“I’m scared Pa! It sure is a long way down!” Jimmy locked his hands onto
the stiff leather of the old kid saddle making sure that he wouldn’t fall.
Looking down at the ground, he decided it wouldn’t be pleasant to hit the
ground from this height. He had gone out to the barn with his dad after school
hoping to bring out his sister’s old saddle and get his dad to tack up one of
the old mares. Now he was having second thoughts. As the old mare started to
walk around the dusty dirt corral, Jimmy clamped his legs to the horse’s sides
trying not to lose his balance. Any other horse might have bolted when someone
put such a sudden pressure on her sides, but not this one. Nate watched all
this from outside the corral with some amusement, being reminded of himself
when he first started to ride.
“It’s alright Jimmy,” said Nate,
“She’s doin’ everythin’, y tell her.” Just then, the old mare shook her head
back and forth spattering white froth from the sides of her mouth on Nate’s
boot.
“I didn’t tell her to do that!”
answered Jimmy nervously.
Nate chuckled. “Jus trust her.”
“Trust her? Iffen I let go, she’ll
run off or somethin’.” Said Jimmy still holding on tightly to the saddle horn.
“She’ll only run off iffen she
don’t trust you, and she ain’t gonna trust you iffen you don’t trust her.”
“Huh? I don’t get it Pa.”
“Well, it’s like this. Horses is
herd animals an’ they got to trust each other in order to survive. The other
horses got to trust the lead mare and the lead stud to protect ‘m and provide
for ‘m. When you’re on a horse, you two are the boss together. Yer number one
an’ the horse is number two, but y work together as one.”
Jimmy didn’t quite understand as he
sat there gripping the saddle horn, eyes locked on his pa. Nate looked at his
son whose scruffy red hair was blowing in the wind. He saw that Jimmy wanted to
understand; wanted to learn, but his eight-year-old mind couldn’t quite grasp
the concept. Suddenly Nate had an idea.
“You know what Jimmy boy? Lemme
tell y a story about somethin’ that happened to me a long time ago.”
Now Jimmy was interested. What
eight year old didn’t like to listen to his pa tell a story?
“How long Pa?” asked Jimmy.
“Oh, before I met your ma. Even
before I owned this ranch.” Nat sat back and surrounded himself in the memory
of that night. The night he would never forget.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It started out late one evenin’;
around seven o’clock.” Nate began, “The mail was late and I was takin’
advantage of it. You see, I was a rider fer the “Pony Express”, and with that
kinda job, every minute of rest counted. You learned to eat fast, sleep fast,
and most importantly, ride fast. Sleep just happened to be the one I was
workin’ on at the moment. I had been snoozin’ round the back side of a pile a
hay for ‘bout ten minutes when all of a sudden…”
“WILKINS!!!!!!” it was my manager
Col. Ted Brogan and the retired army instructor seemed to be in even a
grouchier mood that usual. I jumped to my feet and brushed the hay out of my
hair.
“Yes sir?!”
“Wilkins! What’d you think this is?
A slumber party? NO! I don’t like to see none of my men sleepin’ on the job!
Now you go saddle up an’ get ready. The mail should be here any minute and it
needs to be in Caspar by one AM. Got it? Now git!”
“Yes sir!” I said, and, grabbin’ my
hat that had fallen on the floor, walked out.
“Lazy kids from Chicago, think they
know everythin’ don’t they? Nothin’ but city-slickers playin’ cowboy. Hmph!”
Col. Brogan mumbled as I walked off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Well that weren’t nice!”
interrupted Jimmy before Nate could continue,
“No, I recon it weren’t son, but
listen. It gets better.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I was used to “city-slicker”
comments because I didn’t use an accent then. And I wasn’t too surprised about
the Colonel’s crabby attitude for he was always like that. However, that didn’t
stop me from feelin’ a little grouchy about bein’ woken up in such a rude
manner.
I walked into the tack room to find
a saddle that would fit Nix: the mare I was to ride that night. The tack room
had one small window that let in just enough light so that you could make sure
that you were grabbin’ a saddle and didn’t accidently lay a hand on one of the
cats that roamed the place. I turned and saw one of them new-fangled fly
ketchin’ things hung up in the corner all forgotten and lonely sittin’ there
covered in dust. As I reached for a saddle, I kicked underneath the saddle rack
to make sure I didn’t spook a rattler that we would find in there every so
often. Pickin’ up the saddle -all smellin’ of saddle soap and horse sweat- I
turned with the cumbersome thing in my arms, and walked out of the tack room.
I saw the Colonel watchin’ me, so I
tried to…err…make a good impression. Nix didn’t care. I walked to her stall and
laid the saddle over the side. The sorrel mare strained on her halter rope and
promptly nudged the saddle with her nose. Of course, it fell in a heap and attracted
the attention of other riders and stablehands. I mumbled somethin’ under my
breath at that crazy horse, and, grabbin’ her halter rope, led her out of the
stall.
“Now hold still dummy.” I told her.
I walked around in front of her so
I could get to her left side (the side where you stand when tackin’ up). As I
walked past, she grabbed my hat in her teeth and, after shakin’ it, stood there
with it hangin’ from her mouth. I snatched it, and, glarin’ at her, pulled it
down on my head. I managed to get the saddle on her and, lookin’ at my watch,
saw that it was already seven-fifteen. I’d better git afore Colonel caught me
standin’ and tanned my hide. Leadin’ Nix outside the stable, I mounted up. Five
seconds later, I was sittin’ down in the middle of the street with Nix
crow-hoppin’ like a dern jackrabbit. The saddle was danglin’ around the
underside of her belly. One of the crowd yelled out,
“Hey Wilkins! Someone forget to
tell ya that horse holds her breath?”
“Gee. Is it that obvious?” I
grumbled again and grabbed Nix’s reins. She had stopped careenin’ around and
stood still lookin’ happy with the fact that she had un-seated me. I tightened
the cinch (tighter this time) and remounted. Nix sighed and tried to loosen the
saddle, but I wasn’t goin’ to make the same mistake twice. It was then that I
heard a yell from the end of the street and people hurryin’ to get out of the
way. The rider! When he handed me those mail bags, it would be my
responsibility to get them to Caspar…alone.
“Hee-yah!” Shouted the rider, and
tossed me the saddle bags containin’ the mail. I “chirruped” to Nix and she lit
out like her hooves were on fire. I was glad I had stampede strings on my hat
to keep it from flyin’ off, otherwise it would have been lost in town and I
would’ve been hatless for the whole ride. It felt like I was ridin’ a dern
buffalo the way she runned. I could have sworn that’s what made the prairies
flat, all those horses runnin’ over it time and time again.
Nix ran like Hell bent for leather.
At this pace, we’d make it to Caspar in about ten seconds! But of course, no
horse can run that fast forever. She slowed down to an even canter as we headed
out over the plains.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nate paused here.
“Now Jimmy, I’m gonna skip forward
a couple hours. Kay?”
“Kay Pa.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“A couple hours later, the moon
started to dim. “A storm’s comin’.” I thought, “And by the look of that sky
it’ll be a real gullywasher.”
Now it didn’t rain often up in that
part of Wyomin’, but when it did, it poured. And finally, where the ground got
to where it couldn’t drink up no more, the water would form li’l streams. They
got bigger and bigger and bigger until it turned into a ragin’ river a’ dirty
water that swept up everythin’ in its path. ‘Specially ‘long the sides of
mountains, buttes or riverbanks. Even a horse as fast as Nix couldn’t outrun a
flash flood and iffen we got caught in one, well...that certainly wouldn’t be
good. And even iffen we didn’t, the ground ‘d be so wet and slippery that Nix
could probly slip and lose her footin’ and could quite poss-bly hurt herself.
Just as I was thinkin’ this, I saw
a lightnin’ strike off in the distance. I pulled Nix to a stop for a second,
and listened. Nothin’. Storm was still far away and hopefully I could make it
fifteen miles out of Caspar before it hit. What made me even more nervous was
the fact that I had seen smoke from campfires off in the distance for around an
hour. The smoke had stopped a little while ago fer somebody put the fire out,
but that “somebody” was the problem.
Now I might have been what Colonel
Brogan would have called a city slicker, but I knew enough to know that the
smoke I saw wasn’t smoke from a little hunter’s campfire. Too much smoke for
that. And it didn’t help that I’d heard rumors about the Sioux, Cheyenne, and
Arapaho, all of which probably wouldn’t flinch at the thought of jumpin’ a lone
rider, robbin’ him, takin’ his horse, and leavin’ him half-dead in the middle
of the prairie.
The clouds had started coverin’ the
moon and that’s when it got dark. When I say dark, I don’t just mean it was
hard to see, I mean that the dark was so thick you could reach out and touch
it. I did have a Colt .45 at my side just in case the Injuns tried somethin’,
but that wouldn’t help when I couldn’t even see to get a hold of it. Chills ran
up my spine as I thought of horror stories I’d heard about the wild Injuns of
the plains. Nix could tell for she sidestepped and pranced nervously eager to
get goin’. I clicked to her and she set off at a fast trot Northwest towards Caspar.
One way an Express rider keeps
track of his direction is by landmarks. Two of the most famous ones between
Bullseye and Caspar were two loomin’ buttes -probably four hundred yards apart
from each other- one on the west side and another on the east side. On one side
near the westerly butte was a pretty well-known prairie dog town. Holes all
over the place. A horse steppin’ in a prairie dog hole like that could easily
break their leg. “Navigating that in the dark would be fun.” I thought.
Unfortunately, on the other side near the easterly butte was a cactus patch
that had the ground covered in a carpet of prickly pears mixed with other
little cacti. “This is just not my day.” I decided steerin’ Nix towards the two
old buttes. They were sittin’ out there in the middle of the plain lookin’ like
giants of the past starin’ out over the grasslands.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back in Bullseye, Ted Brogan was
asleep in his bunk. Everythin’ was peaceful and quiet...fer now.
“Colonel Brogan! Colonel Brogan!!!”
Came a distressed voice from outside the door,
Brogan was on his feet in an
instant and at the door in his nightshirt.
“What in Blazes are you disturbin’
me in the middle of the night fer?” that was how the Colonel acted when he got
worried.
“Sir, we just had a rider come in
from a town up north. Him and his group were attacked by Injuns and he’s the
only one that got out alive.”
Brogan stroked the salt and pepper
fuzz on his chin with a concerned air about him.
“How many did he say?”
“He didn’t say. He’s at the doc’s right
now with an arrow in his leg. Barely made it here as it is.”
“Send telegram to Caspar before the
lines get cut.”
“What’s it to say sir?”
“Tell them to be on the lookout for
Wilkins. He should be there around one unless somethin’ happens. Iffen he ain’t
there by two, then they might want to send a posse out.”
“Will do Sir.” Said the man, who
turned to go. “And Sir,” he began, stoppin’ in the middle of the street, “pray
fer Wilkins. With what the rider said about those Injuns, it’ll be a miracle
iffen he gets to Caspar with his scalp still on.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I skidded Nix to a stop again. It
had started rainin’ around ten minutes ago and now it was pourin’. Dark, wet,
cold, and windy. Lovely. Nix shook her head and
sprayed water all over the place. I just hoped my gun wouldn’t get wet, because
iffen it did, I wouldn’t be able to protect myself. “The two buttes should be
in view soon.” I thought to myself, in fact I should have seen ‘em already. I
wasn’t frightened though, cuz Nix knew the way and it wasn’t surprisin’ that I
couldn’t see. I couldn’t even see Nix’s head through this weather.
What did give me scare was when Nix
stopped, perked her ears, turned her head back and whinnied. Another horse
answered. The chances that it was some stray from a wild herd were pretty slim.
In this weather, all the wild ones bunch up together, turn tail to the wind,
and sit there till it blows over. There was a much better chance that this
horse had a rider.
“Come on Nix.” I said, thoroughly
scared now, “Let’s make tracks.”
She took one step forward and then
there was a sharp report of a rifle. I felt the wind of the bullet as it
whizzed by my head. Nix reared up and there was another flash of lightnin’. I
saw riders behind me. “Hee-ah Nix!” I shouted, “GO!” Nix shot forward as if
sprung from a spring. Her hooves pounded the ground like rollin’ thunder.
Another lightnin’ bolt lit up the night and I saw through the rain the two men
of the plains: the buttes. A shot was again heard behind me. I laid low on
Nix’s neck as the mare surged on through the rain. I couldn’t see a hand in
front of my face let alone tell Nix where to go. I shuddered at the thought of
fallin’ at this speed...into the hard, wet ground. Nix knew the way and I’d
have to trust her to get us out of there...alive.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jimmy stared wide-eyed at his pa.
“Were they Injuns? Were they
g...ghosts?”
Nate laughed at his son’s thoughts.
“No, they weren’t ghosts’ son. Just listen and you’ll find out what happens.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Nix’s hooves pounded over the
prairie towards the buttes. Between flashes of lightnin’, I could see the two
giant shadows loomin’ over me. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer in
hope that Nix wouldn’t step in a prairie dog hole, or trip and throw me into
the cactus field. A flash of lightnin’ struck a scrubby tree off to the right.
I instinctively ducked, but Nix didn’t flinch. The reins were wrapped loosely
around my hands as I clung to the horse’s mane. I wasn’t tellin’ her where t’
go, I wasn’t tellin’ her anythin’ ‘cept run. CRACK! Another flash split the air
followed by a crash of thunder.
The buttes were on either side of
us now, starin’ down at us as we thundered between them. Nix veered to the left
suddenly and then swerved back onto the path. Wonderin’ why, I soon found out
as I heard one of the Injuns yell as he was thrown from his horse. Then I knew.
Nix had swerved to avoid a prairie dog mound that the Injun’s unfortunate horse
hadn’t seen.
I closed my eyes waitin’ for Nix to
slip or trip. Nix was almost as scared as I was but she somehow knew we had to
get to Caspar. She had been over the trail a hundred times and she somehow knew
I was trustin’ her to get us there alive. I was trustin’ her not to slip and
fall or let us get caught by the Injuns. I felt Nix gather herself and I knew
what was comin’. I gripped on to her with my legs and clenched her mane in my
hands as she lifted herself up off the ground and cleared somethin’ that was in
the path. I heard the other Injun yell as his horse didn’t jump and skidded to
a stop, throwin’ him into the obstacle. We kept runnin’. Nix with her head low
to the ground strugglin’ forward through the rain and wind, and me with my head
down trustin’ Nix with my life. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t tell her what to do;
all I could do was trust her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A man stood in in front of the Caspar
livery stable: out in the rain. The lantern hangin’ from the post next to him
cast a dim light out over the muddy street. It was one-thirty and dark, and the
livery manager -who, by the way, was also servin’ as the Express office
manager- was gettin’ worried. He had gotten the telegram from Bullseye and had
been on alert since ten o’clock. He paced back and forth, his boots sloppin’ in
the mud. Iffen Wilkins…well, me, didn’t get there soon, he’d have to ‘sume the
worst and send someone out lookin’ fer me. It was then that he heard a
splish-splosh sound of a horse’s walk through the muddy water. The manager
started, then stared into the blackness waitin’ for someone appear. Someone did.
An exhausted, bedraggled horse and rider soaked to the bone plodded up.
“Mr. Wilkins! That you?” the livery
man said over the drizzling noise the rain made as it hit the rooftops,
“Thank God yes.” I answered,
“Well,” chuckled the manager
slippin’ back into his naturally kind nature, “You and your horse is soaked to
the bone! C’mon in. We’ll get you warm and dry.”
I dismounted and led Nix into the
stable squintin’ as my eyes adjusted to the light. The stable was a welcomin’
change from the drippin’ cold outside. And that pile of hay over in the corner
looked like it was beggin’ fer someone to go flop down right in the middle of
it. I pulled the drippin’ saddle off of Nix’s back and hung it over the side of
the stall. She promptly nudged it with her nose and it toppled over in a heap
on the other side. “Crazy horse.” I mumbled in kind of a croonin’ tone. I
rubbed her nose, and turned to the mail pouches to check on the mail. “Still
dry.” I thought, thankful for the deer that the leather came from.
“Hey Wilkins!” the livery man spoke
suddenly from Nix’s right side, “Did you know yer horse has a gash on her
hindquarter?”
“She what?” I walked over. Sure
nuff, Nix had a long gash on her right quarter. “You mean she ran with that all
the way here?”
“Leastways from the place she was
injured. Never you mind sir, I’ll clean it up and she’ll be good to go in a few
days.” Was the manager’s reply,
I stroked Nix’s side and observed
the cut, probably from an Injun bullet. It rather looked like a strike of
lightnin’ runnin’ ‘long her side. I petted her again and turned to go back to
the mail pouches. As I walked past Nix’s head, she seized my hat in her teeth
and pulled it off my head. “Aww…gimme that silly,” I said, and Nix nickered in
reply.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nate sighed as he finished the
story and stared off into the distance. He would never forget that night. A
voice rang out from Nate’s front porch as clear as a bell.
“Nate! Jimmy! Time for supper!” It
was Nate’s wife.
“You go on Jimmy,” said Nate
quietly, “I’ll untack the horse.”
“Yessir!” Answered Jimmy, who then
yelled, “Comin’ Ma!!!” and took off towards the house as fast as his legs could
carry him.
Nate turned and unhooked the cinch
strap letting the saddle loose. He grunted as he lifted it up and set it on the
side of the corral. The horse shook herself, turned her head towards Nate, and
shoved the saddle off the fence with her nose. She grunted contentedly,
deciding that the saddle looked better where it was. Cocking back one hind leg,
she was content to stand there outside the pen next to Nate. If you were
standing on her right side, you could see a white scar shaped like a strike of
lightning on her hindquarter. Nate turned and faced west, towards the sunset
and gazed at the red, yellow and pink colors. The old horse turned her head,
which used to be a dark sorrel color, but now had faded with age and turned
roan: flecked with white. She looked at Nate, and reaching over, grabbed his
hat in her teeth. Nate turned to the old mare and playfully grabbed the hat saying,
“Gimme that Nix, you silly old girl.”
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