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Show I pulled on my cinch and snorted, boys, I done her in a rush, the cattle started splittin' and I seen 'em scatter in the brush. Neighbors, I'm excitin', lookin' straight ahead because I seen a critter mighty big and colored red. Just a glimpse was all I seen him, his head was carried low, he's runnin' like the devil, sure looked like a buffalo. The critter was slick-headed, never had no sign of horns, his tail was short and stubby, must have froze off when he's born. The old sheep horse lost interest and he stopped and flicked his tail, Old Bob was still a-gainin' speed and he left a nasty trail. I done some double ropin' used my spurs a-quite a bit, the old Bay horse just wrung his tail and hung his head and quit. If there was any honors, old Bobby got first place, Boys, he was really driftin', fair and square he won the race. I could hear the rocks rollin' and the brush a-crackin' too, he made it plain he didn't care to meet a buckaroo. We worked on through the summer, water trappin' all the while, Catchin', breakin' horses, we done her western style. Many times I heard the rifle of the Colonel start to sing, he could kill a running coyote or a buzzard on the wing. Once again I jumped Old Bobby, there on the mountain side, the rocks was really rollin' when the big steer caught his stride. My pardner was a ridin' a little Chico on that day, he said, "Come on, let's take him. Don't let him get away." I put the spurs to Old Sheepherder, Bob headed down the slope, with him at the bottom when we both took down our ropes. If we thought that we could catch him, Amigo, we got fooled. He looked back and seen us comin', he shook his hocks and flew. Chico was a pack horse and didn't have much stay, she 'pert near run out of gasoline, the big steer got away. We went right on a workin', had to rope and tie and yell, we caught a bunch of snaky cows, put 'em in a brush corral. We left our camp one morning, going to check some gates, that afternoon we'd start 'em, had to take 'em quite a ways. I saddled up a little gray and let the hammer down, my pard was ridin' Roanie when we started on our rounds. Cowboy Poetry From Utah 37 |