Twilight, dampened by the falling snow, hazed the outline of the trees. The north wind could not reach inside the shelter of the trees. The large snowflakes flittered, floated and twisted down in an uncertain and eerily quiet snowfall. The taller elm trees hid the snow which burdened there highest limbs and caused these limbs to cast enlarged early morning shadows across the prickly pear which broke up the thin white pallet of the floor of the shelter belt.

The black darted around the painful palms of the prickly pear and kept pace with the red roan and the dog as we hurried west to the end of the trees to cross the creek which bounded this shelter belt on its western most edge.

As we crossed the dry creek I looked over my shoulder. The rising sun streaked random rays horizontally beneath the canopy. The rays lighted the snow laden limbs of the Bois d’arc and mesquite trees. Yellowish light glowed as if from relumed dismembered ancient lamps.

The snow did not fill the ruts of the ranch road which separated the Hackberry, mesquite and Juniper tree thicket from the south side of the second shelter belt. The road, being on the lee side of the shelter belt, had caught only a dusting of snow. Trapped between the shelter belt and the copse of trees and canopied by the snow which blew across the tops of the taller trees of the shelter belt and slid down the northern trunks of the lesser mesquites and the heavy evergreen limbs of the junipers, the road captured a curious calmness. The horses’ hooves called in cadence as if they were soldiers being marched on the double quick into some unseen battle.

The horses exited the natural pergola and Richard turned the red roan right. We descended into a deep gully with almost a foot of snow covering the trail which ran along its bottom and led us to the southern edge of the slough. Richard turned west along the narrow ledge between the barbed wire fence and the old high water cut where the charred remnants of an ancient volcanic explosion in eastern New Mexico, lost even to the time explorers of today and their radioactive prying, continued to block the eroding water from evaporating the sandy loam of the prairies. There, before farmers and government imposed terracing of their fields slowed and diverted its course, the water had rolled unimpeded off of the grass sod of the short grass prairies and had filled the normally dry river bed to flood.

The ledge narrowed until, and by some strenuous reining, I forced the black to yield the lead to the red roan and Jeepers. At the westernmost protrusion of the ancient volcanic rock Richard stopped. I allowed the black to ease up beside Richard and the red roan.
“’rest ‘em here.” Richard said, speaking of the horses. “Then we drop off and push through the salt cedars to the river.” He nodded at the wall of white tinted grey salt cedars which blocked the way with there twisted trunks and intertwined lashes of corded branches. “We’ll ride along the cut bank at the river’s edge as far as we can. It’ll be the easiest goin’ for the horses there.”

“And the coldest for us.” I complained.

Richard ignored me. He slackened his reins to allow the red roan to stretch his black nostrils down to the snow which lay atop the tough salt grass which matted the top of the volcanic rocks upon which the horses stood. Jeepers yawned, lay down and curled up in the last tracks the red roan had made before he stopped. The little dog closed his eyes.

The black refused to let him sleep. She stretched her nose down to Jeepers and blew her hot breath into his face. Jeepers raised his head, frowned, turned over and, with his face away from the black’s, closed his eyes again.

I lowered my chin onto my chest and dozed until I heard the red roan step off of the shelf of rock and I felt the black step forward across Jeepers to follow the red roan and I heard Jeepers growl his displeasure at the filly for stepping over him. I raised my chin, blinked, picked up my reins and stopped the filly until Jeepers trotted from beneath her and resumed his place at the heels of the red roan. I released the reins and the black filly stepped quickly off of the shelf and caught up to the red roan.

Richard pushed the heavy branches of the cedars aside, leaned forward and reined the red roan into the quiet darkness of the thick cedars. The black hesitated, intimidated by the solidity of the wall of trees before her. I lifted the reins, touched her with my spurs and smooched to her. She stepped into the inviolate realm of the slough’s salt cedars.

The red roan twisted around clutching cedar trunks and beneath wet clinging threads of tough sinewy cedar limbs. I put the black in his track and encouraged her with soft touches of my spurs as she hesitantly followed the red roan and Jeepers through the salt cedars.

As we emerged on the river side of the cedars I could see the almost snow hidden cattle trail which Richard had followed through the cedars. The river’s single stream glistened against the cut bank fifty yards to our north. We were in the river’s slough, amidst the winter’s remains of horse belly high old blue stem and Indian switch grass, tramping across a carpet of dormant side oats and little Indian switch grasses which would bloom in early spring. A cold north wind blew into our faces.

I raised the right side of the collar of the heavy oilskin slicker to shield my face from the wind and snow as Richard again turned west. Now the filly was content with the big roan breaking the trail for her through the deepening snow. The wind gusted and increasing volleys of snow pelted against the right side of Richard’s, mine and the horses’ faces. The tall Indian switch grass shielded Jeepers’ face as he stepped from track to track left by the red roan. The filly yielded, turned her face down and to the left, and trudged blindly behind the big roan horse which strode, head held high, through the heavy snow.