“That figures,” Sonora remarked.
“Well, my point is in a town just across the state line they had a couple of stick-ups, but the townsfolk were all armed. The robbers didn’t even clear the main street before being caught.”
“Makes sense,” Sonora agreed. “You know someone’s got a gun an’ another ain’t, you gonna rob the one what ain’t.”
“Bet you dollars to donuts those that obey the deadline are all law-abiding citizens. You know…the kind you wouldn’t have to worry about anyway.”
“ ’Course they is. Hell, man, why do you think they call them outlaws,’ cause they don’t obey the law.”
“Well, someday I hope to hang my gun up, Sonora. But rest assured, when I do, it will still be hanging within reach.”
“You bet. By the way, you know that cayuse o’ yours is favoring his leg?” he added.
“I know. He’s been a little off all morning. Right front, I think.”
“Best have it looked at when we get to the fort.”
“I will. How far you figure we still got to go?”
Sonora squinted a little and rubbed his eyes. “Oh, about another two hours, Ah reckon.”
He was right as usual, almost to the minute. As we rode through the gate, a sentry quickly looked us over and waved us by. Sonora stopped to ask the private about his sergeant friend.
“Sorry,” the trooper replied. “I’m new on the post, don’t know everyone yet. You might ask over at the sutler’s store, though. By the way, your friend’s horse seems to be favoring his leg.”
“We know,” I answered. “You suppose someone here might be able to check him out?”
“That I can help you with. Doctor Chapman’s our vet’nry, and a good one to boot. Anyone can put a horse right, he can.”
“Thanks,” I replied as he pointed the way for us.
We looked for Dr. Chapman as instructed in the main horse barn. A long white jacket hanging on a nail identified the stall where we found him examining a large black gelding. The veterinarian was a tall, solidly built man with a full beard that was starting to gray. He wore a long church bell-shaped stethoscope around his neck, had his sleeves rolled up, and was using a large magnifying glass to inspect a horse’s right eye. A shorter, slightly balding trooper was busy writing something down in a small notebook while the doctor dictated.
“…small nebula in the temporal quadrant of the right eye and an active corneal ulceration in same location on the left. Eyelids, sclera, and pupillary reflex appear normal. Got all that, Corporal?”
“Excuse me,” Sonora said, interrupting the two. “You the horse doctor here?”
“Veterinary surgeon,” he responded, sharply correcting Mason.
“What’s the difference?” chided Sonora.
“Well, let’s see…captain’s bars, a six month sabbatical in Lyons, France, eleven-hour shifts tending the unit’s mounts, public health duties, plus I get to keep the colonel’s dog free of ticks. All that for the generous sum of sixty-five dollars per month.”
“My horse’s favoring his front leg some,” I said more respectfully. “I’d appreciate it, if you’d glance at it. Couldn’t find anything obvious myself.”
“You’re new around here,” the corporal said, more a statement than a question.
“Just rode in,” I replied.
“You boys on the Army payroll? Scouts?” he asked.
“Not presently.”
“Jus’ passin’ through,” added Mason rather curtly.
“Private consult will cost you extra. Ten dollars ought to do, I expect,” Dr. Chapman said rather seriously.
“What?” I exclaimed, somewhat shocked at the price.
“What did I tell you, Corporal. Folks’ll think nothing of paying a barkeep extra for a drink, or for a carpenter to fix a drawer, but they’ll begrudge a professional his consultation fee every time. Even after four years of advanced schoolin’.” Turning to face me, he smiled and added: “Just funnin’ with you, son. You see, for some strange reason, the corporal here wants to apprentice with me. Actually, the Army pays my keep. I’ll be glad to have a look-see.” Then, turning to Sonora, he added: “After all, we’ve only a couple hundred horses to treat on the post. Don’t reckon one more will kill me.”
Sonora didn’t see it, but I caught the wink he threw to the corporal, who rolled his eyes and mumbled something I didn’t quite catch.
“I’ll get the hoof testers, sir,” he said to the veterinarian. Turning back to me, the corporal indicated a spot in the barn’s center aisle.
I led the roan over and replaced his bridle with the halter the corporal offered me. Then crossed-tied the roan.
“He’s a little feisty today,” I warned.
“Corporal, if you’d be so kind,” Dr. Chapman said, nodding.
“Yes, sir,” the corporal answered, taking out a twitch made of a loop of short chain attached to the top end of an axe handle.
The corporal placed his hand through the chain and calmly walked up to the roan sideways, keeping the twitch hidden behind his leg and out of the horse’s sight. He slowly reached up and then quickly grabbed the horse’s upper lip, withdrawing his hand and firmly pulling the lip through the chain loop. Before the roan had a chance to react, the corporal turned the axe handle several times, screwing the chain down onto the lip.
When a cayuse has its lip all twisted like that, it effectively immobilizes it. A twitch works better than trying to hang on to a lip by hand, although some of the stronger vaqueros achieve the same effect by twisting an ear, or with a Mexican twitch, which they perform by simply grabbing a large fold on the side of a horse’s neck with their bare hands and rolling the skin up tightly. If a man’s strong enough, sometimes he can hold on this way long enough for the horse to be shod, or for minor surgeries to be performed.
Someone who really wants to gain control, however, will use a rope or chain twitch because it applies more squeeze and allows for better leverage over the horse. Sure enough, that roan stood as still for the veterinary as a stopped clock.
The corporal then wrapped the halter’s lead rope around the twitch’s handle and held it tightly with both hands.
“Prevents the handle from flying up and clouting you in the face when the horse shakes his head,” Dr. Chapman explained.
The fact that the corporal was missing several teeth indicated to me that he probably learned that trick from personal experience.
“Not likely to move much with that thing cut-tin’ into his lip so hard,” muttered Sonora.
“The corporal knows his job, all right. This won’t hurt him in the least,” commented Dr. Chapman after overhearing Mason’s remark. He bent over and began to run his hands down the horse’s legs, one at a time.
“Seems to favor the front leg,” I offered.
“Uhn-huh. Right front. Saw the way he throws his head up slightly as he walked in. Takes the weight off the bad leg. Best to check them all, though.”
“Couldn’t find any cracks or stones when we looked. Suppose he’s foundering?” Sonora asked the veterinarian as he started his exam.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” Dr. Chapman answered, looking over his shoulder, still bent over with the horse’s leg cupped in his hands. “I’m pretty good at these things, but, you know, I’ve never yet figured out a way to make a correct diagnosis before I’ve had a chance to examine the patient.”
He was smiling at Sonora when he said it, but his message came across clear enough.
“Right you are, Doc,” Sonora replied. “I’ll just let you get on with it.”
Captain Chapman proceeded to pull the shoe and, with a curved knife he snatched from his rear pocket, trim away some of the tissue from around the frog and sole.