"Relax, it's not a race," I said, swinging back into the saddle. Bandit pranced eagerly under me, ready to go. "Just nudge her with your heels. Gentle. Post with the rhythm."
Pops nodded, mounting up with a grimace he tried to hide. "I'll hang back. You two lead."
WINNIE
The day he almost died
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
16h30
"I'm the furthest thing from unturned / But if you wanna see the dust, well, get ready to run"
- Garth Brooks
***
We started at a walk, leaving the creek behind as the shadows stretched long and purple across the grass. I could feel Bandit’s energy building beneath me, a coiled spring ready to snap; his ears flicked forward, catching sounds I couldn't hear.
After a hundred yards, I gave him the signal—a barely-there squeeze of my calves—and he transitioned smoothly into a trot. The rhythm was steady, aone-two, one-twobeat that vibrated through my bones. The world blurred a little at the edges, the breeze cooling the sweat on my neck, and I let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy.
"Come on, Beau!" I called over my shoulder. "Keep up!"
He hesitated, looking at Daisy like she was a ticking bomb, then kicked her into motion. She followed Bandit’s lead, trotting along gamely, but Beau... well, Beau looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
He bounced. Violently. Up-down-up-down, his teeth audibly clacking together with every jolt, elbows flapping like a chicken trying to achieve lift-off.
"This—ow—is not—ow—as smooth as it—ow—looks!" he shouted, his voice vibrating with every impact.
I laughed outright, the sound carried away by the wind. "Post! Rise up in the stirrups on the 'up' beat! Find the rhythm!"
"I don't have a rhythm! I have a bruised tailbone! It feels like riding a jackhammer!"
Pops’ laughter rumbled from behind us, warm and rich. "Keep at it, son. You’ll find your seat eventually. Or you'll just go numb."
We crested a small hill, the trail opening into a wide meadow dotted with wild grasses and the occasional cottonwood tree. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting everything in shades of copper and gold. It was too perfect not to run.
"Let’s canter!" I yelled back. "Just a light one—give 'em their heads!"
Before Beau could protest—or figure out how to stop—I leaned forward. Bandit didn't need to be told twice. He surged into a canter, his gait smoothing out into a powerful, rolling motion. The wind whipped my braid behind me, the ground eating up beneath us, and for a moment, it was just me and him—flying free.
Daisy, sensing the fun and refusing to be left behind, picked up speed to keep pace.
"Winnie!" Beau let out a yelp that was equal parts excitement and sheer terror. "Slow down! I think I’m gonna—"
His words were cut off by a blur of brown fur.
A massive jackrabbit burst from the brush, shooting directly across Daisy’s path like a missile. The mare spooked hard—head throwing up, eyes rolling white—and bolted sideways. She broke into a full, panicked gallop, veering sharply off the trail and straight toward a cluster of jagged limestone rocks.
Beau didn't stand a chance.
He lost his stirrup instantly. His hat flew off, tumbling into the dust, and his body slammed against her neck as he clawed desperately for the saddle horn, the reins, anything.
"Beau!" I shouted, the name tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs.
This wasn't funny anymore. Daisy’s gallop was uncontrolled, her panic feeding off his terror, and she was heading straight for a low-hanging oak branch that looked suspiciously like a guillotine.
One wrong step. One hit.This is how people died.
