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Updated: June 21, 2025
Lorraine heard them as she rode old Yellowjacket puffing up the grade, following the wagon marks, and knew that she was nearing the end of her journey, for which Yellowjacket, she supposed, would be thankful.
Dad, isn't your brand the TJ? That's what it looks like on Yellowjacket." Brit did not answer, and when Lorraine was sure that he did not mean to do so, she asked another question. "Dad, why didn't you want me to leave the ranch to-day? I was nervous after that man was here, and I did go." "I didn't want you riding around the country unless I knew where you went," Brit said.
The load was rocking along behind them. Brit was still braced and clinging to the reins. Panic seized Yellowjacket. He, too, went lunging down that trail, his head thrown from side to side that he might watch the thing that menaced him, heedless of the fact that danger might lie ahead of him also.
Sorry and Jim will ride for the Quirt, I suppose, as long as they can crawl into a saddle, but there are younger men now to ride the Skyline Meadow range. Some one asked about Yellowjacket, having, I suppose, a sneaking regard for his infirmities. He hasn't been peeled yet or he hadn't, the last I heard of him.
Lorraine looked at the steep bank to the right, knew instinctively that Yellowjacket would never have time to climb it before the team was upon them, and urged him to a lope. She glanced back again, saw that the team was not running away, that they were trying to hold the wagon, and that it was gaining momentum in spite of them. "Jump, dad!" she called and got no answer.
"We shouldn't be talking about it, dad the doctor said we mustn't. But are you sure it wasn't you? Because I certainly saw a man crawl out from under the wagon and start up the hill. Then the horses acted up, and I couldn't see him after Yellowjacket jumped off the road." Brit lay staring up at the ceiling, apparently unheeding her explanation.
But she could not stop; Yellowjacket had his ears laid back flat on his senseless head, and the bit clamped tight in his teeth. She heard the crash repeated in diminuendo farther down in the canyon. There was no longer the rattle of the wagon coming down the trail, the sharp staccato of pounding hoofs.
But Snake appeared perfectly able and willing to hold it and never stumbled or slowed unexpectedly as did Yellowjacket, wherefore Lorraine rode faster than she would have done had she known more about horses.
"If you was a boy, I'd set you up as a lawyer," he said with an attempt at playfulness. "I kinda thought you could ride. I seen how you piled onto old Yellowjacket and the way you held your reins. It runs in the blood, I guess. I'll see what I can do in the way of a horse. Ole Yellowjacket used to be a real rim-rider, but he's gitting old; gitting old same as me." "You're not!
Yellowjacket is safe, but but you have real live horses on the ranch, haven't you? You must not go judging me by the palms and the bay windows of the Casa Grande.
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