I had seen the hoof prints earlier that day. I wasn’t sure at first what was attached to the hooves. Cattle seemed the most likely, but out here, in the wilderness?
I had been exploring, walking among the hoodoos and eroded mounded hills. But when, off in the distance, I caught sight of a small herd of horses - well, that explained the hoof prints.
The area, as it had eroded down in rills and gullies, and eventually a broad plain, had left behind a series of interconnected, flat-topped hillocks, where one could traverse on what remained from one to another without descending, as if in an elevated maze, and eventually make it to another point farther on, as long as one chose the correct path. As I now ascended one of these hills for a better view, I came across a trail, worn into place by the passage of many feet going up and across. That seemed so odd here in the wilderness. Certainly there were footprints here and there from other visitors, but not in such concentration of singular direction. As I gazed at the landscape about me, I spied the line of horses down on the plain, steadily approaching. It was then that I guessed, and confirmed, the source of the trail on which I stood as the lead horse started the climb along that trail. I had not yet been observed, but I knew that by remaining where I was on the trail, I would be in the way, so I moved off to the side and a little on the backslope of the hill. The lead horse, now seeing me, hesitated, but then continued after observing my retreat. As they passed, their ribs showing through their taut sun-bleached hides, I snapped a few pictures, and they went on their way. I did not try to follow.
On the trail
Much later, as evening twilight steadily faded from the landscape, I found myself again on the horse trail as I made my way back to my tent. After boiling water for my meal, I set my camp chair up on top of the highest hillock, and ate, surrounded by the gathering dark, and the absolute silence of the now-empty night.