Misty and the Mountain Men--Part 1
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Hello all,
Last Monday I had expected that I would be recovering from a very busy weekend of Jazz Fantasia practice.
I was partly correct. I wasn't able to start my recovery from a very busy weekend until last Wednesday. But it was not Jazz Fantasia practice. It was more "Misty Meets the Mountain Men."
I found out about the change in plans as I got into the horse trailer. As expected, we were using our fancy rig with the 'two foot' living quarters up front. That rig provides a lot more privacy and is frequently seen leaving the house on Friday nights. The rig also stops at 'Arnold's' frequently enough to avoid suspicion.
The unexpected part was finding my wife in what I call her 'Mountain Man' leathers.
"I didn't know there was a Rendezvoux this week end," I said.
"There's been a change in plans," my wife replied. "We're going to Montana to talk with Tanya and her boss. Now get your tail in the trailer so we can get going."
I finished going up the ramp. Once I was in, the rest of the horses were loaded. That's when I saw that my kids were wearing their 'Mountain Man' outfits.
I felt out of place in my Bloomsday tee shirt.
It wasn't long before the rig was on the road and my wife was explaining the reasons for the change in plans. As we talked I got to put on my centaur appropriate 'Mountain Man' outfit.
Although it might be more appropriate to use additional quotes around the word 'man.'
My outfit was more suitable for the Indian wife of a mountain man. Or, to be more accurate, the Indian wife and her pony. The outfit had both human and equine features.
Imagine a doe skin vest decorated with beads, porcupine quills and other American Indian artifacts. The vest has a slit for the mane but is otherwise authentic enough to look like the real thing.
Using the vest as a starting point, add in the equally authentic underlayers, all with mane slits. Some of these layers are cut short because they don't have to go below the waist. These layers don't have the decorative detail of the vest.
Now finish the human part with skin dye, a long wig of jet black hair and fancy braiding of the mane. The result is a centaur Indian of one of the mountain tribes.
The equine part gets a light pack and some decorative paint.
Everything fit perfectly. I found that the dance team had been working extra hard on getting the outfit ready in time.
Once we were sure that everything fit, my wife used the intercom to warn my eldest daughter to look for a spot where we could make a quick pit stop. My daughter said that it would be a while because we were approaching the Spokane area.
My wife and I reviewed the elements of the meeting and made sure that we both had our hold-out knives and other hardware well hidden. If it was a trap, we wanted to make sure that we had a fighting change to escape. While we were reasonably sure that Tanya and friends were on the up-and-up, we weren't taking chances.
Some time later we got a warning that we should get ready for a shuffle. The rig slowed as it pulled off the freeway. It then stopped in a gravely area.
I was leery of getting out because it was still light outside. I told my wife that I could wait until later to make a pit stop.
My wife informed me that we needed to do the shuffle anyway. We were at our first rendezvoux point with Tanya's people.
My wife, my son and I went from our rig to another fancy horse trailer that had more room in it. At the same time we saw a very sleepy little girl carried to the cab of our truck. The girl was dressed in what I call the 'tourist' edition of a mountain man outfit.
Phase one of the hostage swap was complete.
"Ya might as well kick back and relax a mite," said a voice over the intercom. "There's food in the fridge for the two footers and some of the best alfalfa hay on the planet for the little filly. Make yourselves at home."
The driver then started his engine and headed down the road.
My wife and son tossed a coin to see who would get the first watch. My wife won the toss and decided to sleep first. She joined me in the back where our hoses had made two stalls into a straw heaped bed, complete with thick mound of blankets.
My wife was comfortable enough with the situation to fall asleep almost immediately. I lasted about half an hour longer and slept through the changing of the guard.
It was oh-dark-thirty when my wife woke me. "Get ready for another shuffle," she said.
Ten minutes later my wife and I were hiding next to a stream about fifty meters from the road. In the dim light of early dawn we could see that it was a popular yet hidden fishing spot. Somebody had put a lot of work into the firepit and seating.
My son had remained with the rig. I found it encouraging that he was asked to sit up front with the driver. To my way of thinking that meant that Tanya's people trusted us.
Still, I hoped that he wouldn't have to hurt anybody.
Forty minutes after we were dropped off we heard the rumble of a diesel pickup truck braking and pulling off the road. This was followed by the familiar sounds of a group of people offloading horses and getting them ready for a trail ride.
With my equine ears I could hear them quite clearly. My wife could only hear the louder noises.
The group by the road was about ready to ride out when both of us heard the rustle of underbrush followed by the hoot of an owl. My wife answered the call with the warble of a bird that is not common to the area.
An Indian in full native outfit stepped out of the underbrush. "I'm with Tanya," he said with a drawl. "You must be Misty and ... umm ... spouse."
I swished my tail. "You're Comanche?" I asked.
The Indian smiled. "That's my code name. It is also the name of my horse. You'll see him when the rest of the group gets here. I'll be back."
The Indian disappeared into the underbrush. After about a minute I heard horses approaching.
"I hope this isn't a trap," I said, ready to head into the underbrush.
"Relax," my wife said. "It will be all right."
'Comanche' was in the lead on Comanche, a gorgeous blanket appaloosa.
"Now that's a stud," my wife said, her experienced eye rating the conformation and gender of the horse 'Comanche' was riding.
I had barely noticed that it was an appaloosa who might be a gelding or stallion.
Behind Comanche were two mountain men, another Indian and four cowboys. All six were armed, some with black powder rifles and the rest with scope fitted hunting rifles. Behind one of the cowboys was my wife's favorite trail horse.
"The boys will watch the back trail while we head into the back country," 'Comanche' said. "Our first stop will be a camp where we can have breakfast."
"Good," my wife said as she mounted. "I'm as hungry as a horse."
"Me too," I chimed in. I then looked over my shoulder and swished my tail. "Of course I have a reason to be that hungry."
That got a chuckle out of the group that had been staring at me like I was a freak. Only 'Comanche' was polite enough not to stare.
I had a feeling that he had spent a while watching me from deep cover. Either that or he was the best poker player in the group.
The first thing we did was cross the stream.
That was almost the end of the trip. What was reasonably shallow for a sixteen hand horse was almost too deep for a ten hand centaur. If it hadn't been for my wife, I would have been swept away by the current.
And the water was ice-melt cold. I couldn't control the full body shake once I reached the other side of the stream.
There was some colorful 'period appropriate' language expressed by those who got sprayed. Then 'Comanche' pointed out the fact that they didn't get a tenth as wet as I did.
I think that the chattering of my teeth convinced them that they were lucky to be riding.
At that point three Indians and three mountain men headed into the hills while the cowboys stayed back.
We spent about an hour and a half following a faint trail over a ridge and into a narrow valley. There I caught a whiff of wood smoke with an overlay of bacon and eggs. Fifteen minutes later we reached a log cabin at the edge of a small meadow.
'George' and 'Anita' were there with the portable scanning equipment sitting on a log slab table. Both were moving like tenderfeet who had spent a little too long in the saddle.
With 'George' and 'Anita' were two people dressed in modern western garb. They looked like the type that could ride ten kilometers before breakfast and not notice it a bit. The man was called 'Doc.' The woman was called 'Nurse.'
With the help of a portable generator, 'George' and 'Anita' were able to show our hosts that I was a flesh and blood centaur and not some half-human, half-machine construct. I then had to go through a physical exam by 'Doc' and 'Nurse.'
'Doc' concentrated on the equine part of my body. 'Nurse' focused on the human part. When the exam was over I felt like I had been given the once over by a wilderness E-team.
I could tell that both were fascinated by the fact that I was a living, breathing centaur filly. After apologizing for what they had done to me, they asked my wife to accompany them to the cabin to talk and have breakfast. My wife, a person who can't start the day right without breakfast, agreed.
'We'll send something out for you," 'Nurse' said. "The cabin is a wee bit crowded right now."
"That's fine with me," I replied.
'George' and 'Anita' briefed me on what they had gone through thus far. While Tanya's people were concerned about security, they appeared to be friendly enough. They hadn't searched any of us for weapons.
We were interrupted when a young woman dressed in what I call an 'Indian Maiden' outfit came out of the cabin with a flake of alfalfa hay and a bucket of oats. She introduced herself as 'Snow Flower' while putting the food on the instrument table. She then headed back to the cabin, returning with two containers of my favorite condiments, equine vitamins and mare's milk formula. This time she stayed to talk about what it was like to be a centaur.
After ten minutes of talking I realized that the young lady looked familiar. It took another five minutes to realize that the Indian outfit was not part of the picture.
Five minutes after that the conversation shifted to horses in general. That is when I knew she rode the show circuit.
The sound of a helicopter kept me from narrowing in on her identity.
"Is there a place I could hide?" I asked, looking skyward.
"Don't worry," said 'Snowflower.' "That's the rescue copter for this area. It will be taking my mom and your wife to the ranch house so they can talk with Tanya. It's also my cue to get the horses ready for the next leg of our trip. You might want to finish eating now."
'Snowflower' got up and headed to the cabin. I ate and watched a helicopter land at the edge of the meadow. My wife came out of the cabin, gave me a kiss and a hug and asked me to watch after 'George' and 'Anita.' She then headed for the helicopter.
'Nurse' joined her. Once the copter was airborne the encampment packed up and hit the trail.
The Indian 'braves' of the party took point and flank, blending into the woods like they knew what they were doing. The mountain men, augmented by four additions with pack horses, split into two groups. One group rode ahead while the other group rode behind.
I was in the middle, flanked by 'Snow Flower' and a quiet young woman called 'Mountain Mist.' We were the 'Indian Maiden' contingent according to 'Snow Flower.'
'George' and 'Anita' rode a short distance behind us. They both looked like they wanted to be elsewhere. They also looked out of place in their semi-western outfits.
I made small talk with the two young women while we wandered through the back country. After about an hour I concentrated on getting 'Mountain Mist' into the conversation. She had been very, very quiet.
By lunch I decided that I was going to have to make 'Mountain Mist' laugh, even if I had to make a fool of myself. She was much too serious for her age.
We stopped for lunch by a stream. Saddles and packs were removed and the horses were rubbed down. By using my little lost filly routine I was able to get my female escorts to rub me down like they did to the other horses.
'Mountain Mist' had very gentle hands and knew exactly where to rub.
When I thanked her she blushed and turned away.
I then wandered over to 'George' and 'Anita' and talked about my plan. We got a little silly coming up with possible prat falls and gags that would work.
All too soon 'Comanche' called for the group to get to their horses and mount up.
Lacking a horse, I was ready to go long before everybody else. I used the time to help my 'Indian Maiden' escorts with their horses.
The next leg of our journey involved a lot more hill climbing and stream crossing. While the streams were smaller, the stream banks were muddier. Being the smallest of the equines, I ended up with a lot more mud caking my hooves, legs and body.
I didn't dare try a pratfall for fear of breaking a leg or three.
We stopped for the evening at the edge of a large meadow. Saddles and packs were removed and the horses were fed grain while they were rubbed down. They were then hobbled and released into the meadow for grazing. One of the Indian braves brought out a very modern looking rifle and climbed on top of a rock to stand guard. The rest of the group worked on setting up camp or doctoring saddle sores.
Lacking saddle sores and a preassigned task, I wandered over to where the guard was watching.
"What's with that new fangled rifle?" I asked.
"Protection Miss," replied the Indian. "This place isn't known as Grizzly Flats for nothing."
A chill went down my spines. "How bad are the grizzlies?" I asked, fully aware that I fell into the classical 'young, old or injured' category of prey.
The Indian chuckled. "It is bad enough to warrant this but not bad enough to abandon this campsite. If we're lucky, we might see one. If we're unlucky, we might lose a horse."
"What if our luck is average?" I asked.
"We don't see them and they don't see us," replied the Indian. "I wouldn't worry about it Miss. I haven't had to shoot a grizzly in at least eight years."
I relaxed a bit. "Thanks for the info," I said. I then turned and trotted back to camp.
Dinner for the two legged types was being prepared by the mountain men while the Indians set up period correct canvas tents and lean-tos. After a quick look-see, I found my fellow 'Indian Maidens' helping 'George' and 'Anita' with their saddle sores. Both E-team members showed signs that they didn't ride the back country much.
"Are you two going to be okay?" I asked.
"I will when I see Tanya tomorrow," 'George' answered. "I keep telling myself that I'm doing this in the name of science."
"That's what I tell myself while you and the E-team poke and prod me. It's nice to see the shoe on the other hoof."
"What is the testing like?" asked 'Mountain Mist.'
"Almost painless," piped in 'George.'
I snorted. "So are saddle sores," I countered. "Now be quiet while I tell you what it is like being on the working end of your probes."
I then turned toward 'Mountain Mist' and gave her my uncensored opinion about the various procedures the E-team used to examine me. I tried to be both fair and accurate while adding humor where I could. I was winding up my story when the dinner gong rang.
"Good," I said when I finished. "Let's help these tenderfeet over to the camp fire so they can fill their stomachs."
With all three 'Indian Maidens' helping we managed to get 'George' and 'Anita' to dinner with only one trip. There I found I had a hot bran mash to go with my hay, oats and condiments.
As people finished eating they started moving the horses from the meadow to a group of split rail corrals. By dusk all the horses were corralled and the Indian guard was finishing dinner.
As darkness fell, I discovered that I was very tired. I also discovered that one of the lean-tos had been built for me.
I was asleep moments after hitting the straw.
Hydraulic pressure woke me up shortly before dawn. I staggered to my hooves, jog-trotted to the corrals and let go the moment my tail was clear. Once I finished waking up I realized that I had managed to go the night without soiling myself.
"Far out," I said, looking over my shoulder.
"What's 'Far Out' about horse shit?" asked a male voice.
I blushed. "It is a sigh that I'm becoming house broken again," I explained, turning to fact the voice. "When I became a centaur I didn't have any control at all. This is the first night in a long time that I've been able to last the night."
"Then let me be the first to congradulate you Miss," said the voice. "Want a peppermint stick to celebrate?"
"Sure," I said, moving closer. "Candy is one of the few human ... umm ... foods I can tolerate."
The voice in the dark turned out to be the Indian guard. The peppermint stick was one of the soft types. We enjoyed them in the morning silence.
"That was good," I said when I finished my stick. "Thanks."
"Ah Miss? May I ask a personal question?"
"Sure. I just reserve the right not to answer it."
"Fair enough," he drawled. He paused a moment. "What's it like being a centaur?"
I sighed and launched into a description of what it was like to be a centaur filly in a human world. I kept the tone light and managed to get a few chuckles while talking about embarrassing moments. I then entranced him with what it felt like to run like the wind.
"I think that will be good for Tanya," he said when I finished.
"Do you know when I'm going to meet her?" I asked.
"Later this morning," said the Indian guard. "Right now you might want to have breakfast. I think the kitchen crew is waking up."
My stomachs growled and we both laughed. "I'm an easy keeper," I said, heading back to the center of camp.
I finished my breakfast long before the kitchen crew had the coffee water boiling. Awake and alert, I decided that I needed t warm-up run.
Half an hour later I had the entire camp watching me. Breakfast preparations had been abandoned and the fire was dying.
Worried that the delay would delay my meeting with Tanya, I cut short my run and jog-trotted back to camp.
"Is it time to go?" I asked 'innocently.'
That was the seed crystal needed to get the group going again.
An hour and a half later we were on the trail and going through a thicket at one end of the meadow.
Then Murphy decided that things were getting dull.
The first bear cub crossing my path startled me.
The second bear cub made me rear.
Then momma bear stood up and frightened the horses.
I turned to escape.
'Anita' managed to hang on as her horse reared and turned. My fellow 'Indian Maidens' were able to keep enough control to escape.
'George' went down with a muddy splash.
I spun back around and pulled out the razor sharp bowie knife I had hidden in my pack. It was a dumb thing to do, but it was all I could think of at the moment.
That's when I thought that it would have been really nice to be a draft horse sized centaur. If I were twenty hands at the withers I would be big enough to intimidate momma grizzly.
At ten hands I was a light lunch.
'George' groaned, distracting me from my day dream. Then my mind went into hyperdrive and I decided that my best tactic was to attack..
I screamed like a puma and started circling around the bear. When I got into position, I did my best imitation of a wolverine attack.
Momma bear turned and lumbered off toward her cubs.
I screamed like a puma again and she ran a little faster.
Once the bear was out of sight I ran over to where 'George' was laying.
"That was one hell of a show," 'George' said as he got to his feet. He was covered with muck but appeared to be okay.
"Don't ask for an encore," I replied when the rational mind regained control. "I don't want to do that again."
The mountain men came riding up from front and back. "Are you two all right?" one asked.
"I'll survive," 'George' replied. "Misty will be ready to go once her tail is rinsed."
"What happened?" asked another of the mountain men.
'George' told the story as he saw it. Since it matched my memories of the event, I used the time to calm back down.
'Anita' and the 'Indian Maidens' rode up as he finished.
"What happened? asked 'Mountain Mist.'
"Your turn," 'George' said.
I then told the tale with my own nuances.
The Indian braves joined us half way through my tale. One reported a grizzly sow urging her cubs deeper into the forest.
With 'George's' help I went back and restarted my tale so I wouldn't have to repeat it all again.
"My only regret is that we're going to have to stop long enough for me to wash my tail," I concluded. "That bear scared the SH One Trainer out of me."
'George' and 'Anita' chuckled. They knew the old airplane joke.
Then one of the Indian braves admitted that a brief pit stop to wash and/or change clothing would be to his advantage. He was the one who had seen the bear high tailing it out of the area.
'George' said that he didn't think his pants were brown on the inside, but it couldn't tell given the brown on the outside.
We left the thicket and stopped by a stream for half an hour. 'Snow Flower' and 'Mountain Mist' helped me clean and dry my hindquarters. I was actually able to get 'Mountain Mist' to smile when I asked her to braid ribbons in my tail because I wanted to look my best for the meeting with Tanya.
By mid morning we reached a multi-story log cabin with a heavy timber barn nearby. In the attached corral was a small herd of horses and ponies. Some of the horses nickered at me. Both ponies whinnied and crawled through gaps in the corral fence.
Pearl came to me. The other pony joined 'Mountain Mist.'
Then my wife and the 'Nurse' came out of the cabin.
"What took you so long?" my wife asked as she approached.
"We ran into a grizzly bear," I answered. "We argued until she went one way and we went the other. Nobody was hurt though."
We hugged and kissed.
"You and I need to talk privately," my wife said. "What happens next depends upon you."
"Choose the spot," I said.
We went behind the barn. Over the next hour my wife told me what she had learned about Tanya in the previous twenty four hours.
My wife didn't provide any names and locations though. I don't blame her. Anybody who abuses a child like that deserves to be skinned alive with a dull salt covered rock.
Then my wife dropped the other shoe. Tanya's boss was willing to pay room and board if we were willing to keep her and her daughter on our property.
(To be continued ... I've been standing in front of the computer much too long.)
Ms. Dee
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© 1998-2009 Robynn Denise Smythe Ms_Dee_C@hotmail.com
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