As we approached the river’s edge, I felt my pack shift just slightly to one side. Something was wrong. I knew it. Fat entered the water, his horse walking confidently. It didn’t seem like there would be any problem. Yet, I became nervous. The pack wasn’t right. It wasn’t centered on my back the way it should be.
I stopped at the edge of the water. When Fat got far enough away to remove the slack from the lead, it jerked my halter. Still, I remained right where I was, my hooves planted on the sandy shore.
Fat must have felt the rope get taut. He turned around. “Pinto, come on, boy.”
I remained in place, bracing my thick neck against the pressure the rope and halter were putting on my head.
Fat tugged on the rope. “Come on, Pinto. Ya done this a million times. Nothin’ to be afraid of.”
His voice was calm and should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. I felt the pack slip just a bit more. I was sure the Overland Westerners had no idea, or they would have stopped to fix it.
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