Nate's Story Read online

  Yasu moaned, “I’m so hungry right now, I could eat a horse.”

  “Careful there, Yasu,” said Simon, as they walked along. “I wouldn’t talk about eating a horse if I were you.”

  “How come?” asked Yasu.

  “Spoiler alert,” said Simon. “Pretty soon, a horse may be your best buddy.”

  “Say what?” asked Yasu.

  “You’re going to be riding a horse,” said Simon.

  “Do what?” asked Yasu.

  “Riding a horse,” said Simon. “You know: Giddy-yup, Whoa, Neigh. The whole deal. Isabels go on a horse trek in a few days.”

  Yasu whooped cowboy-style, “Yee, dogies! All right, Isabels!”

  The Isabels were a cluster, a group made up of campers of various ages who went on outings together, did chores together, and teamed up on theme days. This year, every cluster was named after the punch line of a knock-knock joke. Vik, Nate, Zee, and Yasu were in “Isabel Necessary on a Bike?” They were known as the Isabels, for short. Jim, Zack, Erik, Kareem, and Sean were in the cluster called “Orange You Glad I Didn’t Say Banana?” They were known as the Orange You Glads.

  “Isabels get to go horseback riding?” Kareem said. “And Orange You Glads don’t? That is so not fair!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Simon. “You Orange You Glads will have a turn to ride. Meanwhile, it’ll be your turn to do Oddball Championships while the Isabels are gone.”

  The Oddball Championships were a Camp Wolf Trail tradition. Campers invented wacky games and contests—like The Go-Nowhere Canoe Race, in which the last canoe won; or the Weird Tennis Ball Contraption, won by the craziest non-mechanical machine set in motion by a tennis ball. Everybody loved the Oddballs!

  “The Orange You Glads will do Oddball Championships?” said Kareem. “That’s all right then.”

  By now the spicy smell of sausage prickled everybody’s noses, and the boys tromped and stomped up the path to the dining hall, beating out the rhythm and singing to the tune of “We Will, We Will Rock You”:

  We want,

  We want,

  BreakFAST.

  “Hope you’re hungry, boys,” hollered Skeeter Malone, the camp chef, as he ushered them into the dining hall. “We’ve got sausage, pancakes and warm maple syrup, scrambled eggs, bacon, orange juice—”

  “Orange juice?” cheered Jim. “Orange Juice Glad? Orange Juice Glad rules!” Zack, Erik, Kareem, and Sean cheered too.

  Nate laughed, but then his mind slipped back to horses. I’ve never been anywhere near a horse before, he thought, and now we’re going on a horseback trek. Then in his typical way, Nate asked himself a question: How hard could horseback riding really be?

  Nate often thought that the birds must like Camp Wolf Trail a lot better when there were no campers around, when the only sounds were the whispering of the trees in the breeze, the slosh of the lake water against the dock, and maybe once in a while, the croak of a bullfrog. But oh, man! When the campers were at camp, it was really noisy: yelling, talking, clinking, clanging, pounding, slamming, shouting, and chanting. And that was all in the dining hall! Every once in a while, some guy or group of guys got up and sang a camp song, or a song they’d made up. Like right now, a kid named Nico was standing on a table, leading the other kids from Spruce Cabin in singing to the tune of “Roll Out the Barrel”:

  Roll out the breakfast,

  We’ll drink an ocean of juice,

  Ten million pancakes,

  We’re champs at eating:

  We’re Spruce!!!

  Then, as Nico formed the letters using his body and arms and legs, everybody shouted: “S-P-R-U-C-E! Spruce, Spruce, Spruce! Hooray!”

  Nico went airborne, jumping off the table and onto the floor. Nate cheered till he was hoarse, along with everyone else. At home and at school, Nate was constantly being told to be quiet. One of the many things he loved about Camp Wolf Trail was that here, the louder the better. Sorry, birds, Nate thought.

  The campers dug in and devoured plates piled high with eggs and bacon, toast and pancakes. Most of the boys were still eating when one of the counselors from Pawpaw Cabin began yelling out the announcements.

  “Listen up!” he said. “We’ve had no rain in a while, so we’ve gotta save water. No showers. Get clean swimming.”

  “Yahoo!” hollered the boys.

  “What’s a shower?” yelled one joker. “Never heard of it!”

  The counselor went on: “Isabels, meet here after breakfast.” Then he held up an empty juice pitcher and asked, “Whadda-yuh say?”

  Every single kid shouted, “You kill it, you fill it.”

  That was one of the Camp Wolf Trail rules: Whoever used the last of something refilled it.

  After breakfast, when most of the rest of the campers had filed out of the dining hall, the Isabels gathered at one table. In addition to the Isabels in Birch Cabin—Vik, Nate, Yasu, and Zee—there were two older Isabels—Nico and Wu-Tsing—and Tyler and Will, who were the same age as the Birch Cabiners.

  “Scootch over, please,” said Simon, slipping onto the bench. Nate moved over. “Thanks,” said Simon. “Okay, so—”

  Poing. A flying fork interrupted Simon. It flew over Nate’s shoulder and landed with a clang on the table in front of him.

  “Sorry about that! Fork Game,” explained one of the campers lingering at the table behind them. Fork Game involved hitting the tongs of a fork with your fist. The goal was to flip the fork into an empty water pitcher.

  Without missing a beat, Simon picked the fork up and tossed it back over Nate’s head. “Anyway, dudes,” said Simon, “I’ve got some news. The counselors did a coin toss at the meeting last night and it turns out that the Isabels are going to be the first to have a horse adventure. It’ll be an overnight pack trip.”

  The Isabels pounded the table, whooping and whistling so loudly that Nate thought the noise would bring down the roof of the dining hall.

  “I’m going too,” said Simon. “I grew up with horses. My mom teaches kids to ride.”

  “Seriously?” said Nico. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been riding since I was a baby. My mom used to strap me into this little saddle and off we’d go,” said Simon, lurching from side to side, pretending to be a baby on a horse. The boys laughed, imagining a baby Simon strapped into a saddle on a big beast of a horse.

  “Did you ever get kicked or bitten or fall off?” asked Tyler.

  “All of the above,” said Simon. “Still do, from time to time.”

  “Cool,” said Tyler, sounding as though he meant the exact opposite.

  But Zee seemed enthusiastic. “This is going to be so awesome,” he said. “We can race the horses, and gallop, and jump.”

  “Oh, yeah?” said Nico. He smiled and pointed his thumb at Zee and said to the rest of the guys: “Yo, get a load of the Lone Ranger over here.”

  “Not exactly,” said Zee, smiling, “but my mom’s friend has a horse. So I’ve ridden before.”

  “All right, guys,” said Simon. “Is there anyone who doesn’t want to go?” He paused. When no one spoke up, Simon continued: “Okay! Here’s the scoop. We’ve partnered with a horse rescue organization that’s renting an old farm nearby. Starting this morning, you guys will work with the horses and get to know them for a couple of days, and then we’ll head out on the overnight trip. The man in charge of the horses is named Joe. He’ll run the show.”

  Wu-Tsing straddled the bench as if it were a saddle and comically pretended to swing a lasso. “Hee-haw!” he yodeled.

  Zee began to sing a cowboy song: “Whoopee tie yie yo, git along, little dogies!”

  When no one else knew his song, Zee switched to “Home on the Range.” He and the other Isabels sang:

  Home, home on the range,

  Where the deer and the antelope play . . .

  “Suit up, cowpokes,” said Simon, loudly. “You’ll need to put on long pants and shoes.”

  “Shoes?” groaned the boys. None of them
had worn shoes much since they’d arrived at camp.

  Simon shrugged. “Okay, wear flip-flops and see how well that’s working for you when your feet are in stirrups, or you’re stepping in horse poop,” he said. “Meet me back here in five minutes, and we’ll go to the farm.”

  Chapter Five

  It took longer than five minutes for the boys to return. Zee couldn’t find any long pants so he had to borrow a pair from Vik, and Yasu had taken the laces out of his high-top sneakers to use as a makeshift fishing line, so he had to loop them back into his high-tops. But finally the boys all gathered and met up with Tyler and Will and the older guys, Nico and Wu-Tsing. They were all wearing long pants and real shoes.

  Simon led the boys along the path to the farm. After a few minutes of walking, the path led up to an open field. Part of the field was a paddock, surrounded by a weather-beaten fence. The posts of the fence listed left and right and the fence boards buckled and sagged. Buckets hung from eye hooks on some of the posts. Just outside the fence, there was a simple wooden shed with bales of hay next to it.

  Eight horses stood in the paddock, sunning themselves.

  “Soooo,” breathed Nico. “There they are.”

  “Cool!” said Will.

  The boys walked toward the fence, following a mowed path through the tall, dry, scratchy grass. The field smelled like hay and buzzed with flying grasshoppers and unidentified chirping insects.

  “Those horses are huge!” said Yasu as the group approached the paddock.

  Nate agreed, though he said nothing. He stood away from the fence.

  The dusty horses seemed hot and uninterested in meeting the boys. They swished their tails in each other’s faces and pulled up great mouthfuls of grass, which they chewed noisily.

  Yasu leaned over a fallen-down part of the fence. “Here horsey, horsey,” he called, stretching out his hand.

  “You don’t do it like that,” said Zee. He reached down, grabbed a bunch of grass, and held it out to a gray horse. The horse snorted dismissively and walked off.

  “I guess you don’t do it like that, either,” said Wu-Tsing.

  “Why do you think they keep stamping their feet?” asked Will.

  “Hooves, not feet,” said Nico.

  “It’s just to keep the flies away,” said Simon. “That’s why they twitch their skin, and swish their tails around too.”

  The boys—except for Nate—reached over the fence, calling to entice the horses to come over. But the horses startled at the boys’ loud voices, and moved away.

  “I think we need a rope to lasso them,” said Wu-Tsing. “Loop it up, toss it over the horse’s neck, and—”

  “All you need to do is be quiet,” said Simon. “The horses will come over when they’re good and ready.”

  Simon was right. As the boys waited silently, a brown, black, and white splotched horse walked toward them and lifted her head over the fence. The faded blue halter she wore on her head had a fresh piece of tape with the name Christmas Wish written on it in bright permanent ink.

  “She’s a pinto,” said Simon, patting her neck. “That means a horse with a spotted pattern.”

  There were eight horses in all. In addition to Christmas Wish, there were three reddish-colored horses, one of which had white patches. There were two gray horses, one dark brown horse with a bushy mane and tail, and one skinny brown horse.

  Vik joined Nate, who was still standing a foot or so away from the fence. “Whaddya think of our four-legged friends here?” asked Vik.

  “Well,” said Nate, “except for being different colors, the horses all look about the same to me: two twitchy ears, two giant eyes, lots of giant yellow teeth, one tail, and really bad haircuts, mane-wise.”

  “I thought for sure that horse would be your favorite,” said Vik, with a grin. He pointed to the skinny brown horse over in the corner of the paddock standing in the only strip of shade that was provided by the shed.

  Nate looked. The brown horse looked like a bag of bones. It hung its head, and its shoulder bones stuck up sharply under its dull coat. Its haunches were sharp, too, sticking up from its rump. Along its narrow back, Nate noticed a pair of small brown birds sitting as if they had not a care in the world. So that’s why Vik thought he’d like the brown horse.

  “Those are cowbirds,” Nate told Vik. “They don’t mind the horse, and the horse doesn’t mind them.”

  “That horse is too spaced out to mind much of anything,” said Vik.

  “Okay, guys, listen up,” said Simon.

  Nate and Vik looked at Simon, turning their backs to the fence as they listened to him explain that Joe, the horse guy, would meet them at the paddock soon.

  Suddenly, Nate heard a long, loud sigh and felt hot, damp breath exhaled on the back of his neck.

  “Yow!” yelped Nate as he jumped in the air. “What was that?”

  He turned and came face-to-muzzle with the bony brown horse, who’d stretched his neck out over the fence. The horse’s splotchy nostrils were covered with dust. His eyes were runny, as if he was crying, and he had a long, stringy mane. The cowbirds had flown off his back, but a few flies rested on his face. The horse looked at Nate and blew another warm, wet gust of a greeting. Nate could see the pink inside of his droopy lower lip. To Nate, it seemed like a whale had just blasted him with spray from his blowhole.

  “Thanks a lot, horse,” said Nate as he wiped horse breath off his face. The horse was close enough that Nate could see a name on a dirty old piece of tape on the halter. Nate could barely make out the faded letters, which spelled HERSCHEL.

  Vik shot Nate a look and said, “Herschel?”

  Where have I heard that name before? Nate thought.

  “Look at that lip,” Yasu was saying, pointing to Herschel. “It hangs to his knees!”

  “I hope I don’t have to ride him,” said Zee. “He’s a real mutt.”

  Nate suddenly remembered why the name sounded familiar, and he knew that Vik did too: The man who Vik and I saw in the woods was talking about Herschel. So it turns out that Herschel’s not a person; he’s a horse. Nate also remembered that the man had said that Herschel was probably done for. Done for? What does that mean? Nate looked at Herschel, and Herschel returned his gaze squarely. This horse doesn’t look like much, but Vik’s wrong about him. There’s a brain in there, and it’s a sharp one.

  Nate thought about how sometimes the plainest birds used their plainness in deceptive ways, like a wren who would fluff out its dirt-brown feathers to camouflage itself and outsmart a hungry hawk. Nate wondered, Would I be wrong to judge you by your appearance, Herschel? Just then, a rattling, rusty white pickup truck pulled up next to the shed. The horses bobbed their heads, pricked their ears, and looked at the truck as if it were an old buddy. Nate saw a tall, skinny man with a cowboy hat climb out of the truck.

  “Hi, Simon. Hi, boys,” the man said as he walked toward them. His voice was gravelly but friendly. “I’m Joe. Y’all ready to earn your lunch?”

  Vik nudged Nate, and Nate nodded. The instant they heard his voice, they both realized that Joe was the man on his cell phone, talking about Herschel during their owl adventure.

  “This guy’s my madman?” whispered Vik. “The one I ran away from? He’s about as scary as Cookie.”

  The horses sure seemed to think Joe was a nice guy. They didn’t take their eyes off him and jostled each other out of the way to be near him. One horse rubbed his forehead on Joe’s back as if he were scratching a post. Another horse snuffled Joe’s pockets for treats.

  Nate’s mind was a stew of questions. Why had Joe sounded so angry on the phone that night? What had he meant when he’d said that Herschel was out of options? Was Herschel the horse sick or dying or vicious or something? Was Joe as nice as he seemed now, or was he as scary and tough as he’d sounded before?

  “So, who’s ridden before?” Joe asked.

  Zee, Nico, and Tyler raised their hands.

  Joe nodded. “Okay, good,” he said
. The sound of his voice seemed to soothe the horses. Joe went on: “The most important thing to remember around horses is safety. Don’t make loud noises. Don’t run around. And, when you’re working with a horse, always make sure the horse knows where you are. They like it if you talk to them.”

  “What do you say to them?” asked Yasu.

  “How about: ‘Why the long face?’” Vik joked. The rest of the boys groaned.

  But Joe smiled. “You can say pretty much anything you want. And if you listen closely, you can understand what the horse says back. A horse’ll never lie to you.”

  Just then one of the red horses lifted her head and whinnied.

  “What’s she saying?” asked Wu-Tsing.

  “I think she’s hungry,” said Simon.

  “You’re right, Simon,” said Joe. He grinned at the campers, saying, “You guys can help me feed the horses this morning. Put a half scoop of grain in each one of those buckets hanging on the fence.” He nodded toward Nico and Wu-Tsing and said, “You older boys, see that hay over there? You can spread it out. Try not to waste any; we’ve got a lot of hungry mouths to feed.”

  As soon as the boys headed toward the food, a horse knocked at the fence with a hoof as if to say, “Hurry up!” Nate noticed that the horses had the same hungry look that Cookie did every time there was food around. Tyler and Zee helped Nate dump the sweet-smelling grain into the wheelbarrow.

  Some of the horses began to stamp and nicker with impatience.

  “We’re coming, we’re coming!” said Vik as he pushed the grain wheelbarrow over to the buckets hanging on the fence.

  Tyler filled the scoop halfway, then reached inside the fence boards to dump the grain into a bucket. The red horse stepped forward and stuffed her nose into the bucket, snuffling and slurping the feed. Tyler filled the next bucket, and the next, and two more horses stepped up to eat.

  Tyler handed the scoop to Nate.

  “Batter up,” he said. “Want a turn?”

  Nate actually didn’t. It was weird and surprising: being close to the horses made him uncomfortable. But he shook it off and said, “Uh, okay.” He dug the scoop into the soft pile of sticky grain and reached through the fence to fill the next empty bucket. Just as he did, a gray horse stuffed her head in the bucket sliming Nate’s hand. Startled, Nate lurched away and dropped the scoop. It clunked against the bucket and fell to the ground. The horse threw up her head and pitched backward, knocking the bucket off its hook and spilling grain onto the ground.