Vagneur: Lost but could easily not be

It seems impossible to contemplate, but there I was, legs astraddle, fly unbuttoned, relieving myself, watching the stream flow forth. Ah, the pause that refreshes. And in the blink of an eye, I was alone and on foot. Hell of a horseman, eh?

We had been riding for a couple of miles, up a trail I hadn’t traveled for many years, when off to our left, we spied a water tank, set up for the soon-to-arrive cattle. The last time I had been up this way, there was an old-time, homemade water trough tucked under some shading willows and serviceberry bushes — it was an admirable set up. As in all things ingenious for the time, the wood eventually rotted, and a modern, metal, made for the range, tank replaced it. Must have put the thought in my mind.

We were there, the five of us, two horses, a dog and us, and after informing my partner of my intentions, dismounted, wrapped the reins around the saddle horn, as I usually do, and walked away a few feet by a bush, hoping to spare everyone involved from viewing my, by now urgent, release. 

My riding partner, a lovely, patient woman who, in an attempt to prevent any embarrassment to her, shall remain nameless — although I may have mentioned her last week, but that was last week. Anyway, she, in an effort to give me some privacy, turned her horse back to the trail we had just left and stopped, just out of my sight. At that, my horse, who was obviously a free spirit at the moment, took off after her horse and got behind them on the trail. At this point, I couldn’t see either horse or the enchanting, enduring woman I was riding with, so unhurriedly buttoned up and proceeded back to the trail, expecting to find my horse and the rest of the crew. Tally-Ho! 

Let me say at this point, the trail was very narrow, with serviceberry bushes and jack-oaks lining the sides, brushing our legs in many places, making it difficult to see ahead or behind. To be precise, and to emphasize the point, I could see neither ahead nor behind very far but gathered rather quickly that I had been, to put it succinctly, ditched. 

My lady friend, waiting on the trail for my reappearance, heard my horse come up behind her and without looking back, naturally assumed I had mounted up and was ready to proceed. She nudged her horse, Farley, and up the trail they went, my horse, as horses are wont to do, following directly behind. Saddles, horses rubbing against the brush, hoofbeats clomping up the rather steep trail, and there was no indication someone was missing. At least that was her story.

It was a beautiful day — no need to be carrying on a conversation. To add injury to insult, my dog, man’s best friend, had left me adrift, as well. Their marks in the dirt were apparent.

The top of the rise, a great overlook, was about a half-mile, maybe a little more, above me, and so it seemed obvious to start hiking. Follow the tracks. Once I topped the rise, maybe I could see which direction they had gone, maybe I could holler and get their attention. Besides, it was turning into a bit of an adventure and curiosity egged me on. 

As my nameless partner asked, once we reconnected, “Why didn’t you just call me on your cell phone?”

Duh. It never occurred to me. I’m not a Luddite but apparently almost when it comes to cell phones.

How we got back together? Well, without giving away the plot, could it be attributed to my expert sleuthing ability, or should we give credit to my partner in crime who recognized that she was short a person and needed to reach out? Okay, okay, she made the call …  

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.

Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at ajv@sopris.net.