Rattler. Barry Andrew Chambers

landed on all fours, then reared up on her hind legs. That smile was on her face again. So I clapped for her.

      “Good girl! Good trick, Pandora.” On the word “trick”, she stood still, looking at me soberly. Then she keeled over.

      “Pandora!” I crept up to her and patted her shoulder. “Pandora? Are you okay?”

      She jumped up and pranced around the campfire, neighing. No, not neighing. She was laughing.

      I clapped some more.

      Before I knew it, she trotted over to my stuff, grabbed the saddle by the horn and flipped it over her head. It landed square on her back.

      I stood there in the glow of the fire, my mouth agape. “You want to go for a ride?”

      She nodded.

      I secured the saddle and mounted her. “Let’s go girl.”

      She pranced around the fire at a leisurely pace. Then, with one front leg forward and the other bending, she bowed to some unseen monarch.

      “Good girl.” I dismounted and stood there looking at her with awe. Just how many tricks did she have? “Can you count?” I asked. “How many is four?”

      I was really expecting her to toe the ground and give it four strokes. Instead, she just stared at me.

      “Four. How many is four, Pandora?”

      She shook her head.

      “What, you don’t know how to add?”

      She pranced back over to the pine tree with a jaunty gait. She picked up a pine cone with her teeth and faced me. Then she jutted her head up, letting go of the pine cone. It flew right at me. I lost it in the dark and the pine cone struck me in the chest. She nodded, smiling.

      “You want me to throw it back?”

      She whinnied. I lobbed the pine cone underhanded. It flew to her right. She stepped into the throw and caught the pine cone in her mouth.

      “Incredible,” I whispered.

      We played catch for a few moments, then she lowered her head.

      “Are you tired girl?”

      She slowly waddled over to the fire and peered into the flames.

      For some crazy reason, I thought that maybe she had psychic powers. Maybe staring into the fire, she could tell the future. She stood there for a long time.

      “What is it girl? Do you see the future? Do you see happy days and fields of grass?” I was babbling, but at least I was babbling out in the middle of nowhere with just a horse as a witness. “Do you see the future girl?”

      She turned her head, looking at me. Did I see wet in her eyes? Do horses have tear ducts? Then she did a strange thing. That is, if you could say the other things she had done were normal. She walked over to me and put her head next to mine. And she stood there, touching me. And for a brief moment, I felt touched.

      The next day, Pandora, the wonder horse, and I broke camp and headed toward Clearview. With luck, we’d be there in the early morning hours of the next day. I was singing a bawdy sailor’s song to entertain Pandora when I caught a glimpse of white on a hill top. The lyrics, “She sailed the ocean blue with sailors two by two” stuck in my throat when I recognized the white as war feathers of the Comanche.

      There were seven of them. All braves. Without making a big move, I bucked my legs, spurring Pandora into a solemn canter. The Comanche’s were to my left, about a quarter mile away, and moving toward me. A flat prairie lay ahead, dotted with sagebrush.

      “Come on girl. You’re going to have to run like you never ran before! Eeyaa!”

      I kicked her and Pandora went into that slow, familiar gallop.

      “Come on! Come on girl! Go!”

      I kicked her again. She didn’t speed up. I looked back and saw The Comanche’s headed my way.

      “Pandora! Eeyaa!”

      With mounting hope, the wind picked up. She was running a tad bit faster. The Comanche’s were whooping. It was a chilling sound, mixed with anger, triumph, and blood lust.

      “Pandora! Please!”

      She looked back. Her eyes were wide with fear. Good! Maybe she would speed up.

      “Yow! Yow! Yow!” came the cries behind me.

      Pandora did not speed up. I think she was running as fast as her fat little legs would carry her. I didn’t look back. I kept looking at the wide, endless expanse in front of me. No cover. I was a dead man.

      “Yow! Yow! Yow!”

      They were probably fifty feet behind me. I tensed, waiting for the deadly arrow or spear to pierce my back. Pandora whinnied in panic. Without my command, she started to zigzag in a defensive strategy.

      Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a Comanche brave. The whooping sounded horrendous as they pulled up beside me. There were two on each side of me. Gathering my courage, I looked into the face of a young brave.

      Then the whooping turned to laughter. They were laughing! They were laughing at Pandora, slowest horse in the west.

      One of the braves beside me pointed and continued laughing. He shouted something in Comanche to the others and another laughed so hard, he fell off his horse. I glanced back and saw him rolling in the dust, still laughing.

      After about half a mile, the Comanches broke off and let me gallop slowly away from them. Pandora, not realizing they had stopped their pursuit, was still zigzagging through the sage. I looked back and saw all of them sitting on their horses, coughing and laughing uncontrollably.

      “Okay Pandora, it’s okay. It’s okay girl.”

      I stroked her mane and she stopped her zigzagging. After two more miles, I checked to see if the Comanche’s had followed us. I saw no telltale dust. We were apparently out of danger.