Lindsay
I am Lindsay. Pa and I have spent part
of my first round-up riding along the fence line between the open range and our
ranch. One day we discovered the fence had been cut. Pa said someone had stolen
our cattle. He showed me one of the rustler’s horses had a broken shoe, and I
could see it made a different track than the other horses.
Read my story to find out how my friend
Ella and I learn who the cattle and horse thieves are.
Buck
by Judy
I was twelve when my parents
finally caved and purchased a horse for my younger brother. Unlike Lindsay, I
was not overly anxious or excited to be involved with the day-to-day activities
of our family farm. Still, I did realize a horse might lend some excitement to
my fairly isolated rural life.
Like most parents, mine did
the best they could with the circumstances, knowledge and skills they had at
the time. However, I do question some of their parenting decisions. In
particular, the decision to have both my younger brother and me ride the horse
together, bareback, the fifteen miles from the stockyards to our house. I was
twelve, and my brother was nine.
No doubt the horse was headed
for the glue factory before my dad bought him. And yes, he probably was a
circus horse who was too old to be in the circus any longer. (At least that is
what my dad was told.) But, the problem was neither my brother nor I had ever before
been on a horse. Nor had either of us ever paid much attention as how to get
from the stockyards to our house. “Just stay on the back roads,” Daddy said as
he handed my brother the reins and gave “Buck” a pat on his behind.
At first my brother and I
were excited to be on such a great adventure. Sure, the sun was hot, but we had
on shorts and light-weight shirts. As farm kids, we most always had our straw
hats on and did so that day. (I’m grateful now for my mother’s insistence I always
wear my hat.) Buck was well-trained and
heeded our uncertain commands. I don’t remember how long it took us to get
home, but we did somehow and did not get lost on the country roads. I do
remember it was a long, hot summer afternoon, and neither my brother nor I
smelled very good when we arrived home.
While it was over a week
before either one of us went for another ride on Buck, we spent many more
pleasant afternoons riding that old horse. Turns out, perhaps buying a horse
for my little brother wasn’t such a bad parenting decision after all.
