A Tenderfoot Bride: Tales from an Old Ranch

by Clarice E. Richards

The day that the Army officers were to arrive, as Owen was getting ready to drive over to the station to meet them, I remarked casually that I hoped nothing would happen to upset their peace of mind, as it was very important that the honorable representatives of the Government be kept in a good humor.

The house was still in an unsettled condition but for the time being it had been brought into sufficient order to insure their comfort. The larder was stocked with the best the markets afforded and the horses were being “gentled” daily.

When guests came on the train our dinner might be served at any hour up to ten o’clock at night for after their arrival at the station there was the sixteen mile drive to the ranch—and anything might happen. It was late that particular night when I heard them at the meadow gate. I couldn’t understand why they stopped so long. There were sounds of confusion and as they entered the house one of the officers held up a finger dripping with blood, the Colonel’s hat was awry, his clothes covered with mud, and they all appeared agitated and excited. I could not imagine what had happened. Then they all began to tell me at once.

Upon reaching the meadow gate the Lieutenant who acted as bookkeeper jumped out to open it but failed to return after they had driven through. Upon investigation they found he had caught his finger between the wire loop and the post and was held fast. They extricated him from his dilemma and drove on. It was very dark and upon reaching the house as the august Colonel descended from the wagon, he tripped over a pile of stones lying near the gate, fell down and just escaped breaking his neck. I tried to smile and yet be sympathetic—but I had a vision of Owen with “one hundred fifty horses of a dark bay color” on his hands if the good humor of the officers was not restored before morning.

They were shown to their rooms and I prayed nothing would happen to the Veterinarian, who had so far remained intact.

The Colonel and the Lieutenant had come down stairs. We were all in the library waiting for the Doctor before going in to dinner, when we heard a fearful crash. We rushed into the hall to see the poor man sitting on the steps holding both hands to his head. He was very tall and, coming down the narrow winding stairs, had struck his head on an overhanging projection which he had failed to observe. His injury was more uncomfortable than serious and had quite a cheering effect on his two companions, who began to chaff him about “taking off an inch or two” so by the time dinner was over they were all in high spirits.

The following morning at nine the inspection began. Each horse was brought out, looked over and measured to see that he came up to the stipulated number of “hands”. If he passed he was immediately ridden.

Each of the men rode the horses he had broken. First the horse was walked up and down between the blacksmith-shop and the corral, then trotted and then run, after which his lungs and breathing were tested and if satisfactory he was accepted.

Every time a man got on to ride, I was conscious of a feeling of great uncertainty. The horses looked quiet enough and were fairly gentle, but Owen and I knew that the slightest variation in the manner of mounting or “touching them up” might cause them to go through a few movements not required by the United States Government.

As it was, all those we had expected to buck behaved like lambs, while those which had been considered fairly well broken did everything from bucking to snorting and blowing foam all over the Veterinarian when he attempted to examine their teeth and test their lungs.