the loop over the saddle horn. Then Irntied the ropes to the snaffle bit rings andrnran them back through the D-ringsrnabove the saddle skirts until I had betterrnthan ten feet of free rope to work withrnfrom behind her rump. Finally I untiedrnher from the post, took the rope ends inrnone hand, and the whip in the other.rn”Get up,” I told the mare.rnAfter two days of ground driving—rnstart, stop; left, right—I tied a 40-poundrngrain sack across the saddle and workedrnher another day with that. By week’s endrnshe was docile and obedient, though lessrnthan enthusiastic, and I felt ready to tryrnher again, stepping on and off severalrntimes before taking a deep seat andrngiving her m heels, very gently. Shernstepped out gingerly, and I allowed herrnto proceed 25 or 30 paces before drawingrnrein. The mare stopped, and lookedrnback at me with a long sour face. “Teh,”rnI said, nudging her in the flanks, and wernstarted forward again.rn”How’s Stormy doing for you?” ArtrnAntilla asked when I spoke with him thatrnevening.rn”Pretty good. I think she was givingrnme a wink this afternoon.”rn”Better watch out then. She’s probablyrnup to something. Women almost alwaysrnare.”rn”I’ll show her something to occup”rnher mind,” I told him.rnThe second day after that I arrived laterrnthan usual at the ranch. This time,rnbesides the saddle and blanket, I hadrnwith me a martingale, and saddle bagsrncontaining a water bottle and a packet ofrnjerkied elk meat. It was a fine afternoonrnin late summer, with a light breeze drivingrnsmall white clouds in a high blue sky.rnI saddled up and added the martingale,rnrunning the reins through the rings atrnthe split ends and securing the single onernFor Immediate SendeernCHRONICLESrnNEW SUBSCRIBERSrnTOLL FREE NUMBERrn1-800-877-5459rnto the girth. Two blue tick dogs followedrnat the mare’s heels as we rode out fromrnthe ranch yard, then fell back as we approachedrnthe river.rnThe water ran high and fast at thernford, rising to the stirrups as the marernbreasted the current. We came up drippingrnon the other side and followed thernwagon trail above Fish Creek, climbingrnto the western bluff. The mare steppedrntentatively, but she kept moving and respondedrnto the signals I gave her. Therngray face of the dam ran parallel half arnmile to the north, beyond open pasturernwhere six palomino horses grazed. Thernmoed like studs, and because the marernwas in estrus I looked for the fence separatingrnthe pasture from the wagon trail.rnIt was out a few hundred yards, the grayrnweathered posts standing erect in arnstraight line across the field. The horsesrnpaid no attention to us as we rode by onrnour way up Fish Creek canyon to thernplateau above the bluff, where I dismountedrnto drink from the water bottlernand eat a piece of the jerky while thernmare cropped the grass between the sagernbushes. Bevond the sweep of the greengoldrnplain, forested ridges convergedrnon the upper reaches of the HamsrnFork draining south to fill Lake VivarnNaughton, its blue corrugated surfacernscratched by the white wakes of powerrnboats. I remounted and rode on acrossrnthe plateau toward Dempsey Basin for arncouple of miles before reining the marernaround and returning along Fish Creekrnto the Hams Fork valle-.rnThe horses were grazing nearer thernfence as wc came up, and this time the’rnnoticed us. One of them raised his headrnto stare, followed by the other five, andrnsuddenly they were in motion across thernpasture, their tails lifted and their headsrnflung back. I reined in and sat the mare,rnthe two of us watching as they poundedrntoward the fence line which would bringrnthem up short in another 100 yards.rnThen thev were on the fence andrnthrough it, pouring in a golden mass betweenrnthe unstrung posts as the mare,rntrembling with anticipation, flared herrnnostrils and screamed.rnI attempted to hold her from thernground as the stallions swirled around us,rnbiting at one another and kicking out atrnthe mare vith their heels. I held on asrnlong as I could before dropping the reinsrnand retreating a safe distance as therndominant horse, having run the othersrnoff, tried to mount her, and she repulsedrnhim with a double-barreled kick, andrnsprayed him. Kicking and biting, theyrncontinued their foreplay for several minutesrnbefore the mare broke away andrntrotted off in the direction of the bluff,rnpursued bv her suitor who, though coveredrnwith sweat and teeth marks, remainedrnpassionate.rnCursing, I followed through the sagebrushrnand caught up with the mare anrnhour later on the rise of ground anchoringrnthe western end of the dam to thernbluff. Both reins had been torn from thernbridle, the saddle bags were ripped open,rnand the blanket and saddle damp withrnmusk. I tied the ends of the martingalernover her neck, took up the rope hangingrnunder the halter, and led her downhill,rnacross the pasture, and through thernphantom fence to the wagon trail.rnAhead was the river, chest deep and runningrntoo swift for a man on foot to ford.rnFrom the martingale and what remainedrnof the lead rope I jerry-rigged somethingrnlike reins to give the mare the illusion ofrncontrol. Then I mounted and rode alongrnthe trail to the ford, where I put herrnacross at the deepest place to wash thernfoul-smelling tack. Riding on throughrnthe willows we were greeted by the bluernticks, waving their tails and grinning at usrnfrom the sides of their mouths.rnIn town I called Art Antilla, who hadrnjust come off work at the power plant.rn”I’ll take her out for a couple more spinsrnaround the block, and she’ll be finished,”rnI said.rn”Is she going to make a good horse?”rn”You can take that horse to war andrnshe’ll never bat an eyelash,” I told him.rnWe met at the ranch several days laterrnand Stormy and I gave an exhibition,rntrotting and loping in circles, backing,rnand performing figure eights. When wernfinished, I dismounted on the right side.rnArt was impressed but he did notice anrnunpleasant odor, which lingered. I toldrnhim about the encounter on Fish Creekrnand he look chagrined. “I ought to havernwarned you about those stallions,” hernsaid.rnArt reached through flie open windowrnof his truck and lifted a set of leatherrnhobbles from the seat. “I figure you’vernearned these, and more.”rnI accepted the hobbles from him andrnexamined them.rn”Are those okav?” he inquired.rn”Very nice. They look like work to me,rnthough.”rn”I can probably find ou a backhoe ifrnvou need one,” Art Antilla said.rnSO/CHRONICLESrnrnrn