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November 2001 Winner
THE
SADDLE...By: Charlie Camden
On a shelf
in the back of a second hand store,
sat a
saddle all covered with dust.
The
leather was dry, the stitchin’ was torn,
and the
steel horn was brown with rust.
Letters
carved on the back of the cantle,
spelled
“Jack” and were a shade of pale green.
Perhaps no
one alive in the world today.
knew the
times this saddle had seen.
As I
brushed away those layers of dust,
my hands
could feel the old scars,
and I
thought to myself, if it could only talk,
what
marvelous tales it could tell,
of men and
horses, old towns and trails,
in a time
before TV and cars.
The
sheepskin was worn, the latigo broken,
the
conchos were all missing but one,
and sewn
to the skirt was a battered old holster,
that once
held a small handgun.
I asked
the old lady to tell me the price,
For this
saddle that no one could use,
She smiled
and she said,
“I’ll
take forty five, hell son, what can you lose,
that
saddle once belonged to Nevada Jack,
he rode it
many a mile.
Left it
with me to cover some expenses,
said
he’d pick it up in awhile,
but the
years passed by, and he never come back,
Likely got
himself kilt’ in a fight.
Handsome
Man! Proud he was!
You know,
sometimes things just don’t work out right”
As I
turned from the saddle to look at her,
Her old
eyes held a strange light,
She said,
“you take that saddle for forty five---“
Then she
waved her hand in the air,
“I’ll
throw in the gun that fits the holster,
don’t
seem right to break a natural pair,
he never
could hit with the damn thing anyway,
Jist’
punched little holes in the air”
Well I
gave her my money, and she brought out the gun,
A little
Harrington Richardson .32.
She placed
it in the holster, wiped her hands on a rag,
And said,
“Jack, I’m finally shuck of you,
Nigh’
forty years and ya’ never come back,
Gotta do
what I gotta do”
As I
loaded the saddle in the back of my truck,
I saw the
lady through the window of the store.
She was
watchin’ me as I drove away,
While
pretending to be sweeping the floor.
Well---I
circled the block---parked near the corner,
And went
back to see her once more.
But the
sign in the window said---
CLOSED FOR
THE DAY
---and the
shade was pulled down on the door.
Its been
over 30 years now,
I seldom
go back to that store.
The saddle
still sits in the room where I write,
Sometimes
I use it for a chair.
And I fire
that little handgun ever’ once in awhile,
Strange
though, never hit nothing”
Jist’
punch little holes in the air.
September 2001 Winner
The Bear...by Dave Tingey
Old Bill said to me,
"as long as on this earth I trod
I'll have no faith or need of God
ya' see I figure I'm responsible for the shape I'm in
I don't believe in the devil I don't believe in sin".
He closed his eyes as he began to think,
talked about all the booze he could drink.
talked about his gambling, the money he lost,
and how he never worried about it's cost,
except one time he was so broke he herded sheep instead of cattle
cause all he had left was his old wore out saddle.
To his eyes came a far away stare
as he talked about the women young and fair.
One day he was out a riding the range
when something happened his life to change,
he was riding along with out a care
when out of the trees came this big ol' bear
His horse threw a fit, he starts in to buck
old Bill figures, "it's just my luck
he's left me a spinning up here in the air
he's throwed me off both fair and square."
He hits the ground starts in to run
the bears a gaining this ain't no fun,
he find a spot there's no where he can go
feels the fear with in him grow.
Now he never needed God until that day
he bows his head he begins to pray.
"Lord to save me now just wouldn't be fair,
so could you make a Christian out of that old bear"??
Suddenly there was this blinding flash of light
what old Bill saw was quite a sight
that bear a kneeling there with up raised feet
saying, "Lord I thank ya' for what I'm about to eat."
August 2001 Winner
A Long Ride....by David Kelley
I started ridin' with him near fifty years ago, I was plumb green.
He was my hero from day one...the best cowboy I had ever seen.
He stood for what was good in cowboys, his word and a hand shake would
do.
Just ridin' there by his side was reason for honesty to accrue.
Sometimes I was his trusty sidekick, with a floppy hat and whiskers,
Other times in a rattle trap jeep, shakin' me clean to my dentures.
I was right there when he came across that purty' little blonde filly.
He acted like a new colt back then, fact is, was about half silly.
He loved her though, and somehow I knew it was gonna' last forever,
Taking her as his bride, promisin' the Lord they never would sever.
When his hoss died, we all cried, it's the only time cowpokes are
allowed.
He quickly cowboy'd up though, his job couldn't go undone, he avowed.
There was critters to raise, law to uphold, and young'uns without a
home,
And I rode every single mile, even though I had been forced to roam.
No, he really didn't ride circles, or drag many strays to the fire,
But, don't say my sidekick was not a cowboy, you're apt to raise my ire.
As you may have guessed, he wasn't a working cowpoke, this pardner of
mine,
And I never REALLY rode with him, but for "Happy Trails" in my
mind.
He was still a saddle pal of mine from the time I was just a kid.
I rode years with Roy and Dale, and ol' Gabby, like many others did.
Gone but not forgotten, again ever at my faithful loving side.
Roy Rogers, a pard true to the end, indeed "..IT HAS BEEN A LONG
RIDE".
July 2001 Winner
You can always tell a Cowboy...by: Buck"The
Big Man"Helton
You can always tell a Cowboy, but not by the clothes he wears,
You see his outfit's been adopted by those that neither know nor care
High falutin' city boys who'll never understand
The deep connection that exists between the Cowboy, and the land.
They can't 'figger why he'd cuss them long eared critters, then ride
into town and brag,
Bout the drive he just come off of "Spent three months ridin'drag."
He may wear a fine new sky-piece, or a battered lid of straw,
But he'll take it with him everywhere, that's practically the law!
Oh, he'll take it off to pray, or if ladies are around
But otherwise he'll wear it proudly, like a King would wear a crown.
His boots are plumb up to his knees, and spurs are at his feet
With jingle-bobs a'ringin, that's a sound that's mighty sweet
When you're out there on the prairie with a hoss between you're knees
A'ridin back to camp with the smell of woodsmoke on the breeze.
You see a Cowboy won't be found indoors, or even in a tent
He'll sleep out on the prairie on those nights that heaven sent
And smile as he gazes on the wonders up above,
And thanks The Maker of creation for the life he dearly loves.
It's a life that's short on comfort, eatin' mostly beef and beans
And there's times he wont have one red cent in the pocket of his jeans
But you can tell a real Cowboy by the twinkle in his eye,
For he's thinking of a day coming in the bye and bye
When he'll cross the Jordan at the trails end, and meet The Boss of the
skies
And make his home on The Golden Range, where old Cowboys never die.
July 2001 Winner
The Bull Rider by Denis Dieker
I studied bull riders, I wanted to know,
What turns them on, what makes them go.
They've these things in common and this is no joke,
All of them's young and all of them's broke.
Ain't none of them pretty, ain't none of them fat,
Size 44 jackets and number four hat;
All that he owns are the clothes on his back,
A battered old pickup and bull ridin' tack.
A dream of a buckle bearing his name,
Eight seconds of glory for money and fame;
A' straddle a ton of muscle, or more,
Bred to buck, and mean to the core.
Got a wide brimmed hat that he throws in the air,
When the bull works good and the judges are fair;
He's lookin' for somethin' he may never find,
There's pain in his back, but there's more in his mind.
He's got a big dream about cattle and stuff,
But he ain't got a plan, so a dream ain't enough;
They're part made of muscle, and blood hot as fire,
And bones held together by screws and some wire.
They'll give you the shirt right off of their back,
Stained with manure and smelling like tack;
But some of them booze, and some of them brawl,
And some of them cuss, but none of them crawl.
They'll fight for their mamma or the woman they love,
They take off their hat when Old Glory's above;
But they lie 'bout their dog, and they lie 'bout their horse,
And some lie to ladies, and the banker, of course.
I've this word of comfort for the ladies who wait,
And cry as they ponder their bullrider's fate;
They either die young, or their pockets get full,
For I ain't never seen an old man on a bull.
June 2001 Winner
Broke Down Cowboy by Mitchell Wright
*A 16 yr old cowboy wearin' his boots with pride!
I'm jus a broke down cowboy, an' my time is draw'in near, so hunker down
beside me, for there's somethin' you should hear.
To you I'm just a has-been; a man who's "had his day" But I'm
settin' here to tel' you, it was ME who paved the way!
The horses we rode was rougher than yur'es an' We was tougher'n
YOU! The cattle was bigger an meaner an wild... an lots more of 'em too!
The rivers was a whole lot wider back then, an most a whole lot deeper.
An a lot more mountains then, than now, an all of them was steeper.
When we had a drout the dust was drier...
An' thuh sun a whole lot hotter.
An' grass was as scarce as hens teeth...
An there jus wern't any water.
Winter snows came early an' deep,
An lasted a whole lot longer.
All Yall siss'ies Might'uh froze to death!
But we was a whole lot stronger.
There was twenty eight workin' hour's, then, in each an everyday;
an eight or nine days every week, an' nowheres near the pay.
We wore plumb through our saddles, on bad horses that would buck.
We didn't skuff our cantles up, in the back of a pickup truck.
I can tell it like it was Boy's...
No ones around to say I'm wrong.
I'm the last of the old time cowboy's,
Like you hear about in a song.
You kin' see I'm gettin' old lads,
By thuh way I ramble on...
So keep workin' on yure own lie's,
Yu'lle be old timers when I'm gone!!!!
May 2001 Winner
The Hat Pin Trick by Verlin Pitt
At a rimrock's
edge on a stone ledge a stallion smells the air.
On that very night in a gallant fight he'd won another mare.
A prairie owl and a lone wolf's howl pierced the lonesome night.
In the cold blue dawn, a man rides on toward the mornin' light.
In the light of day he made his way toward a distant town.
By a cedar scrub he stopped for grub and drank some water down.
Out across the sage he watched the Butterfield stage rollin' down the
trail.
Six horses moved fast as it rumbled on past and it carried more than
mail.
A black strongbox locked with double locks held a hundred pounds in
gold.
Five riders came in off a prairie wind and it made his blood run cold.
A bullet struck hard and the shotgun guard was dead when he hit the
ground.
The driver tightened his grip as he cracked his whip and the hooves made
a thunderin' sound.
Five miles out of town the driver shut it down, overtaken by the outlaws
at a creek.
Four passengers on board were talkin' with the Lord, and askin' his
protection for the weak.
A big man on a roan who was bad to the bone, shot the driver in the
chest.
When it came to killin' every outlaw there was willin' but the big man
did it best.
The outrider guard had been ridin' just as hard as the outlaws intent
upon the stage.
Crouched high upon a hill, the guard had his fill and he fought to
control the rage.
Two good men were dead, pumped full of lead, and they lay on the ground
growin' cold.
The four in the coach saw the big man approach and knew he was after the
gold.
With a face like stone the man on the roan stuck his head in the window
of the stage.
A lady sittin' near had a look of raw fear like an animal trapped in a
cage.
Then an outlaw's groan as a bullet struck bone and he fell dead off his
horse.
Another fell dead from a bullet in the head and a third looked for the
source.
A final shot rang out and took the third man out with the only one left
on the roan.
With his head in the stage it was hard to gauge, why he'd stayed there
was unknown.
Without a sound the outrider came down and cautiously he ventured near.
Then he stopped to stare at the big man there and the hat pin stuck in
his ear.
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