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Show 195 to get down into the canyon over its perpendicular sides. I couldn't remember any place with a break in from our numerous trips to Three Creek. Finally we came to an edge overlooking the canyon far below. There was one narrow, steep chute from a crevice to the canyon floor. I could hardly believe we were to descend it, but we were. "I'll go first, " said Papa. "You wait until I am down and holler back, and then you drive the cattle down. Wait until the last one has started down, then follow. " Down he went, his horse sliding on its haunches, its front legs stiff. Shale slid with them, covering the horse up to its rump. When Papa gave the signal from far down below I urged the reluctant cattle to follow him, and one by one they did. He had told me to wait until the last one was started; I waited until it disappeared, took a deep breath for courage and followed suit. It was easier than it looked, and such fright-thrilled fun that I have always wanted to do it again. That trip was the culmination of my life with Papa, but not the finale. It came at a good time, drawing the strings of our relationship into a pattern of companionship and love. If there had been any resentment from the stormy days of my teens (I was now grown-twenty-one) they were erased. I loved everything about him now-the way he rode, the brim of his hat flattened against the wind, his tender skin chapped. Mama always gave him a little tin box of salve for his lips. I loved the way he walked, with long strides, a little loose at the knees, with a small bounce, as if he had springs in his feet. He was a spare man |