill that separated his family’s ranch from ours. Willie trotted along behind, following the sound of Tig’s hooves scrunching on

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