The Adventures of Cherokee

by Nancy Johnson

  “Home!” shouted J.D.

  Pushing the horses into a gallop they raced for the corral, whooping and shouting. By the time they arrived, farm hands had opened the gates and made way for the wild horses to enter.

  Marty had been assigned earlier to lead the stallion and now he was having trouble keeping him from entering the corral with the rest of the herd. Flying Hawk was putting up a good fight. Shaking his head, trying to lose the lasso from around his neck, stamping his front hooves, fighting for freedom. But Marty had a good hold on him and his horse was used to working with unruly horses. Together they got the stallion under control.

  “Put him in the round pen next to them, but tie him.” directed J.D. “Turn him loose and he will just try to free his herd and himself.”

  “Right, Boss,” said Marty.

  J.D. and the cowboys turned their horses loose in another corral, hung their saddles and bridles on the fence, stretched and headed for the bunkhouse.

  “Wonder what Cookie has for supper?” one of the men asked. “I shore could use a good, hot meal and an uninterrupted night’s sleep.”

  “Couldn’t we all.” commented Marty. “Well, it’s getting dusk. Let’s wash up and be ready when that dinner bell rings.”

  It wasn’t long until they were all sitting down at a long split log table with wooden benches on each side. On the table there were two large pans of fried chicken, a bushel of biscuits, and mounds of mashed potatoes and gallons of gravy, or so it seemed. There was steaming corn on the cob and plenty of fresh butter to put on it. The food was blessed and the men dug in. As soon as a serving dish emptied, Cookie brought in another one. Bellies full, they leaned back some to get breathing room. That’s when Cookie brought in the coffee and tart apple pies for dessert. There were a few groans, but no body turned down the pie! For these men, the table was not for talking. It was for eating. When finished they stood, thanked Cookie and headed outside for some fresh air, a smoke and a little conversation.

  Bobby Knight, owner of the Bar B Ranch, propped his right foot up on the railing of the porch and sighed. “You men did a good job, alright,” he said. “I believe I recognize that chocolate stallion. My brother used to own one a few years back. He lives in Kentucky. I need to check the brand and then I’ll know for sure.”

  “What’s your brother’s brand, Boss?” asked J.D.

  “The Flying K,” he responded.

  “Well, I believe you’re in luck. That’s what’s on ‘im,”

  “Let’s go out and look at ‘im.” suggested Bobby.

  Finished with their smokes, the men followed Bobby out to the stallion’s corral. “Take off the rope halter, fellas,” he said. “He’s pretty settled. Maybe feels a little like home. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble now.”

  Marty walked up to Flying Hawk and slipped off the halter, letting the horse free for the first time in many hours. The stallion backed up quickly. He shook his head, turned around and bucked a couple of times, then trotted around the corral, loosening up his tight muscles. He laid down on the ground and rolled, scratching the itches on his back. He stood, shook off the dust and looked around. It felt good to be free from the halter and rope. The men enjoyed watching him. Every movement was graceful and full of spirit.

  “I can see why my brother turned him loose,” said Bobby. “It would be a shame to keep that fellow penned up any time at all.”

  The mares and colts began to mill around and call to the stallion when he was freed. One mare in particular walked boldly to the fence separating her from the big horse. The men watched as the spotted mare and the stallion rubbed noses across the fence and nickered softly to each other.

  “I have missed you,” said Dancing Shadow.

  “And I you,” answered Flying Hawk. “Do you have water? Food? Are you well cared for?” he asked her.

  “Yes. Little Sister and Yellow Bird escaped with Cherokee and Sunee. Because of last winter’s bad storms, there were not many colts born to us, so we tried to protect what we could.”

  “Yes, I saw them enter the forest in safety. I do not know these men, but one is familiar. Perhaps we will not be as bad off as we might have been.”

  “I do not like it,” whinnied Dancing Shadow, stomping her foot. “I want to be free!”

  “As do we all,” replied the stallion. “But remember Grandfather’s lesson. When captured we must serve man with a willing heart. It is your responsibility to tell the others to do as Asga ya galun Latí and Grandfather tells us. Will you do that, Dancing Shadow?”

  “Yes, Flying Hawk. I will do as you say.”

  -4-

  The Bar B Ranch

  The next morning dawned clear and cool. The cowboys were up and dressed, waiting for Cookie to call them to breakfast. Cookie thought every meal was the most important one of the day, not just breakfast, and prepared food accordingly. Cowboys worked hard and needed hearty meals.

  Cherokee and Sunee had been watching the ranch since before the sun rose. It wasn’t long until they saw a man step out onto the porch, pull the rope on the bell, and holler for the men to “Come and get it!”

  The men walked quickly to the dining room, sat at their assigned place and gazed hungrily over the table. There were several platters of ham and bacon, fried eggs and potatoes, biscuits and gravy, and lots of strong, black coffee. After the blessing, they wasted no time in passing the platters and filling their plates.

  Breakfast was eaten quickly with no time taken for cigarettes as they did after the evening meal. These men were used to working from sunup to sundown. It was a new day and there was much work to be done; fences to mend, stalls to clean, horses to be roped and carefully checked for injuries or brands. Each cowboy had his own responsibilities and did not need to be told what to do. Horses saddled, each went his separate way.

  Cherokee and Sunee were still watching from their hiding place as J.D. and Marty stepped over to the corral to wait for Bobby Knight, the owner, to come out and look over the new horses in the daylight. He had the final say in which horses were selected for riding or driving or for children. He had a good eye and a good reputation.

  It wasn’t long until Bobby stepped out on the porch, as he did every day, and gazed over his holdings. He had several corrals for the horses, believing that a crowded horse could not be comfortable and was more apt to be intolerant of anything asked of him. He built training pens for small cart use and wagons; he built his barns with large stalls to give his charges plenty of room to lie down in comfort; two storage barns held all the hay he would need for the winter and one barn housed the equipment necessary to run a 300 acre ranch.

  The five bedroom two-story house was located away from the working part of his holdings, but situated on a knoll high enough for him to look out any window and keep an eye on all that was going on.

  The two young horses did not understand why the man just stood on the porch without saying or doing anything. They could not realize he was lost in thought, in the past that lived with him every day of his life.

  “What is he doing?” wondered Sunee.

  “I don’t know,” answered Cherokee. “I think we should wait and watch. We may be needed.”

  Bobby Knight was a tall man, six feet two inches, with sparkling blue eyes and sandy blond hair just beginning to grey at the temples. His face was tanned and his eyes had permanent laugh lines. His hands were gentle, as many animals knew, and he had great patience and understanding. Although in his late 30’s, he had not yet married, dedicating himself to horses, the love of his life.

  Bobby and his brother, Jack, had been raised right here on the Bar B ranch. Their father before them, Benjamin Knight, was the first to claim and settle this part of Tennessee. Jack was six years older and two inches shorter, with dark brown eyes and shaggy brown hair. But when it came to horses, they were like two peas in a pod. T
hey rode horses before they could walk. They had their own ponies before they grew tall enough to saddle them. They learned to drive ponies, too, which was Bobby’s greatest love, but Jack enjoyed riding. If the boys came up missing from the ranch, their father only had to head to the nearest inland lake where they rode or drove one of their ponies to go fishing or swimming.

  As boys do, they grew up. At age 14 Jack rode a big bay mare with a wide chest and rump. She was two years older than he was, but gentle and able to always find her way back home. She had raised several foals over the years and was used to being handled and petted by the boys. Bobby at age seven, rode a smaller, ten year old chestnut gelding, who knew well where home and the grain bucket could be found. For several years the boys rode the horses to town and to school and, if they talked fast, to church. Sundays were normally days for riding as a family in the surrey, but Benjamin could remember being young and full of energy, and usually permitted the boys to ride their horses behind the family transportation. Ruby, their mother also rode horseback, but preferred driving, as did Bobby. She usually allowed Benjamin to oversee any outdoor activities the boys mentioned.

  The boys were 21 and 28 when Benjamin died from an accidental blow on the head by a rank stallion. He was in a circular enclosure, with the horse on a snubbing line, when the stallion suddenly went crazy. He turned toward Benjamin with his neck outstretched, teeth bared, and eyes glazed. “Run, Dad!” yelled the boys in unison.

  Benjamin dropped the snubbing line, but held his ground. He raised the training whip to ward off the stallion. When the stallion got within range, Benjamin struck him with the whip. Instead of turning him, it maddened him even further. He squealed and spun around reversing his body. He kicked hard with both hind feet striking Benjamin square in the forehead, knocking him out.

  The boys and the ranch hands from all sides of the corral were already running with ropes in hand to intercept the horse. Only the foreman was carrying a rifle, which he used, putting the stallion down without another thought. But it was too late for the boss. He was unconscious so two of the men carried him into the main house, while Bobby rode his gelding into town to get the doctor.

  Ruby had treated cuts and bruises, some serious, some not so serious for many years and was not immediately concerned about her husband’s injury. The men put him in bed as she instructed and she cleaned his face and hands, checking his head closely. She knew the doctor would soon be there and there was nothing else she could do. So she gathered her knitting and sat in a rocking chair next to his bed to wait.

  Benjamin died without regaining consciousness. The doctor told them it would have made no difference whether he had been there or not, the injury was too serious. Benjamin was only 58 years old. The family buried him on the ranch in their own private cemetery.

  The boys were determined to carry on their father’s dream and so lived with and cared for their mother until Jack got the urge to be on his own five years later.

  One early winter morning, the young men were cleaning stalls and feeding horses. Jack asked, “Ever get the urge to move on, Bobby?”

  “Nope. You?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where you thinkin’ to go?”

  “Don’t know. Heard last fall about some nice acreage in the Appalachians where ya can raise horses. Thought about lookin’ there. Want to come along?”

  “What about Ma?”

  “The ranch hands would look after her while we’re gone.”

  “When you thinkin’ about goin’?”

  “Come spring after the colts are foaled.”

  “It’s only fair to talk to Ma about it first.”

  So the boys talked with Ruby, eventually made the trip to Kentucky and the Appalachian Mountains, purchased land, returned home and divided up the stock.

  Now here was Bobby looking over his 300 acres, while Jack was taking care of his home and ranch in Kentucky. Bobby chuckled. “And I have Jack’s stallion.”

  Cherokee and Sunee watched Bobby step off the porch and head for Flying Hawk’s corral. The big horse watched without fear as Bobby approached the fence. The two eyed each other for a few moments and then the horse lowered his head and walked to the man. “Well, big fella,” Bobby said as he scratched the horse between the eyes. “How are things in Kentucky?” The horse enjoyed the human touch and relaxed under a master’s hand. Bobby smiled.

  While still scratching the stallion, his eyes wandered over the herd of mares and colts. Dancing Shadow was wary of the man. Bobby watched the spotted mare as she stood aloof from the rest of the mares. He could not tell if she was more wary of the man or the stallion’s reaction to the man. He also noticed flashes of movement and color in the distance that he assumed to be the two wild colts.

  Dancing Shadow was thinking how difficult it would be for her to obey Asga ya galun lati’s order to serve man. She had always been free. Even though her mares and the few colts they had were being well fed and had plenty of water; even though none of her charges was being harmed, she was far from home and she was not free. She worried about Cherokee and Little Sister. She wondered if Sunee and Yellow Bird were safe. She had not seen them in days and doubted if Flying Hawk had either. She wanted to talk to him, but Man was there!

  Bobby stopped petting the stallion and walked to the corral of mares and colts. He selected a small black colt as a possible buggy horse for a lady or child; a yearling filly, chestnut with a white face and two white feet would make a nice riding horse for a little girl; he selected the spotted mare that was watching him so carefully and a big white one for new breeding stock. He would turn the rest of the mares and the chocolate stallion loose in the spring after breeding season. “I’ll write Jack and tell him my plans,” he thought.

  Bobby enjoyed being outdoors in the fall. He went to the stable and saddled his dun mare planning to ride his ranch checking for problems and dangers to his horses and to make sure they weren’t wandering too far afield. Because he had a little more than 300 acres, he didn’t fence in his animals, but this did require more diligence on his part to keep them home.

  He rode half a day without finding any problems. Deciding to turn back toward the ranch house, he reined his mare through some tall red and white oak trees. It was cool and quiet. As he cleared the trees, he noticed that his black walnut trees were spreading again. There were only a dozen or so, but any part of that tree, whether it was the bark, the leaves, or the nut husks, could cripple a horse if it happened to walk through it or graze too near. He made a mental note to have some of the men clean it up. He thought he might even have the trees fenced in to keep his horses out.

  As he was returning to the ranch house, he noticed unfamiliar horse tracks. A man in his business knew the hoof marks his horses left and these he did not know. He was pretty sure they were not Indian ponies. That left only the two horses that had gotten away when his men had rounded up this herd. But there were four sets of tracks! He followed them for a little way, but when they disappeared in the creek he decided to talk to the men and have a couple of them try to find these horses tomorrow.

  J.D. and Marty watched Bobby scratch the stallion, then head off alone on his dun mare. They went about other duties, waiting for their boss to return. He would give them specific instructions about the horses when he was ready.

  It was mid afternoon when Bobby rode back to the ranch, unsaddled his mare and turned her loose to graze. He ambled back to the corral of new horses to reevaluate them. He didn’t change his mind about any of them. He walked to the house, got a glass of cold tea and sat on the porch for a while, composing a letter in his head for his brother. After supper, he mentioned the tracks he found earlier in the day.

  “I’ll bet it’s those two young ones we had seen before we rounded up the herd,” said J.D.

  “Perhaps,” agreed Bobby, “But there were four sets of hoof prints, not two.”
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  The cowboys looked at each other. Marty said, “I’m goin’ out to look at the ones in the corral.”

  The rest of them went along to see what he was up to. As they approached the herd of mares and colts, Marty looked them over and said, “Yep! Just what I thought!”

  “Well! What?” asked J.D.

  “There was two spring fillies when we rounded ‘em up that ain’t there anymore.”

  The rest of the cowboys looked at each other. He was right.

  “How did those two fillies get away without us knowing?”

  “Maybe it happened when that stallion made a fuss trying to get his whole herd back,” suggested J.D. “Anyway, we’ll go look for them tomorrow, boss.”

  Bobby nodded his head in agreement.

  Meanwhile, Cherokee, Sunee, Little Sister and Yellow Bird were trying to stay out of sight of the ranch hands and still remain where they could watch their family. It was good that there were lots of hills and plenty of water and they did not have to hunt for grass, but the young fillies were impatient and wanted their mothers. Right now! Sunee tried to calm the fillies, telling them that if Asga ya galun Latí meant for them to be together again it would happen. If not, she would look after them until they could look after themselves.

  Cherokee left Sunee and the two young ones in a copse of trees, safe and out of sight of man and beast. He planned to search for a better place to hide his young charges. It was then that he saw the man looking at the trail they had used earlier in the day. He wondered what it meant. He tried hard to think. Then he remembered one of Grandfather’s lessons. Grandfather said, “If your mind is closed as a drawstring, nothing can get in or out. If this happens, walk. When the feet are busy, the mind relaxes and can think.”

  So Cherokee walked. And walked. Finally he remembered! He had found Man in the past by seeing the tracks he made, so maybe that was how Man found him! He must let Sunee know what was happening. Man knew they were here.