The Cruise of a Schooner

by Albert W. Harris

THE COOK

We soon had another horse trade under way, however, which was quite a ludicrous affair. It came about in this way. We were headed for Hudson and that night we camped near the South Platte River, six miles from Denver, at the State Fish Hatchery. It was late when we pulled in there and when Norman, who was to be the cook, came to look for his stove he couldn’t find it. Some one had stolen it out of the wagon at Denver.

While the boys were getting supper under difficulties, I made the acquaintance of two urchins and, as they lived near and had a woodpile, I got them to bring us some wood. Later I met their father and we got to talking horse. He said he had a cowpony that he had bought of a “puncher” who was through there with a bunch of cattle, and he was trying to make a farm horse of him. He had only a little patch of land and light work, so I thought it would be a good place for Kate and suggested he trade me the saddle pony for her. Incidentally he could pay me twenty-five dollars “to boot.” We finally compromised on fifteen dollars and were to look the animals over in daylight before making the transfer.

Next morning, just as I was hitching up, he came over and said he would take the mare, and asked me if the pony suited me. He told me he had him fairly well broken to drive and thought I would have no trouble working him if necessary, but that he had been a saddle pony so long he did not take to harness willingly. “We won’t worry about that,” I said, “I just want him for the boys to ride and I want Kate to have good care. I’ll hitch him up and make him work if I need him. First, however, I’ll have Pete go over and ride him.” So calling Pete, I said, “Get your saddle and bridle and go over and catch that pony and ride him over here. If you like him, we will trade.”

THE HOSTLER

The man and I waited for some time for him to come back. Finally when he did come he was on foot, and said he couldn’t catch the pony. So we all went over and the man caught him. I thought the pony was a bit “wild eyed,” but said nothing. It took two of us to put the saddle and bridle on and then, just as Pete started to get on, I had a “hunch” and took the bridle away from him and said, “I’ll ride him myself first.” I threw the bridle over his head and put my foot in the stirrup, but something I had learned years before prevented me from getting on. I looked that pony in the face again and was sure I was right, but just to prove it I put my foot in the stirrup again, took hold of the pommel of the saddle, then put my weight on his back. That was enough. He broke loose and did a stunt of high and lofty bucking that would do credit to any bronco I had ever busted, with myself the centre of operations, and when I could take my eyes off of him long enough to look about I could see that both the boys were laughing, and when the pony finally started jumping stiff-legged toward his owner, with his head down and bawling, they rolled over in the grass and just kicked. The man ran for his life and got behind a tree; the pony, running into a barbed wire fence, stopped, and the circus was over.

Picking up my hat that had come off in my jumping about to keep out of the pony’s way, I said, “If you will take off that saddle and bridle we will be going.” And looking back as we drove away we saw the man standing where we had left him, still looking at the pony. He had never ridden a horse in his life probably and was as surprised as any one at his antics.

We drove to Barr Lake and about four miles beyond for lunch. The country was flat, the roads sandy, and we were tangled up a bit as to direction, but finally arrived at Hudson about 6:30 P. M., and putting the horses in the livery barn went to the hotel. It looked very much like rain and here I thought we would rest a while.