Traveler, A job well done.

I know for a fact that people think I am weird, I also know they are right. I am always in my head, always have been and this made growing up as the only girl on a ranch in central Wyoming that much harder. I am sure that this is why riding the summer range late in the season and checking the cows had always been one of my favorite chores. Done right, I could ride for days and not see another soul, just the elk, deer and occasional moose. My only company was the cows, my horse and whatever dog happened to load up as I was leaving cow camp. The work is easy, ride through the lease and count cows, check their overall condition and get a general idea of how long fall round up was going to take when the time came to truck them down country to the ranch for the winter. A couple of days spent with the trees, the sky, nights sleeping on the ground, peaceful, laid back and most generally uneventful.

While I was getting ready to leave cow camp on this particular trip, I caught some flak from my uncle and a couple of the hands for choosing Traveler as my horse of choice. They never could quite get why I liked him so much, not only was he starting to show his age, he had never been one to step briskly, his gait became more reluctant the further we got from the truck. I am sure that, if asked, he would claim to be merely “saving my energy for some more urgent moment.” Reckon he knew something about the future that we could not see?.

Yes, horses do tend to be a little over dramatic. I mean he would get you where you were going, just not over fast, unless of course, feeding time was closing in, then he would pick up the pace. I often wondered if he could ever move fast enough to get himself out of trouble, figuring it didn’t matter as he rarely moved fast enough to get into trouble. However, at the end of this trip, Traveler proved he was saving up his energy, for one urgent moment when he had to move faster than trouble itself and I will never believe that he did not know that moment was coming.

I did like him though, he was, as they say “hell for stout”, steady in all types of terrain, he wasn’t going to get there fast but he was going to get there. He wasn’t going to quit a rider, he was too lazy to blow up at the slightest spook and he knew his way around cow type critters. Even though he didn’t care to run, he was quick at the get go and would have made a good roping horse but was too leggy and lean in the chest, however this combination gave him a perfect mountain gait.

Right up to our last day of riding through the lease, warm on the mountain, bluebird sky, the trip had been perfect. I was content to let Traveler stroll among the trees as we rode for the cows, counting calves and enjoying the end of summer. This time of year the sun would warm the forest, but it was gentler, the light softer and the gentle soft light, truly made checking cows this time of year, less of a chore.

The dog, Shasta, was just as happy that we were taking it slow, it gave him more time to explore whatever it is dogs explore. He kept disappearing, but I wasn’t over worried, if he didn’t beat us to the truck he’d come running when I started it. He was a great deal like Traveler in the fact that he didn’t much care to be late for dinner either, unlike Traveler, he wasn’t a slacker, he had to be busy, he took his job, looking out for the livestock seriously and I am pretty sure he considered people livestock. When he was a pup, we tried to teach him tricks, offered treats for affection, but he would have none of it, he wanted to run and work. However, he loved words of praise and at the end of the day, he would snuggle right into my sleeping bag with me. I can remember waking up in the middle of the night and seeing him cuddled up with me, wide awake, alert and I was grateful that he was looking out for me. But I must admit, I wondered if he ever slept.

As the sun peaked, on our last day out, we were within a few miles of the truck and most of the cows were accounted for, as they were starting to drift in expecting the trek down the mountain to winter range sooner than later. They had summered well, I hadn’t noted any sign of predator loss, the mamas were content and the babies rambunctious. All was well, except one nagging concern, I hadn’t seen that damn bull. It wasn’t that I was worried something happened to him, more that he was a sneaky son of a gun and last spring he was leaning towards meanness. The fact that he probably hadn’t seen a human all summer only made that meanness more evident as it will in range-fed critters. The last thing I wanted was to get ahead of him If, he was behind me and decided my presence was a personal affront, my peaceful trip could real bad, real quick.

Even if I hadn’t known the terrain so well, I would have known I was getting close to the road and trailer, couldn’t see it, but Traveler could obviously sense the grain waiting at the truck. To appease him, I moved off the fence line, might as well ride through the middle of the clear cut to the fence. This would bring us right to the gate with the truck parked on the other side and of course, his bait of grain, that treat for a job well done. I gave a short whistle to alert the dog it was time to come back, on the off chance he was listening or cared.

As the truck came into view, my heart sank. There was a car parked next to the truck, family out for a picnic, I could hear the kid’s voices, so I got set for the inevitable questions, the intrusion of people into my thoughts; Are you a real cowgirl? Can I ride/pet your horse or your dog, can we take a picture, etc…? Oh well, at least most of the trip had been peaceful. Still made me wonder, why, when there is a whole mountain range of public land, people from town just hafta park right next to another vehicle? Be my luck that while their kids are asking me questions, I will have to ask the adults to move their car because it will be parked so I can’t get the trailer gate open.

In my silent complaining about the unexpected intrusion, I momentarily dropped my guard and that was my mistake. All of the sudden I caught sight of that damn bull, about 300 yards to my right and he was, sure nuff pissed, he charges, not me... what is that? Son of a bitch it’s a kid, in the center of the clear cut with his back turned. Shit, shit shit, I heard a scream from behind the fence, must have been his mom, damn kid, gripping the reins tight with my left hand, I kicked Traveler hard and started to whip him over and under, Hating that I had to push him that hard and praying that God would help me get to that kid before that damn bull does.

I was screaming and shouting, anything to turn that bull. Kicking Traveler, yelling, run you son of a bitch run. The kid turns, face twists in fear, body frozen, almost there, I silently beg the kid, “baby, don’t run now, please don’t run.” Tears sting my eyes, so afraid I won’t make it. Closing in, neck and neck with the bull both of us about 50 yards from the kid, bull blowing snot, both animals, frothing, sweating, hooves pounding, dirt flying, leaning out I whip the reins in the bull’s face, still he bears down on that kid, seemed I could smell his murderous intent. At what seemed the last moment, Shasta, ever vigilant even when out of sight, comes full tilt from out of nowhere and leaps in, sinking his teeth in the bull’s nose. I remember seeing, as though in slow motion Shasta was flung over my head, it helped, the bull missed a step, just about there, again silently begging come on Trav’, come on, damn it just a little more… Leaning as far and low as possible, I grab the kid by his shirt, pull him over the saddle horn and give Traveler one last hard kick. Behind me, I hear Shasta yelp as he hits the ground.

Ahead, the family’s faces at the fence, frozen in horror, struck me as almost comical, like they were over-acting, characters from an old western movie. As we reached the fence, I tucked my head over the kid and pulled him close while I felt Traveler’s hind legs bunching then pushing, we made the jump, lifetimes passed as we hung in the air, finally leaning forward his front legs find the ground I thought I heard a sickening snap. I dropped my shoulders, kicked free of the stirrups and twisted to land on my back keeping the kid tucked to my chest as we sailed, ass over tea kettle past Traveler’s head. I looked up just in time to see three of the horse’s legs in the air as he skidded on his back and remember almost chuckling at the sight of a three-legged horse.

Stopping as abruptly as we started, dirt along with the smell of sweat and blood fill the air, my nose, I can even taste the metallic tang of blood and the feel the warmth of the dirt in my mouth. I jumped to my feet and grabbed the kid, ready to run, in case the fence didn’t hold when the bull hit it. Thank goodness it held, he bellowed in frustration, shook his head and pawed the ground several times, still blowing snot and threatening the fence and those of us beyond it. Typical of bulls, as soon as he was satisfied the trespassers had been removed from his domain, he calmly trotted off.

I shook my head to clear it as the kid’s family ran to us, I handed him over, all of us crying, their relief voiced over and over. It should have been all over, but something wasn’t right, shaking my head, blinking, trying to get past the confusion. My own injuries were starting to make themselves known, my left shoulder hurt something awful and the arm wouldn’t work and still there was a nagging feeling that I was missing something.

As the fog cleared, I remembered hearing a snap and seeing a three legged horse? That didn’t seem right, but the shock was preventing me from making it add up. Looking around, I was relief flooded over me as I saw Shasta coming in limping, obviously hurt but the thought crossed my mind “that dog had more lives than a cat.” But still confused, I was sure I had seen a three-legged horse. It hit me just as I heard him moan, Traveler! Oh Traveler, still on the ground, I saw the fear and pain in his eyes, his left leg broken just below the knee had jagged bones showing, blood flowing. Oh God no! He struggled to rise; I threw myself over his neck to keep him down. Murmuring “Easy now, standing will only hurt worse, easy, steady buddy. I’ll take care of you.” I slipped my jacket from behind the saddle and laid it over his eyes, to keep him still. Then I stood up and the tears started to flow, my rifle was in the saddle scabbard and Traveler was laying on it, the .357 I carried on my hip had slipped the holster and was also lying underneath him.

Nothing mattered at that moment except that Traveler was scared and in pain. My own injuries, which I found out later, included a dislocated shoulder and a concussion, the family trying to talk to me, to thank me, just didn’t matter, except for the fact they were in my way, it seemed like a bad dream. I had to get to the truck and get the pistol that I always kept behind the seat.

I remember barking at the family through my tears “don’t watch, back off, cover the kid’s ears, don’t watch. His leg is broke and there ain’t no way to fix it. Back off!”

I grabbed the gun from the truck and a bait of grain trailer and stumbled back to Traveler... Back to my horse, my hero. I pulled the jacket off his face and fed him the grain that he so loved, that he worked so hard for, I whispered “So sorry, my friend, you sure nuff saved it for a more urgent moment, hired out for tough and just landed wrong, you did good, here’s your grain.” As he chewed the grain, I stood and cocked the pistol, murmuring “Easy now, that’s right, stay down.” Tears, hot and salty flowed freely, placing the end of the barrel just behind the ear, gentle pressure on the trigger and it was over, for Traveler the fear and pain gone, heart stilled, eyes quiet, for me, it will never be over.

It was easier to have the picnicking family drive down to the ranch and have my uncle bring a backhoe to bury him than it would have been for me to winch him into the trailer, beat up as I was. As Shasta and I sat vigil waiting for help, I pulled up a plank out of the trailer floor, carving, simply “Traveler, a last bit of grain and a good rest for a job well done.”