But there was only one problem: I'd have to ride the mare east to Hanksville to get that pony. It entailed a round trip of 120 miles. It would take a week.

By the third day out, I realized that all my prodding was futile and the trip could easily take more than a week. The old draft horse would not step up her wormlike pace. It was long past noon, on that windy dusty day, when she sauntered into Blue Valley. As she plodded, I had plenty of time to drift into the past:

I had never ridden through the Valley before, but I had heard of it from my father. I knew it was settled in 1883 and that about 1908 my father arrived to be the schoolmaster.

He came there to teach the Mormon boys and girls to read and write and figure. And, since he was fairly handsome, with warm brown eyes and hair to match, he was also sought after by the young ladies of courting age. The older people looked upon him with respect, for his kindness and sternness brought discipline and learning even to the "rowdy boys". (Those were the young boys who would rather rope and ride wild calves than go to either grammar school or Sunday school.)