Read Online Faraway Horses by Buck Brannaman, William Reynolds - Free Book Online

the most secure, unaffected person you’d ever meet. The things he taught me about horses and the things he’s taught me about myself have changed my life. The approach that he has to working with horses was like nothing I’d ever seen, nor probably ever will see again. He’s a great horseman, and a fine gentleman. I admired him so much that I wanted nothing more than to be just like him. He and his wife, Carolyn, have been like parents to me. They have treated me like family through the years, and for that I’ll forever be indebted to them.
    When I showed up at the ranch a few days after the clinic, the cow boss, Mel, showed me the bunkhouse and the cookhouse. When we sat down for dinner, he said, “We’re going to be gathering cattle tomorrow. If you like, you might want to catch that roan horse out there. That’s going to be one of your horses; the whole pen of horses is going to be your string. Some of the other boys have had a little trouble with them, but you shouldn’t have any problem, although you might want to ride him around the corral and get some of the kinks out of him before we go gather. It’s pretty rough country.”
    I thought, Sure, no problem.
    So after dinner, I went out and ran the little roan horse into the round corral. I had to rope him as he was a little broncy, but I thought, Well, no big deal. I got him saddled up with no trouble. I didn’t know anything about groundwork or getting a horse loosened up or relaxed. I thought I’d just step up on him.
    Well, that horse bucked so hard, he bucked my hat clear out of the corral. I stayed on him, but by the time he was finishedbucking, I felt as if I’d experienced a seizure. “What have I gotten myself into?” I asked myself when I stopped shaking.
    The next morning we saddled the horses in the barn, then hauled them about thirty miles in a truck and trailer up into the hills where the cattle were. After we arrived, Mel said, “Here, let me help you get that roan horse ready.”
    Back in those days Mel knew just enough about Ray Hunt’s techniques to be dangerous. He was working the horse on the end of the halter rope from his saddle horse, and he told me, “Go ahead, Buck, get on. I’ve got you snubbed up”—snubbed up meaning he had a hold of the horse—“so you won’t have any problem with him bucking. I’ll just dally up, and it’ll shut him down.” That meant he would wrap the rope around his saddle horn; the confinement would keep the roan under control.
    Not quite. As soon as I climbed on, Roany started bucking. It seemed as if he bucked in four directions at the same time. Every time I’d just about get in sync with his bucking in a straight line, Mel would ride off and jerk his head around. That sent him off in another direction, which made it ten times harder to ride. I’d have been better off if Roany had broken the halter and gotten away. Then at least he’d have bucked in a straight line.
    I was a dishrag when Roany decided to quit bucking. Mel took off at a trot on a long uphill grade. I had enough experience to know that if I was going to survive the day, I needed to get Roany out of breath. We trotted what seemed like six miles up the grade until we got to the top, but Roany hadn’t even broken a sweat.
    Mel halted and let his horse rest. He was looking for cattle through his binoculars and having a nice break. I was getting a little nervous with Roany standing around catching his own breath, and I thought, Come on, Mel, let’s keep moving.
    On a normal day you might think, Ah, the sweet smell of sage on a frosty clear morning. Wrong-o. All I could smell was nervous sweat. And as Roany’s respiration began to slow, mine sped up in anticipation of the next move in our dance together. Mel kept looking and looking. Because I was new on the job, I didn’t want to say, “Mel, I need to get the hell out of here and get going.” I was sitting very still, trying to convince Roany that nobody was on his