Bridge and Another Man’s Horse
Recently I picked up a stray. Crossing an old wood bridge, I heard an extra pair of clip clops on the wood decking. I looked back. And saw a horse.
Turns out the horse had slipped through an open gate and fallen in to line behind us. I walked the mules back across the bridge, toward where the horse had come from, hoping to lure the horse back home.
The horse followed obediently.
I re-crossed the bridge, hoping this time the horse would stay in its pasture. No luck. It just tucked right in behind Brick and joined our merry band.
For a few minutes, it looked like I’d found an new pack horse.
Not so. A few minutes later, the horse’s owner, Gordon Most, showed up. Turns his wife had been watching us try to cross the river. She saw us having a bit of trouble with the horse and sent Gordon over to help out.
The horse’s name was Lakota. A real likeable sort. So was Gordon.
Gordon shut Lakota up in his pasture. I rode Brick and Cracker west, gone from from four-some back to three-some.