Excerpt from a Writing Project

I thought that some of you might be entertained by this short excerpt from a project that I'm working on:

AJ Spencer gave one last sharp tug on the latigo, slipped the prong of the cinch buckle into the nearest hole in the latigo strap, tucked the extra bit of latigo in the keeper and dropped the stirrup from where it had been across the seat of the saddle out of his way. He buckled the back cinch, pulled the breast collar into place and attached it’s straps and buckles. His horse stood still with the reins hanging to the ground and waited patiently as AJ buckled on his spurs, adjusted his chaps on his legs and buckled them into place. He had packed a lunch inside a flour sack, wrapped it in his slicker and he tied that onto the back of his saddle, pulling the leather saddle strings tight in a square knot so that it would be easy to work them free later. With little ceremony for an activity that he had performed thousands of times since his youth, he led his horse out of the barn, stepped into the “on side” stirrup and swung his leg up over the saddle. His horse started out as soon as he felt AJ settle into the seat. After a half a dozen steps, the sorrel gelding broke into an easy trot, blowing the remnants of a little bit of hay dust from his nostrils in something of a nervous manner, indicating that he was eager to be at his job.

 There was a big difference between a working horse and a pet, which is what AJ called those which people kept for pleasure riding. In his opinion, one that had been formed by four generations of men who spent their entire lives working in the saddle, an idle horse was dangerous. Horses needed to be busy and have something to do, otherwise, in the words of his granddad, “They’ll stand around and think of ways to hurt you.” It was a lesson that was true enough and AJ tried to pass along that wisdom to people who asked him to train some bad habit out of their horses. He worked some of their horses during the winter and spring when he wasn’t riding for the Lost Lakes Stock Growers Association during the summer and fall.

 Things had become increasingly difficult dealing with the government when it came to managing summer grazing permits on federal lands. Because of pressure from environmental organizations and animal rights activists, the cattle had to constantly be pushed up out of the “agrarian areas” and onto the slopes. “Agrarian areas” was a fancy term used to try to impress the ranchers, many of which had college degrees, with a high-sounding word that basically meant the richer bottom land that was near a stream or creek. That precious land was supposed to be reserved for the elk and moose. It was a ridiculous idea. Elk and moose did not produce meat to put on the tables of families all across the U.S. and the world. The other part that was even more ridiculous was that the government and those making the demands knew less about how to conserve and care for the land that did the ranchers who had developed and nurtured its resources for nearly a hundred and fifty years. Never the less, AJ spent his summers in the saddle moving the cattle around and making sure that the sick ones were doctored.

 As he road out of the ranch yard of the old homestead he was taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the early morning. The sun was just beginning to break over the Eastern ridge of the valley as he turned to follow the two deep ruts of what served as a road in the Western Montana Rocky Mountains. He could smell the sweet, savory scent of the sage covered with dew and the fragrance of pine and fur trees that lined the ridges on both sides of the valley. He heard the birds singing and chirping and a couple of coyotes in an early-morning chorus before returning to their dens after a night of hunting.

As the light increased he saw the numerous wild flowers, in every variety of color imaginable, sprinkled over the grassy bottoms which were in a constant battle over the advance of moisture, which was beneath the surface of the soil, with the sage brush. The invasion of the grey sage brush was held back by the grass in a ragged line of defense all along the bottom of the sub-alpine valley. Ahead, in the distance loomed one of the many peaks of this stretch of the Rocky Mountains. It thrust its bald face up over the jagged ridges which were covered in the darker green of the lodge pole pine, which grew thick and tall, but did not develop the girth of the Ponderosa, which was usually found lower down. The lodge pole pine had gotten its name because it was used for tee-pees, or lodges, by the Nez Perce and other nomadic tribes, which had used this area as their hunting grounds for centuries until they were driven off of it and put onto reservations.

 AJ rode along taking in the usual sights which were a regular part of his daily routine. He and Sam, his Queensland Blue Heeler, which trotted along beside and slightly behind him, were greeted by all of the normal morning sights and sound just as a man from the city was greeted in the coffee shop every morning, but AJ stopped when he saw something else that baffled him. There were tire tracks in the deep ruts of the road. “I wonder who came along here?” he asked aloud. It wasn’t uncommon for him to talk to Sam and Champ, his sorrel gelding, as he went along during the day. They or another horse from his cavy, provided all of his company and companionship as he went about his work alone. He hadn’t seen the tracks the night before, because he had ridden into the old homestead using the ridge, trail which came off of the ridge and into the ranch yard from the other side of the creek opposite the side where the road wandered along the edge of the slope through the sage.

 He examined the tracks for a moment. “By heaven, Sam, those are car tracks,” he said. “They aint big enough to be a jeep or a pickup. Who in hell would bring a car up here?” He touched his spurs to Champ to start him along again. The action was more of a signal than it was any form of prodding. Champ was well trained and the movement of AJ’s legs was the actual signal. There was barely even a brushing of his fur from the touch of the spurs. The three of them continued along the road at a steady trot and soon came around a bend and up over a small rise where they caught their first glimpse of the sun reflecting off of the cherry-red paint of a car sitting cross-ways in the road about a quarter of a mile ahead. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

 Sam saw the car and dashed ahead in his curiosity. He sniffed around, raised his leg to mark his territory on each of the tires and looked up at each of the windows expecting to see whomever it was that occupied the car. Most dogs would have barked at the strange sight in the middle of their yard, to Sam the entire range was his yard, but he was a quiet type which did not easily get excited and rarely barked at anything. His curiosity finally overcame him just as Champ and AJ were within a few lengths of the car. He jumped up and placed his from paws on the ledge of driver’s side where the bottom of the window disappeared into the door. When he did that, all hell broke loose.

 As AJ and Champ were approaching the car, Champ was a little bit spooked by the strange object in the road. He had stiffened and was snorting and blowing at the car as they approached it. He was beginning to calm down and get his nerves under control when Sam jumped up onto the car and the shrill whistle of the car alarm was set off. Champ leaped in the air to escape the now screaming object which had quickly turned from irritating, to unbearably dangerous. He spun along with the leap and plunged into the sage brush at the side of the road. Following his instincts, he began to buck and kick. The plunging into the brush spooked a flock of a half a dozen grouse which were pecking at the small berries that were scattered on the ground beneath. When they flew up, the start that had already set Champ into a wild fit, made him dodge sharply away, nearly unseating AJ, who barely recovered his balance in the saddle before the next wild leap of the gelding.

 The car continued to whistle, which set Sam to howling as he scrambled to a safe distance away from the car to sit and watch the entire proceedings while hidden behind a large clump of sage. The plunging horse came down a little to close to Sam and he yelped and scrambled to a safer place further down the road away from the impromptu rodeo, which had started near the red car turned sideways in the road.