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Show OPEN RANGE I was born in Utah, many long years have come and gone since Dad loaded up the wagon and we left that border town. I don't quite remember, but I've heard my mother say, we left sometime in April, or maybe it was May. Mother said she drove the wagon while Dad drove the saddle stock, we camped in old Quail Canyon 'mong the cedars, snow and rocks. We left St. George, Utah with our little caravan headed south for Arizona, the golden, promised land. I've heard it said in Arizona, in those days so long ago they didn't lack for moisture, summer rains and winter snow. The grass would drag your stirrups and 'twas sure a pretty sight to watch the sun a sinkin' towards those hidden hills at night. My Dad, he built a cabin and 'twas there we settled down, they had come to make a fortune on a section of government ground. Time has brought a lot of changes, in that golden land of dreams since they settled in the 20s with their saddle horse and team. Then, the cattle roamed in thousands, many different markin' brands, hundreds of wild horses, grazed that enchanted land. Sometimes in the evening you could hear so sharp and shrill, the whistle of a wild stallion, as he watched you from a hill. Then if you would watch him as he stood with head held high, you could see his nostrils flarin', pride burned those wicked eyes. Then, again you heard him whistle and the echo from the sound would roll out over the prairie, from the mountains would rebound. Then, he would whirl and leave there, with his mane and tail a-flow, with his ears pinned back for freedom, 'twas a thrill to watch him go. Those days are gone forever, in my memory of the past seems I hear the dying hoofbeats, of the days that couldn't last. As I'm sitting here and thinking, I fancy I can see phantom pictures of the prairie, just the way it used to be. I see the old chuck wagon, there's cowboys gathered 'round, their coffee cups beside them, as they wolf their supper down. 32 Cowboy Poetry From Utah |