“Wait’ll later,” he said, grinning again. “That car seat’s soft compared to a saddle.”
“I don’t suppose anybody’s ever figured out a way to ride standing up.”
“Not so’s you’d notice it.”
“Oh, well,” I said.
“You done much ridin’?” he asked me tentatively after a long pause.
“I know which end of the horse is which is about all.”
He scratched his stubbled chin. “I’d kinda watch old Ned then if I was you.” He squinted into the morning sunlight as we swung off the pavement onto a graveled road. “He ain’t been rode for a few weeks, and he’s had time to build up a good head of steam. He could be pretty green, so you might have to iron a few of the kinks out of him.”
My stomach lurched. “You figure he’ll buck?” I asked nervously.
“Oh, nothin’ fancy. He’ll probably rear a couple times and maybe hump up a little. Just be ready for him. Keep kinda loose, is all, and haul him up tight. That’s the main thing — don’t let him get his head down between his front legs. If he gets too persnickety, just slap him across the ears with the end of the reins. That’ll bring him around.”
“I’d hate to start off the trip getting dumped on my butt in the gravel,” I said.
He chuckled. “I didn’t mean to spook you none. You’ll be OK if you’re ready for him.”
“I sure hope so,” I said doubtfully.
We had begun to climb up out of the valley. The white trunks and golden leaves of the poplar trees that had bordered the little stream gave way to dark pines. The gravel road was splotched with alternate patches of shadow and bright sunlight. It looked cool and damp back in under the trees. Every so often a red squirrel scampered across the road in front of us, his tail fluting arrogantly.
“Pushy little guys, aren’t they?” I said to Clint.
“I think they do that just for the fun of it,” he agreed.
We came around a comer, and I could suddenly see all the way up to the summit of the surrounding mountains. The sun sparkled on the snowfields outlined against the deep blue of the sky.
“God damn!” I said, almost reverently.
“Pretty, ain’t it?” Clint agreed.
“Are we going up there?” I asked, pointing up toward the snow.
“Not quite,” he said. “Pretty close, though.”
We drove on, twisting up along the gravel road. There’s a kind of bluish color to the woods in the morning that makes things look unreal. An eagle or hawk of some kind turned big wide circles way up, hunting, or just flying for the hell of it.
“Where ’bouts is it you work?” Clint asked after another mile or so.
“I just got out of the service,” I told him. “I’ll be going back to school pretty soon.”
“Which branch you in?” he asked.
“Army.”
“Me and Cap was in the Horse-Marines when we was younger.”
“Oh? Lou up there — guy who’s driving his own car — was a Marine.”
“I kinda figured he mighta been. Tell by the way he walks.”
We drove on up the gravel road for about an hour, climbing gradually but steadily. The road grew narrower and narrower but was still in pretty good shape. It was close to ten thirty when Miller pulled out into a wide place beside the road. The rest of us pulled off and stopped.
“This is where we saddle up,” Clint said, pulling on the hand brake. “Road goes on about another hundred yards and then gives up.”
We climbed down from the truck and went over to where the others had gathered at the back of the pickup. It was quite a bit colder up here than it had been in the valley. Lou’s radiator was steaming again.
“We’ll unload the horses one at a time,” Miller said. “They stay calmer that way.”
Clint and I went to the back of the stock-truck and pulled out the unloading ramp.
“Packhorses first, Clint,” Miller said.
Clint grunted and went up the ramp. He unhooked the gate and swung it back. There was a thumping and several snorts as he disappeared inside the truck. He came to the door leading a somewhat discouraged-looking horse by the halter. Miller passed him up the snap-end of a lead-rope, and he fastened it to the halter. Then Miller pulled, and Clint slapped the horse sharply on the rump. The horse laid back his ears and carefully stepped down the ramp. Clint hopped out and closed the gate again.
They led the horse over to the pickup and put a cumbersome-looking packsaddle on him. Then they tied him to a sapling and went back to the stock-truck. They unloaded three more packhorses, one by one.
“We could get by with just a couple,” Miller explained, “but we’ll need this many to bring out the deer.”
Then they began bringing out the saddle horses. Jack’s horse came out first. After he’d been saddled and bridled, Miller told Jack to mount and walk him up and down the road a ways to loosen him up. I could see that Jack was getting a kick out of it. That baseball cap of his made him look like a kid.
McKlearey’s horse was next, and Lou took off at a gallop.
“Hey!” Miller said sharply as Lou came back up the road. “I said to walk him! That horse plays out on you, and you’re gonna be afoot.” Lou reined in and did as he was told. I thought that was a good sign. I began to have hopes that Miller might just be able to keep McKlearey in line.
They brought out Ned next, and my stomach tightened up. He looked meaner than ever. I particularly didn’t like the way he kind of set himself when Clint threw the saddle on him. I walked up to the horse slowly. He laid his ears back and watched me. I pulled off my quilted red jacket and red felt hat. No point in messing up my hunting gear. Skin heals. Clothes don’t.
Clint held the stirrup for me while Miller held the horse’s head. They hadn’t done that for anybody else, and that sure didn’t help my nerves any. I got up into the saddle and got my feet arranged in the stirrups.
“You all set?” Miller asked, with the faintest hint of a smite under his mustache.
“I guess.”
Miller nodded sharply, and both he and Clint jumped back out of the way. Now, that really makes you feel good. Ned stood perfectly still for a minute. I could feel him wound up like a spring under me.
“Give ‘im a boot in the ribs,” Miller said. I nudged the horse gently with my heels. Nothing happened. I looked around for a soft place to land.
“Kick ‘im,” Miller said, grinning openly now.
I gritted my teeth and really socked the horse in the ribs. His front feet came up off the ground. If old Clint hadn’t warned me, I think I’d have been dumped right then. That big gray horse pranced around on his hind feet for a minute, righting to get some slack in the reins so he could get his head down. Then he dropped down again, still fighting. I was hanging onto the reins with one hand and the saddle horn with the other. He jumped a couple times and spun around.
“Kick ‘im again, Dan!” Clint shouted, laughing. “Stay with ‘im, boy!” I kicked the horse in the ribs again, and he reared just as he had the first time. This time I wasn’t so surprised, so I let go of the saddle horn and swung the reins at his ears the way Clint had told me to. Then he twisted around and tried to bite my leg. I whacked him in the nose with the reins, and that seemed to settle him a little. He humped a couple more times, shivered, and took off down the road at a trot.
“Better run that horse a little,” Miller called. “Others don’t need it, but Old Ned’s a bit frisky.”
“Right,” I said, and nudged the horse into a lope. I kicked him a little harder. “The man says run,” I explained to horse.
McKlearey scowled at me as I barreled on past him.
The wind whistled by my ears, and I could feel the easy roll of Ned’s muscles as he ran. I slowed him up and turned him about a half mile down the road. Then I opened him up to a dead run. I was laughing out loud when I pulled up by the trucks. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t had so much fun in years. Ned pranced around a little, blowing and tossing his head. I think he was getting a kick out of it, too.
“Hey, cowboy,” Jack yelled, “where’d you learn to ride like that?”