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Date Posted: 19:24:24 12/16/09 Wed
Author: Larn
Subject: Action here!
In reply to: Larn 's message, "::Tap, tap::...is the microphone on?" on 19:18:34 12/16/09 Wed

It was a particularly lovely morning that greeted me on the day after Merrit’s birthday, made all the sweeter by the memorabilia left over in Salt Creek from the night before. I recalled the life-sized cardboard cutout of Roy Rogers, but couldn’t for the life of me remember who it was who stapled a pair of tuxedo pants and taped a martini glass to his hand in place of his six shooter. I do remember the whole thing was pretty hilarious.

Shaking off the pervious night with a half-strength cup of Megs’s coffee and an apple, I made it to the corral just as Andy was exiting the corral with his horse already bridled. He was rubbing his left arm gently, rotating it like it was aching him.

“Damned shoulder acts up now and then,” he said as he passed by me, Herbert following placidly behind. “Ain’t even a useful thing, neither. Don’t even predict the rain.”

Grinning, I grabbed my bridle and went to catch Timber, sweet talking him from his place by the water trough with the core of my apple.

Twenty minutes later, we were headed down the north run towards Primrose pasture. Since it was no longer being used as the sheep field, according to Andy, Mike had decided to give the Castle Rock pasture a break and let the horses graze what close cropped grass they could before moving the llamas into it permanently.

The field was basically a giant mile and a half by mile square, fenced in with the ever present barbed wire and posts. Mostly flat for the first half, it began a slow rise up toward the mountains, rising steeper on the west side. The hill was cut by a stream on the west side, the Silver Fork, forming a slight canyon around the rushing creek. It only had one crossing, near the front fence, so whoever got the far west fence had a relatively easy time of it, as many horses chose the easier grazing of the flat lands rather than brave the pine-scrubbed hills.

Mike gave us quick instructions for the wrangle.

“I want Emma and Andy to ride up both sides of Silver Fork. Emma, you take the fence side.” I celebrated slightly with myself. “Clint, Alan, you take middle, being careful not to get ahead of Andy, as most of his will come east to you rather than take the rougher part along the creek. Kevin and I will take the far east ridge. It’s one of the smaller pastures, so it shouldn’t take us too long.”

We reached the gate to the pasture and Alan hopped off to open it. At the sight of the riders, many of the horses started a slow, ambling walk for the gate, hoping to get a place in the corral near the water trough. A few, including Big Joe and Bacon, the little shetland pony, took off at a gallop and disappeared behind a low hill on the other side of Silver Fork. Mike glanced at me.

“I saw them,” I said, frowning.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

The group split up, Andy following me to the shallow creek crossing. He tipped his hat at me in silent farewell as I splashed across, grateful I was on a tall horse and the water was relatively low. It would suck to start out the day with wet boots.

I made my way up the west side of the creek at a brisk trot, breaking into a slow canter now and then when going down into a dip or cresting a ridge. I kept my eye on Andy and the others when I could, trying my best to stay even with them. I didn’t expect to see many horses, but I knew Big Joe and Bacon had to be around somewhere.

So I was a bit perplexed when I reached the back fence and saw neither hide nor hair of any horses, let along a big draft horse or a scrappy little pony. The fence was high enough to let me see almost the entire back line. Clint and Alan were just now reaching the back fence, but Kevin and Mike had already started back. Andy was waiting for me. He gave me a wave, then reined his horse around and began pushing a small group of horses towards the corral. I turned myself, scanning the land before me and trying to figure out where a hulking beast like Big Joe could hide. Ah, there you are, I thought, spotting a dense grove on the other side of a hill I had passed. I could see Bacon’s rump sticking out from under a pine tree. Gotcha.

I snapped my reins against my saddle and hollered, startling Bacon forward into the trees. I could hear him crash through the undergrowth and gallop free on the other side, letting out a high-pitched whinny of what sounded like pony outrage.

Suddenly, I heard a crashing sound from behind me. I reined Timber to a hard stop and twisted around in my saddle just in time to see Big Joe come tearing out from behind a giant blackberry bush, calling to Bacon. He running downhill, and on a collision course with either Timber and me or the pine grove, which had barely let Bacon through. There was no way Big Joe would fit, nor was there anywhere for me to go with Timber.

I did the only thing I could think of. I screamed and threw up my hands, hoping the big draft horse could be frightened into stopping. Instead, I scared the shit out of my own mount and Timber bolted forward, slamming me into a tree branch. I felt a grinding stab through my shirt and into my left arm, just above my elbow. Thinking I was about to get drug through a pine tree cheese grater, I laid back flat against Timber’s rump and prayed the knot I had tied in my reins stayed tight. I wondered briefly if I should try rolling off rather than being scraped off, but before I could make a decision, we were through the pine grove and out the other side, the end of my reins still miraculously in my hand. I sat up, pulling Timber to a stop at the same time. The stinging pains on my stomach made me wince, but the tiny scrapes were nothing compared to what could have happened.

Expecting to see Big Joe come crashing after me, I almost didn’t notice Andy on the other ridge, and probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t seen his lasso from the corner of my eye. And even then, I didn’t believe what I saw.

Rather than crash into the trees, Big Joe had tried to jump across Silver Fork. It looked like he had almost made it, the west side being much higher than the east, but the east bank was severely eroded and the horse was having a hard time getting his footing. That’s when Andy had let his rope fly. As soon as it settled around the horse’s neck, he wrapped the end around his saddle horn and sent Herbert sliding back, as if dragging a cow, hopefully to give the draft horse enough help to make it up the embankment.

I held my breath, watching Big Joe’s feet finally catch on the slope and hold. Suddenly, he was on solid ground and shaking his big mane. Andy walked Herbert forward, giving the big horse slack so he could breath. Feeling the pressure release, Big Joe took off, galloping hard down towards the front fence, calling out to Bacon as he went.

Andy never even had a chance to unwind the rope from his saddle horn before the draft horse hit the end. Herbert, not braced for such a blow, was pulled from his feet and came smashing down on top of Andy. Big Joe, too, went crashing down, his head jerked painfully back, his front feet flying and his rump spinning around almost like a carousel horse.

Quite suddenly, everything was silent, so I screamed.

I kicked my heels into Timber, thinking to send him flying over the stream like Big Joe but at the last moment, sense caught up with me and I turned to gallop down towards the crossing. I kept screaming, though, and at some point I began alternating between screeching first Andy’s then Mike’s name.

I finally hit the crossing, Timber practically leaping across instead of slogging through. I reined a hard left and galloped back up along the creek, scattering the oncoming groups of horses, heedless of where the went. I could only thing of Andy.

I looked up and across the field, watched as Mike crested the hill Andy had fallen from. So they had seen what had happened. Clint was on the ground, his horse already trotting towards me, forgotten. Mike jumped from Thursday, took three steps, then turned to me and starting waving, yelling for me to go get help.

I hauled back on the reins, pulling Timber to a sliding stop. The magnificent horse did a perfect roll back and galloped as fast as he could for the ranch, feeling the desperation in my heart, knowing something was wrong if not what exactly it was.

Faster, and faster, his strides lengthening when we hit the flat lands. We were all but flying. We hit the north run and had to do some dodging around a few horses, many of whom tried to outrun us and failed. Looking forward, I saw Caroline standing on the fence, hand shielding her eyes as she tried to see what was going on in the pasture.

“Open the main gate!” I screamed, not slowing for a moment. “Do it now!”

She jumped off the fence and ran over to the gate, throwing it open in time for me to shoot through it and out into the barn yard.

“Radio the office!” I shouted over my shoulder. “We need an ambulance!”

Slowing slightly around a corner, I came face to face with the first person I needed.

“Nick!” I found him stocking up the wood card. He was mid throw when we came sliding to a stop.

“Take the gator, the flatbed. Go to Primrose pasture. Andy’s been hurt, you’ll see where when you get there. It’s real bad, take the emergency kit.”

“Go get Storie,” he said, running for the keys to the ATV flatbed. “She’s on rounds!”

Slowing to a trot when we hit the gravel path, I called out Storie’s name, drawing the curious stares of several guests, many pointing at me like they’d never seen a woman on a horse before.

Storie appeared on the porch of one of the cabins, apron on, scrub brush in her hand. She bit off a scathing comment when she saw the look on my face. I reached a hand down for her.

“Come on up. You’re needed.”

Storie tossed down her scrubber and hauled up behind me. The radio on her hip cracked but I ignored it, intent on getting back to Nick with help.
Nick came around the saddle barn just as we crested the hill. Storie hit the ground running, and Nick slowed down just enough to let her hop on before revving up the motor and taking off at top speed towards Primrose pasture.

Timber stumbled to a stop just outside the corral, his sides heaving. Everything was quiet again, but I still felt like screaming. The pain in my arm and on my torso began to throb, so I gingerly leaned forward and slid my leg over to dismount. The ground felt unsteady under my feet and I had to hold on to my stirrup to keep from falling.

“What happened? Who was it?” Caroline asked, taking Timber’s reins.

“Andy. He got...pulled,” I said, unable to think of a better word.

“Pulled? Like pulled off? No, never mind. I’ll take care of this guy,” she said, patting my horse’s sweaty neck. “You go change your shirt. Oh my god, you’re bleeding. Kevin! Grab the med kit from Mike’s, ok?”

I glanced down and suddenly, the stinging sensations on my stomach and chest made sense. My shirt was torn to shreds, held together in only a few places, and not many of them conducive to modesty. Luckily, my sports bra had been tight enough to my skin to avoid ripping, but it, too was much worse for wear. Red welts covered my stomach and part of my chest. The wound on my arm was bleeding pretty freely, and most likely accounted for my wooziness as much as the gallop had. Blood was spattered down my jeans, and, I noticed with an odd sort of detachment, across Timber’s flank. I hoped it was my blood. I didn’t want him to be hurt, too.

Kevin arrived and took me gently by the arm and sat me down on one of the guest benches while Caroline lead Timber away. I didn’t look when they brought Andy down on the gator, Storie hunched over him, Mike following behind on Thursday. I didn’t flinch when the gunshots echoed through the valley, two shots for two horses, injured beyond saving.

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Replies:

[> [> Good stuff! -- Debi, 13:16:46 12/17/09 Thu

>It was a particularly lovely morning that greeted me
>on the day after Merrit’s birthday, made all the
>sweeter by the memorabilia left over in Salt Creek
>from the night before. I recalled the life-sized
>cardboard cutout of Roy Rogers, but couldn’t for the
>life of me remember who it was who stapled a pair of
>tuxedo pants and taped a martini glass to his hand in
>place of his six shooter. I do remember the whole
>thing was pretty hilarious.

Good intro! I like the visuals, and it sounds like everyone got pretty soused.
>
>Shaking off the pervious night with a half-strength
>cup of Megs’s Megs's? Should it be just "Meg's"? coffee and an apple, I made it to the
>corral just as Andy was exiting the corral Corral used twice in the same sentance with his
>horse already bridled. He was rubbing his left arm
>gently, rotating it like it was aching him.
>
>“Damned shoulder acts up now and then,” he said as he
>passed by me, Herbert following placidly behind.
>“Ain’t even a useful thing, neither. Don’t even
>predict the rain.”
>
>Grinning, I grabbed my bridle and went to catch
>Timber, sweet talking him from his place by the water
>trough with the core of my apple.

BTDT, many a time. No matter how much some horses like to get out and about, they still demand some kind of tribute in order to cooperate.
>
>Twenty minutes later, we were headed down the north
>run towards Primrose pasture. Since it was no longer
>being used as the sheep field, according to Andy, Mike
>had decided to give the Castle Rock pasture a break
>and let the horses graze what close cropped grass they
>could before moving the llamas into it permanently.
>
>The field was basically a giant mile and a half by
>mile square, fenced in with the ever present barbed
>wire and posts. Mostly flat for the first half, it
>began a slow rise up toward the mountains, rising
>steeper on the west side. The hill was cut by a
>stream on the west side, the Silver Fork, forming a
>slight canyon around the rushing creek. It only had
>one crossing, near the front fence, so whoever got the
>far west fence had a relatively easy time of it,A little unclear what you're referring to, here, maybe "Whoever got assigned the far west fence"? as
>many horses chose the easier grazing of the flat lands
>rather than brave the pine-scrubbed hills.
>
>Mike gave us quick instructions for the wrangle.
>
>“I want Emma and Andy to ride up both sides of Silver
>Fork. Emma, you take the fence side.” I celebrated
>slightly with myself. “Clint, Alan, you take middle,
>being careful not to get ahead of Andy, as most of his
>will come east to you rather than take the rougher
>part along the creek. Kevin and I will take the far
>east ridge. It’s one of the smaller pastures, so it
>shouldn’t take us too long.”
>
>We reached the gate to the pasture and Alan hopped off
>to open it. At the sight of the riders, many of the
>horses started a slow, ambling walk for the gate,
>hoping to get a place in the corral near the water
>trough. A few, including Big Joe and Bacon, the
>little shetland pony, took off at a gallop and
>disappeared behind a low hill on the other side of
>Silver Fork. Mike glanced at me.
>
>“I saw them,” I said, frowning.
>
>“Let’s get to it, then.”
>
>The group split up, Andy following me to the shallow
>creek crossing. He tipped his hat at me in silent
>farewell as I splashed across, grateful I was on a
>tall horse and the water was relatively low. It would
>suck to start out the day with wet boots.
>
>I made my way up the west side of the creek at a brisk
>trot, breaking into a slow canter now and then when
>going down into a dip or cresting a ridge. I kept my
>eye on Andy and the others when I could, trying my
>best to stay even with them. I didn’t expect to see
>many horses, but I knew Big Joe and Bacon had to be
>around somewhere.
>
>So I was a bit perplexed when I reached the back fence
>and saw neither hide nor hair of any horses, let along "alone"?
>a big draft horse or a scrappy little pony. The fence
>was high enough to let me see almost the entire back
>line. Clint and Alan were just now reaching the back
>fence, but Kevin and Mike had already started back.
>Andy was waiting for me. He gave me a wave, then
>reined his horse around and began pushing a small
>group of horses towards the corral. I turned myself,
>scanning the land before me and trying to figure out
>where a hulking beast like Big Joe could hide. Ah,
>there you are, I thought, spotting a dense grove on
>the other side of a hill I had passed. I could see
>Bacon’s rump sticking out from under a pine tree.
>Gotcha.
>
>I snapped my reins against my saddle and hollered,
>startling Bacon forward into the trees. I could hear
>him crash through the undergrowth and gallop free on
>the other side, letting out a high-pitched whinny of
>what sounded like pony outrage. Little bastards... Ponies are concentrated evil ;-)
>
>Suddenly, I heard a crashing sound from behind me. I
>reined Timber to a hard stop and twisted around in my
>saddle just in time to see Big Joe come tearing out
>from behind a giant blackberry bush, Blackberries in Florida are low-growing briars. Are there really big bushes out West? Cool... calling to Bacon.
> He running downhill, and on a collision course with
>either Timber and me or the pine grove, which had
>barely let Bacon through. There was no way Big Joe
>would fit, nor was there anywhere for me to go with
>Timber.
>
>I did the only thing I could think of. I screamed and
>threw up my hands, hoping the big draft horse could be
>frightened into stopping. Instead, I scared the shit
>out of my own mount and Timber bolted forward,
>slamming me into a tree branch. I felt a grinding
>stab through my shirt and into my left arm, just above
>my elbow. Thinking I was about to get drug through a
>pine tree cheese grater, I laid back flat against
>Timber’s rump and prayed the knot I had tied in my
>reins stayed tight. I wondered briefly if I should try
>rolling off rather than being scraped off, but before
>I could make a decision, we were through the pine
>grove and out the other side, the end of my reins
>still miraculously in my hand. I sat up, pulling
>Timber to a stop at the same time. The stinging pains
>on my stomach I know a lot of people use 'stomach' when they mean the exterior of their abdomen, but it bugs me. Hazard of being in a medical field, I guess, but to me, a stomach is the actual organ that holds the food you eat. In my mind, 'belly' sounds better. Feel free to ignore me;-) made me wince, but the tiny scrapes were
>nothing compared to what could have happened.
>
>Expecting to see Big Joe come crashing after me, I
>almost didn’t notice Andy on the other ridge, and
>probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t seen his lasso from
>the corner of my eye. And even then, I didn’t believe
>what I saw.
>
>Rather than crash into the trees, Big Joe had tried to
>jump across Silver Fork. It looked like he had almost
>made it, the west side being much higher than the
>east, but the east bank was severely eroded and the
>horse was having a hard time getting his footing.
>That’s when Andy had let his rope fly. As soon as it
>settled around the horse’s neck, he wrapped the end
>around his saddle horn and sent Herbert sliding back,
>as if dragging a cow, hopefully to give the draft
>horse enough help to make it up the embankment.
>
>I held my breath, watching Big Joe’s feet finally
>catch on the slope and hold. Suddenly, he was on
>solid ground and shaking his big mane. Andy walked
>Herbert forward, giving the big horse slack so he
>could breath. "breathe" Feeling the pressure release, Big Joe
>took off, galloping hard down towards the front
>fence, calling out to Bacon as he went.
>
>Andy never even I think the sentance has more impact (pardon the pun) if you drop 'even' had a chance to unwind the rope from
>his saddle horn before the draft horse hit the end.
>Herbert, not braced for such a blow, was pulled from
>his feet and came smashing down on top of Andy. Big
>Joe, too, went crashing down, his head jerked
>painfully back, his front feet flying and his rump
>spinning around almost like a carousel horse.
>
>Quite suddenly, everything was silent, so I screamed.
>
>I kicked my heels into Timber, thinking to send him
>flying over the stream like Big Joe but at the last
>moment, sense caught up with me and I turned to gallop
>down towards the crossing. I kept screaming, though,
>and at some point I began alternating between
>screeching first Andy’s then Mike’s name.
>
>I finally hit the crossing, Timber practically leaping
>across instead of slogging through. I reined a hard
>left and galloped back up along the creek, scattering
>the oncoming groups of horses, heedless of where the
>went. I could only thing 'think' of Andy.
>
>I looked up and across the field, watched as Mike
>crested the hill Andy had fallen from. So they had
>seen what had happened. Clint was on the ground, his
>horse already trotting towards me, forgotten. Mike
>jumped from Thursday, Is Thursday his horse's name, or are you indicating how far away he started his jump? took three steps, then turned to
>me and starting waving, yelling for me to go get help.
>
>I hauled back on the reins, pulling Timber to a
>sliding stop. The magnificent horse did a perfect
>roll back Show us what a roll back is. They are impressive.;-) and galloped as fast as he could for the
>ranch, feeling the desperation in my heart, knowing
>something was wrong if not what exactly it was.
>
>Faster, and faster, his strides lengthening when we
>hit the flat lands. We were all but flying. We hit
>the north run and had to do some dodging around a few
>horses, many of whom tried to outrun us and failed.
>Looking forward, I saw Caroline standing on the fence,
>hand shielding her eyes as she tried to see what was
>going on in the pasture.
>
>“Open the main gate!” I screamed, not slowing for a
>moment. “Do it now!”
>
>She jumped off the fence and ran over to the gate,
>throwing it open in time for me to shoot through it
>and out into the barn yard.
>
>“Radio the office!” I shouted over my shoulder. “We
>need an ambulance!”
>
>Slowing slightly around a corner, I came face to face
>with the first person I needed.
>
>“Nick!” I found him stocking up the wood card.cart, maybe? He was
>mid throw when we came sliding to a stop.
>
>“Take the gator, the flatbed. Go to Primrose pasture.
> Andy’s been hurt, you’ll see where when you get
>there. It’s real bad, take the emergency kit.”
>
>“Go get Storie,” he said, running for the keys to the
>ATV flatbed. “She’s on rounds!”
>
>Slowing to a trot when we hit the gravel path, I
>called out Storie’s name, drawing the curious stares
>of several guests, many pointing at me like they’d
>never seen a woman on a horse before.
>
>Storie appeared on the porch of one of the cabins,
>apron on, scrub brush in her hand. She bit off a
>scathing comment when she saw the look on my face. I
>reached a hand down for her.
>
>“Come on up. You’re needed.”
>
>Storie tossed down her scrubber and hauled up behind
>me. The radio on her hip cracked but I ignored it,
>intent on getting back to Nick with help.
>Nick came around the saddle barn just as we crested
>the hill. Storie hit the ground running, and Nick
>slowed down just enough to let her hop on before
>revving up the motor and taking off at top speed
>towards Primrose pasture.
>
>Timber stumbled to a stop just outside the corral, his
>sides heaving. Everything was quiet again, but I
>still felt like screaming. The pain in my arm and on
>my torso began to throb, so I gingerly leaned forward
>and slid my leg over to dismount. The ground felt
>unsteady under my feet and I had to hold on to my
>stirrup to keep from falling.
>
>“What happened? Who was it?” Caroline asked, taking
>Timber’s reins.
>
>“Andy. He got...pulled,” I said, unable to think of a
>better word.
>
>“Pulled? Like pulled off? No, never mind. I’ll take
>care of this guy,” she said, patting my horse’s sweaty
>neck. “You go change your shirt. Oh my god, you’re
>bleeding. Kevin! Grab the med kit from Mike’s, ok?”
>
>I glanced down and suddenly, the stinging sensations
>on my stomach and chest made sense. My shirt was torn
>to shreds, held together in only a few places, and not
>many of them conducive to modesty. Luckily, my sports
>bra had been tight enough to my skin to avoid ripping,
>but it, too was much worse for wear. Red welts
>covered my stomach and part of my chest. The wound on
>my arm was bleeding pretty freely, and most likely
>accounted for my wooziness as much as the gallop had.
>Blood was spattered down my jeans, and, I noticed with
>an odd sort of detachment, across Timber’s flank. I
>hoped it was my blood. I didn’t want him to be hurt,
>too.
Love this, the strange detachment you get in the after-adrenaline dump stage. And her concern for Timber is sweet. After a run like that he's a hero.
>
>Kevin arrived and took me gently by the arm and sat me
>down on one of the guest benches while Caroline lead "led"
>Timber away. I didn’t look when they brought Andy
>down on the gator, Storie hunched over him, Mike
>following behind on Thursday. I didn’t flinch when the
>gunshots echoed through the valley, two shots for two
>horses, injured beyond saving.


So sad, but so true.
This is some excellent action and you are one hell of a storyteller. I can see the pasture, the horses, the sun on the creek, it all flows beautifully. I love this story and can't wait for more!
Debi

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[> [> Oh, you betcha it works! >>> -- Page, 19:53:37 12/17/09 Thu

You nailed getting the visuals across! I could literally see the land, see it sloping up, see the grove where the two fugitives tried to hide. Great job!

And the action...OMG. I don't think I breathed once from the time Big Joe bolted until the end. And then I cried a little. Man, oh man, Larn. What a writer you are!

I noticed a couple of typos:
"...a half-strength cup of Megs’s coffee and an apple..."
I forget if her name is Meg or Megs, but even if it's Megs, shouldn't it be Megs'? Those possessive apostrophe thingies always trip me up, so ignore me if I'm wrong.

"He running downhill, and on a collision course ..." He was running, or he ran?

"...giving the big horse slack so he could breath." Breathe.

"..scattering the oncoming groups of horses, heedless of where the went. I could only thing of Andy." They, and Think.

What an awesome job, Larn!

Hugs,
Page

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[> [> ::facepalm:: ...so many grammatical errors...sigh. -- Larn, 05:50:34 01/22/10 Fri

Thanks so much for the eyes, guys. I've been a bit on the short side of time, but your notes are invaluable.

The blackberry bushes are now chokeberry bushes (though the blackberry bush by my old apartment was literally larger than my house, so they can get big enough). Roll backs are explained earlier, when Emma can't get Timber to do one. Thursday is Mike's horse (like the joke? Mike's a dork at heart, I think).

I have no idea what to do with pluralizing dear old Megs. She's been a bit of a challenge in other places, too. Crazy nut won't behave. She keeps breaking plates.

Thanks again, guys.

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