Both Mike and Marty worked more during the summer, but the lack of a mandatory sentence to serve at school left them plenty of time to get into mischief. They were tossing a football in the driveway one day when Mike overthrew it and the ball went bouncing down behind the shed. Marty went to get it and was surprised to see Manuka, Julie’s horse, trimming the grass outside of her corral! She must have forced her way through the wire because the gate was still closed. He felt sorry for her. Julie never rode the poor thing anymore, but she was well groomed and cared for by Susie, which was a very satisfactory arrangement for all three of them. “Hey Mike, the horse got out!” he yelled up to the driveway, and the adventurous dude pounded down the path full of vim and vigor, like he was gonna bust a bronco. But it was just ol’ Manuka, swatting flies with her tail and munching contentedly on some grass she’d had her eye on all spring.
“Let’s ride her!” Mike said with that swashbuckling gleam in his eye that challenged you in a way that you couldn’t refuse, so it was a foregone conclusion that you were going to do whatever it was he wanted and you might as well give up. Marty sighed and opened the shed where Julie stored the tack.
“Eeeww, the saddle is totally moldy,” He stated conclusively, as if the plan was impossible.
“No problem, we’ll ride bareback like Injuns,” Mike confidently replied as he grabbed a rope. Marty frowned at the bridle with its rusty bit, hanging on a nail and covered with cobwebs. “Come on, baby,” Mike was crooning outside. He had the rope tied in a crude lariat, and was stalking the horse like a wrangler trying to dab a rope around a mustang’s neck. Manuka kept one lazy eye on him with her ears back, chewing on grass, as if he was a big fly that her tail couldn’t reach.
Marty simply walked up to her and patted her neck. “She’s a sweetheart,” he assured, “You don’t need to brand her. Gimme that rope.” He fashioned a rope halter the way he’d learned at summer camp, and let her smell the rope, after rubbing her neck with it so she wouldn’t be frightened. Then he fit it around Manuka’s muzzle, talking in soothing tones all the while. She couldn’t have cared less – she just wanted the grass.
Once the halter was on, it was time for them to mount. The horse had one ear back, because by now she suspected the humans were up to no good. Mike hoisted Marty up first onto her bare back, and it was slipperier than he expected. Manuka skittered a bit, as if the flies were getting really aggressive all the sudden, but she soon calmed down. Marty tried to pull Mike up on her back like he’d seen on TV, but he got pulled down instead, and Mike had to catch him against the side of the horse, who now had both ears back in total disrespect for their equestrian skills. The two of them managed to maneuver her next to one of the redwood stumps, where they both clambered on her back at the same time. Suddenly, she realized the humans were serious! It must have been quite a shock to have over 300 pounds jump on her back like that! She stepped around a bit as if confused, and Marty had the presence of mind to grab the rope and her mane, which was a good thing, because she immediately bolted up the side of the embankment to the driveway. Mike hung onto the back of his belt, and somehow they managed to stay on, but Manuka never stopped. As if driven by some long-forgotten memory of equine adventure, she clip-clopped down the trail towards the China House, completely ignoring Marty’s frantic tugs on the halter.
Buster-or-Baxter was working on the bulldozer when the odd dressage outfit trotted past. Mike and Marty tried hard to sit up straight, and appear as if it was a natural, everyday occurrence to be bouncing bareback on an escaping horse. Marty let go of her mane long enough to give a quick wave, and the big, bearded man just gawked at them as if they were a two-headed cowboy in a Marlboro commercial. Manuka never broke stride, making a beeline for the park – as if she knew where she was going and couldn’t wait to get there. Mike was shifting back and forth on her sweaty back, and Marty yelled at him to keep still, and he yelled back that he was trying, and all the while Manuka kept trotting briskly, with her ears back, in a jolting gait that rattled their organs around like sneakers in a clothes dryer. She followed the railroad bed all the way down to the picnic area a mile away, never stopping once. Marty’s legs were getting sore from gripping her flanks. Shying away from the bridge that crossed the road, she went down to the flats by the creek to get a drink, completely disregarding the two riders that clung to her back like baby chimps. Marty flopped the rope against her neck, hoping it might have some influence, and they both kicked their heels (not too hard because they didn’t want to get dunked in the creek), but she took her time drinking, only turning back towards the trail when she was good and ready.
It was a beautiful day, and Marty reflected on how idyllic the setting was: two young braves scouting on their Indian pony, enjoying a short respite in the woods before going back to their village. Manuka had different ideas about the situation, however, and decided to take action. On the way back up to the railroad bed, she turned suddenly to duck under a low-hanging branch, and scraped those two greenhorns off her back slicker than duckweed off a swamp. Marty found himself suddenly on the bottom of a short trip to a pile of rocks, with Mike on top of him, and his leg went numb with pain. Manuka, meanwhile, was happily relieved of her burden, and trotted back down the railroad bed towards home.
“Aargh!” Marty exclaimed in agony, “Get off me!” Mike was shifting his weight to try and get up, which ground him harder into the rocks.
“Thank you! Thank you!” He exclaimed, knowing his brother was the air mattress that gave him a safe landing. “Oh, sorry – here, give me your arm!” Marty’s left leg wasn’t working properly, and Mike pulled him to his feet in time to catch a last glimpse of Manuka, tail held high, prancing around the bend in the road and out of sight. They were gonna have to walk home.
Walk?? Marty wondered, can I walk? His leg felt painful enough that it might be broken. He could bear weight on it, the way a pirate uses a peg leg, so it probably wasn’t broken, but ow! That hurt!!
Leaning on Mike as a crutch, the two dismounted cowboys struggled to find a rhythm, because they knew it was a long way back to the Rusty Bucket Ranch. That goddamn horse was probably laughing all the way back to her corral! They found a way to shuffle on three legs (one-two-three fuck! one-two-three fuck!), and it felt as if they were war refugees trying desperately to get back to safety. Marty’s head started throbbing where he bumped it on a rock, and he felt nauseous. They didn’t stop to rest, because he had no idea if he could start again once he stopped. He was suffering from a vivid delusion that Buster-or-Baxter would show up with a truck and tow them back home. He’d never felt so much pain in his life!
They passed the China House with no sign of rescuers. The building looked deserted, so Mike practically carried his brother the last hundred yards to the house. Along the way they passed Manuka, swishing her tail and happily munching the grass next to her corral where they had started, with the rope halter still tied to her face. Marty sincerely flipped her off as they straggled past. Mike loaded him into the Stanger, and went down to the house to get some water and an ace bandage to wrap Marty’s leg. Feeling guilty that it had all been his idea, he quickly drove his brother over the hill to Dr. Zanotti, who didn’t seem all that surprised to see them. Marty figured he was used to seeing a lot of banged up teenage boys. “Call me Dr. Z.,” he reassured them as he took x-rays just in case, which came out negative… as he’d predicted. He diagnosed it as “probably a muscle contusion.” He added, “Think of it as the biggest Charlie Horse ever. Oh sorry – bad joke.”
That was the last time Marty ever rode a stupid horse.