Appaloosa Spring

The end of the day found the man and his horses deep into the forests at the lower elevations of the snow-peaked mountains.  The temperature had definitely dropped from that of the high desert of San Luis, but it was comfortable.  Small patches of snow at the feet of trees on their south sides warned Aaron that, in spite of the summer months, snow can happen.  The horses continued to climb.

As the sun left the sky and a purple dome appeared overhead, Aaron Taylor’s attention focused on shelter for the night.  This time he wanted something overhead just in case.  Summer snow happened but was rare...mountain thunderstorms were not.  And the horses were blowing white breath; it was cooling fast.

The trail had leveled off for the last half-mile or so...not like a meadow but more of a depression between rises on the mountain.  Ahead and to the right the mountain gave way to a ravine.  It was as if the entire side of the massive structure had just cut loose and slid to the bottom of a chasm.  What remained was a natural trail formed by rows of tall pines right at the edge of the break.  Three feet to the right and bye-bye horsy and Aaron Taylor, but these guys were tough mountain horses and this was like a Sunday stroll.

At the end of this path was just what Aaron had been hoping for...a cave.  This was a big enough one for himself and both Red and White.  When the mountain slid, a massive boulder must have followed, popping out of the side of the cliff leaving a round-mouthed depression about twenty feet deep.  The trail walked right up to it.

Aaron undressed the animals and led them inside.  They liked their new surroundings.  And with the armload of dry grass their master fetched, they were in fat city.

The small, smokeless fire Aaron built added to the ambiance of the shelter...a storm was coming, the horses told him that.

Since there hadn’t been time to hunt for dinner, Aaron made use of the vittles from the market.  He even treated his pets (as he had referred to them back in town) to some handfuls of oats; they had earned every bit of it.

Half way through dinner the rains came.  First as a slow, heavy mist then in noisy sheets following loud cracks of thunder.  The cave was deep enough to keep the residents dry but shallow enough to allow the campfire smoke to crawl across the ceiling and escape out the mouth.  Aaron Taylor felt comfortable, right at home in these lodgings.  If he weren’t on the run, he wouldn’t mind making this a kind of home away from home.

Everyone’s meals consumed, the man pulled a bedroll from the big pack, the horses closed their eyes and leaned against one another, as they liked to do...all would sleep deep tonight without any worries.  And the rain fell all night.

The next morning found Aaron Taylor waking near midday...he was making up for lost sleep.  The skies had cleared a bit and a little sun helped take the chill off as the man fixed some coffee.  While the water heated, Aaron took the 22 rifle and walked back up the path he and the horses had arrived on.  Into the woods, he was hoping to find some breakfast scurrying about.  A fat squirrel made the mistake of finding Aaron’s bullet...one shot, one squirrel.  A big meal now would get him all the way to nightfall and deeper into the mountains and trees.

The horses found their way out of the cave to a clearing of grasses, ate their fill, then returned knowing it was time to load up and hit the trail.  This time Red would get the saddle and White the pack.