Tales Spun
�? The tale was spun by the pot bellied stove ablaze with coal, we were cozy and warm. ”One time, the old man said; We was down by the Ole Flathead, when a wind storm blew in.�?He went on to add; “We’d rode through the day in a fierce storm, our horses were through, we felt lucky to find the line shack and smoke was coming outta the flue.�?BR> The old man loved to talk about the good old days and so we listened glad to be warm. ”We was holed up in the line shack, me and Ole Pete McMurphy, was his name. We was playing cards sipping whiskey when he up and called me a cheat. I reached over to get my gun, when to my surprise he pulled out his and it misfired. I pulled mine and shot him dead. Hell, had to or he’d a killed me sure.�?The fire sparked and cackled as we settled in playing checkers. “Let me spin a tale, the old man crowed; about a horse that threw me once up on the Buckhorn. The devil told me to shoot him, but I got God’s grace, my Mama made danged sure I knew the good word. The ole sorrel gelding bucked like a stallion on his way to mount a mare in heat! I hollered and held tight girding his muzzle with the iron bit. He wasn’t through though, he fooled me and we rode a few paces and he bucked me off. I walked all the way down Buckhorn to Carson’s place and had to buy a new horse.�?The tale was spinnin now for sure and the checkers were moving and the whiskey was smoothin things out a bit. “I recollect a time when I was a young man. He says; ‘Hell couldn’t a been more than nine or ten when I went on my first trail drive. We was out in the middle of lonesome prairie on the way to a little lonesome cattle town train stop called Dodge City, where there’s stock yards and train cars to load our cattle up.�?
“My Ma didn’t want me to go, she said I was too young. But I knew I was a man even though I was spooked a bit. I got a little homesick, at that Mama was right. What she didn’t know though, was I had grown up a long time before that. My Old Man made sure of it, by working us from dawn till dusk. We was men who were children that had to grow up fast. We rode bucking broncs and broke em if we could catch em that is, and if our heads didn’t get busted up too much, so’s we could think of what we was taught. We learnt to ride and rope, plus we could shovel coal or dirt. Anyways we dug holes for fence posts to keep the cattle cooped up after the open ranged got closed by barb wires and greedy cattle barons. I had to work for a few of em, when things got tough and we lost our Daddy’s homestead. He’d died the winter of 0 nine.�?A tear came to the old mans eye, and he wiped it away with his kerchief, grinned and said; “Hell, good riddance to that old fart anyways. Like I was saying I worked for a few of em. They’d pay ya poorly but feed ya pretty good grub. Specially if you liked your beef blackened some, the cookie there was pretty good at cooking but he was uglier than an old dog. His danged ole apron was dirtier than his dirty fingernails after chopping wood all day. He smelled of sweat, like we all did, but it was his vittles we had to put away. Down the hatch, thar she blows just watch out below. Har Har. Yes sir his beans were good and tough the boys would fart and belch and hope the whiskey would help. He added enough grease so’s you wouldn’t up and die of bloat.�?BR> The old man looked tired as the fire light grew dim, the look in his eye though was one of a young man. He hadn’t got tired of living just yet. He had a gleem in his eye as he leaned back in his chair poured himself a drink, lit up his pipe and suddenly laughed like hell; “Boys, you’re one hell of a sight, you’re uglier than July and if either one of you ever gets hitched it’ll be a miracle.�?he cackled with glee! �?That reminds me of the time when me and brother Jeb was stranded up the Lost Canyon. Our horses run off when a damned ole bear spooked em and we had to shoot him. He didn’t taste too bad and we knew food was scarce we’d be hungry before we could get back down to see ole cookie.�?
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