âOh, how I wish you could just talk to me.â
He blew out a sharp breath and whinnied once more. We were close enough to Andrew Kylerâs stock that the mares heard him and answered. But then, a few seconds later, I heard another whinny, from the other direction.
Indians? Trappers? It wasnât anyone driving any kind of a wagon, that much was sure. No wagon could make it up or down the hills on either side of the trail. Even the trail itself was full of rocks that the wooden wagon wheels jolted up and over.
I walked faster, and then ran until we caught up with the wagons. I kept my eye out for riders coming out of the rough country on all sides of us for the rest of the day, but no one did.
The next day I heard the whinny again when I was searching for grass for the Mustang. This time he turned, pulling me along with him, and squealed a long, high-pitched call, his head so high I had to reach up to catch hold of the halter. He squealed again and I heard a distant answer. It was then that I saw the horses through the trees, flashing past at a gallop, barely visible in the distance.
They were galloping in a group, strung out behind a big-boned gray. Behind them ran a horse that looked a lot like the Mustang. He had a thick, black mane that streamed out behind him. I waited to see who was herding the animals along, half expecting to see Indians. But the horses passed and disappeared, and even though I stared, I couldnât spot a single rider. It took me such a long time to figure it out that I blushed with embarrassment when I finally did. No one was herding them. They were wild.
I looked at the Mustang, at his arched neck. His eyes were as bright and alive as I had ever seen them. His nostrils were flared wide as though he had been running. For an instant, he surged forward, pulling at the rope so hard that I stumbled and nearly fell, hanging on to it. Then he looked back at me and slowed again, and I caught up.
I patted his neck, and we walked on together as we had been doing for months. I found a good patch of grass, and he lowered his head and ate hungrily. My stomach was fluttery. I would have to be more careful. If he ever saw wild horses up close, he would probably try to follow them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rocks here are sharp, and the oxen go even slower than
before. The little one and I sometimes run a little
and I am grateful. In the cool of the mornings, I long
to gallop, but I know the little one could not keep
up. I heard a stallion and scented his mares. There are
horses here that do not walk with two-leggeds.
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
N ot long after that we came upon the Snake River. It was so beautiful to see water in the middle of that strange and broken countryside, the river curving in a long sinuous path across the broken, rocky land. Its surface was smooth as a gray-green looking glass on the cloudy day when we came over a rise and saw it below us.
The river was some distance from the trail at first, then the wagon tracks led us closer to the banks. The river had worn away the soil to form steep-sided bluffs. We saw many strange sights as we went. There was one stretch of bluffs on the far side of the river that spouted roaring springs that flumed enormous waterfalls straight out into the air, splashing downward to fall into the river below. It was as if an underground river ended there, joining one that ran aboveground.
One fine morning, as it was just barely beginning to turn light, we all heard splashing in the water. We stopped our morning chores and turned to look. In the dusk we could just make out blurred silver arcsâfish were jumping!
Andrew and two of his brothers rigged up netting, using twine from the Taylorsâ goods. By mid-morning, they had soaked themselves and caused their wives hours of worry, but they had caught ten of the magnificent fish.
âSalmon!â Mr. Kyler said happily when he saw them. âIâve heard about this kind of
He blew out a sharp breath and whinnied once more. We were close enough to Andrew Kylerâs stock that the mares heard him and answered. But then, a few seconds later, I heard another whinny, from the other direction.
Indians? Trappers? It wasnât anyone driving any kind of a wagon, that much was sure. No wagon could make it up or down the hills on either side of the trail. Even the trail itself was full of rocks that the wooden wagon wheels jolted up and over.
I walked faster, and then ran until we caught up with the wagons. I kept my eye out for riders coming out of the rough country on all sides of us for the rest of the day, but no one did.
The next day I heard the whinny again when I was searching for grass for the Mustang. This time he turned, pulling me along with him, and squealed a long, high-pitched call, his head so high I had to reach up to catch hold of the halter. He squealed again and I heard a distant answer. It was then that I saw the horses through the trees, flashing past at a gallop, barely visible in the distance.
They were galloping in a group, strung out behind a big-boned gray. Behind them ran a horse that looked a lot like the Mustang. He had a thick, black mane that streamed out behind him. I waited to see who was herding the animals along, half expecting to see Indians. But the horses passed and disappeared, and even though I stared, I couldnât spot a single rider. It took me such a long time to figure it out that I blushed with embarrassment when I finally did. No one was herding them. They were wild.
I looked at the Mustang, at his arched neck. His eyes were as bright and alive as I had ever seen them. His nostrils were flared wide as though he had been running. For an instant, he surged forward, pulling at the rope so hard that I stumbled and nearly fell, hanging on to it. Then he looked back at me and slowed again, and I caught up.
I patted his neck, and we walked on together as we had been doing for months. I found a good patch of grass, and he lowered his head and ate hungrily. My stomach was fluttery. I would have to be more careful. If he ever saw wild horses up close, he would probably try to follow them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rocks here are sharp, and the oxen go even slower than
before. The little one and I sometimes run a little
and I am grateful. In the cool of the mornings, I long
to gallop, but I know the little one could not keep
up. I heard a stallion and scented his mares. There are
horses here that do not walk with two-leggeds.
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
Â
N ot long after that we came upon the Snake River. It was so beautiful to see water in the middle of that strange and broken countryside, the river curving in a long sinuous path across the broken, rocky land. Its surface was smooth as a gray-green looking glass on the cloudy day when we came over a rise and saw it below us.
The river was some distance from the trail at first, then the wagon tracks led us closer to the banks. The river had worn away the soil to form steep-sided bluffs. We saw many strange sights as we went. There was one stretch of bluffs on the far side of the river that spouted roaring springs that flumed enormous waterfalls straight out into the air, splashing downward to fall into the river below. It was as if an underground river ended there, joining one that ran aboveground.
One fine morning, as it was just barely beginning to turn light, we all heard splashing in the water. We stopped our morning chores and turned to look. In the dusk we could just make out blurred silver arcsâfish were jumping!
Andrew and two of his brothers rigged up netting, using twine from the Taylorsâ goods. By mid-morning, they had soaked themselves and caused their wives hours of worry, but they had caught ten of the magnificent fish.
âSalmon!â Mr. Kyler said happily when he saw them. âIâve heard about this kind of
Similar Books
