A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (14 page)

Travelling at a racing gallop,
Mogollon became aware of the new danger
—but just too late. At the sight of
Colin bearing down on it, the stallion swerved in the wrong
direction. Its new route took it across Dusty’s and the Kid’s
front. By that time, they had reached a distance from which they
could throw their ropes.

Standing up in his stirrups,
Dusty swung the rope before him and up to the left. Three times he
whirled it above his head, delicately testing the momentum it built
up in his hand. Satisfied, he twirled the loop forward so that it
passed over his right shoulder. Out sailed the Manila rope,
converging with
Mogollon as the
manadero
ran at an angle in front of him.

To Colin, it seemed that the
loop took hours in its flight. At last it dipped down, passing
around the stallion
’s head. A touch of Dusty’s heels augmented the
manipulation of the reins in his left hand. With its master still
standing in the stirrups, the paint tucked its hind legs under its
body and spiked its fore feet into the ground. Settling his rump on
the saddle, Dusty thrust his feet forward and torso to the rear.
Drawn tight between the paint, as it came to a classic sliding
stop, and the running
manadero,
the loop closed around Mogollon’s neck.

Brought to an abrupt halt, but
not thrown down, Mogollon screamed in fury. Before the
manadero
could turn and
charge at its captor, the Kid’s overhead loop flew out. Instead of
reining in his white as he made his catch, the youngster kept
moving. Going past Mogollon, he brought his horse to a stop on the
opposite side to Dusty. Their two ropes, lashed to the saddle
horns, held the master-stallion so that it could not reach either
of them. Snorting, rearing and plunging, Mogollon fought against
the constriction of the twin loops.

‘
Keep
out of it unless one of us busts his rope, Colin!’ Dusty yelled,
controlling his paint so that it held the rope taut. ‘Leave us
choke him down, then you do the rest.’

That had been the agreement
reached while they were planning the final stage of the
‘walking down’. All
the rough handling was, if possible, to be carried out by the
Texans or
mesteneros
so that Colin could treat the
manadero
with nothing but kindness. In that
way, he would more easily gain Mogollon’s confidence.

By keeping their big stallions
backing away from the
manadero,
Dusty and the Kid cut off its air supply. Forcing
themselves to ignore the hideous sound of the chestnut fighting to
breathe, they choked it unconscious. When it went down, Dusty took
a set of hobbles which had been tied to his cantle. Allowing his
reins to fall free, he dismounted. Trained for such work, the paint
kept the rope as tight as if it still carried a rider. Swiftly
Dusty buckled the cuffs of the hobbles above the pastern joints on
Mogollon’s fore legs. With that done, he caught the hackamore
thrown to him by the Kid.

Looking like a cross between a
halter and a bridle, the hackamore offered all the advantages of
both. It could be equipped with reins or a lead-rope, but made use
of a
bosal
—a rawhide ring about the horse’s head above the
mouth—instead of a metal bit. In addition, there was a three-inch
wide brow band fitted so that it could be slid down to cover its
wearer’s eyes. Although he adjusted the hackamore to Mogollon’s
head, Dusty did not use the brow band as a blindfold.

‘
Come
on over and set him loose, Colin,’ Dusty said.

Leaving his horse
ground-hitched, Colin walked across to the stallion. By the time he
arrived, Dusty had returned to the paint. At their
masters
’
commands, the two horses allowed the ropes to sag loosely. Colin
opened and removed the loops. With the hobbles fitted, Mogollon
could not travel faster than at a walk and, after being choked
down, would be in no condition to make an escape bid on its
recovery.

Kneeling by the stallion as it
dragged air into its lungs, Colin raised its sleek head. He lowered
his face to Mogollon
’s and blew repeatedly into the flaring nostrils. While
uncertain just why it should be, he knew that doing so tended to
quieten down the animal so treated. After some seconds, Mogollon
regained consciousness and came, snorting and lathered, to its
feet. Keeping a gentle hold on the reins, Colin spoke soothingly to
the stallion. His free hand caressed its head and neck,
occasionally covering the nostrils so that it would become used to
his scent.

Oblivious of what was going on
around her, Jeanie galloped up on her
tobiano
gelding. She went by the
mesteneros
as they swarmed
around and held together the leg-weary remains of the
manada
making for what, to
her, was the most important area. For all her delight, she did not
attempt to ride straight up to her fiancé and the captured
manadero.
Instead, she halted
alongside Dusty and the Kid.

‘
It was
just like you figured, Dusty!’ the girl enthused. ‘He bust back
through the line.’

‘
He
tried it once too often,’ drawled the Kid.

Looking at Colin and Mogollon,
Jeanie nodded her agreement.
She realized just how much the capture of
the
manadero
had been due to Dusty’s grasp of the situation and tactical
training. While they had all remembered the manner in which
Mogollon had defeated their first
corrida,
only the small Texan had seen how it might
be turned to their advantage.

Jeanie and the
mesteneros
had been all for the
usual method of surrounding the exhausted mustangs, then dashing in
and roping any which looked like escaping. Fortunately they had
listened to Dusty’s alternative suggestion. It had been at his
instigation that Colin’s party took up their position to the rear
of the main body. Finding itself apparently being driven into
danger, Mogollon had used the tactics which had saved the
manada
from capture on
numerous occasions. With its attention on the men it had evaded, it
had run into another trio of riders stationed to cut off its
escape. So the trick that had previously saved Mogollon finally
brought about its capture.

‘
Gracias,
Dusty,’ Jeanie said sincerely. ‘You called the play just
right.’

‘
You’d
likely’ve taken him anyways,’ Dusty answered.

‘
Maybe,’ the girl replied. ‘He was going faster’n a Nueces
steer when he cut around the boys.’

‘
Mark
and Felix had to go some to catch them two young stallions,’ the
Kid went on, nodding to where the two men were returning leading
their captives. ‘Ole Mogollon could easy’ve got away.’

‘
Talking about getting away,’ Dusty put in, wanting the
subject changed, ‘I’d say it’s time we thought about doing just
that.’

‘
Sure
is,’ confirmed Jeanie and looked around. ‘Let’s go,
mesteneros.’

Taking turns at holding the exhausted
mustangs, the excited and delighted Mexicans had been riding over
to study the legendary Mogollon. Wishing to avoid disturbing the
stallion, none had gone close. Mogollon stood quietly, allowing
Colin to wipe the lather from its flanks. When all the men had
looked and commented, he turned to the Kid.

‘
Shall
we get going, Lon?’

‘
Might’s well,’ the Kid replied. ‘Happen we stick around
here, somebody’ll find
me
some work to do.’

‘
Let us
pull out first, Colin,’ Dusty suggested.

‘
Go to
it,’ confirmed the Scot. ‘Only let me cover Mogollon’s eyes first.
If I don’t, he’ll raise a fuss when he sees you taking his
manada.’

Acting with calm deliberation,
Colin drew the
brow band over the stallion’s eyes. At first it snorted and
moved restlessly, but its hobbled feet prevented any violent
resistance. Being unable to see them go, it stood quietly as
Jeanie’s party drove its band away. Nor did it fight against the
gentle pull of the reins as Colin led it to his waiting mount.
Swinging into the saddle, he set both horses moving at a slow walk.
The pace was leisurely because of the hobbles on Mogollon’s legs
and through the need to let the horse cool down after its
exertions. Mounting his white stallion, the Kid followed Colin from
a distance and in silence.

Instead of going with the
others, Colin and the Kid made their way to a small corral in a
valley about a mile from the main camp.
The enclosure had been erected by
the
triesteneros
to be used if they caught Mogollon. Flowing under one side
of the corral, a small stream provided an adequate water supply and
the ankle-deep grama grass offered sufficient bulk grazing during
Mogollon’s incarceration. Making a curve at that point, the shape
of the valley and height of its sides effectively hid the
surrounding country from view. The site of the corral had been
selected to help persuade the
manadero
to accept Colin as its companion and
master.

Gregarious by nature, a horse
needed to have company. Deprived of its own kind, it would always
seek to have other animals around it. So Mogollon had been brought
to the valley. Finding itself on strange territory and deprived of
its
manada,
the stallion would be more amenable to Colin’s
society.

‘
I’ll
go back on the rim,
amigo,’
the Kid said quietly, closing the gate behind
Colin and Mogollon. ‘You need help, I’ll get back
pronto.’

‘
Don’t
start shooting unless there’s no other way,’ Colin
requested.

Left to himself, Colin removed
the reins from the hackamore. Mogollon stood quietly, displaying no
fear. Whether the condition would continue when the
brow band was raised
remained to be seen. Still talking in a soothing manner, Colin
eased the band upwards. Then he turned and walked warily to the
fence. On the rim, the kid held his rifle ready for use. The
precaution proved to be unnecessary. Snorting softly, the stallion
swung and hobbled across to the stream. By the time Colin had
joined the Kid, Mogollon had
quenched its thirst and stood peacefully grazing.
The two
men
exchanged glances of relief. So far Mogollon showed
no
sign of distress or
fretting over its lost freedom.

‘
I
think I’ll make a start at blanket-training him this evening,’
Colin said.

‘
May as
well,’ agreed the Kid. ‘He looks to be settling down all
right.’

‘
If the
Apache trained him with a blanket, it should make my work
easier.’

‘
Or
harder. Depends on how the buck treated him.’

After setting up their camp,
Colin took a blanket and returned to the corral. Rifle in hand, the
Kid flattened himself down on the rim. All too well the dark
youngster knew the danger Colin faced. Maybe Mogollon had once been
broken and trained, but several years of wild living might have
destroyed its respect for human beings. Even with its forelegs
hobbled, the
manadero
would be a formidable beast should it decide to attack the
Scot.

Mogollon faced Colin, snorting
and wary, but making no move to flee or charge. Back in the days
when it had been owned by the Apache, it had learned not to fight
against a rope or hobbles. Being choked down by the two Texans had
revived memories of those days. There had been other treatment,
equally painful, inflicted on it until it had learned to respond to
its master
’s
wishes.

Slowly Colin advanced, moving
the blanket leisurely, but erratically in front of him. He had seen
the Kid and the
mesteneros
use similar tactics on mustangs and had tried them himself
with satisfactory results.

‘
Hoh!
Shuh! Hoh! Shuh!’
Colin grunted the traditional ‘horse talk’ from deep in his
chest.
‘Hoh!
Hoh! Shuh! Shuh!’

All the time, Colin drew closer
to Mogollon. The Kid
’s light eye squinted along the Winchester’s twenty-six
inch octagonal barrel, as he aligned its sights on the white star
in the center of the horse’s forehead.

Usually there would have been
four men holding the horse while a
‘ghost cord’ served as a further
inducement to good behavior. By tying a thin rawhide cord about the
horse’s tongue and gums, the man doing the breaking could inflict
pain as a punishment for disobedience. When the horse failed to
respond, a tug on the cord stabbed agony through it. The method
brought results, but often turned the suffering animal into a
savage fighter. So Colin refused to use a ghost cord. He hoped to
dominate Mogollon with firm, understanding kindness. Using
‘blanket’ training offered him his best chance of doing
it.