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Frederic Remington. Pony Tracks
Pony Tracks
Table of Contents
ILLUSTRATIONS
CHASING A MAJOR-GENERAL
LIEUTENANT CASEY’S LAST SCOUT. ON THE HOSTILE FLANKS WITH THE CHIS-CHIS-CHASH
THE SIOUX OUTBREAK IN SOUTH DAKOTA
AN OUTPOST OF CIVILIZATION
A RODEO AT LOS OJOS
IN THE SIERRA MADRE WITH THE PUNCHERS
BLACK WATER AND SHALLOWS
COACHING IN CHIHUAHUA
STUBBLE AND SLOUGH IN DAKOTA
POLICING THE YELLOWSTONE
A MODEL SQUADRON
THE AFFAIR OF THE —TH OF JULY
THE COLONEL OF THE FIRST CYCLE INFANTRY
A MERRY CHRISTMAS IN A SIBLEY TEPEE
BEAR-CHASING IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS
Отрывок из книги
Frederic Remington
Published by Good Press, 2021
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By a happy combination I was able to add greatly to my equestrian knowledge on this ride. It happened in this way; but I must explain. Some years ago I had occasion to ride a stock saddle (the cowboy article), and with all the positiveness of immature years, I held all other trees and all other methods of riding in a magnificent contempt. Later on I had to be convinced that a great many young cavalry officers in our service were the most daring and perfect riders, and that the McClelland saddle was the proper thing. I even elaborated a theory in explanation of all this, which I had duly shattered for me when I came East and frequented a New York riding-academy, where a smiling professor of the art assured me that cowboys and soldiers were the worst possible riders. Indeed, the sneers of the polite European were so superlative that I dared not even doubt his statements. Of course I never quite understood how my old champions of the cattle range and the war trail could pick things off the ground while in full career, or ride like mad over the cut banks and bowlders, if they were such desperately bad riders; and I never was able to completely understand
why my European master could hardly turn in his saddle without tumbling off. But still he reduced me to submission, and I ceased even to doubt. I changed my style of riding, in deference to a public sentiment, and got my legs tucked up under my chin, and learned to loose my seat at every alternate footfall, and in time acquired a balance which was as secure as a pumpkin on the side of a barrel. Thus equipped with all this knowledge and my own saddle, I went out to the Northwest with the purpose of introducing a little revolution in cavalry riding. Things went swimmingly for a time. The interpreters and scouts watched my riding with mingled pity and scorn, but I knew they were unenlightened, and in no way to be regarded seriously. The general was duly amused by my teetering, and suggested to the smiling escort officers that “he has lived so long abroad, you know,” etc., all of which I did not mind, for my faith in the eternal art of the thing was complete. Now to tell how I discovered that I was riding a seat which was no seat at all, and was only retained by a series of happy accidents, I will continue. While at the head of the column, where I could see the deep ruts in the road and the bowlders, and could dodge the prairie-dog holes, it was simple enough; but my horse being a very clumsy galloper, and beginning to blow under the pace, I began to pull up, calculating to get a sharp trot, and overhaul the column when it slowed down. The column of soldiers dashed by, and the great cloud of dust rose up behind them which always follows a herd of animals in the West. Being no longer able to see, the only thing to do under the circumstances was to give my horse his head, and resign myself to the chances of a gopher hole, if it was foreordained that my horse should find one. True to his instincts, my old cavalry horse plunged into the ranks. You cannot keep a troop horse out of the ranks. They know their place, and seek it with the exactitude of water. If the cavalry tactics are ever changed, the present race of horses will have to be sold, because, while you can teach a horse anything, you cannot unteach him.
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