WHERE THE TRAILS FORK
Middle summer had come, the day was hot and still; even up amongst the
high peaks and where the snow was making a last stand the heat was
strong, for the sun was shooting straight down and the crags could
give no more shade. Up on a rocky trail of that country a small bunch
of range horses was drifting one behind the other and following the
leader,--the leader was Smoky's mammy, the new little black colt right
at her heels and next the blaze faced, mouse colored, yearling, Smoky.
A little further back was a big buckskin horse and there followed eight
or ten others which made up the rest of the bunch.
They all trailed along seemed like headed for nowheres in particular.
They passed under wind-twisted trees and right on thru the shade they'd
give. Cool streams wasn't even sniffed at, and the long stems of grass
that was everywhere wasn't at all noticed, they was all just drifting
and maybe only hitting out for another special good part of the high
range.--A feller watching 'em would of figgered that something or
other had started 'em on the move, maybe a rider had been spotted that
morning which had kettled 'em into a run, or else cougars might of been
too numerous for comfort.
The little bunch kept a trailing along till they came to where the
trail branched and the leader took the lower one, the little black colt
and all the rest followed, all excepting the mouse colored yearling.
The upper trail had drawed that one's interest, and nothing would do
but what he had to investigate it for a ways. He kept his nose on the
ground as he went and sniffed for clues of anything that might be
of interest to him, he could see the bunch below and he figgered on
cutting across to 'em soon as his curiosity was satisfied.
Ahead of him a ways and above the trail was a big granite boulder a
good ten feet high. A scrub mahogany had found root in a crack of the
big rock and was spreading its branches well over it and making a good
shade. In that shade and mighty hard to notice, was an object, a long,
flat, dark buckskin object, which looked a lot like part of the rock.
It was stretched out full length and seemed like without life only
maybe for the tip of its long, round tail which was jerking up and
down. The round head raised an inch at the sound of hoofs on the rocky
trail, the ears flattened and the yellow eyes turned jet black at the
sight of Smoky, the mouse colored yearling.
Smoky was coming right on the trail and would pass to within a couple
of feet of the big rock that was the mountain lion's game hunting
perch, many a deer he'd pounced onto and killed from that perch; and
not far away from that spot was bones scattered around which showed
where he'd drug his victims and et his fill. Wolves, cayotes, and other
varmints had cleaned up what the big lion would leave and the result
was white bones a shining to the sun.
The lion had a big territory which he claimed as his, but in all that
rough country there was no better place than the one he was now getting
ready to spring from, he'd got meat from that spot when he failed at
others, and the trail he overlooked was tracked with many hoofs, hoofs
of all the kind that ranged up there,--it was a main trail to a main
pass.
Why Smoky's mother didn't take that trail can't be explained much; may
be it was instinct that warned her, and then again she might of got a
glimpse of the tall rock and past experience made her turn to the left,
but anyway she and her young colt and the rest of the bunch was safe
and had left Smoky till he was thru investigating and ready to catch up
with 'em.
Smoky kept on a coming and edging closer to the rock, he nosed every
twig and stone along the trail till he got to within a few feet of
the spot where the lion would spring. The lion wasn't a stretched out
shadow no more. He still looked like part of the rock and fitted pretty
well with the stump of the scrub mahogany, but he was in a position
that sure tallied up with all what was about to happen. He was ready,
and still as the rock he was on, and the quiver of his long tail was
a plenty to show that his wiry frame and brain was sure together and
intent on one thing.
Another foot ahead and Smoky would be seeing his last of daylight, the
colt had one leg raised to make that last step when there's a rattling
buzz comes from the foot of the rock, a four foot rattlesnake stretched
out and reaches for Smoky's nose and that one leg which was raised to
go forward went back instead. It was all that saved him.
The lion had figgered on his victim a jumping to one side at his leap,
and he'd allowed for that, but the way it happened this time was that
the snake caused Smoky to jump away just as he'd started which was a
little too soon according to the lion's figgering, and what's more
Smoky went to the wrong direction about a foot with the result that he
just got his claws full of Smoky's mane and no more. He scrambled in
mid air and done his best to get a hold in Smoky's neck but even with
all the action he put in his trying he struck mostly air, and then hard
ground.
[Illustration: The lion had figgered on his victim a jumping to one
side at his leap, and he'd allowed for that.]
Smoky never waited to see if that flying shadow of sharp claws was
after him or not, he'd started at the sound of the rattler and had kept
a moving mighty fast ever since. A few feet of drop in the scenery only
helped him make more speed and the short cut from the trail he'd left
to the trail his mammy and the bunch was on was covered in no time.
He lit in the bunch a running, and the bunch getting a hint from his
wild eyed actions that all wasn't well started a running too and for a
ways they all went as tho the devil was after 'em.
But the devil (if that ain't too mild a name for the lion) wasn't after
'em. He knowed the colt had too much speed for him and never even
thought of following him, and as it was he was just a lashing himself
with his long tail and mad clear thru at the thought of missing such a
nice fat yearling colt as Smoky was.
From that day on Smoky dodged high rocks unless he could see the top
of 'em, pine trees with stout lower limbs had him a circling too, or
any other place where a lion could perch on and spring from. The little
horse was gradually getting so he was satisfied to be more with the
bunch and not do so much investigating, besides he'd got first hand
acquaintance with most all that prowled the range, and everything in
general was getting to be less of a puzzle to him.
It all kept a getting to be less of a puzzle to him till finally there
come a time when Smoky got so he thought he knowed it all. He figgered
he had the world by the tail and with a downhill push. Like all the
other colts of his age he was just where conceit had the best of him,
he got strong headed and full of mischief, and then's when the older
horses figgered him to be a regular pest and begin knocking on him.
[Illustration: He got strong headed and full of mischief, and then's
when the older horses figgered him to be a regular pest.]
He was getting to be of a size that could stand knocks too. They all
took turns at him and pounded on his ribs every chance they had thru
the rest of that summer and tried to set him where he belonged; but it
was slow work and Smoky was still getting away with some of the bluffs
when the first snows came. He was ornery all that winter, and even
tho none of the horses would let him steal the grass they pawed up he
aggravated 'em a lot by making 'em think he would; and when they'd kick
at him, and miss, there was some more about his actions that sure let
em know he was getting away with something.
Then one day a strange horse showed up on the skyline and joined the
bunch. A strange horse is always sort of timid when first joining a
new bunch that way, and Smoky took advantage of that to show there was
at least one he had buffaloed,--he run the stranger around and around
and kept a nipping him on the rump till the old pony was on the point
of leaving and hunt new territory. That sport lasted off and on for a
few days, and then one day the older horse turned and lit into Smoky.
There was no battle, for Smoky was just running a bluff, and at the
first turn of the events he evaporated and kept on evaporating till the
stranger got cooled down a bit. After that Smoky kept his distance and
acted willing to let the stranger stay with the bunch.
The winter wore on that way, and as Smoky was met hard at every ornery
thing he'd do it all got to finally leave an impression on him and he
gradually lost _some_ of his conceit and hard headedness. But Spring
came, other seasons and all kinds of weather followed and it wasn't
till Smoky was a three year old that he really come anywheres living
up to good range horse etiquette. There was so much life wrapped up in
that pony's hide that it was mighty hard for him to settle down and
behave, and even as a three year old he sometimes had to bust out and
do things that wasn't at all proper and which made the old horses set
their ears back and show their teeth.
* * * * *
The start of Smoky's third year was all to his favor,--the spring rains
was warmer than on average, the green grass shot up half an inch to
the day and more than met up with the hard to satisfy appetite which
was his, consequences is, when he shed off his long winter coat he was
slicker and rounder than ever and looked like he was wrapped up in fine
mouse colored silk. His blazed face loomed up snow white and to match
his trim ankles. He was a picture to make any cowboy miss a few heart
beats as he sometimes raced acrost the prairie sod and with head and
tail up showed off the qualities that stuck out at his every move.
But to the bunch, all them qualities and good points of Smoky's was
lost and not at all noticed, his mammy or any of the others would of
thought just as much of him if he was just an ordinary horse or even an
ill built scrub. They'd all liked him better if he wasn't so ornery and
didn't need so much convincing, for Smoky was getting to be of a size
and temper along with it where it was mighty hard for some to try to
eddicate him and _show_ that they could.
His eddication kept on tho for there was still a few that packed a
convincing hoof, but them few was dwindling down fast and Smoky was
steady getting where he could hold his own with most any of 'em, till
finally, and after many showdowns there came a time when there was only
two left in the bunch that he wouldn't stop and argue with, them two
was his mammy and the big buckskin.
Smoky felt some superior and mighty proud then for a while, and it's
a good thing he was a little wiser and quieter and not so full of
mischief no more or he'd sure dealt them ponies misery; as it was he
was now willing to leave them alone if they'd do the same by him.
Things went on that way for some time and as the days went by, the
bunch was getting to be more willing to accept Smoky as a full size
range horse with brains according. None tried to eddicate him no more,
and if once in a while he showed young blood and some foolishness they
was all careful to overlook it, of course Smoky was wise enough to keep
away from his mammy and the buckskin at them times.
Peace was with the little bunch, all had some understanding and every
horse knowed his ground. It was all so peaceful that Smoky felt it and
it all begin to wear on him to the point where he felt like tackling
the big buckskin, just to start something--then relief came one day and
scattered that peaceful monotony from hell to breakfast.
It all happened as the little bunch strung out, was heading for water,
Smoky's mammy was in the lead as usual, and she was the first to turn
the point of a ridge and find herself to within a few yards of a big
black stud. Smoky was close second on the sight, and somehow as he
snorted at the long-maned thick-jawed black a hunch came to him that
peace had come to a sudden end.
He stood in his tracks kinda doubtful as to what to do and watched
the black cloud of horseflesh, he'd let the stallion make the first
false move--Proud as a peacock came the black, mane and tail a waving
and stepping high, his little bunch of mares and colts had stayed
back at the first sight of the strange ones and was now watching the
proceedings of the meeting.
That meeting impressed the young horses a whole lot, the white of their
eyes showed with interest as the stud came up to within a few paces
of the new bunch, stopped, and with a powerful neck bowed to a half
circle, ears pointed ahead, and eyes a shining, stood and sized up the
strangers.
He'd had plenty of experience in meeting strange bunches that way
before which all left him kinda cautious, for many a time he'd left
quicker than he'd come and lost some hide to an older stud what was
more up to the game of fighting, and he soon learned that it wasn't a
wise idea to ram into a strange bunch and go to appropriating mares
without first investigating what kind of a leader that bunch had.
He'd got wised up in many ways thru them meetings, and he learned to
be some careful. He'd also learned to handle his hoofs and teeth till
there hadn't been any stud on that range that'd been able to whip him
the last three years--he'd evened up scores.
Smoky hadn't moved, and as the stud still kept a standing in one spot
with no indication of wanting to start anything, he got restless.
Pretty soon it came to his mind that the stallion was leary of starting
anything. It was a big mistake, but Smoky'd had no way of knowing
better. The big buckskin did know better and if Smoky had noticed, he'd
seen him out there on the far side of the bunch, and willing to keep
neutral.
A move from the black stud decided Smoky. He'd stepped close to his
mammy and nostril to nostril was exchanging sniffs with her when she
let out a squeal and struck at him, all of which the stallion didn't
pay any attention to. But right about then Smoky landed on him, or, _at
him_, for his striking front feet and bared sharp teeth missed him,
missed him just enough to be a clean miss.
Smoky had never reckoned with the fighting qualities of a stallion, and
he couldn't figger out how it was he'd struck just thin air when he
was so sure his enemy had been right there in front of him and within
easy reaching distance, and what's more that puzzled him was that the
stallion never offered to show fight when he landed at him so furious,
instead he'd just got out of the way of his rush, kept his ears ahead,
and went on sizing up the bunch the same as if nothing had happened.
Smoky felt like he hadn't even been noticed, and the actions of the
stud had said plainer than words "fool kid."
A swift kick in the ribs couldn't of done any better towards putting
Smoky down a peg or two, and that simple quick move of the stud's went
a long ways to show what could of happened if he'd been in mind to
fight. All that left Smoky kinda uncertain as to how to proceed, he
didn't know whether to go back and try it again or let things rest for
a spell till another chance showed up.
In the meantime the black stud had found out that there was none in
that bunch he'd need to watch, and head down to the ground, ears back,
he started cutting out the geldings, keeping the mares and fillies to
put in with the bunch he already had. That was a harder job than it
might sound here, for none of the geldings wanted to be cut out of the
bunch they'd been with so long, and even tho they went out easy enough
they'd turn back as the stud would be cutting out another and would
have to be headed off and cut out again and again.
Then the big buckskin which had been neutral all this time finally got
riled up at being separated from the mares that way and when the stud
headed for him he stood his ground. A few seconds more and there was
buckskin and black hair a sailing in the air, then hoofs a pounding
away which would of kept up with machine-gun fire for speed, only the
pounding wasn't sounding so sharp it was hitting something solid, and
there wasn't many misses.
Finally out of the dust that was stirred there came a streak of
buckskin and right close to it was a streak of black, away from the
herd they went, and pretty soon the black stud came back shaking his
head the same as to let every horse know that he wasn't going to stand
for no foolishness.
There was one more to be put out of the bunch, he was that mouse
colored gelding, Smoky. He'd got in while the stud was chasing away the
buckskin, he'd stood alongside his mammy and watched the fight, and
there was a light in his eyes that showed he was ready to start another
battle if it was necessary, but he sure wasn't going to be put out
without he was convinced it could be done,--he wasn't built that way.
The stallion spots him there and never went thru no preliminaries nor
tried to scare him out with just a look, he dived right into him and
Smoky met him halfways. That battle was short and wicked and Smoky
managed to land some good hard kicks, kicks that'd knocked the wind out
of any ordinary horse and sent 'em a sprawling; but the stallion wasn't
no ordinary horse and them kicks only shook him a little and made him
all the madder. He'd fought too many hard battles to let any gelding
faze him and besides he was in the habit of winning.
His chance came when Smoky turned to land a couple more hard ones.
The stud was broadside to the gelding, and as the hard ones came, he
just reared up out of the reach of 'em, made a big lunge to one side
and coming down he made a quick grab and fastened his teeth in Smoky's
withers. When Smoky pulled away and the stud's teeth snapped together
there was some of his silky hide between 'em.
Smoky squealed and kicked some more, then he whirled and faced the stud
figgering on doing some damage with teeth and front hoofs. Just about
then the stud whirled too and planted his two hind hoofs smack bang
into Smoky's ribs. There was an echo which sounded like a steam engine
ramming into a stone wall, that echo was followed with a mighty grunt
as Smoky was lifted off his feet and throwed out a ways to a staggering
standstill.
Smoky was in a daze, his vision was dim, and maybe it was all instinct
that warned him of the dark cloud that's turned and was now a tearing
down on him, anyway something made him move in a hurry, all the
strength that was left in him was used to make distance away from the
black devil which now looked to Smoky like a big centipede, it had so
many legs.
His life depended in the speed he could make, and Smoky was running,
running like he'd never run before, it seemed like there was no shaking
the mad stud, and just when he was on the point of giving in and make
a last stand for his life that destroying hunk of horseflesh left
him--When Smoky stopped, looked back and seen the stud high-tail it
back to the mares he had no hankering to follow, he was convinced.
* * * * *
The next few days that followed was mighty aimless to Smoky, him and
the big buckskin had formed a pardnership in that time and the two
wandered around like they was lost and didn't care where they went.
They covered a lot of territory, passed up a lot of good grassy hollows
and shady places but they kept a drifting on. They grazed as they
drifted and natural like followed up the canyons and crossed over the
high passes that'd been the summer range of Smoky's mammy and the
bunch.
They came acrost other little bunches, but it seemed like in each of
'em there was a wild-eyed thick-jawed stud come out ready to kick the
daylight out of 'em if any symptoms of them wanting to trail in with
the bunch was showed.
In their roaming around they passed other geldings which like
themselves had been kicked out of the stud bunches; the meeting with
them was just plain "how-dedo's" and each and all passed on and headed
their own wandering way.--All would be hunkydory again for the buckskin
if he could find another bunch to run with where there was mares and
little colts. He had a mighty strong failing for the little fellers
and most any bunch would do if there was only a few of them in, but
with Smoky, it was his mammy he missed most, his brother, and the other
colts he'd growed up with.
No other bunch would do as well, and the nicker he'd send echoing
acrost canyons and over ridges every once in a while was just for them
certain few.
Smoky's mammy had no choice when that black stallion came and scattered
them out to his liking that way. She was made to join that little bunch
of his and she knowed better than try to do different; she knowed she'd
only lose some hide in any attempt to get away and that in the long run
she'd have to do as he pointed out.
She was wise to the range and the ways of her kind, and even tho she
was as strong for Smoky as Smoky was for her she didn't miss him so
much as he did her. She felt in a way that he was now big and mighty
able to take care of himself, and then there was other youngsters which
called for all her attention. But it was different with Smoky, she was
his mammy and there was none other that could take her place. He'd
growed up at her side and even tho other little colts had come she was
and always would be the mother he knowed when he was wobblety legged
and needed her.
Then one day and as time had wore on in lonesomeness that way, there
came a short break in the monotony which helped Smoky forget some. Him
and the buckskin had run acrost a little bunch of mares,--there was
some little colts in the bunch, and a stud, a young stud.
The big buckskin sized up the stud the same as he'd sized all the
others he'd met, and as this young feller came up full of pride and
confidence to meet the two strangers, the big buckskin found a flaw in
him,--the flaw was nothing more or less than just _youth_, he showed
it in every move he made and every action.--From past experience the
buckskin had figgered youth and ignorance to go together, and that's
what made it interesting.
Interesting by the fact that thru youth and ignorance the young
stallion wouldn't maybe be able to compete against the fighting ability
of the buckskin, the younger horse hadn't as yet fought many battles,
that the buckskin could feel at a glance of him. He didn't turn away
like he'd done before,--as the stallion came on he just stood in his
tracks and watched him. Smoky was doing the same.
There's bowed necks as the three touch nostrils, there's some squealing
and striking and then a kick is planted,--the young stud had started
things.
[Illustration: There's bowed necks as the three touch nostrils.]
Smoky had caught the kick, which left him out a ways. In the meantime
the buckskin followed up the lead and went at it from there. It was all
a mighty fair exchange from the start, kicks and bites was averaging
pretty well on both parties, and for a young horse that chestnut stud
was sure doing well. All might of come to a draw and both fighters
might of quit about the same time, if it hadn't been for Smoky.
Smoky which had got to be pretty thick with the buckskin and had been
a good pardner of his thru their lonesome roamings found it mighty
natural like wanting to help when trouble came that way; besides he was
holding a grudge against the stud for kicking him the way he did, and
all them things together kinda had him worked up to mix in.
His chance came as the chestnut whirled to plant a hard one on the
buckskin's ribs, there was only a few feet between Smoky and the
stud right then and double action started from there. The stud felt
hard hitting hoofs and teeth a getting him from both sides and the
punishment he received all at once wouldn't of been worse if he'd a lit
in a stack of wild cats.
It was then that it come to his mind, and sudden, that he should let
up on the fighting and start to do some running if he wanted to keep
hisself all in one piece. Smoky and the buckskin kept a pounding on
him and a helping along on the good hunch till finally it was all made
mighty plain. The chestnut picked himself up as best and quick as he
could and made a leap out of reach of the too many wicked hoofs and
teeth, and tore up the earth for a change of scenery, the two pardners
done their best to escort him on his way.
But as that day came to an end and as the sun passed over and beyond
the blue ridges Smoky and his pardner could see a lone horse outlined
against the sky, the chestnut was following. He followed 'em and the
bunch they'd chased him out of for three days, and once he started
a fight to win back what he'd lost, he just lost more hide and won
nothing but another boost out of that territory.--Smoky and the big
buckskin had handed him the same medicine another stud had handed them.
The days that followed was mighty peaceful to the big buckskin, and
Smoky seemed some contented too, he was gradually getting used to being
away from his mother and new young fillies and colts he was running
with made it all a heap easier to forget. Then again, the knocks he'd
got ever since that day when things had been so peaceful with his
mammy, when he just figgered he'd have to start something to bust up
the monotony of that peace, all took the mischief out of him. The fight
with the black stallion, the lonesome ramblings with the buckskin, and
the other fights with the chestnut stud all helped eddicate him and
shape him into a full sized, serious thinking gelding. It didn't take
so much to keep him contented no more, and somehow or another he was
seeing a heap more in life.
That's the way things stood with Smoky that summer, him and the
buckskin ranged high up in the mountains with the little bunch of mares
and colts, they all snoozed and grazed thru the days and done the same
thru the nights. A little play was brought on once in a while by some
of the young colts and Smoky and the buckskin was always the steady
victims of them. Them two older horses was colts themselves at them
times and the way they'd all nip one another and then sashay around
hell bent for election, a human would wonder at the care Smoky and the
buckskin was taking so that the colts would feel winners in all they'd
start.
Summer passed, the grass had gradually turned to a yellow brown and
the leaves of the aspens begin banking up on the edges of the streams,
fall had come, and one day the bunch started a grazing steady lower and
lower till a few days later the foothills was reached. It was there
that Smoky took the lead and headed for the winter range where his
mammy had put him thru that first year, the big buckskin followed till,
glancing back over his withers he noticed that the mares and colts had
left off and branched out another direction. The buckskin stood in his
tracks, watched Smoky line out straight ahead and then looked back at
the mares again. For the time being he wasn't sure wether to go on with
his pardner or turn back to the bunch. It was hard for him to decide,
he wanted to go with Smoky and still them little colts sure had a
mighty holt on his heart strings, it was just about as he was doing the
hardest figgering when one of them little fellers came out of the bunch
a ways and nickered for him. That little nicker decided things for the
buckskin, he answered it and loped back to join with the other little
fellers and the mares.
Smoky went on straight ahead. Maybe he was thinking strong, thinking
that he'd see his mammy again on that winter range. Anyway, it never
come to him to look back and see if the bunch was following him, and
finally when it did come to him that he was drifting on alone, he
stopped and looked around in a sort of vacant stare, his instinct had
been controlling him and was taking him back to his home range, but
when he found himself alone that way it all left him surprised at first
and then doubtful as to what to do. He was mighty attached to that
buckskin, the little colts, and the bunch in general.
He looked at the far away hills of his range and he seemed like to
think on the subject for quite a spell, then of a sudden his head went
up, a loud nicker went out and away in the distance he could hear an
answer,--the answer had come from his pardner, the buckskin.
Smoky nickered again and loped back to the bunch. He'd come to feel
that it didn't matter so much which range he wintered on, he was a big
horse now, and a few ridges to the north or south of that range he was
raised in didn't make much difference.--An old mare had took the lead
and from then on Smoky just followed side by side with the buckskin. A
little colt nipped him in the flanks, and all was well.