While living in my yard, Jay Dee, my 83% Arabian stallion, and I developed a very close relationship. When I moved him into a barn, some of this rapport vanished, but I discovered, to my delight, that once he was away from home and his own band of mares, much of our former closeness returned.

I was going to Oregon to pick up a seven-year-old, green broken, purebred Arabian mare I had purchased. Since, on my first trip west with two foals, I spent mile after mile wishing one were old enough to ride so I could enjoy the scenery and wildlife fully, I decided to take Jay, my favorite riding horse, along this time.

Whenever my eyes got tired, I'd pull off, unload Jay, and set off on horseback. In Nebraska, I bridled him and went bareback down a mosquito-infested dirt road at sunset. With no mares to excite him, he handled like a dream.

I began to climb on with just his halter, turning and stopping him easily. At gas stations, I'd ride him up to a water faucet, hang the bucket on the spigot, turn the water on, and let him drink his fill.

By evening of the second day, even with the inordinate amount of eye strain I seemed to be suffering from, I was near the continental divide. The mountains were still sunlit, but the valleys were a gray-green with purple haze. The heat of the day was lessening as I pulled in for gas at a desolate tourist park surrounded by sagebrush and cactus, a blacktop outpost of civilization in a land otherwise reminiscent of Indians and antelope.

My nostrils full of the pungent scent of sage and my mind reveling in scenes from western movies, I climbed aboard, settled into what I imagined to be a typical John Wayne posture, and headed for a pond tucked picturesquely between two hills. Peacefully, we enjoyed the pink and purple shimmering mountain-tops reflected in the pool. Jay's relaxed, ground-eating walk carried us rapidly behind the first hill, out of sight of the now lit gas station and camping area. Ambitiously, he strode up the hill, eager to see what adventures awaited on the far side.

My imagination peppered the land with history book images: buffalo, mountain men, Indians, antelope.

Movement. No, just my overactive mind's reaction to my daydreams.

Suddenly Jay stopped, every muscle taut.

Daydreams shared by my horse? No way!

I peered into the haze. Were there tree limbs among the rocky outcroppings? Ridiculous. The timber line was hours below.

The sky deepened into purple dotted with brilliant fireflies of light far brighter than I'd ever seen before.

A heartbeat later, a flowing motion in brown caught my eye. Stillness. Three flits forward.

I could distinguish the shape of the foremost antelope now. Jay minced in excitement under me. I steadied him with my hand.

Stealthily the sun-gilded shadows glided forward. Jay cavorted closer, quivering, drawn as if by a magnet.

Bronze statues chiseled in rock. The farthest figure broke and sidled forward.

Snorting softly, Jay pranced in place, winding up as tightly as an overloaded main spring.

The last three flowed soundlessly forward, funnel ears up, drawn to his noises.

One hundred feet. I could clearly see the whole band silhouetted against the pond. An electric charge sparked between the antelope and Jay, building as they reached fifty feet. I found myself seated upon a fused time bomb whose clock had nearly run out.

Explosively, both Jay and the antelope broke and ran hysterically. I yanked the lead rope frantically, but it only forced him to shorten his stride, which nearly caused us to have a spill in a gully that suddenly appeared.

Antelope were streaming by on both sides, rounding the curve, heading for the gas station. Some thrilled tourists would soon get the sight of a lifetime.

As Jay plunged blindly up the mountainside, I remember regretting that I'd left the camera back in the truck. I'd always heard how curious antelope were, and in my fantasies, had lured them near for some magnificent close-ups.

Reality was not so pleasant.

I clung to Jay's back like a clothes pin, letting him race out of control, but in balance. Water whipped from the corners of my eyes. His mane stung my face and hands. His back humped and dropped beneath me. A cactus brushed my leg. Fear rode with me. At nearly 9,000 feet, he couldn't run flat out for very long, I consoled myself.

An eternity later, the roaring in my ears subsided, and I could focus on passing landscape. At least I did not need to worry about being lost. A sign proclaiming, "Rest Area, Gas, Camping, 2 Miles," was discernible below on I-80, a visible reminder of a distant world I now longed for.

As he slowed further, I gave him a leg signal. He turned! My controls were no longer frozen. I talked rapidly to him in low tones, trying to soothe him. Moving at an easy canter, we reached the pond, which was now in total darkness. Around the curve, the welcome lights of the gas station blazed. I started to unclench my weary legs from his sides.

I slowed him down to a highly animated walk. I stroked his neck, praising him with reassuring tones. He was so surefooted and fast and not even short of breath. The ordeal over, I began to glory in his power and speed. I had forgotten the antelope. With no warning, the herd burst upon us out of the darkness, flashing by on both sides like phantoms, close enough to touch.

Jay bounced up and down. Unable to restrain his spirits, I grabbed for dear life. Half of the herd streamed by. He could stand it no longer. He broke like a demon possessed, racing straight toward the gas station. I yanked; I cued; I leaned; I shouted, but my speeding bullet kept its awful course.

I imagined the feel of paving scraping my bare arms and legs when the inevitable fall came. The lights glared on the black surface, giving it an icy sheen.

Everyone's eyes were riveted upon the herd and Jay as he sliced straight through them. What photos I'd have had if I'd had spare hands and enough balance to take them!

The last of the herd glided by. We were fast approaching the drive. I sat still, letting the useless lead rope dangle limply in my fingers. At the last moment, I threw my weight back, clamped with my thighs, released my calves, and shouted, "Whoa!"

Horses don't like changes of footing. Jay slid to a stop right at the edge of the camp grounds. He flipped his tail over his back, arched his neck, and pranced as if in full parade regalia straight through the tourists to the trailer, still completely out of control.

A puffing, red-faced man waddled up and fussed over Jay. I slid off, only to find that my legs would not support my weight. I settled abruptly on the wheel of the trailer.

Questions exploded from him, ricocheting around like bullets hitting rocks. Was he for sale? Was I hunting antelope? Were there any more acts to the side show? How did it feel to ride a horse who pranced like that? I looked flushed; did I want something to drink?

A crowd had gathered. I steadied myself by leaning on Jay as I tied him up. Wobbly, I made it into the restaurant.

Would I breed his mare? Would I trade him for the pickup he had out there? It even had air. The crowd laughed. I had been silent too long.

"Is your mare in heat?" I croaked.

No, but she would be next week. It was only two hundred miles. He could bring her here. Would I trade?

No. the horse was worth more than my truck and trailer together. The crowd ooed at this.

I had nearly quit shaking. I stood up to leave. Would I come do that same stunt on his ranch? He'd pay a good salary and charge admission.

I loaded up and left. I always used a bridle after that. Almost always, anyway. Whenever I thought I might run into any antelope, at any rate.

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