Read Online High Country : A Novel by Willard Wyman - Free Book Online

free. They watched through the dust as he reared back against the lead-line then tried to charge by the post, the lead yanking him back. He tried again and was spun back, the post cracking this time, then breaking free as Loco backed away, his lead dragging the post through the dust. He turned, ran from it, the post relentless behind him, toppling and rolling as he circled the corral at a run. Finally he backed from it, backed until he was cornered, stood quivering and dripping, the blindfold hanging useless from his halter.
“Lucky we didn’t tie this on.” Fenton still held the heavy pack. “Would have played hell with my jelly jars.”
Ty hardly heard it. He was talking to Loco already, freeing the big mule from the spooky post, touching him, rubbing his legs until the quivering stopped. He led him around the corral in circles, then in figure eights.
“If you can pack him,” Ty spoke in the same low voice that had quieted the mule, “I’ll hold him. He’s gainin’ his confidence back.”
“He drags you around like that post, it’s you who’ll need the confidence.” Fenton separated the packs so the mule could pass between. Ty led Loco through, turned and led him through again.
“That post didn’t help,” Ty said quietly. “It might be a spell before he stops trying to uproot every tree we tie him to.”
“Better he uproot a goddamned tree than you.” Fenton eased a pack against Loco’s saddle, kept the weight off the mule until he got the loop across the pack, pulled it tight, and tied it off. Ty held the mule, calmed him as Fenton let the weight down.
When he felt the weight, Loco went up like a shot, front legs striking out as Ty tried to keep him from going over. Fenton managed to release the knot and let the pack drop as Ty was pulled through the dust by the big mule, who fought back from the pack, the big man, even the boy until at last he stood, calmed by the voice, the relentless hands reaching to touch him.
“He quieted,” Fenton said, surprised. “And neither of you hurt.”
“He’ll tire.” Ty moved Loco around the corral again, circling it twice before bringing him to the packs.
“If he don’t kill you first,” Fenton said, readying the packs again.
    For an hour the mule fought off the packs—once when Fenton was almost finished with the last knot.
“Maybe Spec’s right. We need to build a packing platform.” Fenton’s shirt was soggy with sweat and dust and mule hair. “He just won’t wear down.” He moved the packs back into place. “Determined bastard.”
Ty thought panicked was more like it. He hated what they were doing—but saw no choice. Again he circled the mule before bringing him back between the packs. Fenton eased the first pack against his side and again Loco went up, pulling Ty beneath the flailing feet. Fenton kicked the pack aside and grabbed the rope to help. Together they fought Loco down only to have him go up even harder, pulling them under him as he staggered backward for balance.
“Let him go.” Fenton knocked Ty into the dirt with a sweep of his arm and dropped the lead. With no weight to check him, Loco went all the way over, his head cracking against the broken post, the big body suddenly limp.
“Maybe we killed him,” Fenton panted. “Or is he just slowed?”
“Might of killed himself.” Ty got up from the dirt.
“Suicide, you mean?”
“No. Suicide takes being thoughtful.” Ty walked over to the fallen mule. “Maybe he panicked himself to death.”
“Thoughtful folks can panic to death too.” Fenton nudged the mule with his boot. “Just more rare.”
Ty was trying to figure out what Fenton meant when the mule stirred, rolled to get his feet under him, came partway up, went back down.
“Think he’s all right?” Ty asked.
“Maybe. Might be knocked a little walleyed.”
Loco was up now, legs splayed, head low, seeking balance.
“Quick.” Fenton was already moving. “Let’s pack him.”
“Pack him? Those packs could knock him