model70hunter
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In the middle years of the last century my Dad bought a 200 acre farm. Dad bought horses for us. Horses was his story, the real story was they were full registered plugs. This changed my brother and I from horse ride moochers into real cowboys. No more borrowing a cousin or uncles horse and definitely no more riding Grandpa's work horses or Mules at big family events.
One city cousin had a couple of acres in town and his Dad had bought him a champion barrel horse out of Oklahoma. His walls were covered with 1st place ribbons. The horse was also flat out fast. The horse was turned in with ours over the winter. Early one spring day the first year we had the farm when I was about 14 my cousin came up to go riding. Dad wouldn't let us ride the "fancy" horse. But when our cousin came out he let us try her out. Cuz really did not like horses, he just did it because his Dad wanted him to.
I had a friend who's Dad owned a few hundred acres on the other side of a farm between us, he asked his dad and we received full permission to cross both farms so we could ford the river to our Grandpa's farm.
My friend told me to cross the farm in the middle and take the east side gate to his Dad's farm. Heck I was a Boy Scout with the compass badge. East was no problem.
I happened to get the big fast horse for the first 1/2 of the trip. My Brother and cousin were riding some green ponies, them there famous plugs Dad bought earlier, that had progressed from not bucking much but still had to be plow reined. The big one I was on had power steering, hold the reins between two fingers lightly and neck rein, lean back and the slightest pull gave you power brakes.
Well, my friend did not get the directional Boy Scout Badge in compass reading. We went through an old homemade wood gate just like he said, next to a big Oak tree, followed the holler and soon could see the river bottom.
Just as we reached the river bottom road all heck broke loose. A crazed looking old timer leaning out his pickup up window came flying into the field holding a pump shotgun out the window. He fired right at us, if we were hit we were too scared to bleed. He had both hands on the shotgun more than the steering wheel.
I will tell you that I screamed ride hard and we did. The ponies too were scared or perhaps taking it in the rump as they kept up with the fast horse.
I looked over my shoulder, his truck was going airborne jumping ditches and he kept firing. We leaned low and kept riding hard.
I eventually pulled away from my brother and cousin I yelled I would get the gate. The truck could not run a perfect straight line but was still on our tail.
The road had tight curve in it before the gate, with 2 fingers I neck reined around it, I could see safety ahead. I looked over my shoulder and my heart sank, the ponies had gone straight ahead into a fence corner and stopped. The truck pulled in and the crazy man got out, screaming and waving the old pump shotgun threatening to kill us all.
I became a man that day. I sucked it up, spurred the fast horse over there. I got off and started talking to the business end of a 12 gauge shotgun barrel which is huge.But I also knew nothing was going to happen to my little Brother.
I kept telling him we were on Bearcat's farm, he said some thing like BS. He finally said what name do you boys want on your tombstone? Who are you boys? I told him, he said oh your Dad just bought the farm next to me and you boys think you can just ride on it anytime you want. I said no sir, Bearcat's son got us permission to ride on this farm, who are you, he told me.
The whole river bottom, the road and that part of the world had been owned by this man's grandfather, the Judge. It had eventually been pieced out among heirs and most sold off. This 160 acres was owned and farmed by a crazy semi hermit who was now measuring us for a tombstone.
I next learned to negotiate. After I got him to open up a little and more calmed I told him we were told to take the east gate to the river, he said no son it is the NORTH GATE. I asked him if we could leave and promised to never cross his land again. He said leave and if he caught us on him again he would shoot us. I guess my brother and I learned our lesson, we never rode horses on him again until he went into a nursing home.
After we got our own fast 1/4 horses and trained them we almost roped a deer on that same bend in the road where we had been cornered by the posse. The Old man's nephew inherited the farm a year after the big chase and was a little more friendly to young cowboys.
We never told Mom nor Dad. Nope just our little secret.
In the middle years of the last century my Dad bought a 200 acre farm. Dad bought horses for us. Horses was his story, the real story was they were full registered plugs. This changed my brother and I from horse ride moochers into real cowboys. No more borrowing a cousin or uncles horse and definitely no more riding Grandpa's work horses or Mules at big family events.
One city cousin had a couple of acres in town and his Dad had bought him a champion barrel horse out of Oklahoma. His walls were covered with 1st place ribbons. The horse was also flat out fast. The horse was turned in with ours over the winter. Early one spring day the first year we had the farm when I was about 14 my cousin came up to go riding. Dad wouldn't let us ride the "fancy" horse. But when our cousin came out he let us try her out. Cuz really did not like horses, he just did it because his Dad wanted him to.
I had a friend who's Dad owned a few hundred acres on the other side of a farm between us, he asked his dad and we received full permission to cross both farms so we could ford the river to our Grandpa's farm.
My friend told me to cross the farm in the middle and take the east side gate to his Dad's farm. Heck I was a Boy Scout with the compass badge. East was no problem.
I happened to get the big fast horse for the first 1/2 of the trip. My Brother and cousin were riding some green ponies, them there famous plugs Dad bought earlier, that had progressed from not bucking much but still had to be plow reined. The big one I was on had power steering, hold the reins between two fingers lightly and neck rein, lean back and the slightest pull gave you power brakes.
Well, my friend did not get the directional Boy Scout Badge in compass reading. We went through an old homemade wood gate just like he said, next to a big Oak tree, followed the holler and soon could see the river bottom.
Just as we reached the river bottom road all heck broke loose. A crazed looking old timer leaning out his pickup up window came flying into the field holding a pump shotgun out the window. He fired right at us, if we were hit we were too scared to bleed. He had both hands on the shotgun more than the steering wheel.
I will tell you that I screamed ride hard and we did. The ponies too were scared or perhaps taking it in the rump as they kept up with the fast horse.
I looked over my shoulder, his truck was going airborne jumping ditches and he kept firing. We leaned low and kept riding hard.
I eventually pulled away from my brother and cousin I yelled I would get the gate. The truck could not run a perfect straight line but was still on our tail.
The road had tight curve in it before the gate, with 2 fingers I neck reined around it, I could see safety ahead. I looked over my shoulder and my heart sank, the ponies had gone straight ahead into a fence corner and stopped. The truck pulled in and the crazy man got out, screaming and waving the old pump shotgun threatening to kill us all.
I became a man that day. I sucked it up, spurred the fast horse over there. I got off and started talking to the business end of a 12 gauge shotgun barrel which is huge.But I also knew nothing was going to happen to my little Brother.
I kept telling him we were on Bearcat's farm, he said some thing like BS. He finally said what name do you boys want on your tombstone? Who are you boys? I told him, he said oh your Dad just bought the farm next to me and you boys think you can just ride on it anytime you want. I said no sir, Bearcat's son got us permission to ride on this farm, who are you, he told me.
The whole river bottom, the road and that part of the world had been owned by this man's grandfather, the Judge. It had eventually been pieced out among heirs and most sold off. This 160 acres was owned and farmed by a crazy semi hermit who was now measuring us for a tombstone.
I next learned to negotiate. After I got him to open up a little and more calmed I told him we were told to take the east gate to the river, he said no son it is the NORTH GATE. I asked him if we could leave and promised to never cross his land again. He said leave and if he caught us on him again he would shoot us. I guess my brother and I learned our lesson, we never rode horses on him again until he went into a nursing home.
After we got our own fast 1/4 horses and trained them we almost roped a deer on that same bend in the road where we had been cornered by the posse. The Old man's nephew inherited the farm a year after the big chase and was a little more friendly to young cowboys.
We never told Mom nor Dad. Nope just our little secret.
The scariest was from a drunken neighbor who did not like motorcycles and took a shot at me, and my 8 year old son, as we rode past his house....he stepped out next to the street and fired from close enough that I heard the "bumblebee" pass my head and felt unburned powder sting the part of my face not covered by the helmet....He ran from me and made it behind locked doors before I could get to him, but went to jail shortly thereafter. Fortunately,(probably for me) common sense and the realization I was not bullet proof, replaced blind anger before I kicked in his door and went after him inside his home.
