National Geographic : 1961 Mar
sun. We sniffed the pungency of fresh seedlings and rotting blowdowns - life and death rolled into one aroma. We forded the inevitable stream, numbingly cold, and the horses groaned and blew as they lunged upward to the cool heights of another ridge. Andy, on small white Sparky, trotted everywhere. He'd hook a leg around his saddle horn whenever we paused. "That's a bad habit," Avon told him. "Back in Colorado, if a boy did that, his daddy'd slap the horse and leave the kid sitting on air." False Teeth Bite a Bronco Buster As shadows lengthened, we topped a rise and switchbacked down to a grassy cirque cupped under a wall of Devils Dome. Our campsite at last. Kathleen Revis spurred ahead on her little cougar scarred gelding, Skookum, to make a pic ture. And because it had been a long day and the turf looked inviting, we all kicked into a gallop and thundered toward Kath leen, hoofs drumming, sod flying, and Dor othy Martin clutching at her hat.