the mountains(山脉)-第5节
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can find just those kinds； is an abomination。 He must not jump when you
throw all kinds of rattling and terrifying tarpaulins across him； and he
must not mind if the pack…ropes fall about his heels。 In the day's march
he must follow like a dog without the necessity of a lead…rope； nor must he
stray far when turned loose at night。
Fortunately； when removed from the reassuring environment of
civilization； horses are gregarious。 They hate to be separated from the
bunch to which they are accustomed。 Occasionally one of us would stop
on the trail； for some reason or another； thus dropping behind the pack…
train。 Instantly the saddle… horse so detained would begin to grow uneasy。
Bullet used by all means in his power to try to induce me to proceed。 He
would nibble me with his lips； paw the ground； dance in a circle； and
finally sidle up to me in the position of being mounted； than which he
could think of no stronger hint。 Then when I had finally remounted； it
was hard to hold him in。 He would whinny frantically； scramble with
enthusiasm up trails steep enough to draw a protest at ordinary times； and
rejoin his companions with every symptom of gratification and delight。
This gregariousness and alarm at being left alone in a strange country
tends to hold them together at night。 You are reasonably certain that in
the morning； having found one； you will come upon the rest not far away。
The personnel of our own outfit we found most interesting。 Although
collected from divergent localities they soon became acquainted。 In a
crowded corral they were always compact in their organization； sticking
close together； and resisting as a solid phalanx encroachments on their
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feed by other and stranger horses。 Their internal organization was very
amusing。 A certain segregation soon took place。 Some became leaders；
others by common consent were relegated to the position of subordinates。
The order of precedence on the trail was rigidly preserved by the pack…
horses。 An attempt by Buckshot to pass Dinkey； for example； the latter
always met with a bite or a kick by way of hint。 If the gelding still
persisted； and tried to pass by a long detour； the mare would rush out at
him angrily； her ears back； her eyes flashing； her neck extended。 And
since Buckshot was by no means inclined always to give in meekly； we
had opportunities for plenty of amusement。 The two were always
skirmishing。 When by a strategic short cut across the angle of a trail
Buckshot succeeded in stealing a march on Dinkey； while she was nipping
a mouthful； his triumph was beautiful to see。 He never held the place for
long； however。 Dinkey's was the leadership by force of ambition and
energetic character； and at the head of the pack…train she normally
marched。
Yet there were hours when utter indifference seemed to fall on the
militant spirits。 They trailed peacefully and amiably in the rear while
Lily or Jenny marched with pride in the coveted advance。 But the place
was theirs only by sufferance。 A bite or a kick sent them back to their
own positions when the true leaders grew tired of their vacation。
However rigid this order of precedence； the saddle… animals were
acknowledged as privileged；and knew it。 They could go where they
pleased。 Furthermore theirs was the duty of correcting infractions of the
trail discipline； such as grazing on the march； or attempting unauthorized
short cuts。 They appreciated this duty。 Bullet always became vastly
indignant if one of the pack…horses misbehaved。 He would run at the
offender angrily； hustle him to his place with savage nips of his teeth； and
drop back to his own position with a comical air of virtue。 Once in a
great while it would happen that on my spurring up from the rear of the
column I would be mistaken for one of the pack…horses attempting
illegally to get ahead。 Immediately Dinkey or Buckshot would snake his
head out crossly to turn me to the rear。 It was really ridiculous to see the
expression of apology with which they would take it all back； and the
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ostentatious； nose…elevated indifference in Bullet's very gait as he marched
haughtily by。 So rigid did all the animals hold this convention that
actually in the San Joaquin Valley Dinkey once attempted to head off a
Southern Pacific train。 She ran at full speed diagonally toward it； her
eyes striking fire； her ears back； her teeth snapping in rage because the
locomotive would not keep its place behind her ladyship。
Let me make you acquainted with our outfit。
I rode； as you have gathered； an Arizona pony named Bullet。 He was
a handsome fellow with a chestnut brown coat； long mane and tail； and a
beautiful pair of brown eyes。 Wes always called him 〃Baby。〃 He was
in fact the youngster of the party； with all the engaging qualities of youth。
I never saw a horse more willing。 He wanted to do what you wanted him
to； it pleased him； and gave him a warm consciousness of virtue which the
least observant could not fail to remark。 When leading he walked
industriously ahead； setting the pace； when driving；that is； closing up the
rear；he attended strictly to business。 Not for the most luscious bunch of
grass that ever grew would he pause even for an instant。 Yet in his off
hours； when I rode irresponsibly somewhere in the middle； he was a great
hand to forage。 Few choice morsels escaped him。 He confided
absolutely in his rider in the matter of bad country； and would tackle
anything I would put him at。 It seemed that he trusted me not to put him
at anything that would hurt him。 This was an invaluable trait when an
example had to be set to the reluctance of the other horses。 He was a
great swimmer。 Probably the most winning quality of his nature was his
extreme friendliness。 He was always wandering into camp to be petted；
nibbling me over with his lips； begging to have his forehead rubbed；
thrusting his nose under an elbow； and otherwise telling how much he
thought of us。 Whoever broke him did a good job。 I never rode a
better…reined horse。 A mere indication of the bridle…hand turned him to
right or left； and a mere raising of the hand without the slightest pressure
on the bit stopped him short。 And how well he understood cow…work！
Turn him loose after the bunch； and he would do the rest。 All I had to do
was to stick to him。 That in itself was no mean task； for he turned like a
flash； and was quick as a cat on his feet。 At night I always let him go
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foot free。 He would be there in the morning； and I could always walk
directly up to him with the bridle in plain sight in my hand。 Even at a
feedless camp we once made where we had shot a couple of deer； he did
not attempt to wander off in search of pasture； as would most horses。 He
nosed around unsuccessfully until pitch dark； then came into camp； and
with great philosophy stood tail to the fire until morning。 I could always
jump off anywhere for a shot； without even the necessity of 〃tying him to
the ground；〃 by throwing the reins over his head。 He would wait for me；
although he was never overfond of firearms。
Nevertheless Bullet had
