Riding Hard with John Henry and Jack Long in the Wild West.

    We last left Henry and Jack in the high plains of Montana, resting from their quick exit from Canada, now
 ready to break camp and move on......

    I could  tell that we had over stayed our welcome, when after we finished our coffee. looking to the North, you could see the menacing dark sky with clouds shifting with each gusts of the winds, threatening our chance to get to lower ground, if we didn't get a move on. 
    Henry had already sensed the on coming storm, and had his bed-roll wrapped, guns slid into his saddle holster, with saddle on his trusty Palomino, 'Butter-cup'. I too picked up the pace & after dosing the fire, grabbing my saddle & gear, threw it over my Stallion, Shamus's back, and proceeded to get the 'Hell out of Dodge'!
    
   We rode hard and as fast as we could, knowing that Mother Nature frowns on any Human that doesn't heed Her warnings! Heading South, but still in the High Country, we made pretty good time, considering this was how we rode down from Canada to get to our camp in the first place!
Getting to the lower plains, we could then ease up a bit, and catch our breath, along with our bearings.
   As we made our way slowly along a ridge, in hopes of finding a good place to settle in, that perhaps was next to a stream, both horses needed that much for giving us their 'All' in the past couple weeks. Then there was the other consideration for ourselves to a welcomed bath.
   It wasn't much longer, and a little bit further South, that we came across what seemed to be the 'perfect' spot. A grove of trees surrounded a pool of water, made natural in a brook from fallen branches, and curved rocks to make one end deeper then the rest.
   
   Here we were in a setting only Mother Nature herself made especially for us, after getting us on the move not more than the day before.  We decided that his might just be a good spot to hold up for a time, so that we could reconnect with our bearings. 
   Henry, had already gotten Butter-cup settled and was rustling around for some firewood. I had Shamus, tied and wiped down by the time he got back and started to get the fire ready for the night.
    Later that night, we sat there around the fire, haven eaten a Jack rabbit for dinner. Henry sat there for a minute in silence, which is the way he usually is....not much get's him to blurt out much sound, or at lease sound that makes any sense. Then all of a sudden he turns and says to me:
'you remember that 'ol Black man that took up with us a few years back, and wanted to go along with that round up we signed up for in Wyoming ?'  Man , Henry said, he must have been the blackest man I've ever seen. But sure glad he tied up with us, that there trip needed just what he had behind that belt of his!
   Henry was talking about Grover, sure enough a black man in these parts don't come around too often, but there he was, just smilin' down on a wrangler  he had just beaten down. He was holding the biggest Bowie knife that I'd ever seen, And lucky for that wrangler, Grover never had the chance to use it. 
    Grover was from the East, the Northeast. He said he came out this way becuse he had a bad feeling about that part of the Country. So he signed up with the first team of Wagons coming this way. Had a few run-ins, like the rest of us, but you knew deep down that this guy would back you to the end, as long as he knew you'd do the same for him! No problem....

            .....to be continued.....