We were not far from our destination but there was time for just one more story. "The Little Race Mare" was one we always enjoyed, and Grandma wanted to tell it in honor of all the Indians we would be seeing in the parade that day:
|Martin Calvin Boice|
When my father was just a young boy, possibly nine years old, the cattle from the fort had been driven down on the willow bottom. There was grass there, and they would find plenty to eat. Grandfather had a lovely, fat cow, and she had been sent there to remain until she found her little calf.
My father was just a little boy but much was expected. One morning Grandfather said, "Calvin, get on the workhorse and go see if you can find our cow. If you can and she hasn't found her calf just leave her and come on back."
Father went out and looked at the workhorse, and then he looked at the race mare. Since the Indians had been on the rampage recently, and he knew of two boys who had been skinned alive; he felt the need to pray to Heavenly Father for guidance. My Daddy knelt down and asked Heavenly Father which horse he should take. Again he looked at the two horses, but this time he had a very strong feeling that he should put the bridle on the mare....he jumped on her back and away he went to find that cow.
He went down on the willow bottom, and the trail wound around and around - just kept going and going. Finally he found their cow, but she hadn't found her calf so he turned around and started back.
He hadn't gone far when his attention was drawn behind him. As he looked back over his shoulder, he saw five big Indians whipping their horses and coming towards him a fast as they could! Father just kicked the little mare in the ribs and loosened the reins and let her go. She took off just like that.
He had presence of mind to know that he didn't dare let her run too long or she would lose her wind, and he had five miles to go. So when he saw he was ahead of them far enough he would pull the reins in and slow her down until he saw the Indians were gaining on him, and then he would let her go!
The Indians were coming just as fast as they could, but as they got in sight of the fort, they could see they couldn't catch him. They then began shooting their guns and the bullets whizzed past on each side of my fathers head, but not a one hit him.
Story as told by Delila May Boice Asay about her father Martin Calvin Boice.
Till We Meet Again, by Joy Marostica