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 Steve
looked out from the turret of his cabin and watched the sun set
behind the mountain. Branding is over for the spring, and he was
able to get away from the ranch for a few days, so here he was, in
his private castle, sipping private coffee, looking down at his
private horse eating hay in his private corral.
For a man who has spent most of his life in someone else’s
bunkhouse, a suite at the Ritz couldn’t be more wonderful than this
little hole-up spot in the mountains.
He slid open one of the turret windows and let the warm breeze of
early summer caress his magnificent mustache.
“That does it!” he said.
He closed the window, climbed down the ladder and went out to saddle
Ol’ Snort. In a few minutes the two of them were heading along a
little trail near Thompson Ridge, feeling the warm breeze, wondering
how many more of these evenings they would share. Steve and Snort
were both getting years on them, but they have this evening. They
have this ride. They are together now.
And it was like taking a dry bath in paradise. [to top of second
column]
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Steve reached down and patted
Snort on the neck. “You know, O.S.,” Steve said, “can you think of a
luckier man/horse combination than us? I can’t. Not right at the
moment, anyway.”
Snort was used to listening to Steve, but blissfully he wasn’t
required to do anything but walk along this mountain trail enjoying
the evening.
“What do you think, old boy?”
Ol’ Snort reached his head out and blew his nose.
“I knew you felt the same way,” said Steve, smiling.
Sometimes heaven comes in small doses.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]Brought
to you by books written by Edward Abbey. Ed may be gone, but his
published legacy is always amazing.
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