Guy Harris, the Runaway

by Harry Castlemon

Guy’s fears were by no means set at rest by this assurance, but he raised no further objections to the horse, and having satisfied his appetite, he arose from his chair and begun preparations for his journey, in which he was assisted by the ranchman. His poncho and blanket were rolled up and strapped behind his saddle; the game-bag containing his dinner was suspended from the pommel; his spurs were adjusted; the long rawhide, which was intended as a persuader for the clay-bank, was tied to his wrist by a thong of buckskin; and when Guy, after the display of a great deal of awkwardness, had managed to seat himself in the saddle, the farmer handed him his rifle and spoke to the mare, which set off at a rapid walk, the buck-jumper following quietly at her heels.

Guy ought to have been supremely happy now, for he was in the very situation he had so often dreamed of and longed for. He had a “good horse under him,” a “trusty rifle on his shoulder,” and everything that was necessary to set him up in business as a hunter. But still things were not just to his liking—there were always some drawbacks.

In the first place horseback-riding was by no means the easy, agreeable way of getting over the ground that he had imagined it to be, particularly to one who was entirely unaccustomed to it and who did not know how to sit in a saddle.

The buck-jumper may have been very fleet, but he was an uncommon hard traveler, especially when he found it necessary to quicken his pace in order to keep up with the fast-walking old clay-bank. On these occasions he exhibited a style of progression peculiarly his own, and which was perfect torture to his rider, who was churned up and down, jerked backward and forward, and jolted from side to side in a way that was quite alarming.

Then, too, the horse showed by the way he sometimes arched his back and looked over his shoulder at Guy that there was plenty of mischief in him still, and every few minutes he would further exhibit it by making a jump to one side or the other, and doing it so quickly that Guy would certainly have been thrown to the ground had he not clung with all his strength to the horn of the saddle. The reason for this was that Guy, forgetting he had spurs on, kept his heels close to the animal’s side in order to secure a firm seat, and thus the rowels were pricking him continually.

Another thing that severely tested his patience and endurance was his rifle. If it weighed twelve pounds when he left the rancho, it weighed a hundred before he had gone a quarter of a mile, judging by the way it pressed into his shoulders and made his arms ache.

Guy felt a good deal of satisfaction in carrying the weapon about with him, for it was the first thing of the kind he had ever owned; but at the end of a mile he wished most heartily that he had left it at the rancho.

At the end of two miles he told himself that if he were ever required to make this journey again, he would leave his horse at home and follow the clay-bank on foot. At the end of three he came to the conclusion that he had mistaken his calling; and by the time he had put four miles between himself and Mr. Wilson’s rancho, he wished from the bottom of his heart that he was back on board the Santa Maria.

At last, when Guy could endure it no longer, he set himself at work to find some way to alleviate his misery. He saw hanging from the horn of his saddle a lariat with which the thoughtful ranchman had provided him, so that he might stake out his horse when he went into camp. With this he formed a sling for his rifle, and tied the weapon securely to his saddle. This eased his arms and shoulders, and to relieve the rest of his tired muscles he jumped down and walked a mile or two; and so, by alternate riding and walking, finally reached Deer Run, where he was to stop and rest while the clay-bank was “picking about.”

Following the instructions of his employer, he staked out his own horse, leaving the mare to do as she pleased, and, too tired to eat or do anything else with comfort, threw himself on the grass under the spreading branches of a live oak, and heartily wished himself among civilized people once more. He thought of the antelope which the ranchman had told him he would here find in abundance, but was much too dispirited to make any effort to secure one. Besides, his rifle was empty, and he did not know how to load it.