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Show THE BOB-TAILED STEER It was back in 1940, 28 long years have past, and there's been a lot of changes in the rangeland of the West. That spring we bought a cowranch, Dad, my pard and I, we swore that we'd make her pay or go busted on the try. We'd barely signed the papers when my Dad took a stroke, Mother and me borrowed money, sure looked like we'd go broke. Dad was bedridden and the Doctor said to him, "You'll have to take it easy, when you get up again." That left me and the Colonel, Dad gave my pard the name, doesn't matter how he got it, it fit him just the same. Tall, dark and slender, never had a lot to say, but he sure could use a rifle in a deadly sort of way. Oh, he packed it on his saddle, it was always by his side, the stock stuck up behind the candle on many a lonely ride. He never was without it and he packed her cavalry style, that Winchester was his playmate throughout the years and many miles. We rounded up our horses, we had some good ones then, no better bunch of saddle horses, has ever wore a brand. That ranch was rough and rocky, lot of brushy, mountain terrain, and 'twas there I met oF Bobby, 'twas there he got his name. We started gatherin' cattle, had to rope and lead a lot, tryin' to make the payments on the ranch we had just bought. Among my saddle horses, I had a big, stout Bay, Dad got him from a sheepman and twenty dollars on a trade. I didn't know much about him but he was big and plenty strong, I called him 'Old Sheepherder' and figured we'd get along. 'Twas the middle of the summer, if I remember right, I shod Old Sheepherder and he sure put up a fight. Before I got the iron on him, I had to tie him down, and after quite a battle, I shod him all around. I led him up, throwed'on the saddle, all set to take a ride up among the rocks and bushes on old grassy mountain side. I'd been ridin' 'bout two hours and I'm ridin' sorta high when I ride right up among 'em, boy, it took me by surprise. My heart's a-beatin' sudden and my eyes are poppin' wide, and the brush was sure a-crackin' on that old, mountain side. 36 Cowboy Poetry From Utah |