Great Horse Stories (5 page)

Riding in the lead on her bay mare, Hillari wondered if they should take the cut-off trail home. It wound down a cut in the riverbank, across the riverbed, and up the bank on the other side. It was a trail they liked to take. She glanced at the wide and dry expanse. Months ago, during the winter and early spring rains, the river had raged. The water had risen quickly, cut into the steep banks, and washed away trees. It had eventually receded, leaving behind gravel and sandbars littered with branches and dead trees and occasional pools of standing water.

Hillari's body swayed with the rhythm of her horse's walk as she analyzed the trail. Fresh motorcycle tracks scored the path.
It must be safe to cross if the motorcycle riders are using it,
she thought. Turning in the saddle, she caught Laurie's attention, motioned toward the riverbed, and shouted, “The motorcycles are using it. What do you think?”

Laurie's stout buckskin gelding strode forward as his rider surveyed the trail. She nodded.

Hillari and Laurie had been riding together since they were five years old. Even though Laurie was an olive-skinned brunette and Hillari was a fair-complected blond, people thought the two tall, slim gals with waist-length, straight hair were sisters. The girls felt like they were sisters. They'd ridden together so much they could read each other's minds and complete each other's sentences. Their favorite thing to do was to pretend they were two cowgirl pioneers out on an adventure. Although they wore T-shirts and jeans, they looked the part of pioneers—sitting tall in their western saddles, their lariats coiled and tied onto the pommels of their saddles. They'd started carrying the lariats after an old cowboy had given one to Hillari, along with these words of wisdom: “A smart rider never rides through rough country without a good rope.”

Hillari reined Farrih toward the riverbed. Bred to have the intelligence and endurance of an Arabian and the size and athleticism of a thoroughbred, the Anglo-Arabian mare gracefully headed down the slope. Shifting her weight to her hind legs, she half-shuffled, half-skidded down to the riverbed.

Laurie's buckskin gelding ambled behind. The sandy path wound through the river bottom. Halfway across the wide, dry riverbed a long, scrubby cottonwood branch blocked the trail. The skeletal arms of a gnarled limb stood too high to comfortably step the horses over without scratching their bellies. Without slowing, Hillari gently pressed her leg against Farrih, asking her to step to one side. Willingly the mare moved onto the sand about four feet off the trail.

Suddenly the mare pitched forward.

Hillari grabbed the reins.
What's going on?
The mare's front legs had sunk to her knees, followed by her hind legs. She snorted and half jumped trying to get out of the mire.

Hillari centered her weight to help the mare stay balanced. She firmly pressed a rein against her horse's neck, hoping to guide the mare to firmer footing. The girl's heart pounded as her mind flashed through
scenes of movies that involved quicksand.
Quicksand!
That's it! Farrih had broken through the top crust of dried sand and sunk into a thick quagmire.

The mare lunged again. She broke through another top layer and sank nearly to her belly. Terrified, she swung her head, her eyes wide with panic.

Hillari gasped as her mind raced.
What do I do now? I've got to get my weight off Farrih so she doesn't break through another layer. Will the crust hold my weight?
She looked at the broken edges of the sand. She might be able to stand on the top. If not, it looked thick enough to support her weight if she spread it out by crawling on her hands and knees.

The mare's nostrils blew snorts of alarm. Sweat dribbled behind her ears and down her neck. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to lunge again.

Hillari had only a fraction of a second to act. Stroking Farrih's neck, she forced her voice to be calm. “Easy there.” Quickly she swung a leg over the saddle.

The mare's gaze darted back at her, watching her.

Hillari gently but firmly commanded, “Whoa now.” Balancing on her stomach on the saddle, she slid down and tested the firmness of the sand with her boots. It held. She lowered herself all the way to the ground.
It's only four feet back to the trail, and we'll be on solid ground
, she reassured herself. Clinging to the reins, she held her arms out to her sides for balance. She slowly shuffled, taking one step and then another.

The bay mare's eyes were bulging and her nostrils gaped for air. Struggling to follow, she threw her weight forward.

Hillari turned and looked into her horse's large, brown eyes. Reaching out she stroked the mare's face as she commanded, “Whoa, girl. Easy now. We'll get you out.”

The mare froze in place, but her anxiety was clear to see.

Hillari glanced sideways at Laurie, who sat wide-eyed astride her horse, now about 12 feet in front of Farrih. “Stay on the path!”

Farrih's labored breathing reverberated over the sand.

Hillari's mind whirled.
How much time do we have before Farrih thrashes through another layer and sinks out of sight?
She sorted through the facts. There weren't any homes or buisinesses close enough to get
help fast enough. If Farrih kept struggling, she'd overheat, go into shock, or sink more. Whatever was going to be done needed to happen now and by them.

Laurie called, “What can I do?”

Hillari slid her feet onto solid ground. Taking a deep breath, she continued to reassure her mare as she walked back to Laurie and stood next to the buckskin. The two girls formed a plan. They'd use their lariats to drag the mare out. It was dangerous because she might break her legs, but it was all they had.

Hillari crawled across the top of the sand toward Farrih. Damp sand stuck to her hands with each reach. Laurie's lariat hung in a coil around her neck. Her blue jeans wicked up water and were becoming heavy.

The mare's head was low, her chin resting on the crust of sand in front of her. Her eyelids fluttered and her ribcage expanded rapidly as she gasped for air. The horse's bay coat was spattered with sand. She opened her eyes and spotted Hillari. She plunged forward. Her feet churned but she wasn't able to get traction.

Hillari was scared. She wanted to shout at Farrih so she would stop moving. The mare could be cutting her tendons to shreds against the rough edges of the sand. Hillari knew if she raised her voice her horse would become even more upset. Choking sobs racked her body as she reached her hand forward and shifted her weight. Doubts assaulted her.
What if Farrih lunges and I get pulled underneath her?

Sliding her knee forward another thought crashed through her mind.
What if Laurie's horse gets dragged into the sand with Farrih?
Hillari hesitated, carefully balancing her weight as evenly as possible.
We can't do this…I can't do this. But who else is there? Farrih's my horse. She's never let me down, and I can't let her down
. She swallowed hard, gathered all her courage, and crawled within three feet of the trapped mare. “Whoa, Farrih. Easy girl,” she crooned.

Grayish-tan sand coated the mare's neck and sides. Her teardrop-shaped ears twitched as she watched her master. Sweat foamed behind her ears and rolled down her neck.

For an instant, the girl and her horse stared into each other's eyes. Hillari lowered her voice, gently murmuring, “Easy now, girl. Stand still.”

The mare stilled, almost as if she understood.

Hillari crawled to Farrih's side and stroked her neck. Lying down and stretching out on her belly, she reached over the saddle and untied her lariat. Quickly she slid the loop end around the saddle horn and pulled it tight. Lifting Laurie's rope from her neck, she threaded it around the mare's head while whispering softly, “Easy, girl. I'm going to tie this up.” Nimbly Hillari's fingers tied a knot that wouldn't tighten down and choke the mare. Holding the two ropes, she shinnied backward toward solid ground.

Suddenly Farrih's head jerked up. Beads of sweat stood out on her dainty muzzle. Both ears swiveled hard toward Hillari. The whites of the mare's eyes showed. The horse's desperation and fear was unmistakable.

Hillari paused in mid-motion. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Whoa, Farrih. Stand still, girl.”

Their eyes locked. For a moment the world stood still and not a sound was heard. It was as if they were looking into the depths of each other's hearts. The mare heaved a big sigh and blinked her long, black eyelashes. Muscles throughout her body relaxed.

Laurie's voice drifted in from the trail. “Wow, she really trusts you.”

Hillari slithered backward, uncoiling the ropes as she went. Once on the trail she handed Laurie the rope attached to the mare's saddle. They would use Laurie's buckskin like a tractor to help Farrih get some traction.

Laurie immediately dallied a loop around her saddle horn.

Hillari kept the rope attached to Farrih's head. She stood away from the gelding but close to the mare, not wanting to get the ropes tangled. Hillari took a deep breath and signaled to Laurie.

The buckskin was a cow-savvy horse and used to being used for roping. Laurie gently squeezed her legs, asking him to move ahead at a gentle angle while staying on the trail. In slow motion, her gelding eased forward, drawing the rope taut.

Farrih felt the tension and her head swung up. Her gaze darted side-to-side.

The buckskin set his feet, buckled down, and slowly moved forward.

Hillari chewed on her lip.
Is this going to work?
She gently pulled the rope tied around the mare's neck. “C'mon, girl. Give it a try.”

The mare lunged forward.

The gelding moved quickly, keeping the tension steady on the rope.

The mare rested for a second.

When Laurie urged her horse to move again, the buckskin slowly chugged ahead and the rope pulled even tighter on the mare's saddle.

At the same time, Hillari wiggled the rope and urged, “C'mon, girl! Tch…tch…tch.”

Farrih reared up as much as possible and threw her shoulders and legs forward.

The gelding continued to pull.

The mare continued to flail. Grunting, Farrih's body finally rocked forward, as if she were climbing stairs. Higher and higher she rose until she scrambled onto the hardpan. She stumbled as she caught her balance. Her body was coated with gray sand. Exhausted, she widened her stance to steady herself and dropped her head as she gasped for breath

Hillari bounded toward her. “That was great, Farrih!” She wrapped her arms around her horse's neck. She looked at Laurie. “You guys did great too!” Hillari's knees felt rubbery as she brushed the sand from around her mare's eyes and off her soft muzzle. She untied the rope around her neck, and then undid the rope tied to the saddle. Tears welled up in her eyes as she coiled the lariats. Because she'd heeded the wisdom of an old cowboy, they'd rescued Farrih!

Being prepared has everything to do with coming out on the winning side. Practice and preparation are the backbones of every endeavor, from football players to Olympic athletes, from parents to businesspeople. Even children in primary school practice for their Christmas concerts. It's easy to see that we need to be equipped to face everyday life. But how often do we prepare for the biggest battle that rages around us? It's the battle between good and evil, between God and the devil. It's the battle for our hearts, souls, and minds. Do we prepare spiritually with the same enthusiasm we do if we're practicing for sports? Is there a regimen of training we follow to build our faith? Do we start our day ready to defeat the enemy with spiritual force and gusto? The apostle
Paul gives us a key to being ready to tackle the daily war between good and evil:

Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms (Ephesians 6:10-12).

Verses 13 through 19 go on to define what the armor of God is. I love envisioning myself wearing His armor. We don God's armor by investing time with Him and studying His Word (the Bible). Then we put His love, and mercy, and grace, and wisdom into practice every day.

Hillari and Laurie saved Farrih's life because they were prepared. We can come out winners too by tying the rope of God's Word to our hearts. This lariat will rescue us every time we ride through rough country. Let's savor that wisdom from the old, wiry cowboy: “A smart rider never rides through rough country without a good rope.”

Lord, open my eyes to the battle that rages for my heart, soul, and mind. Give me a passion to dig my teeth into Your Word and put Your wisdom into practice each day. Amen.

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Thoughts to Ponder
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Have you thought about the spiritual battle that is being waged over your heart, soul, and mind? What can you do to jump into battle fully prepared?

8

BE STILL

Silence

R
ows of snowcapped peaks lined Montana's Flathead Valley. The September breeze whispered through the golden aspen leaves. I stood in the center of the 60-foot, metal, round pen with my hands hanging by my sides. A coiled lariat was in my right hand. Shaking my head in frustration, I watched my new black Tennessee walker mare fly around the rails like she was a raving lunatic. Dazzle's head was arched as she looked over the rail and away from me. Her hooves thundered over the soft ground, occasionally kicking up clods of dirt. I dropped my eyes and stared at the ground to “release” the pressure from her, but she kept charging full-speed ahead.
What happened?
I wondered. I'd ridden her before I'd purchased her a couple of days ago. She hadn't been anything like this.