My partner, the following day, took his daily constitutional on his donkey. See Breeding for Mules. He returned several hours later with a pocket full of money and a list of things to do and a full report. Our community of a dozen families were trapped and would be for several more days. Until the National guards arrived with equipment to clear the bridge, repair the dam and rebuild the state road to the other community. The unexpected entrapment had neighbors running out of their life saving medicines and stables. Mine was the only vehicle on the other side of the river. He volunteered us to make an emergency pick up and delivery.

I shuddered to think of making the trip back across the log and the swinging bridge. Duty called ... I must assist my community or loan out my vehicle to persons not on my insurance and take the chance of major losses. I helped saddle up the mule to join in the assisting in baring the load for the return trip. Across the ridge we journeyed. What a sight we were. Feed bags, back packs, any thing we could tie onto the saddle for toting supplies were strapped to the animals. This time when we reached the dirt road, we didn't have to cross any more mountains. Instead, it had been preplanned to go though the bottom of the Conel's property. He met us with instructions as to what course to take and the gates were all open. The water had receded enough to cross low on the ravine and even the animals didn't mind the hop across the watery ditch. We made it to the swinging bridge in less than an hour. My partner waited with the animals. This time across, I only graped the side cables a couple of times and stopped only once to wait for the bridge to slow it's motion, before descending the other side. The old farmer waved as I drove out his lane.

It took another hour to make all the directed stops and collect all the listed goods. Family members from our shut in community had filled most of the requested list and met me at various locations to help pack the supplies. When I arrived back to the swinging bridge, I was delighted to see a help crew had arrived from both sides of the river and assisted in carrying the supplies across the bridge and packed them onto the animals. I only had to make two trips across and the rest was done. We returned over the ridge to the much awaiting shut ins. Our last stop was met with the mother that had stayed over night in the garage and her three small children. Her elderly mother was ill and she needed to get out to care for her. She didn't know how to find the swinging bridge and she needed to take the children. The pack animals were empty. There were a few more hours of daylight left. We put the two oldest children and a bag of personal items on the donkey. She carried the baby and we were off to climb the ridge, yet again. I stopped at the barn and retired the young mule. He had been a sweetie, but he'd had enough and was holding us back.

My legs burned from fatigue, as we pulled the ridge. The children were delighted with their ride and made the trip much more light hearted than it would have been. When we reached the swinging bridge, the mother panicked. The children were becoming frighten. I took the infant and started across. My partner followed with the two children. We had reasonable distance between, so as not to sway the bridge more than necessary. Her relatives met us on the other side. She still stood frozen on the other side. Her relatives began poking fun at her tyring to prod her over. She would get about five feet out and the bridge would start to swing and she would freeze. Finally she dropped to her knees and crawled the last twenty feet. When she arrived on the other side, trembling to much to stand and crying hysterically, I told her, " Honey that's actually what I wanted to do the first time I went across." The empathy worked. She soon composed herself and they were off. I was halfway back across the bridge and about to grasp the side cables when I realized I had just carried the most precious cargo of all without touching the cable. I didn't need it now. As a matter of fact, I stopped in the middle and looked both ways and absorbed the victory of conquering my fear. Until my partner came running across and swinging it intentionally. I raced to across to solid ground.

I was so exhausted, I climbed into the saddle, my partner behind me. Jack retracted his steeps back across the ravine. He did not even hop across this time. He walked stealthily through the watery ditch with precision. When we arrived at the end of the lane, I tried to turn him down the dirt road. He baulked. I was too tired to climb the ridge again and insisted. He followed the command. When we arrived at the culvert still covered with water he baulked again. No persuasion could convince him this time. We dismounted and attempted to lead him across. No way. He planted his feet firming to resist any pull. I got behind him and pushed while my partner pulled. Noway, nothing, not even the sweetest sweet talk could convince him to budge. My partner tried to show him it was alright to cross. As he stepped into the water, Jack reared and backed up, knocking me to the ground. My partner lost his footing and was floating down stream with only the reins in his hand to safe him. Jack continued to back up. Fearing the reins would brake, I rush between the two and caught hold of the reins and tried to assist pulling my partner to safety. Soon he caught a hold with a knee and assisted to crawl onto the safety of the dirt road. Out of breath we sat in the dirt for a breather. Jack steeped forward to contribute his big old nose into the center of our revival.

Totally exhausted, we climbed back into the saddle, drooped the reins across the horn and said, "Home, Jack." He turned and retraced his steps back up and over the steep ridge to home. We heard the next day, two of the teenagers, being bored and restless with their sudden and ultimate confinement had tried to joy ride up the dirt road, through the water covered culvert, in a volts wagon. They lost the car and nearly their lives. The culvert was washed out along with three foot of road. Jack knew best! He saved our stupid lives with his instinct. He got extra oats that night.