I finished the last pass and turned the truck toward the gate.
That’s when I smelled it. Faint but unmistakable. My instincts immediately kicked into high gear.
It wasn’t a campfire; this was different. Like being able to tell between cigarette smoke and an extinguished candle.
I stopped the truck, craning my head around to find the source. A fire in Montana, near a ranch that was not set to burn extra brush, was never good.
Oliver and Cooper stopped too, ears up, noses sniffing , then looked back at me. Cooper barked, and Oliver was looking towards the Jenkins’.
Then, I saw it, a light tendril of smoke coming from the Jenkins barn.
I had my phone out dialing nine-one-one as I bolted for the barn, hopping over fences and clearing the sprinkler line. If I weren’t in such a hurry, I would be proud of myself for not face-planting at least once.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?”
“Fire at the Jenkins barn on County Road.” I was already there and moving. “I’m the neighbor. I saw the smoke. I don’t know if anyone’s in the barn, but there are horses.”
“Ma’am, I need you to stay back from the?—”
“Sending you my location now.” I hung up.
Oliver and Cooper were at my heels. “Stay.” Oliver sat. Cooper sat, then immediately stood again. “Cooper.” He sat. “Stay.” Their instinct is to help, but in a fire, it would be too dangerous for them.
The handle was okay; I tested that first. The barn door was already hot when I reached it; the air around it had that shimmer that made me hesitate, but for only a second. I could hear the horses whinnying from out here, and I knew I couldn’t just sit here, waiting. First, I could hear stomping and knew John tended to put Chief near the doors. Each has its own stall. I’d watched their animals more than I could count.
I pulled my flannel over my head, dunked it in the water trough by the fence post, and wrung it out fast. It wasn’t forme; it was for the horses. A wet shirt over a horse’s eyes is the difference between leading a horse to safety and getting trampled or dragging an unwilling horse.
I pulled the barn door open and went in.
The smoke was low and thick, rolling along the ceiling. The fire was in the back. It could be anything, hay storage, probably, or the tack room. Combustion from dirty stalls or damp hay. Who knew, and right now that didn’t matter.
Chief was in the first stall on the left, throwing himself against the door. Ranger was across from him, the whites of his eyes showing fear, and his hooves were banging against the boards. I went to Chief first.
“Hey there, buddy.” I kept my voice low and even. I used a casual, conversational tone with all my animals. “Hey, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Have I ever let you down before?” I asked him like it was just another day and not a barn-burning day.
I got the wet shirt over his eyes and unlatched the stall. He was hesitant, but he followed, taking bigger steps because he couldn’t see. Horses tended to do that; they took bigger or higher steps as a natural sense of precaution. I walked him out into the morning air and let him go. He’d run for the fence line and stop. They always did.
Then, I bolted back in.
Ranger was harder. He’d worked himself into the corner of his stall and wasn’t interested in coming forward. I talked to him the whole time, low and steady. “Now, listen, Ranger,” I spoke like I was talking to one of my dogs. “I know you don’t like it, but come on. I’m not that tall. You're going to have to lower your head a smidgen more if this is going to work.” I eventually got the shirt over his eyes and a hand on his halter. He came out sideways, nearly took me into the door frame, but we got through.
Two out. Three to go. I went back in, the smoke making me cough a little.
The smoke was thicker now. I could feel it in my lungs. It was a scratchy, insistent burn. I didn’t have unlimited trips left. I was going to have to be faster. Scout and Ace were in the middle stalls, and the fire was audible now, a crackling from somewhere behind the back wall and getting louder.
Scout went first. He was young and terrified, but we got out with the least fuss thus far. I released him into the pasture and turned around without stopping.
Ace came easier than I expected. He was the eldest and trusted me more than anyone, which made my heart glow. I loved Ace. I tried to take him off John’s hands, but he loved him too.
Four down.
I stood at the barn door, rewet the shirt in my hand, lungs burning with every breath and every cough, and looked back in.
Duke was in the last stall. He was a draft horse and was bigger than anything I’ve seen, but he was usually a big ol’ teddy bear.
I could see him from the door, his dark coat muted against the smoke, his terrified eyes, and his 2000lbs of pure muscle throwing himself in circles. He was John’s horse. The youngest of the five and the biggest, the one John had been working with all spring. He was also the furthest from the door and the closest to wherever the fire was eating through the back wall.
My eyes were burning and watering. My throat felt like I’d swallowed sandpaper.
