Читать книгу Dutch Clarke - The Early Years - Brian Ratty - Страница 8

The way we were traveling turned better as my little caravan moved up a well-traveled game trail. It was now early afternoon, and, to my surprise, the weather was still improving. The bright sun felt warm on my body as I rode through the few forest clearings. Then, just starting up a small, windy hill, I turned to the rear to make sure the mules were in a correct path behind me. As I turned to the front again, a low, thick fir branch hit me squarely on the forehead.

The force of the blow rolled me off my horse and hard onto the ground. The crash knocked me out for a second, and I struggled to get my wits about me again. Slowly opening my eyes, I could see Gus clearly, some 50 feet up the trail. Blaze was standing in front of me with his head down, turning back looking at me, his reins hanging on the floor of the forest.

Both Gus and Blaze had puzzled looks of their faces. Blaze seemed to be saying, "You pointed the way, pal." As I got slowly to my feet, both the mules started to bray as if they were laughing at me. Embarrassed, I brushed myself off with hands and hat, dust rising into the still air. I had to remember that my head was taller in the saddle than Blaze’s head on his neck. Basic horsemanship. As I mounted Blaze once again, I knew that, while my forehead would have a lump, the only real damage had been to my pride. This event only proved what I already knew: I was no cowboy.