Mammoth Cave
(actual cave in the story below)
Many, many years ago not too far away there was a rider who loved horses. About this time of year, in the spring, he often went courting, as they called it in those days. He remained a bachelor much longer than most, but he did go see young ladies, from time to time and he had a favorite horse just for that purpose. This young stallion was favored because he was spirited, because he had heart and because he had four white shanks. All the young men liked that �look� much like the young men of later time liked the sports car look of white walls. At any rate our rider did spend the evening with his young lady and planned to return by a short cut he knew; a seldom-used trail running all along the Big River�s edge for seven miles or more, up by the Mammoth. It was late and the moonless sky inked-in the spring night. Creature sounds were all around and the ever present river moved along side, smooth and silky and confident on his right. As he headed southeast, keeping the bluffs on his left, he could smell the coming-out season, an earthy newness that seemed to come off the hills at the same level as a rider on horseback.
It came slithering up from the trail too, more slowly with the musky, mossy aliveness of new growth. A fog rose up from the water taking the trail from nebulous to zero visibility. The young rider knew the way and his horse knew it even better, as they returned home, sure-footed and eager. |
