Tom Bentley and his adorable six-year-old son, Carter, were from Phoenix. They were here on a family trip. His wife had stayed behind at the lodge for the night with their three-year-old daughter. Carter wore a pair of Wranglers and a black cowboy hat and had buck teeth, a lisp, and an absolute fascination with all things cowboy, including our very own Jake Evans.
Jake explained that the trip to where we’d make camp would take about four hours on horseback, but we’d make a few stops along the way to stretch our legs. Jake led the pack on Jimmy, while I brought up the rear, stopping frequently to take pictures of the crew and horses on the trail or the spectacular views and cliffside drops overlooking a forest of trees and hills.
Little Carter graced us all with every delightful thought that crossed his mind for the first half of the trip. Things like…
“Do you think bad guys live in that cave?”
Jake brought his horse closer to his new best friend. “Which one?”
Carter pointed up the mountainside to a small burrow in the rocks.
“Oh yeah,” Jake said, looking all around. “For sure. Maybe we should find a river to hide our tracks from the bad guys.”
Carter nodded, eyes wide, while his dad hid a smile.
“How many bad guys have you shot?”
“A real cowboy never tells,” Jake told him solemnly.
With wonder on his face, Carter pointed to the mountain once more. “Do you think we’ll find a real arrowhead out here?”
“They’re pretty rare these days, but we’ll keep a lookout.”
When we stopped for our second break of the morning to stretch our legs, I detected a slight cowboy accent from Jake along with a bit of a swagger.
“Are those sheep?” Carter’s voice and excited pointing turned all of our heads to the left, spying a field of sheep and lambs as we passed by. Off in the distance was a rounded old shepherd’s camper.
“Yup,” said Jake before lowering his voice and looking serious. “That’s Gus’s camp. I didn’t know he’d be out here.”
His brow furrowed as the little boy took in the unassuming scene down below.
“He’s as mean as a skunk,” Jake said. “I’ll be sure to keep my gun ready. You stay close to your dad, alright?
“Is he an outlaw?”
“You could say that again.” Jake nodded, not even cracking a smile.
Carter gasped, his eyes as wide as dinner plates as he began chattering to his dad about the possibility of a shoot-out later.
When Carter wasn’t looking, I leaned across my horse to push a laughing Jake.
We were halfwayup the mountain when I noticed the limp. It was hard to tell at first, because the ground we were covering was so rocky, but my horse, Finn, began dragging his foot. Immediately, I slowed him to a stop and jumped off before yelling up to Jake.
“What’s wrong?” Jake asked as he and Carter and Tom circled back to me.
“He’s limping.”
Jake slid off Jimmy and moved in beside me, reaching down to grab Finn’s leg and bending it backward.
“He’s got a rock in his shoe.”
He used his pocketknife, trying several times to scrape the rock out of the impatient horse’s shoe, to no avail. Finally, Jake released his hold on Finn.
“Do we have to go back?” Carter’s worried face looked at his dad for reassurance. Tom looked at Jake.
“No. We’ll be fine. We just can’t put any weight on Shelby’s horse any more this trip. I’ll tie him to Jimmy so he can ride behind me. We might have to go a little slower.”
“Does she have to walk?” Carter pointed at me.