The Log of a Cowboy: A Narrative of the Old Trail DaysAdams, Andy
General
The Log of a Cowboy: A Narrative of the Old Trail Days
Adams, Andy
Cattle drives -- Fiction; Cowboys -- Fiction; Western stories
It was to be a three hundred yard race, with an ask and answer start
between the riders. Stallings and the old man stepped off the course
parallel with the river, and laid a rope on the ground to mark the
start and the finish. The sun had already set and twilight was
deepening when the old man signaled to his boy in the distance to
bring up the mare. Wheat was slowly walking the brown horse over the
course, when the boy came up, cantering the mare, blanketed with an
old government blanket, over the imaginary track also. These
preliminaries thrilled us like the tuning of a fiddle for a dance.
Stallings and the old homesteader went out to the starting point to
give the riders the terms of the race, while the remainder of us
congregated at the finish. It was getting dusk when the blanket was
stripped from the mare and the riders began jockeying for a start. In
that twilight stillness we could hear the question, “Are you ready?”
and the answer “No,” as the two jockeys came up to the starting rope.
But finally there was an affirmative answer, and the two horses were
coming through like arrows in their flight. My heart stood still for
the time being, and when the bay mare crossed the rope at the outcome
an easy winner, I was speechless. Such a crestfallen-looking lot of
men as we were would be hard to conceive. We had been beaten, and not
only felt it but looked it. Flood brought us to our senses by calling
our attention to the approaching darkness, and setting off in a gallop
toward the herd. The rest of us trailed along silently after him in
threes and fours. After the herd had been bedded and we had gone in to
the wagon my spirits were slightly lightened at the sight of the two
arch conspirators, Stallings and Quarternight, meekly riding in
bareback. I enjoyed the laughter of The Rebel and McCann at their
plight; but when my bunkie noticed my six-shooter missing, and I
admitted having bet it, he turned the laugh on me.
“That’s right, son,” he said; “don’t you take anybody’s advice. You’re
young yet, but you’ll learn. And when you learn it for yourself,
you’ll remember it that much better.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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