Out of the Wild

Mark Rashid

OUT
OF THE
WILD

ALSO BY MARK RASHID

A Journey to Softness

Considering the Horse

A Good Horse Is Never a Bad Color

Horses Never Lie

Life Lessons from a Ranch Horse

Horsemanship through Life

Big Horses, Good Dogs, and Straight Fences

A Life with Horses

Whole Heart, Whole Horse

OUT
OF THE
WILD

Mark Rashid

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

First published in 2016 by
Trafalgar Square Books
North Pomfret, Vermont 05053

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, by any means, without written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer quoting brief excerpts for a review in a magazine, newspaper, or website.

Disclaimer of Liability

The author and publisher shall have neither liability nor responsibility to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book. While the book is as accurate as the author can make it, there may be errors, omissions, and inaccuracies.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Rashid, Mark, author.

Title: Out of the wild : a novel / Mark Rashid.

Description: North Pomfret, Vermont : Trafalgar Square Books, 2016.

Identifiers: LCCN 2016010720 | ISBN 9781570767685 (softcover)

Classification: LCC PS3618.A763 O88 2016 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016010720

Cover photographs by Paul Krizan

Book design by DOQ

Cover design by RM Didier

Typefaces: Chaparral Pro, Bembo Std

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Crissi

CHAPTER 1

It seemed as though he would no sooner finish helping one of his first time momma cows deliver a calf in the muck of late winter when he’d see another cow down and struggling. This happened repeatedly, no less than one hundred and thirteen times by his count, once he started to keep count. He still felt lucky. He only had to call the vet out to help with nine of the births. Of those nine, eight calves lived and one didn’t. The one that died did so during the birthing process, having presented to the birth canal backwards, upside down and much too big for the cow, who was one of his smallest. He had found the cow, red ear tag #67, many hours into her labor, down in draw a mile or so from the main herd. The vet guessed the baby had already been dead for a while; it was the vet who ended up having to dismember the calf while still inside #67 to get him out and save the cow.

Spring had always been a very busy time of year for struggling cattle rancher Henry McBride and his family, and that year had been no exception. It started in late January with the beginning of calving season, the time of year most cattlemen look forward to and dread at the same time. Calving season, by its very nature, brings new life to a working cattle ranch, and new life always offers new beginnings. No matter how good or bad the previous year was, once the babies start arriving the opportunities for improvement in the New Year always look just a little better.

Many ranchers also dread calving season for one of the reasons Henry was dreading it this year. Any other year Henry’s herd would have consisted mostly of older cows, all with many years of calving behind them. In those years he wouldn’t have needed to be so watchful and diligent about helping the cows calve. However, the summer before, a large number of those older, trustworthy cows died during a freak lightning strike in the high meadow. Many of the older cows that survived the initial strike would ultimately need to be destroyed later due to their internal injuries. Because of that one unfortunate mishap, the majority of Henry’s herd this year was made up of first time mothers who almost always needed more looking after than the older, more experienced cows would.

Luckily, by mid March calving was over, just in time for the six mares to start having their foals. About that time a series of spring storms started pushing up the valley, accompanied by bone-chilling winds and dumping freezing rain and snow on everything in sight. Knowing the mares were close to foaling, Henry brought them all up to the old wooden barn, a sort of landmark in the area, which had been built in the late 1800’s by the original owners of the place. There he put the mares all in separate box stalls he had constructed over the years and spent many more a sleepless night slogging his way from the house, through the rain and muck, to check on them.

By April, all but one of the mares had foaled and had been turned out into the lower pasture where the new spring grass was starting to come up. The last mare to have her baby was, again, a first-time mother and seemed to be holding on to her foal like it was gold. The good news was by now the weather had started settling down a bit, and although he probably would have been fine turning the mare out with the others, Henry chose to keep her in the barn at night so he could check on her.

Henry was a lifelong stockman and took great pride in the health and well being of his animals, particularly during calving and foaling season. This, even at the constant ribbing of a number of his neighbors who were more of a mind that animals should be prepared to take care of themselves during such times, not be pampered and coddled. Of course, for the most part, Henry agreed. Animals should be able to take care of themselves. And he was more than willing to let them, once they were on the ground and healthy. It was just that he didn’t want to lose any stock for want of paying attention.

It was also in April that irrigating began on the five hundred acres of bottomland Henry had acquired only five years before, to add to the seven hundred acres he and his wife Annie already owned. The seven hundred acres that came with the ranch, when they bought the place five years before that, was mostly rocky scrub with some good grass, but not much. It was also criss-crossed a number of times by a mostly dry, shallow ravine that hardly had enough water in it for the stock to drink out of, unless there was rain and plenty of it. As a result, the seven hundred acres were fine for grazing stock, but not at all useful for growing hay, which was what the five hundred acres of bottomland was for.

Like everything else on the ranch that spring, irrigating was a time-consuming process for Henry. The entire bottomland sloped gently to the south, and Henry would lay dams made out of blue plastic tarp in the irrigation ditches so water would back up behind them and eventually start to flood the acreage below the ditch. After a few days, when the area was sufficiently saturated, he would then set up another dam farther down the ditch, remove the previous dam, and then begin to saturate that area as well. This process would continue until the entire five hundred acres had been irrigated sufficiently. There was a total of twenty ditches, which meandered their way for miles, and changing water—or moving the dams—in and of itself was nearly a full time job.

Of course then there was the branding, doctoring, ear tagging, castrating of bull calves, de-lousing of the entire herd, sorting then moving the herd to their respective summer pastures, and hauling steers to market. On top of that there was the fencing that needed to be done, along with the repairs on tack and equipment, all of which was never-ending.

Because Henry and Annie’s place had always been more of a subsistence ranch than a real money maker, the vast majority of the work was always done by either Henry, Annie, or both, along with their twelve-year-old son Josh. Hiring help, even just day help, was simply out of the question. In fact, things had been so tight recently that a couple years before, Annie took a job in town, working part time at the local market as a checker. It was terribly difficult for Henry to swallow at the time—the fact that the ranch wasn’t making enough money to support his family. But then, times were tough for nearly everybody, and more than one ranch wife found a town job to help supplement income.

Annie, on the other hand, while understanding how difficult it was for Henry to see her take the job, actually enjoyed her time at the market. Ever since she was a little girl she had always been very social and outgoing and while she loved the ranch and the life it provided, she found the market a welcome distraction from its solitude.

It was that outgoing personality that attracted Henry to her in the first place, when the two of them were kids in the fourth grade—that, and her green eyes. At the time, Henry fancied himself a pretty good roper, which he was, and had been out on the playground at recess showing off to some of his friends. Before long, Henry had attracted quite an audience, while throwing one fancy loop after another. First he caught one, then two and even three of his friends with one loop. Then he caught their feet as they ran past him, simulating the act of “heeling,” or catching an animal by the hind legs.

He then moved on to a couple of more technically challenging loops, one of which is known as a houlihan. The loops he had been throwing up to this point were pretty standard, all of which had been tossed sort of like one would a baseball and slightly off to the side of his body. The houlihan is thrown in a backhand fashion, with the release of the rope being nearly directly overhead. It is a tough loop for some experienced ropers to throw, but even as a child, Henry made it look easy.

This loop is generally known as a horse loop, as it is often used to catch loose horses out of a remuda. Unlike a standard loop, which would come directly at the horse due to the way it is thrown, often causing him to shy from the loop and avoid being caught, the houlihan, because of the way it is thrown, floats gently over the head and allows the person doing the throwing to catch the horse around the neck.

Henry had thrown several of these loops, effortlessly catching several of his friends, before one of the loops missed. Almost immediately, out of the small crowd of onlookers came a voice.

“I have a better houlihan than that,” the voice said unapologetically. Henry looked at the group while coiling his rope.

“Who said that?” he asked with a self-assured chuckle. There was no answer. “That’s what I thought,” he finished coiling his rope, and then started to build another loop. “Ain’t nobody here better than me.”

“I am,” the voice said. Then, from the back of the crowd stepped a small girl with long blond hair hanging down the middle of her back in a ponytail. She wore a yellow, flowered cotton dress and scuffed saddle shoes and white socks. Her eyes were the greenest Henry had ever seen, and he had to stop for a minute just to take them in. “I can do better than that.”

“You?” Henry snapped out of his stare and was indignant, or at least as indignant as a ten-year-old boy can be. “A girl! No way!”

The group, made up mostly of ranch boys and girls, all laughed. All except another little girl standing next to the blond.

“She is better,” the little girl said matter-of-factly. “She could out-rope you any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

“Oh yeah,” Henry grunted. “Then prove it.”

With that, the little blond-headed girl with the green eyes stepped up. “Let’s have a contest,” she said. “We throw as many houlihans as we can before the bell rings. First one to miss, loses.”

“Fine with me,” Henry chuckled. “Targets got to be moving, though.”

“Fine with me,” the little girl said.

“Good,” Henry said. “I pick Leon to be my target.”

“No way,” the girl protested. “I pick your target—you pick mine. That way we both know a friend ain’t gonna cheat for either one of us.”

“Whatever,” Henry grinned. “Ain’t gonna matter anyhow.”

With that, targets were picked, rules were established (such as no ducking out from under a loop or running too fast), and the contest began. Each contestant would throw five loops, then give the rope to the opponent for five loops, and so on until someone missed or until recess was over, whichever came first. At that time, whoever had the most catches would be declared the winner.

Henry hit his first five with ease, and much to everyone’s surprise, so did the little girl. Then both hit the second five, then the third. On Henry’s sixteenth throw, however, he released a just little too late and the loop landed harmlessly on his target’s head and slid down the boy’s back.

The little girl stepped up and made another five in a row, then for good measure, made another three. About that time, the bell signaling the end of recess rang, and that was that. As the kids all made their way back into school, the girl coiled Henry’s rope and graciously handed it back to him.

“Thanks for letting me use your rope,” she said.

At first, Henry couldn’t think of anything to say. He was embarrassed and impressed all at the same time. Embarrassed because he had been beaten by a girl, and impressed, also because he had been beaten by a girl. He gently took the rope. “You got a nice houlihan,” he said, with all the humility he could muster.

“You, too.” She smiled. “I’m Annie Ford. We’re new here. Just moved from Idaho. This is my second day.”

“I’m Henry.” They started for the school. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

Like Henry, Annie had grown up in a ranching family. Her father had been working as ranch foreman on the Box L Ranch in Northern Idaho before recently taking a job as ranch manager on the Nine-Bar-Nine just up the road from where Henry and his family’s little ranch was. The Nines, as folks in the area referred to it, was one of the biggest cow/calf operations in the state, and it was considered quite a coup for Len Ford to have snagged the manager position there. Nearly every cowboy in a three-state area applied for the job, which was vacated when Tink Weber, the previous manager, died of pneumonia the winter before.

Annie had learned much of her roping skills from her father, along with the ranch hands on the Box L when her family was still there, and she had spent countless hours practicing both on and off her horse in hopes that one day she’d get to help out on the ranch and do some real roping, helping out at branding time, for instance, instead of just roping stationary targets like hay bales and fence posts. As of yet, she hadn’t gotten her chance. It was those roping skills she had developed, however, along with her natural beauty, outgoing nature and those green eyes that caught Henry’s attention, and gradually Henry found himself spending more and more time with her.

Out of the Wild

CHAPTER 1

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