Carter Creek Country Boy

CARTER CREEK COUNTRY BOY

The morning was cold but bright as the sun rose over the ridge on the east bank of Carter Creek, I kicked snow clumps as I walked to the barn, milk pail in hand, for the morning milking.
Old Maude was standing at the gate and her calf was bawling in the barn. I filled her manger with oats from the oat bin and let her in to the milking stall. She stood quietly as I filled the bucket with warm frothy milk. The sweet smell of hay and straw tantalized my nostrils as the warm body of my big old sweet milk cow offered radiated heat for the cold morning. I made sure not to take all of the milk so the calf could get his fill.
As I opened the gate he did a little happy dance as he raced to his mommy for his morning breakfast of fresh warm milk.
I walked out of the barn and heard the whinny of the horses. They wondered if I had forgotten to toss them a bale of hay. I took the milk to the house and returned to feed the horses and the herd bulls.
The shimmering water of Carter Creek glistened between the shoulders of ice. The beauty of this live water, so pure and clean was always the most valuable asset to our ranch.
I took a minute to hug my sweet old mare, Grandma, and reveled in the warmth of her breath and her huge sleek body. What a wonderful treasure to an eight-year old boy, to have a horse to call his own. She always seemed to know just what to do to brighten my day.
Daddy said she was nineteen  and my Uncle Buster had broke her after he got home from the war. I knew my Uncle Buster was my favorite cowboy in the world and Grandma was my favorite horse. Life just couldn’t be better than that.

As I got back to the house I could smell breakfast and feel the warmth of our ranch house. The hired men were washing up and mom and my sisters were setting the table and setting breakfast on the table.
We heard Daddy drive up and he came into the house with a very sad look on his face. “ I just found another coyote kill and it looks like they killed five of the best ewe lambs. I have two in the truck that are tore up pretty bad so we will have to treat them before breakfast.”
Treating sheep that had been ripped up by coyotes was not a pleasant job. We washed up the huge gaping wounds in their necks with disinfectant water. Then we coated the wounds with a mixture of Pytanic blue and Scarlet oil. This soothing mixture offered a wonderful healing ointment and made the lambs wool a bright purple.  We put them in the lambing shed to protect them from the weather and fed them fresh second-cutting hay and fresh clean water.
I loved to watch the whirlpool in the buckets as we filled them with the sparkling mountain water from the faucet.
Daddy reminded me how important it is to get the lambs to eat and drink so they could heal.

As we walked to the house for breakfast, Daddy said he was going to ride and see if he could find the coyote den. He thought if he could find the den we could put out traps. If we don’t put a stop to this killing we won’t have any sheep left.
I asked if I could stay home from school and ride with him. He smiled as he put his arm on my shoulder and said, “ That’s a good idea. I could sure use an extra set of eyes and I couldn’t find a better man for the job.”
My heart was racing as I bundled up in my warmest clothes and ran to the barn to saddle the horses. Mom would send a note with my brother, for my teacher.
This wasn’t the first time I got to stay home to help daddy but this was going to be the most exciting day ever.

I grabbed the oats bucket and swung the corral gate open as Grandma and Mr. Dusty trotted to the barn. I gave each of them a little oats in their feeders and started combing their soft warm backs. I had them all brushed and ready when daddy got to the barn. With a big smile on his face he told me how proud he was to have me help. He saddled Mr. Dusty and came over to help me tighten the cinch on Grandma. We led the horses up through the upper corral and through the gate to the calving pasture.
As we mounted up, Daddy and I rode side by side as he laid out our plan.  “ We’ll ride up past the talc mine and follow the ridge to check the east side of the pasture. When we get to the south fence you can ride Grandma down the sheep trail to the creek.
I will take Mr. Dusty and ride up near the old cabin at the cow camp and I will meet you at the gate on the creek.”

I felt twenty feet tall as I rode along side my daddy. His big black gelding, Mr. Dusty, was a huge horse with shimmering black hair and a small white star on his forehead. Daddy could out run the fastest cow or turn the orneriest bull when he was riding this trusty steed. The drifted snow crunched under our horses hooves as we loped up the slope and followed the road past the mine. Grandma stayed right with Mr. Dusty but I am sure he was holding back. Daddy swung off and opened the gate and I rode through then just a quickly he closed the gate and floated into the saddle. I watched proudly as I thought how strong my Daddy was.
I remember telling myself that I would be able to open and close every gate on the ranch by the time I was ten.
Dusty broke the trail through the bright glistening snow and I followed closely behind on my sweet sure-footed mare.
As we approached the sheep trail that I would take to the bottom of the canyon, Daddy reminded me that “ There is no decent horse that can’t carry a rider up a hill, and no decent man that will not lead his horse down a steep hill. Besides when you are walking and leading your horse, your feet will warm up.” I rode along the trail past snow-covered sage brush and listened to the breeze blowing the branches of the pine trees.
A rabbit scampered ahead of me and each time I got close he would quickly jump and run a little farther along the trail. I gently stoked Grandma’s warm neck and leaned over the saddle horn to place my cold ears against her warmth. She gently lifted her neck like she knew just how to share her warmth.
As we traversed the trail I watched closely for round tracks about two inches in diameter and in a straight line. Daddy had taught me that this was what a coyote track looked like, and coyote tracks, in the fresh snow, could lead us to their den.

There were hundreds of bunny tracks but no sign of coyote tracks. As I crested the hill overlooking the creek I saw deer bouncing up the slope to the hilltop meadow. As I looked down the winding sheep trail I couldn’t believe how steep it was.
I climbed out of the saddle on the uphill side as I dropped my reins to the ground. I snuggled past my horse and picked up the reins to lead her down the steep trail. Grandma just seemed to know every step to take as she gingerly followed me down the winding, rocky trail. Pine branches dropped snow on to my saddle and her back. She just shook it off and kept her careful pace.
All of a sudden she stopped then bumped forward as I looked back to see my saddle fall to the ground. A branch overhanging the trail had caught on the saddle horn and the latigo strap broke.
As I looked back at my saddle on the rocky hillside about ten feet below the trail my eyes filled with tears.
I quickly remembered my Sunday school teacher, Mrs.Walton, telling us that we could pray to Jesus anytime we needed help and He would help us.
I dropped to my knees and asked Jesus to help me.
As I got up I decided to tie my reins over Grandma’s neck and patted her on the rump, so she could find her way down the trail.  My plan was to drag my saddle and blanket to the bottom and Daddy would help get it back on her there.
  I could lift the saddle up on her back in the barn but there was no way I could get it back on her on this steep hill.
As I gathered up the blanket and saddle and began the long drag down the lower trail I kept slipping on the loose rocks, the saddle and saddle blanket seemed so heavy.  I struggled but I made progress. I couldn’t believe how far it seemed to the bottom of the trail.
I had just stopped for a rest, when I heard Grandma whinny and snort. I looked in her direction and saw where she had maneuvered herself below an overhanging rock.
I could drag the saddle up a gradual trail to that rock and I would be able to tip the saddle on to her back.
I maneuvered the saddle and blanket up to the point. I dropped the blanket on her back and I easily tipped the saddle to land nicely on the blanket.
My plan, with the help of my sweet horse, worked perfectly. I was, easily able to straighten out the saddle and tie the broken latigo strap to secure it.
Grandma walked carefully behind me as we meandered down the steep trail.
As we reached the clearing just above the road we heard Mr. Dusty snort and I yelled to my Daddy. He rode down the road to the gate.
He jumped from the saddle and led Mr. Dusty through. He listened to my big adventure and quickly went to work making new holes in the broken latigo, with his fencing pliers.
In no time at all he had my saddle tightly cinched and we were riding side by side, on the road toward home. I remember how proud I was of my Daddy. He could fix anything and he was my Hero.