Smoky The Cowhorse by Will James ~ Full Audiobook
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Smokey the Cow Horse by Will James Preface To my way of thinking, there's something wrong or missing with any person who hasn't got a soft spot in their heart for an animal of some kind. With most folks, the dog stands highest as man's friend. Then comes the horse. With others, the cat is liked best as a pet, or a monkey is fussed over.

but whatever kind of animal it is a person likes it's all hunky-dory so long as there's a place in the heart for one or a few of them i've never as yet went wrong in sizing up a man by the kind of a horse he rode a good horse always packs a good man and i've always dodged the hombre that had no thought nor liking for his horse or other animals

"'for I figure that kind of gazabo is best to be left unacquainted with. "'No good would ever come of the meeting. "'With me, my weakness lays towards the horse. "'My life, from the time I first squinted at daylight, has been with horses. "'I admire every step that Crether makes. "'I know them and been through so much with them "'that I've come to figure a big mistake was made "'when the horse was classed as an animal.'

To me, the horse is man's greatest, most useful, faithful, and powerful friend. He never whines when he's hungry or sore-footed or tired, and he'll keep on a-going for the human till he drops. The horse is not appreciated and never will be appreciated enough. Few humans, even them that works him, really know him, but then there's so much to know about him.

I've wrote this book on only one horse, and when I first started it, I was afraid I'd run out of something to write. But I wasn't half through when I began to realize I had to do some squeezing to get the things in I wanted. And when I come to the last chapter was when I seen how if I spent my life writing on the horse alone and lived to be a hundred, I'd only said maybe half of what I feel ought to be said.

"'The horse I wrote of in this book is not an exception. There's quite a few like him. He's not a fiction horse that's wrote about in a dream and made to do things that's against the nature of a horse to do. Smokey is just a horse, but all horse. And that, I think, is enough said. As for Clint, the cowboy who started Smokey, he's no exception either. He's just a man who was able to see and bring out the good that was in the horse.'

And no matter how some writers describe the cowboy's handling of horses, I'm here to say that I can produce many a cowboy that can show feelings for a horse the same as Clint done. But Smokey met other humans besides Clint, many others, and of all kinds. And that's where the story comes in.

And now, my main ambition, as I turn Smokey loose to make his self acquainted, is that the folks who will get to know him will see that horse as I seen him, Will James. End of Preface Read by Joni Vathainen September 21, 2022 Chapter 1 of Smokey the Cow Horse by Will James This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A Range Cult

it seemed like mother nature was sure agreeable that day when the little black colt came to the range world and tried to get a footing with his long wobblety legs on the brown prairie sod short stems of new green grass was trying to make their way up through the last year's faded growth and reaching for the sun's warm rays

Taking in all that could be seen, felt, and inhaled, there was no day, time, nor place that could beat the spring morning on the sunny side of the low prairie butte where Smokey the colt was fooled. Smokey wouldn't have fitted the colt as a name just then on account he was jet black, but that name wasn't attached onto him till he was a four-year-old, which was when he first started being useful as a saddle horse.

he didn't see the first light of day through no box stall window and there was no human around to make a fuss over him and try to steady him on his feet for them first few steps smoky was just a little range colt and all the company he had that first morning of his life was his watchful mammy

Smokey wasn't quite an hour old when he began to take interest in things. The warm spring sun was doing its work and kept a pouring warmth all over that slick little black hide and right on through his little body till pretty soon his head came up kind of shaky and he began nosing around them long front legs that was stretched out in front of him. His mammy was close by him and at the first move the colt made she run her nose along his short neck and nickered.

"'Smokey's head went up another two inches at the sound "'and his first little answering knicker was heard. "'Of course a person would have had to listen mighty close to hear it. "'But then, if you'd a-watched his nostrils quivering, "'you could tell that's just what he was trying to do. "'That was the starting of Smokey. "'Pretty soon his ears began to work back and forth "'towards the sound his mammy would make as she moved. "'He was trying to locate just where she was.'

"'Then something moved right in front of his nose about a foot. "'It had been there quite a good spell, but he'd never realized it before. "'Besides, his vision was a little dim yet, "'and he wasn't interested much till that something moved again "'and planted itself still closer. "'Being it was right close, he took a sniff at it. "'That sniff recorded itself into his brain "'and as much as told him that all was well. "'It was one of his mammy's legs.'

His ears perked up and he tried nickering again with a heap better result than the first time. One good thing called for another, and natural-like he made a sudden scramble to get up, but his legs wouldn't work right, and just about when he'd got his belly clear of the ground and as he was resting there for another try at the rest of the way up, one of his front legs quivered and buckled at the elbow, and the whole works went down.

he laid there flat on his side and breathing hard his mammy nickered encouragement and it wasn't long when his head was up again and his legs spraddled out all around him the same as before he was going to try again but next time he was going to be more sure of his ground

He was studying, it seemed like, and sniffing of his legs and then the earth like he was trying to figure out how he was going to get one to stand up on the other. His mammy kept a-circling around and a-talking to him in horse language. She'd give him a shove with her nose, then walk away and watch him.

The spring air, which I think is most for the benefit of all that's young, had a lot to do to keep Smokey from laying still for very long. His vision was getting clearer fast, and his strength was coming in just as fast. Not far away, but still too far for Smokey to see, was little calves. Little white-faced fellers, a-playing and a-bucking around and letting out wall-eyed bellers at their mammies.

"'running out a ways and then running back, tails up, "'at a speed that'd make a greyhound blush for shame. "'There was other little colts, too, "'all a-cavorting around and tearing up good sod. "'But with all them calves and colts that was with the bunches of cattle "'or horses scattered out on the range, "'the same experience of helplessness that Smokey was going through "'had been theirs for a spell, "'and a few hadn't been as lucky as Smokey in their first squint at daylight.'

Them few had come to the range world when the ground was still covered with snow, or else cold spring rains was a-pouring down to wet them to the bone. Smokey's mother had sneaked out of the bunch a few days before Smokey came, and hid in a lonely spot where she'd be sure that no cattle nor horses or even riders would be around. In a few days, and when Smokey would be strong enough to lope out, she'd go back again,

but in the meantime she wanted to be alone with her colt and put all her attention on him without having to contend with chasing off big inquisitive geldings or jealous fillies she was of range blood which means mostly mustang with strains of steel dust or coach throwed in if hard winters come and the range was covered with heavy snows she knowed of high ridges where the strong winds kept a few spots bare and where feed could be got

If droughts came to dry up the grass and water holes, she sniffed the air for moisture and drifted out across the plain which was her home range to the high mountains where things was more normal. There was cougars and wolves in that high country, but her Mustang instinct made her the fittest. She circled around and never went under where the lion was perched awaiting for her, and the wolf never found her where she could be cornered.

Smokey had inherited that same instinct of his mammy's, but on that quiet spring morning he wasn't at all worried about enemies. His mammy was there, and besides he had a hard job ahead that was taking all of his mind to figure out. That was to stand on them long things which was fastened to his body and which kept us braddling out in all directions.

The first thing to do was to gather him under him and try again. He did that easy enough, and then he waited and gathered up all the strength that was in him. He sniffed at the ground to make sure it was there, and then his head went up. His front feet stretched out in front of him, and with his hind legs all under him, he used all that strength he'd been storing up and pushed himself up on his front feet.

His hind legs straightened up to steady him, and as luck would have it, there was just enough distance between each leg to keep him there. All he had to do was to keep them legs stiff and from buckling up under him, which wasn't at all easy, cause getting up to where he was had used up a lot of his strength, and them long legs of his was doing a heap of shaking.

All would have been well, maybe. Only his mammy nickered, that's a good boy. And that's what queered Smokey. His head went up, proud as a peacock, and he forgot all about keeping his props stiff and under him. Down he went, the whole length of his legs, and there he laid the same as before.

But he didn't lay long this time. He either liked the sport of going up and coming down, or else he was getting peeved. He was up again, mighty shaky, but he was up sure enough. His mammy came to him. She sniffed at him, and he sniffed back. Then nature played another hand, and he nursed. The first nourishment was took in. His tummy warmed up, and strength came fast. Smokey was an hour and a half old and up to stay.

the rest of that day was full of events for smoky he explored the whole country went up big mountains two feet high wide valleys six or eight feet across and at one time was as far as twelve feet away from his mammy all by himself

"'He shied at a rock once. "'It was a dangerous-looking rock, "'and he kicked at it as he went past. "'All that action being put on at once "'come pretty near being too much for him, "'and he come close to measuring his whole length "'on Mother Earth once again. "'But luck was with him, "'and taking it all, he had a mighty good time.'

When the sun went to sinking over the blue ridges in the west, Smokey, he missed all the beauty of the first sunset in his life. He was stretched out full length of his own accord this time and sound asleep.

the night was a mighty good rival of what the day had been all the stars was out and showing off and the braves was chasing the buffalo plumb around the big dipper the water hole of the happy hunting grounds but all that was lost to smoky he was still asleep and recuperating from his first day's adventures

and most likely he'd kept on sleeping for a good long spell only his mammy who was standing guard over him happened to get a little too close and stepped on his tail smoky must have been in the middle of some bad dream his natural instinct might have pictured some enemy to his mind and something that looked like a wolf or a bear must have had him cornered for sure

Anyway, when he felt his tail pinched that way, he figured that when a feller begins to feel, it's sure time to act, and he did. He shot up right under his mammy's chin, let out a squeal, and stood there ready to fight. He took in the country for feet and feet around and looking for the enemy that had nipped him, and finally in his scouting around that way, he run across to the shadow of his mammy.

that meant but one thing safety and that accounted for and put away his past left room for a craving he'd never noticed in his excitement he was hungry and proceeded right then and there to take on a feed of his mammy's warm rich milk the sky was beginning to get light in the east the stars was fading away and the buffalo hunters had went to rest

A few hours had passed since Smokey had been woke up out of his bad dream, and there he was, asleep again. He'd missed his first sunset, and now he was sleeping through his first sunrise. But he was going to be prepared for that new day's run, and the strength he was accumulating through them sleeps and between feeds would sure make him fit to cover a lot of territory.

There wasn't a move out of him till the sun was well up and beginning to throw a good heat. He stacked up on a lot of that heat, and pretty soon one of his ears moved, then the other. He took a long breath and stretched. Smokey was coming to life. His mammy nickered, and that done the trick. Smokey raised his head, looked around, and proceeded to get up.

After a little time that was done, and bowing his neck, he stretched again. Smokey was ready for another day. The big day started right after Smokey had his feed. Then his mother went to grazing and moving away straight to the direction of some trees a mile or so to the south. A clear spring was by them trees, and water is what Smokey's mammy wanted the most right then.

She was craving for a drink of that cold water, but you'd never thought it by the way she traveled. She'd nose around at the grass and wait for spells so as little Smokey could keep up with her and still find time to investigate everything that throwed a shadow. A baby cottontail had jumped up once right under his nose, stood there a second, too scared to move, and pretty soon made a high dive between the colt's long legs and hit for his hole.

Smokey never seen the rabbit, or even knowed he was there or he might have been running yet, cause that's what he'd been looking for, an excuse to run. But he finally made up an excuse, and a while later as he brushed past a long dry weed and it tickled his belly, he let out a squeal and went from there. His long legs tangled and untangled themselves as he run, and he was sure making speed.

Around and around he went and finally lined out straight away from where his mammy was headed. She nickered for him and waited, all patience. He turned after a spell and headed for his mammy again, the same as though he'd run across another enemy at the other end. And as he got close to his mammy, he let out a buck, a squeal and a snort and stopped. He was sure some little wild horse. It took a couple of hours for them too to make that mile to the spring.

The mother drank a lot of that good water, a few long breaths, and drank some more till the thirst was all gone. Smokey came over and nosed at the pool, but he didn't take on any of the fluid. It looked just like so much thin air to him, the same with the tender green grass that was beginning to grow in bunches everywhere. It was just growing for him to run on.

The rest of that day was pretty well used up around that one spot. Adventures of all kinds was numerous for Smokey, and when he wasn't stretched out and asleep, there was plenty of big stumps in the cottonwood grove that could be depended on to give him the scare he'd be looking for.

but there was other things and more threatening than stumps which Smokey hadn't as yet spotted. Like, for instance, a big coyote had squatted and been watching him through dead willow branches. He wasn't at all interested in the action Smokey was putting into his play and only wished the colt's mammy would move away a little further when he would then take a chance and try to get him down.

cold meat was his favorite dish and he sure wasn't going to let no chance slip by even if it took a whole day's waiting for one to show itself a couple of chances had come his way but they was queered by smoky's mammy being too close and he knowed better than show himself and get run down by them hoofs of hers

Finally, and when he seen his appetite wouldn't win anything by sticking around that spot any longer, he took a last sniff and came out of his hiding place. Keeping the willows between him and the horses, he loped out till he was at a safe running distance and where he could see all around him, and there he squatted again, in plain sight this time. He hadn't quite made up his mind as yet whether to go or stick around a while longer,

just about then smoky spots him to him the coyote was just another stump but more interesting than the others he'd kicked at on account that this stump moved and that promised a lot of excitement with a bowed neck and kinked tail smoky trotted up toward the coyote

The coyote just sat there and waited, and when the colt got to within a few feet of him, he started away, and just fast enough so as the colt's curiosity would make him follow. If he could only get the colt over the ridge and out of his mammy's sight!

It all was only a lot of fun to Smokey. And besides, he was bound to find out what was that gray and yellow object that could move and run and didn't at all look like his mammy. His instinct was warning him, steady as he went, but curiosity had the best of him. And it wasn't till he was over the hill before his instinct got above his curiosity and he seen that all wasn't well.

The coyote had turned and quicker than a flash made a jump for Smokey's throat. The generations of Mustang blood that had fought the Lobo and Cougar, and which was the same blood that flowed in Smokey's veins, is all that saved the colt. That inherited instinct made him do the right thing at the right time. He whirled quicker than lightning and let fly with both hind feet, with the result that the coyote's teeth just pinched the skin under his jaws.

But even at that, he wasn't going to get rid of his enemy. It was a sure-enough enemy this time. That easy. And as he kicked, he felt the weight of the coyote, and then a sharp pain on his hamstrings. Smokey was scared, and he let out a squeal that sure made every living thing in that neighborhood set up in wonder. It was a plain and loud distress signal, and it was answered.

his mammy shot up the hill took in the goings-on at a glance and ears back teeth a-shining tore up the earth and lit into the battle like a ton of dynamite the battle was over in a second and with hunks of yellow fur a-flying all directions it wound up in a chase the coyote was in the lead and he stayed in the lead till a second hill took him out of sight smoky was glad to follow his mammy back to the spring and on to the other side a ways

he didn't shy at the stumps he passed on the way and the twig that tickled his tummy didn't bring no play he was hungry and tired and when the first was tended to and his appetite called for no more he lost no time to picking out a place to rest his weary bones

A thin stream of blood was drying on one of his hind legs, but there was no pain, and when the sun set and the shadow of his mammy spread out over him, he was sound asleep and maybe dreaming of stumps, of stumps that moved. When the sun came up the next morning, Smokey was up too, and eyes half-closed was standing still as the big boulder next to him and sunned himself.

"'A stiff hind leg was a reminder of what happened the day before, "'but the experience was forgotten, "'far as dampening his spirits was concerned. "'Even the stiffness wouldn't hold him back "'from whatever the new day would hold. "'He'd always remember the coyote, "'and from then on never mistake him for a stump. "'But that sure wasn't going to take any play out of him. "'He was two days old now, and strength had piled up fast.'

He felt there was no trail too long for him, and when the sun was a couple of hours high that morning and his mother showed indications that she wanted to drift, he sure wasn't dragging along behind. The stiffness gradually went out of his hind legs as he traveled, and by afternoon of that day he was again shying at everything and sometimes even shying at nothing at all.

They kept a-traveling and traveling, and it seemed like to Smokey that the trail was getting pretty long after all. They skirted the flat along the foot of the mountains, crossed one high ridge and many creeks, and still his mother was drifting on. She wouldn't hardly even stop for him to nurse, and Smokey was getting cranky and tired.

The pace kept up till the sun was well on its way down, when it slackened some and finally the mother went to grazing. A short while later, Smokey was laid out full length and dead to the world. Smokey didn't know and didn't care much just then, but his mammy was headed back to her home range, where there was lots of horses and other little colts for him to play with.

and when late that night she lined out again traveling steady he wasn't in any too good a humor finally it seemed like they'd got there for his mammy after watering at a creek went to grazing at the edge of some big cottonwoods she showed no indications of wanting to go any further right there smoky was willing to take advantage of the chance and recuperate for all he was worth

The sun came up, but Smokey was in the shade of the cottonwoods, what was beginning to leaf out. He slept on, and a twitching ear once in long spells is all that showed he was still alive. That day never seen much of him. Once in a while he'd get up and nurse, but right away after he'd disappear again and stretch out flat on the warm earth.

he kept that up till way in the middle of the next night and it was well towards morning before he felt like he was all horse again he come out of it in fine shape though and he was stronger than ever his vision was taking more territory too and he was getting so he could see near half as far as his mammy could she was the first to see the bunch of range horses trailing in to water early that morning

"'Smokey heard her knicker as she recognized the bunch, "'and it drawed a heap of interest as to what she was knickering about, "'for he was right there alongside of her, "'and he couldn't see nothing for her to knicker at, "'but pretty soon he could hear the horses as they trailed towards him. "'His ears straightened towards the sound, "'and a while later he could make out the shapes of them. "'Smokey just kind of quivered at the sight of so many that looked like his mammy.'

he was all interested but at the same time and even though his instinct told him that all was well he had no hankering to leave his mammy's side till he knowed for sure just what was up the mother watched the bunch coming closer with ears pointed straight ahead but soon as some of the leaders discovered little smoky there was a commotion and they all began crowding in to get a look at and greet the newcomer

about which time the mother laid her ears back it was a warning that none of em come too close little smoky's knees was a-shaking under him at the sight of so many of his kind he leaned against his mammy half afraid but his head was up far as he could get it in facing em and showed by the shine in his eyes that he liked the whole proceeding mighty well at that

he rubbed nostrils with a strange gelding which was braver than the rest and dared come close and when that gelding was nipped at by his mammy he had a mighty strong hankering to help her along just for fun and nip him himself

The preliminary introduction took a good hour, and the mother stood guard, not for fear that any of them would harm Smokey, but she wanted it understood from the start that he was her little colt, and she had the say over him. It finally was understood, but it took all that day and part of the next for the bunch to get used in having the new little fellow around and quit making a fuss over him.

they was all jealous of one another and fought amongst themselves to be the only one near him and his mother of course she declared herself from the start and it was took for granted from all around that her place in smoky's heart couldn't be considered and all knowed better than try and chase her away from him

fillies and old mares young geldings and old ponies and all had it out as to which was the most fit to tag along and play with smoky and keep a watchful eye over him along with his mammy all wanted the job but a big buckskin saddle horse who all the time had been the boss of the herd took it to hand to show them that he would be the all-around garden for smoky and second only to his mammy

he delivered a few swift kicks pounded on some ribs left teeth marks on shiny hides and after taking one last look and making sure that all was persuaded grazed out towards smoky who by his mammy had watched the whole proceeding with a heap of interest

there was three other little colts in the bunch besides smoky and each time one of them little fellers came the buckskin horse had to whip the bunch so as he'd have the say over the newest one now smoky was the newest one and the buckskin horse had first rights as an outsider once again he was an old horse full of scars showing where he'd had many a scrap

There was saddle marks on his back, and at one time had been a mighty fine cowhorse. Now he was pensioned, he'd more than earned a rest, and all he had to do for the rest of his life was to pick out good feed grounds for the winter, shady places and tenderest green grass for the summer, and his other interest in life was them little colts that came in the springtime. Smokey's mother was young, at least ten years younger than the buckskin horse.

but the buckskin was like a colt compared to her when it come to be playful she had the responsibility of smoky and while she let him play with her kick or bite at her she never played with him and once in a while if he'd get too rough she'd let him know about it

she loved little smoky with all her heart and would have died for him any time and her main interest was to see that she kept in condition so that smoky would never be stunted by lack of rich milk she had no time for play and that's where the old buckskin came in him and smoky was soon acquainted in a short while they was playing

Smokey would kick at him while the big buckskin nipped him easy and careful along the flank. Then he'd run away from him, and the little colt had a lot of fun chasing that big hunk of horse flesh all over the country. The rest of the bunch would watch the two play, and with no effort to hide how jealous they felt. Smokey's mother kept her eye on the buckskin, but never interfered.

She knowed, and it was only when Smokey came back to her tired and hungry that she put her ears back and warned him to keep away. It took a few days before the buckskin would allow any of the other horses to get near Smokey, and then he had no say about it, for he found that Smokey had his own ideas about things, and if he wanted to mingle in with the other horses, that was his business.

and all the buckskin could do then was to try and keep the other horses away. That was quite a job, especially if Smokey wanted to be with them. So the buckskin finally had to give it up and do the best he could, which was to see that none of them done him any harm. But none of them had any intentions of doing the little colt any harm, and as it was, it looked like Smokey had them all buffaloed,

He'd tear in after some big horse like he was going to eat him up, and all that big horse would do was scatter out like the devil was after him.

Smokey was the boss and pet of the herd for a good two weeks. And then one day, here comes another little feller, a little bay colt just two days old and trailing in alongside his mammy. Smokey was left in the background and witnessed the same fuss and commotion that was done over him that morning by the creek. The buckskin horse once again fought his way in that new little feller's heart and right away he forgot Smokey.

But Smokey never seen anything wrong to that. He went on to playing with every horse that would have him, and it wasn't long till he picked up with a young filly and afterwards went to mingling with other young colts. From then on, Smokey had more freedom. He could go out a ways without having some big overgrown horse tagging along, but he never went far, and if he did, he always came back a heap faster than when he started out.

but them spring days was great for Smokey. He found out a lot of things amongst which was that grass was good to eat and water mighty fine to drink when the day was hot. He seen coyotes again, and the bigger he got, the less he was afraid of them, till he finally went to chasing every one of them he'd see. Then one day he run across another yellow animal,

That animal didn't look dangerous. And what's more, it was hard for Smokey to make out just what it was. And he was bound to find out.

He followed that animal plumb to the edge of some willows, and the queer part of it was that animal didn't seem at all in a hurry to get away. It was mumbling along and just taking its time, and Smokey was mighty tempted to plant one front foot right in the middle of it and do some pawing. But as luck would have it, he didn't have the chance. It had got in under some willows, and all that was sticking out was part of the animal's tail.

Smokey took a sniff at it without learning anything outside that it shook a little. There didn't seem to be no danger, so the next sniff he took was a little closer, and that done the trick. Smokey let out a squeal and a snort as he felt his nostrils punctured in half a dozen places with four-inch porcupine quills.

But Smokey was lucky, for if he'd been a couple of inches closer, there'd been quills rammed into his nose plumb up to his eyes, which would have caused a swelling in such size that he couldn't have been able to eat and most likely starve to death. As it was, there was just a few of them quills in his nostrils, and compared to the real dose he might have got, it was just a mild warning to him. Another lesson.

It was a few days later when he met another strange animal, or strange animals, for there was many of them. He didn't get much interest out of them somehow, but while they was handy, maybe it was just as well for him to have a close look at one. Besides, he had nothing else to do, and his mammy wasn't far away. His instinct had no warning to give as he strutted towards the smallest one of the strangers which he'd picked to investigate.

he wasn't afraid of this animal and this animal didn't seem afraid of him so smoky kept a-getting closer till one was within a couple of feet of the other both smoky and this stranger was young and mighty inquisitive and neither as yet knowed that they'd sure be seeing plenty of each other's kind as they get older

"'that they'll be meeting through the roundups at the cutting grounds, "'on day herd and on night guard, on the long, hot, and dusty trails. "'A cowboy will be riding Smokey then, and keeping a whole herd on the move, "'a whole herd of the kind that little Smokey was so busy investigating that day. "'They'll be full grown then, and there'll be other young ones "'to take the place of them that's trailed into the shipping point.'

But Smokey wasn't as yet worried or even thought on what was to come. Neither was the little white-faced calf he was exchanging squints with. And when the critter called her long-eared, split-hoofed baby to her side, Smokey just kicked up his heels, put his head down, and bucked and crow-hopped all the way to where his mammy and the rest of the bunch was grazing.

End of chapter 1. Read by Joni Vatheinen. September 22, 2022.

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CHAPTER II OF SMOKEY THE COWHORSE by Will James This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. SMOKEY MEETS THE HUMAN The long spring days followed by the warmer days of middle summer had took away all signs of snow, excepting where the peaks was highest and the canyons deep and narrow.

up there was crusted hunks still holding out against the sun and hugging the shady sides of rocky ledges and leaving out moisture that kept the springs and creeks running to the flats below

The grass was greener up there, the flies wasn't so bad, and besides there was always a breeze and sometimes a wind which made things mighty cooling, especially in the shade of the twisted pines scattered over the country where Smokey, his mammy, and the bunch was ranging. That high, rocky, and rough territory had a lot to do in the makings of Smokey.

playing down the steep ridges where shale rock made the footing slippery and mighty uncertain had took all the wobble and shake out of his legs they fit to his body more and rounded up in size so as they looked like they really belonged to him his hoofs had long ago lost their pink soft shell and turned to steel gray and were near as hard and tough as steel itself

and the way he'd buck and play down a rocky canyon and jump over down timber may not have compared with a mountain goat for sureness but he more than made up for that in speed and recklessness and somehow he'd always hit the bottom right side up it was in one of them wild scrambles down a mountain side one day that smoky ne'er run into a cinnamon cub which had been curled up and sleeping on top of a big stump

Smokey stood in his tracks for a second, and in that second the cub fell off the stump with a snarl and lit a running on the other side. The action of the cub is what decided Smokey whether to stand still, turn back and hightail it, or follow and investigate. But his curiosity was still with him, and bowing his neck, he paced high and mighty on the trail of the hairy puzzle.

Over dead timber he went, sailed across washes and ducked under branches. He was gaining and would have kept the chase up for quite a spell. Only just when things was getting real interesting, there was a crash, and to his right a dust and a commotion which sounded like a landslide. In half a second more, a big round brown head showed itself through a tangle of broken limbs and underbrush.

Smokey got a glimpse of two small eyes of fire, long white teeth a-gleaming, and when all the sudden apparition was backed by a roar that near shook the mountains, Smokey left. He tore a hole in the earth as he turned tail, and he wasn't pacing high and mighty as he made distance and raced back towards his mammy and safety.

His heart was thumping fit to bust as he cleared the timber and got out in open country. And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how that little bunch of fur he'd been chasing could turn out into such a scenery-tearing cyclone as what he'd got a glimpse of. He'd never reckoned the little cub had a mammy, too.

But Smokey was learning fast, and along with his own experiences, he learned from his mother just what was in the timber and on the flats. Like another time on the foothills, his mammy was in the lead and him following close behind on a hot, dusty trail towards a shady spot. Of a sudden, there was a rattling sound, and just as sudden, his mammy left the trail as though she'd been shot.

Instinct made Smokey do the same, and none too soon. For on the left, just a foot or so off the trail was a wriggling thing that had just struck and missed to reach his ankle by an inch. Smokey stood off at a safe distance and snorted at it as it coiled up ready. Somehow he had no hankering to go stick his nose nowheres near or take a sniff at the gray and dirty yellow-colored rattler.

and when his mammy nickered for him to follow there was a warning in her nicker he took another look at the snake he'd remember and do the same as his mother had done whenever the rattling sound would be heard again taking in all smoky was getting mighty wise along with being mighty lucky in getting that wisdom scratches is about all he ever packed out of any scramble and scratches didn't count with him

His hide was getting tough, and the blood that flowed in his veins wasn't from a heart that'd peter out very easy. The little horse was having a great time up in that high country, and if he'd seen more of life, he'd most likely wondered how long it all was going to last. It would have struck him as too good to last much longer, but as it was, Smokey took in all that life could give and enjoyed it to the limit.

He never passed anything which had him wondering for fear of missing something. If a limb cracked anywheres within hearing distance, he'd perk his ears towards the sound and seldom would go on till he found out just why that limb cracked that way. He'd follow and pester the badger till it'd hunt a hole. He'd circle around a tree and watch the bushy-tailed squirrel as it climbed up out of his reach.

Skunks had crossed his trail, too, but somehow the atmosphere around him would sort of dampen his curiosity, and he always kept his distance. Smokey had met and had experiences with all the range country's wild animals, excepting the lion and the wolf.

his mammy kept clear of the territory where them outlaws ranged and if by scent the bunch suspicioned them two as neighbors they'd drift or else keep on the lookout till the others had drifted smoky met them two and had scrambles with em but that came later in his life and it's a good thing it was later for i most likely wouldn't be telling about smoky now the first big event in smoky's life came when he was four months old

there was nothing to tell him anything would happen no dark skies nor ill winds to threaten or warn and as it was the little feller was just in the steady motion of keeping one end of himself clear of the few flies that was around

that short tail of his was working like a pendulum he was standing up and asleep the breeze blowed through his mane and that same breeze made a sort of lullaby as it passed through the branches of the big pine that shaded him and his mammy his mammy was asleep too and so was the rest of the bunch

and when the cowboy that was riding up the canyon spotted him he knowed he could get above em and be where he could start em down before any of the bunch would see him it was a mighty good thing he done that for soon as one of the bunch got wind of him and raised a head there was a snort they came to life and was on the run in a split second down the side of the canyon they went a cloud of dust and the cowboy following

Smokey was right with the bunch from the start. He stampeded with the leader, and once in his life it never came to him to wonder what it was all about. He just run and plum forgot to investigate. Tails was a-popping as the horses slid off the mountain, jumped off ledges, and sailed across washouts.

Loosened rocks bumped against boulders. Boulders crashed into dead hanging timber, and pretty soon a landslide brought up the rear, but even that was too slow. The ponies and the cowboy behind them hit the bottom of the canyon first, and when the slide reached that spot and filled the canyon with ten feet of boulders, timber, and dirt, the whole wild bunch was half a mile away and kicking up dust on the foothills at the edge of the flat.

it was away out on the flat and where the dust wasn't so thick that smoky took a back slant over his withers and got his first sight of the human the way his mammy and the rest of the bunch acted the way they run and tried to dodge or leave that human behind sure put the impression in smoky's mind that here was a different kind of animal the kind that no horse would stop to fight or argue with but instead run away from if it was possible

But it didn't seem possible, for the rider was still right on their tails and stayed there till he drove him into the long wings of big log corrals, which to Smokey seemed like trees growing sideways instead of up and down. But the little horse knowed that there was no going through them trees. He stuck close as he could to his mammy's side. She and the bunch milled around for a spell around the big pen.

The big gate closed on him, and wild-eyed, the bunch turned and faced a bow-legged, leather-covered, sunburnt human. Smokey shivered as he watched that strange creether get off one of his kin, a horse just like any of the bunch him and his mammy was running with, all excepting for that funny hunk of leather on his back.

Pretty soon the human fumbled around a while, and then that hunk of leather was pulled off. The horse was turned loose, shook himself, and walked towards Smokey and the bunch. The colt was starry-eyed and never missed a thing. And soon as the loose horse came his way, he took a sniff at his sweaty hide for some kind of a clue as to what had been setting on him all through that long run.

The sniff left him more puzzled than ever. And forgetting the horse, he put all his attention on the crather which was standing up and on two legs. There'd been a lot of lightning up in the mountains where Smokey had been ranging that summer. He'd seen some fires up there, too. That lightning and them fires was great puzzles to the colt.

and when he seen the human make a swift move with a paw and then seen a fire in one of them paws and later on smoke coming out of the mouth it all made things more than ever impossible for him to figure out he stood petrified and watched pretty soon them same paws that had held the fire reached down and picked up a coil of rope a loop was made and then the human walked towards him and the bunch

at that move the bunch tore around the corral and raised the dust then smoky heard the hiss of a rope as it sailed over past him and the loop settled on one of the pony's heads the pony was stopped and led out to the hunk of leather on the ground it was cinched on him the same as it had been on the other horse

and when the human climbed on is when Smokey first set eyes on one of his kind in a fight with the two-legged creether. It was a great sight to the colt. He'd seen some of his bunch play and kick often, and he'd done a lot of that himself, but he'd never seen any get in the position and tear things up the way that pony was doing.

He knowed that pony was fighting, bucking for all he was worth, and doing his doggondest to shed that sticking and ill-built wonder that was on top of him. Smokey watched and shook when he heard the pony beller. He'd never heard one of his kind make that noise before. And he knowed without wondering just what the beller meant. He remembered doing near the same that time when the coyote had nipped him in the hamstrings.

Smokey's eyes was blazing as he watched on through the fight, and the pony's hard jumps dwindled down to crow hops and then a stop. He watched the man as he got off the horse, opened the gate, led the horse out and after closing it, watched him ride on and out of sight. It wasn't till then that he came back to himself, and it come to his mind to investigate the kind of place it was that cooped him in.

he rubbed noses with his mammy and went to scouting around the big corral long strands of mane which had caught in slivers of the logs told him there'd been lots of horses here before sniffs at the ground and more sniffs at pieces of calves ears that had been cut while ear-marking reminded him of the critter he'd seen while he was only a couple of weeks old

Many calves had been branded in the big corral, and with all them signs which was plain enough reading to Smokey, it only made him all the more suspicious and spooky. He was trying to get up enough nerve to go near and take a sniff at a pair of chaps hanging on the corral gate when he noticed a dust, and under it a band of horses being hazed towards the corral he was in.

with that band was a half dozen riders or more and the sight of them made smoky hightail to his mammy's side in a hurry once there he took in all that could be seen and watched the riders drive the horses through the gate and turn em in with his bunch there was a lot of dust milling around and confusion for there was now near two hundred head of horses in the one big corral but to smoky all that company was mighty welcome

they meant more protection he could hide better in that big bunch and be able to always keep some of the horses between him and them two-legged creethers he kept hid as well as he could while the bunch milled around the corral and in a short while as he watched through the horses legs he seen where on the outside and close to the pen a fire was started

Long bars of iron was passed through between the logs, and one end of them sticking in the hot blaze. Then pretty soon a commotion was stirred, and the bunch went to racing around the corral and snorting. Many was cut out into another corral, till there was only about fifty left, mostly young colts about Smokey's age and a few quiet old mares.

Smokey had no chance to hide, and as he seen the bow-legged humans uncoil long ropes and heard the loops whiz past him at the speed of a bullet, terror struck in his heart and he was ready to leave the earth. He heard some of the colts squeal as they were snared, throwed, and tied down, and that sure didn't help to ease the fear that had took hold of him.

He was doing his best and keeping as far out of reach as he could, but it seemed like them craters was everywhere and no place where them long ropes couldn't reach. It was during one of his wild scrambles for a getaway that Smokey heard the close hiss of a rope and like a snake coiled itself around both his front legs. He let out a squeal and in another second he was flat to the ground and four feet tied up.

"'Smokey figured the end of the world had come "'as he felt the human touch him, "'and if it had been in his blood to faint away, "'he'd have done it easy. "'But as it was, he never missed a thing. "'He seen one of the creethers run towards him with a hot iron, "'smelled burning hair and hide. "'It was his own that burned, "'but it felt cool and there was no pain, "'for he was at the stage where the searing iron "'was no worse than a touch from the human hand.'

But there's an end to all, whether it's good or bad, and pretty soon Smokey felt the ropes come off his legs, a boost to let him know that all was over, and when he stood up and run back to the bunch, there was a mark on his slick hide that was there for life. As the brand read, the little horse belonged to the rocking our outfit.

It was all a mighty great relief to Smokey and the other colts when the branding came to an end. The bunch all put back together, and when the colts found their mammies, all was turned out and free again, free to go back to the high mountain range or run on the flats. Smokey's mammy took the lead, and after the rest of the bunch was through parleying with the strange horses, they joined in with her and the colt, and all strung out for the foothills.

the next day they all was up in high country again and everything of the day before was forgotten forgotten all excepting with smoky and the other little colts they still remembered some on account that it had all been mighty new to em and besides the sting of the fresh brand was there on their left thigh to remind

But as the days went by and new things happened right along to draw Smokey's interest in life, the happenings at the corral was gradually left behind like a bad dream. The burn healed quick and left a neat brand, all of which growed right with him. Fall came. Skies clouded and the rains was getting cold, and each time it cleared up again, it was a little colder.

the sun wasn't making as high a circle and was steady losing some of its heat and when after a few mornings frost the skies clouded again and the wind blowed a light snow over the high pinnacles the bunch gradually ranged lower and lower till when they reached the foothills and finally the flats the first of the winter had set in and it was time for em to drift to their winter range

Their winter range was low ridges and benches that raised up in the middle of the prairie. There were steep ravines where willows and cottonwoods growed in big patches. The shelter of them was mighty fine when the cold north winds blowed and the howling blizzard made every living thing hunt a hole. Tall grass was there, too, and could always be reached by pawing for it.

In quiet winter days when the sun came out and the wind went down, the bunch could always leave their shelter and find places on the ridges where the winds had swept the snow away and where the grass was in plain sight. Drifting across to that flat, open country and investigating that new winter territory had kept Smokey's eyes, ears, and nostrils mighty busy. There'd been a lot to keep him looking, listening, and sniffing.

Every buffalo wallow, coulee, and rise had kept his senses on hair-trigger edge, and when the first snow had come, he'd enjoyed that, too. It made him want to buck and play as it fell on his withers and rump, and along with the cold weather that had turned the range brown and then white, he was finding more ambition to keep on the jump. He wasn't looking for shade no more. If Smokey minded the cold, he sure didn't show it.

and if you could have felt his warm hide and seen how thick the hair had grown on it and how long you'd never wonder why it was that the cold raw winds never fazed him mother nature had seen to that and brought on the winter gradual till when the time come for it to set in smoky was well prepared

he was packing a natural fur coat on a good thick hide and with an inch of tallow for a lining and along with the thick rich blood which he kept in good circulation he was mighty able to compete with the snows and freezing weather and was never found to hunt shelter till the blizzard blowed over the ridges from the north he pawed snow for his feed that winter for it had been quite a few months before when he found that his mammy's milk wasn't quite enough

and later turned out to be just a taste and finally she gave him to understand that he was weaned there was no arguing with her and smoky knowed better than to try so he pawed and hunted for grass like a big horse he ate snow and could stay away from water as long as any of the bunch and even though he lost some of his roundness through the worst of the winter you couldn't have noticed it on account of his hair being so long

Being that Smokey was still quite a privileged character, it helped him considerable through them long winter months. If he'd see some big horse dig down into a special good grassy spot, he'd take advantage of his standing and chase the big horse away. He looked mighty wicked as he put his ears down, showed his teeth, and delivered a side kick, and the big horse would act scared to death and get away from the dangerous Smokey in a hurry.

There was only one in the bunch that wouldn't scare worth a bit, and that was his mammy. He could paw in the same hole with her and maybe steal a bunch of grass right from under her nose, but there was no chasing her away. Most likely there was no such intentions in Smokey's mind anyhow, for the little horse did think an awful lot of that mammy of his.

and even though she never played with him and even nipped him for some things he'd do he knowed if a showdown ever come she'd fight to a finish for him so as the snows piled high and the ravines filled with drifts smoky went on and passed the heart of the winter in near the same care-free reckless way he'd passed the summer before

Of course, pawing for his feed the way he had to was taking some of his energy, but he'd manage to reserve some for play, and many is the time when you'd see the bunch a-pawing all intent to reaching the grass, you'd see Smokey tearing up clouds of light snow and a-playing for all he was worth. Other colts would join him, and pretty soon the young ones would have the white scenery all tracked the same as if a thousand head of horses had stampeded through.

The winter wore on that way. No events came to shake the quiet and peace of that part of the range. Only one day a rider had showed up against the skyline. Smokey had been the only one to see him on account he was a little ways from the bunch, and where he could see around a point. With the sight of that rider, Smokey remembered ropes, a corral, and human hands, and he sashayed back to the bunch fast as his legs could carry him.

Finally, the first sign of spring came. Smokey couldn't appreciate it very much on account that the warm winds which was starting the snow to melt only left him weak and lazy. His blood hadn't started to thin down as yet, and for the first short spell in his life, he had no hankering to crow-hop around and play.

then a few weeks later the bare earth began to show in big spots and on the sunny side of the buttes green grass began to shoot up that new green grass tasted mighty good to smoky it tasted so good that the dry feed he'd wintered on and which could now be got without pawing for was only stepped on in hunting for them first blades of green

Nothing but that would do, and as it was still scarce and hard to find that early in the year, he covered a lot of territory and got very little feed. But the rest of the bunch was afflicted the same way. The long, dry grass wasn't good enough no more, and consequences is the bunch lost some weight. But Mother Nature was on hand there again. She knowed that's what the bunch needed to condition them for the change of season.

and sure enough pretty soon the warm weather didn't leave em so drowsy no more and as the grass kept a-growing and finally got to be everywhere on the ridges as on the flats the bunch perked up again the long winter hair was loosening and big hunks of it was left wherever they rolled smoky's winter coat had faded to a brown at the first sign of spring

and now that the warmer weather had come and green grass was a-plenty there was another color showed where he'd shed off the long hair it was what we call mouse color only maybe darker no more of the slick black hair that decorated his hide the summer before could be seen

The change of color had showed itself around his ears and flanks, but it wasn't till winter came that the real change had took place and turned him to a grayish mouse color. His head and legs was a little darker than his body and showed brown, and with that little blaze face of his looming up, he made a mighty pretty picture. A picture of the kind once you see, you never forget.

for smoky was perfect any way you looked at him and it seemed like as you sized him up that the other of his kind hadn't been played square with and some of their good points stole away so as smoky would be the perfect little horse smoky had never thought of his good looks and strong body his good looks was only a sign of his good health

He felt it all and used it to the limit for his own benefit, and for whatever fun his strength and energy could afford him. That never lacked. And if he laid down, it was seldom because he was tired. It was more through a hint from Mother Nature for him to hold on a while and store up on life and more strength.

The spring rains came and went, and each time after each spell of moisture, the grass was a little taller and the country greener. The sun kept getting warmer, too, and some days was already hot. It was during one of these hot days that Smokey's mother disappeared. Smokey had been snoozing in the shade of a creek bank, and it wasn't till quite a while after he got up and started grazing that he noticed she was gone.

The bunch had been drifting back for the summer range and was at the foothills of the big range. The big flat below was an easy place to spot any moving object on, but Smokey couldn't find hide nor hair of that mammy of his. He trotted around the bunch and, nickering, investigated for a spell. She couldn't be found. He took another look at the country around, and, nickering in kind of wonder, he went to grazing again.

Somehow he wasn't fidgety as he should have been. Maybe he had a hunch that her disappearing that way was necessary and that all was hunky-dory. Anyway, Smokey never missed any sleep or feed or play while she was gone. Things went on just the same, and the little horse's hide was getting slicker every day.

A few days passed, and then one morning the big buckskin horse that was still in the bunch perked up his ears, nickered, and loped out towards the flat. A horse was out there and coming towards the bunch. Alongside the horse was a little moving object. Smokey and the bunch stood in their tracks and watched. Pretty soon Smokey noticed something familiar in that lone horse coming towards him,

but that little object a-tagging along puzzled him and head up he trotted out a ways to investigate then it all came to him for the lone horse was none other than his mammy he lit out on a run a-nickering as he went till he got to within a few feet of her and then he got a slant at the object a-tagging alongside

a brand new little wobblety-legged colt it was shining black and awful timid at the sight of so many strangers it was smoky's new little brother smoky couldn't keep his nose off the baby and his mammy had to cock one ear back at him the same as to say careful son but smoky was careful and as his mammy went on to join the bunch he followed and the big buckskin brought up the rear

From then on, Smokey ranked second. End of chapter 2. Read by Joni Vatainen. September 27, 2022.

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Even up amongst the high peaks and where the snow was making a last stand, the heat was strong, for the sun was shooting straight down and the crags could give no more shade. Up on a rocky trail of that country, a small bunch of range horses was drifting one behind the other and following the leader. The leader was Smokey's mammy, the new little black colt right at her heels, and next the blaze-faced, mouse-colored yearling, Smokey.

a little further back was a big buckskin horse and there followed eight or ten others which made up the rest of the bunch they all trailed along seemed like headed for nowheres in particular they passed under wind-twisted trees and right on through the shade they'd give

Cool streams wasn't even sniffed at, and the long stems of grass that was everywhere wasn't at all noticed. They was all just drifting and maybe only hitting out for another special good part of the high range. A feller watching them would have figured that something or other had started them on the move. Maybe a rider had been spotted that morning which had kettled them into a run, or else cougars might have been too numerous for comfort.

The little bunch kept a-trailing along till they came to where the trail branched and the leader took the lower one. The little black colt and all the rest followed, all excepting the mouse-colored yearling. The upper trail had drawed that one's interest, and nothing would do but what he had to investigate it for a ways. He kept his nose on the ground as he went, and sniffed for clues of anything that might be of interest to him.

he could see the bunch below and he figured on cutting across to him soon as his curiosity was satisfied ahead of him a ways and above the trail was a big granite boulder a good ten feet high a scrub mahogany had found root in a crack of the big rock and was spreading its branches well over it and making a good shade in that shade and mighty hard to notice was an object

A long, flat, dark buckskin object, which looked a lot like part of the rock. It was stretched out full length and seemed like without life, only maybe for the tip of its long, round tail which was jerking up and down. The round head raised an inch at the sound of hoofs on the rocky trail. The ears flattened, and the yellow eyes turned jet black at the sight of Smokey, the mouse-colored yearling.

Smokey was coming right on the trail and would pass to within a couple of feet of the big rock that was the mountain lion's game-hunting perch, many a deer he'd pounce onto and killed from that perch. And not far away from that spot was bones scattered around which showed where he'd drug his victims and et his fill.

wolves coyotes and other varmints had cleaned up what the big lion would leave and the result was white bones a-shining to the sun the lion had a big territory which he claimed as his but in all that rough country there was no better place than the one he was now getting ready to spring from he'd got meat from that spot when he failed at others

and the trail he overlooked was tracked with many hoofs, hoofs of all the kind that ranged up there. It was a main trail to a main pass. Why Smokey's mother didn't take that trail can't be explained much. Maybe it was instinct that warned her, and then again she might have got a glimpse of the tall rock and past experience made her turn to the left.

But anyway, she and her young colt and the rest of the bunch was safe and had left Smokey till he was through investigating and ready to catch up with him. Smokey kept on a-coming and edging closer to the rock. He nosed every twig and stone along the trail till he got to within a few feet of the spot where the lion would spring. The lion wasn't a stretched-out shadow no more.

He still looked like part of the rock and fitted pretty well with the stump of the scrub mahogany, but he was in a position that sure tallied up with all what was about to happen. He was ready, and still as the rock he was on. And the quiver of his long tail was aplenty to show that his wiry frame and brain was sure together and intent on one thing. Another foot ahead and Smokey would be seeing his last of daylight.

The colt had one leg raised to make that last step when there's a rattling buzz come from the foot of the rock. A four-foot rattlesnake stretched out and reaches for Smokey's nose, and that one leg which was raised to go forward went back instead. It was all that saved him.

The lion had figured on his victim a jumping to one side at his leap, and he'd allowed for that. But the way it happened this time was that the snake caused Smokey to jump away, just as he'd started, which was a little too soon according to the lion's figuring. And what's more, Smokey went to the wrong direction about a foot, with the result that he just got his claws full of Smokey's mane and no more.

He scrambled in midair and done his best to get a hold in Smokey's neck, but even with all the action he put in his trying, he struck mostly air and then hard ground. Smokey never waited to see if that flying shadow of sharp claws was after him or not. He'd started at the sound of the rattler and had kept a-moving mighty fast ever since.

A few feet of drop in the scenery only helped him make more speed, and the shortcut from the trail he'd left to the trail his mammy and the bunch was on was covered in no time. He lit in the bunch a running, and the bunch getting a hint from his wild-eyed actions that all wasn't well, started a running too, and for a ways they all went as though the devil was after them.

But the devil, if that ain't too mild a name for the lion, wasn't after him. He knowed the colt had too much speed for him and never even thought of following him. And as it was, he was just a lashing himself with his long tail and mad clear through at the hout of missing such a nice fat yearling colt as Smokey was. From that day on, Smokey dodged high rocks unless he could see the top of them

Pine trees with stout lower limbs had him a-circling, too, or any other place where a lion could perch on and spring from. The little horse was gradually getting so he was satisfied to be more with the bunch and not do so much investigating. Besides, he'd got first-hand acquaintance with most all that prowled the range, and everything in general was getting to be less of a puzzle to him.

It all kept getting to be less of a puzzle to him till finally there come a time when Smokey got so he thought he knowed it all. He figured he had the world by the tail and with a downhill push. Like all the other colts of his age, he was just where conceit had the best of him. He got strong-headed and full of mischief, and then's when the older horses figured him to be a regular pest and began knocking on him.

He was getting to be of a size that could stand Knox, too. They all took turns at him and pounded on his ribs every chance they had through the rest of that summer and tried to set him where he belonged. But it was slow work, and Smokey was still getting away with some of the bluffs when the first snows came. He was ornery all that winter, and even though none of the horses would let him steal the grass they pawed up, he aggravated him a lot by making him think he would.

and when they'd kick at him and miss, there was some more about his actions that sure let him know he was getting away with something. Then one day, a strange horse showed up on the skyline and joined the bunch. A strange horse is always sort of timid when first joining a new bunch that way, and Smokey took advantage of that to show there was at least one he had buffaloed.

He run the stranger around and around and kept a-nipping him on the rump till the old pony was on the point of leaving and hunt new territory. That sport lasted off and on for a few days, and then one day the older horse turned and lit into Smokey. There was no battle, for Smokey was just running a bluff, and at the first turn of the events he evaporated and kept on evaporating till the stranger got cooled down a bit.

After that, Smokey kept his distance and acted willing to let the stranger stay with the bunch. The winter wore on that way, and as Smokey was met hard at every ornery thing he'd do, it all got to finally leave an impression on him, and he gradually lost some of his conceit and hard-headedness.

But spring came. Other seasons and all kinds of weather followed, and it wasn't till Smokey was a three-year-old that he really come anywhere's living up to good range horse etiquette. There was so much life wrapped up in that pony's hide that it was mighty hard for him to settle down and behave. And even as a three-year-old, he sometimes had to bust out and do things that wasn't at all proper.

and which made the old horses set their ears back and show their teeth the start of smoky's third year was all to his favor the spring rains was warmer than on average the green grass shot up half an inch to the day and more than met up with the hard to satisfy appetite which was his

consequences is when he shed off his long winter coat he was slicker and rounder than ever and looked like he was wrapped up in fine mouse-colored silk his blazed face loomed up snow-white and to match his trim ankles he was a picture to make any cowboy miss a few heartbeats as he sometimes raced across the prairie sod and with head and tail up showed off the qualities that stuck out at his every move

but to the bunch all them qualities and good points of smoky's was lost and not noticed at all his mammy or any of the others would have thought just as much of him if he was just an ordinary horse or even an ill-built scrub they'd all liked him better if he wasn't so ornery and didn't need so much convincing

for smoky was getting to be of a size and temper along with it where it was mighty hard for some to try to edicate him and show that they could his edication kept on though for there was still a few that packed a convincing hoof

but them few was dwindling down fast and smoky was steady getting where he could hold his own with most any of em till finally and after many show-downs there came a time when there was only two left in the bunch that he couldn't stop and argue with them two was his mammy and the big buckskin smoky felt some superior and mighty proud then for a while

and it's a good thing he was a little wiser and quieter and not so full of mischief no more or he'd sure dealt them ponies misery as it was he was now willing to leave them alone if they'd do the same by him things went on that way for some time and as the days went by the bunch was getting to be more willing to accept smoky as a full-sized range horse with brains according

none tried to educate him no more and if once in a while he showed young blood and some foolishness they was all careful to overlook it of course smoky was wise enough to keep away from his mammy and the buckskin at them times peace was with the little bunch all had some understanding and every horse knowed his ground

it was all so peaceful that smoky felt it and it all began to wear on him to the point where he felt like tackling the big buckskin just to start something then relief came one day and scattered that peaceful monotony from hell to breakfast it all happened as the little bunch strung out was heading for water

smokey's mammy was in the lead as usual and she was the first to turn the point of a ridge and find herself to within a few yards of a big black stud smokey was close second on the sight and somehow as he snorted at the long-maned thick-jawed black a hunch came to him that peace had come to a sudden end

He stood in his tracks, kind of doubtful as to what to do, and watched the black cloud of horse flesh. He'd let the stallion make the first false move. Proud as a peacock came the black, mane and tail a-waving and stepping high. His little bunch of mares and colts had stayed back at the first sight of the strange ones, and was now watching the proceedings of the meeting.

That meeting impressed the young horses a whole lot. The white of their eyes showed with interest as the stud came up to within a few paces of the new bunch, stopped, and with a powerful neck bowed to a half circle, ears pointed ahead, and eyes a-shining, stood and sized up the strangers. He'd had plenty of experience in meeting strange bunches that way before, which all left him kind of cautious.

for many a time he'd left quicker than he'd come and lost some hide to an older stud what was more up to the game of fighting and he soon learned that it wasn't a wise idea to ram into a strange bunch and go to appropriating mares without first investigating what kind of a leader that bunch had he'd got wised up in many ways through them meetings and he learned to be some careful

he'd also learned to handle his hoofs and teeth till there hadn't been any stud on that range that had been able to whip him the last three years he'd evened up scores smoky hadn't moved and as the stud still kept a-standing in one spot with no indication of wanting to start anything he got restless pretty soon it came to his mind that the stallion was leery of starting anything

It was a big mistake, but Smokey'd had no way of knowing better. The big buckskin did know better, and if Smokey had noticed, he'd seen him out there on the far side of the bunch and willing to keep neutral. A move from the black stud decided Smokey. He'd stepped close to his mammy, and nostril to nostril was exchanging sniffs with her when she let out a squeal and struck at him, all of which the stallion didn't pay any attention to.

But right about then Smokey landed on him, or at him, for his striking front feet and bared, sharp teeth missed him, missed him just enough to be a clean mess. Smokey had never reckoned with the fighting qualities of a stallion, and he couldn't figure out how it was he'd struck just thin air when he was so sure his enemy had been right there in front of him and within easy-reaching distance.

And what's more that puzzled him was that the stallion never offered to show fight when he landed at him so furious. Instead, he'd just got out of the way of his rush, kept his ears ahead, and went on sizing up the bunch the same as if nothing had happened. Smokey felt like he hadn't even been noticed, and the actions of the stud had said plainer than words, fool kid.

A swift kick in the ribs couldn't have done any better towards putting Smokey down a peg or two, and that simple quick move of the studs went a long ways to show what could have happened if he'd been in mind to fight. All that left Smokey kinda uncertain as to how to proceed. He didn't know whether to go back and try it again, or let things rest for a spell till another chance showed up. In the meantime, the black stud had found out that there was none in that bunch he'd need to watch.

and head down to the ground, ears back, he started cutting out the geldings, keeping the mares and fillies to put in with the bunch he already had. That was a harder job than it might sound here, for none of the geldings wanted to be cut out of the bunch they'd been with for so long, and even though they went out easy enough, they'd turn back as the stud would be cutting out another, and would have to be headed off and cut out again and again.

Then the big buckskin, which had been neutral all this time, finally got riled up at being separated from the mares that way, and when the stud headed for him, he stood his ground. A few seconds more, and there was buckskin and black hair a-sailing in the air. Then hoofs a-pounding away, which would have kept up with machine-gun fire for speed. Only the pounding wasn't sounding so sharp it was hitting something solid, and there wasn't any misses.

Finally, out of the dust that was stirred, there came a streak of buckskin, and right close to it was a streak of black. Away from the herd they went, and pretty soon the black stud came back shaking his head the same as to let every horse know he wasn't going to stand for no foolishness. There was one more to be put out of the bunch. He was that mouse-colored gelding smokey.

He got in while the stud was chasing away the buckskin. He'd stood alongside his mammy and watched the fight, and there was a light in his eyes that showed he was ready to start another battle if it was necessary. But he sure wasn't going to be put out without he was convinced it could be done. He wasn't built that way. The stallion spots him there and never went through no preliminaries nor tried to scare him out with just a look.

He dived right into him, and Smokey met him half-ways. That battle was short and wicked, and Smokey managed to land some good hard kicks. Kicks that had knocked the wind out of any ordinary horse and sent him a sprawling. But the stallion wasn't no ordinary horse, and them kicks only shook him a little and made him all the matter. He'd fought too many hard battles to let any gelding phase him, and besides, he was in the habit of winning.

His chance came when Smokey turned to land a couple more hard ones. The stud was broadside to the gelding, and as the hard ones came, he just reared up out of the reach of them, made a big lunge to one side, and coming down, he made a quick grab and fastened his teeth in Smokey's withers. When Smokey pulled away and the stud's teeth snapped together, there was some of his silky hide between them.

Smokey squealed and kicked some more. Then he whirled and faced the stud, figuring on doing some damage with teeth and front hoofs. Just about then, the stud whirled too and planted his two hind hoofs smack bang into Smokey's ribs. There was an echo which sounded like a steam engine ramming into a stone wall.

that echo was followed with a mighty grunt as smoky was lifted off his feet and thrown out a ways to a staggering standstill smoky was in a daze his vision was dim and maybe it was all instinct that warned him of the dark cloud that's turned and was now a tearing down on him anyway something made him move in a hurry

all the strength that was left in him was used to make distance away from the black devil which now looked to smoky like a big centipede it had so many legs

His life depended in the speed he could make, and Smokey was running, running like he'd never run before. It seemed like there was no shaking the mad stud, and just when he was on the point of giving in and making a last stand for his life, that destroying hunk of horse flesh left him. When Smokey stopped, looked back, and seen the stud hightail it back to the mares, he had no hankering to follow. He was convinced.

The next few days that followed was mighty aimless to Smokey. Him and the big buckskin had formed a partnership in that time, and the two wandered around like they was lost and didn't care where they went. They covered a lot of territory, passed up a lot of good grassy hollows and shady places, but they kept drifting on.

They grazed as they drifted, and natural-like followed up the canyons and crossed over the high passes that had been the summer range of Smokey's Mammy and the bunch. They came across other little bunches, but it seemed like in each of them there was a wild-eyed, thick-jawed stud come out ready to kick the daylight out of them if any symptoms of them wanting to trail in with the bunch was showed.

in their roaming around they passed other geldings which like themselves had been kicked out of the stud bunches the meeting with them was just plain howdy-dos and each and all passed on and headed their own wandering way all would be hunky-dory again for the buckskin if he could find another bunch to run with where there was mares and little colts

He had a mighty strong feeling for the little fellers, and most any bunch would do if there was only a few of them in, but with Smokey it was his mammy he missed most, his brother, and the other colts he'd growed up with. No other bunch would do as well, and the knicker he'd send echoing across canyons and over ridges every once in a while was just for them certain few.

Smokey's mammy had no choice when that black stallion came and scattered them out to his liking that way. She was made to join that little bunch of his, and she knowed better than to try to do different. She knowed she'd only lose some hide in any attempt to get away, and that in the long run she'd have to do as he pointed out.

She was wise to the range and the ways of her kind. And even though she was as strong for Smokey as Smokey was for her, she didn't miss him so much as he did her. She felt in a way that he was now big and mighty able to take care of himself. And then there was other youngsters which called for all her attention. But it was different with Smokey. She was his mammy, and there was none other that could take her place.

He'd growed up at her side, and even though other little colts had come, she was and always would be the mother he knowed when he was wobblety-legged and needed her. Then one day, and as time had wore on in lonesomeness that way, there came a short break in the monotony which helped Smokey forget some. Him and the buckskin had run across a little bunch of mares. There was some little colts in the bunch and a stud, a young stud.

The big buckskin sized up the stud the same as he'd sized up all the others he'd met. And as this young feller came up full of pride and confidence to meet the two strangers, the big buckskin found a flaw in him. The flaw was nothing more or less than just youth. He showed it in every move he made and every action. From past experience, the buckskin had figured youth and ignorance to go together. And that's what made it interesting.

Interesting by the fact that through youth and ignorance, the young stallion wouldn't maybe be able to compete against the fighting abilities of the buckskin. The younger horse hadn't as yet fought many battles that the buckskin could feel at a glance of him. He didn't turn away like he'd done before. As the stallion came on, he just stood in his tracks and watched him. Smokey was doing the same.

there's bowed necks as the three touch nostrils there's some squealing and striking and then a kick is planted the young stud had started things smoky had caught the kick which left him out a ways in the meantime the buckskin followed up the lead and went at it from there

it was all a mighty fair exchange from the start kicks and bites was averaging pretty well on both parties and for a young horse that chestnut stud was sure doing well all might have come to a draw and both fighters might have quit about the same time if it hadn't been for smoky

Smokey, which had got to be pretty thick with the buckskin, and had been a good partner of his through their lonesome roamings, found it mighty natural-like, wanting to help when trouble came that way. Besides, he was holding a grudge against the stud for kicking him the way he did. And all them things together kinda had him worked up to mix in.

His chance came as the chestnut whirled to plant a hard one on the buckskin's ribs. There was only a few feet between Smokey and the stud right then, and double action started from there. The stud felt hard-hitting hoofs and teeth-a-getting him from both sides, and the punishment he received all at once wouldn't have been worse if he'd alit in a stack of wildcats.

it was then that it came to his mind and sudden that he should let up on the fighting and start doing some running if he wanted to keep hisself all in one piece smoky and the buckskin kept a-pounding on him and a-helping along on the good hunch till finally it was all made mighty plain

The chestnut picked himself up as best and quick as he could and made a leap out of reach of the too many wicked hoofs and teeth and tore up the earth for a change of scenery. The two partners done their best to escort him on his way. But as that day came to an end and as the sun passed over and beyond the blue ridges, Smokey and his partner could see a lone horse outlined against the sky the chestnut was following.

He followed him and the bunch they'd chased him out of for three days. And once he started a fight to win back what he'd lost, he just lost more hide and won nothing but another boost out of that territory. Smokey and the Big Buckskin had handed him the same medicine another stud had handed them. The days that followed was mighty peaceful to the Big Buckskin.

And Smokey seemed some contented, too. He was gradually getting used to being away from his mother, and new young fillies and colts he was running with made it all a heap easier to forget. Then again, the knocks he'd got ever since that day when things had been so peaceful with his mammy, when he just figured he'd have to start something to bust up the monotony of that peace, all took the mischief out of him. The fight with the black stallion, the lonesome ramblings with the buckskin,

and the other fights with the chestnut stud all helped educate him and shape him into a full-sized, serious-thinking gelding. It didn't take so much to keep him contented no more, and somehow or other he was seeing a heap more in life.

That's the way things stood with Smokey that summer. Him and the buckskin ranged high up in the mountains with the little bunch of mares and colts. They all snoozed and grazed through the days and done the same through the nights. A little play was brought on once in a while by some of the young colts, and Smokey and the buckskin was always the steady victims of them.

Them two older horses was colts themselves at them times, and the way they'd all nip at one another and then sashay around hell-bent for election, a human would wonder at the care Smokey and the buckskin was taking so that the colts would feel winners in all they'd start. Summer passed. The grass had gradually turned to a yellow-brown, and the leaves of the aspens began banking up on the edges of the streams.

Fall had come, and one day the bunch started a grazing steady lower and lower, till a few days later the foothills was reached. It was there that Smokey took the lead and headed for the winter range where his mammy had put him through that first year. The big buckskin followed, till glancing back over his withers, he noticed that the mares and colts had left off and branched out another direction.

The buckskin stood in his tracks, watched Smokey line out straight ahead, and then looked back at the mares again. For the time being, he wasn't sure whether to go on with his partner or turn back to the bunch. It was hard for him to decide. He wanted to go with Smokey, and still them little colts sure had a mighty holt on his heartstrings.

It was just about as he was doing the hardest figuring when one of them little fellers came out of the bunch-a-ways and nickered for him. That little nicker decided things for the buckskin. He answered it and loped back to join with the other little fellers and the mares. Smokey went on straight ahead. Maybe he was thinking strong, thinking that he'd see his mammy again on that winter range.

anyway it never came to him to look back and see if the bunch was following him and finally when it did come to him that he was drifting on alone he stopped and looked around in a sort of vacant stare his instinct had been controlling him and was taking him back to his home range

But when he found himself alone that way, it all left him surprised at first, and then doubtful as to what to do. He was mighty attached to that buckskin, the little colts, and the bunch in general. He looked at the faraway hills of his range, and he seemed like to think on the subject for quite a spell. Then all of a sudden his head went up, a loud knicker went out, and away in the distance he could hear an answer.

The answer had come from his partner, the buckskin. Smokey nickered again and loped back to the bunch. He'd come to feel that it didn't matter so much which range he wintered on. He was a big horse now, and a few ridges to the north or south of that range he was raised in didn't make much difference. An old mare had took the lead, and from then on Smokey just followed side by side with the buckskin.

A little colt nipped him in the flanks, and all was well. End of chapter three, read by Joni Vátheinen, September 30th, 2022. If you've heard that sound from Babbel before, I bet you do. Babbel is the science-backed language learning app that actually works. With quick 10-minute lessons handcrafted by over 200 language experts, Babbel gets you on your way to speaking a new language in just a few weeks. With over 60

Chapter 4 of Smokey the Cowhorse by Will James. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The End of a Rope

"'Snow laid heavy on the range that winter. "'Grass was hard to get at, "'and the little bunch of ponies that tracked the low hills "'which raised up on the prairies "'was finding themselves doing a lot of rustling and pawing "'and getting very little feed. "'Bunches of cattle followed them wherever they went "'and rooted with their nose for the few blades of dry grass "'them horses had pawed the snow off of and left.'

Hay couldn't be bought that winter, and the stockmen found themselves where they had to take a chance and pull their cattle through with whatever little hay the dry summer before could let them have. Cattle had been in fine shape that fall, but as the snow kept a-piling and a-drifting and covering up the feed, the tallow kept a-dwindling away from under the critters' hides, and lean ribs began to show more and more through the long winter hair.

Then came a time as the blizzards blowed and regardless of what all the stockmen done, which was to the limit of what any human can do, when mounds of white began to show here and there in that part of the range. Underneath them white mounds was the dead carcass of a critter. Some was dug up by the varmints. Coyotes was licking their chops and, to make things worse, there appeared three big gray wolves on the skyline one day.

smokey and the big buckskin horse was the first to see the wolves their ears was towards them as the three outlaws of the range trotted along and then stopped to look at the horses smokey had never seen a wolf before but the big old buckskin had seen too many of em and had scars to show for his meetings with the kind

He let out a snort at the sight of the three gray shapes, and from that Smokey got a hunch that these was more to be reckoned with than the coyotes he'd chased when he was a yearling. He had a hankering to go and give them a chase, too, but the nervous way the buckskin was acting kind of warned him that it'd be best for him to stick with the bunch.

The weak and dying cattle is what had really drawed the wolves. Of course, they would just as soon tackle a strong animal as a weak one, but the scent that scattered over the range from the dead stock, and which would reach no less sensitive a nose than theirs, was a lot to their liking, and they'd just drifted in to investigate.

it was below them to touch any of the carcasses they'd passed for these was old wolves well up to the game of killing and nothing but fresh meat would do a good fat yearling or two-year-old colt is what came highest and most to their tastes and when they skirted that ridge and spotted that little bunch of ponies in the draw below

it was the sight of them that reminded their appetites how long ago it was since they'd at last and they'd travelled a long ways but it was still daylight and according to their natural way of doing things they'd wait till night come before making the kill

they skirted on and out of sight of the horses nosed the snow and the air to make sure that the coast was clear and after another look at the country so they'd know it when they returned the wolves trotted on

They showed what old-timers they was as they circled well away from the carcass for fear of a trap. They'd had their toes pinched in the steel jaws, scars showed where bullets had grazed them, and one was still packing a piece of lead, which a cowboy had fired at him from a long shot with a .30-30.

the big buckskin back there in the draw knowed their way and it showed in his action he'd quit pawing for grass and instead put all his attention to the tops of the ridge that was all around him and the bunch

"'The way them three wolves had sized up the bunch and then disappeared "'had made him restless and mighty spooky, "'and finally that draw got to be too much of a hole for him, "'too good a place for an enemy to come into "'without being seen till that enemy was too close. "'The older mares showed a lot of spookiness too, "'which all got Smokey riled up so that he began acting the same.'

and when the buckskin took the lead out of the draw to where a good look of the country around could be got the whole bunch was mighty anxious to follow even the little colts seemed to have their hunch that something was up the white of their eyes showed as they stuck mighty close to their mammy's side a big moon came up and the light of it reflected a path that shined on the crusted snow

The air was mighty still, still with the cold that had gripped the range and made everything that lived and carried hoofs come to a stand so that no air would be stirred. A breeze at that temperature would froze stiff every standing animal in that territory. Smokey, the buckskin, and the bunch stood on a knoll where they could see well around them. They looked like petrified or froze there so still they all stood.

there was no sign of life from em excepting for an ear that moved once in a while and which was on the job to catch any sound that might come from near or far the yip yip and howl of a coyote was heard another answered and pretty soon them two filled the air with their serenading

The echo of that hadn't quite died down when the long, drawed-out and mournful howl of a wolf made that of the coyotes seem like a joke. The little bunch of horses on the knoll hadn't blinked an eye while the coyotes was serenading, but at the sound of what followed, every head in the bunch went up, every ear pointed towards the sound, and the buckskin with a few others snorted.

Restlessness had got in the bunch. Smokey started out a ways and came back. Then pretty soon, and keeping as close together as they could, they all began moving. They moved on like shadows. And like more shadows, three gray shapes had took up their trail. The big buckskin had stayed in the rear of the bunch, and he was first to notice the wolves.

A loud whistling snort was heard from him as he landed in the middle of the bunch and kettled them into a stampede and the run for their lives. The cold air was split forty ways, and crusted hunks of snow was sent a-flying as the ponies, all wild-eyed, broke their way through the drifts at the edge of a ridge and run on towards the big flat.

Smokey had stampeded with the rest and kept pretty well up in the lead through the run, but now that his blood was warming up and plowing through the deep snow, and being that the blood was circulating more free up his neck and into his brain, it all put somewhat of a different light on the subject. That brain of his was all het up, on hair-trigger with the waking up the run was giving it,

and pretty soon something hatched up in there that made Smokey slow down till the bunch went past and ahead of him. He was wanting to see what was all fire dangerous about them wolves so as to make the bunch run that way. The big buckskin was the last to pass Smokey. He was busy keeping two little colts just a few months old from lagging behind too far.

bucking the deep snow at the speed the bunch was making was beginning to show on em and it was taking a lot of persuading from the big horse to keep them little fellers on the move the wolves was steady catching up with the bunch and the attack would have took place some sooner if it hadn't been for smoky his lagging behind had fooled the wolves into thinking that the mouse-colored gelding had quit and was ready to make his last stand

It had been Smokey's intention to wait for the killers and paw the daylight out of them, but as the three rushed in on him, he figured it a good idea to postpone the pawing for a while and do a little running till he was some acquainted with their ways and tricks. Head and tail up and fire in his eyes, he lined out and led the wolves away from the bunch. They'd figured on making him their victim on account he was the handiest,

But as the chase kept up, they found the gelding had a powerful lot of speed left in him. In the meantime, Smokey had somehow lost all hankering of stopping and fight it out with them. There was something about the three hungry-looking craters that kept him a-moving, and his instinct was warning him strong that he should keep some safe distance between him and them.

He was doing that the best he could, and as the running kept up and the wolves couldn't get any closer, they finally figured they was wasting their time. Maybe he got to looking too old and tough for them, and calculated they'd rather have younger and more tender meat. Besides, he was leading them straight away from the bunch, which might make them lose their chances of getting anything at all.

Smokey's play of leading the wolves off that way had been a great relief to the bunch, and mostly the young colts. They'd had a chance to slow down some and get their second wind, and when the killers showed up on their trail once again, they was all more able to sashay on and keep from reach of their tearing fangs.

When Smokey found that the wolves had left him and turned back towards the bunch, it was his natural instinct to turn to and follow up in their tracks. He had a hunch somehow that he'd be needed there, and he hadn't altogether lost the hope of a chance of taking apart at least one of the outlaws.

It was a long and mighty hard run back till he caught up with the bunch again. But Smokey wasn't the horse he was for nothing. He made it in near as good a time as the wolves themselves, and he got there just as the wolves circled around past the buckskin and headed for one of the colts he'd been hazing.

The buckskin hadn't hardly been noticed. The wolves had passed him up as too old, especially when there was such as the young colts which could be got easy.

the old horse had watched him catch up with the bunch and go past him for a younger victim he had no way to know that they didn't want him and he could have kept well in the lead of the bunch if he'd wanted to but he'd made his self-guardian over the little colts and he couldn't for the life of him have left him behind of course the little fellers mammies would have fought for him too but they was at the stage where they felt every horse was for himself

They'd scared into a stampede, and all was a-running for their own lives. The old buckskin knowed wolves. He knowed they had their eye on him, and it was best to keep neutral till they'd got over being watched of every move he'd make. And as the three greys passed him and was gaining on the scared little colts, he kept to one side and watched.

It was just as the leader made a leap for one of the little feller's hamstrings that the big buckskin came to life. He made a leap, too, and went to fighting at the risk of his own life. The wolves hadn't looked for no such move from him. They'd got over watching and figured he was far behind and had put all their attention on dragging down the victim they'd picked.

It was a mighty big surprise for them when from behind the big buckskin landed on the second wolf and buried him in the snow while on his way to the first. A good-sized hoof came down just as that first wolf turned his head to meet the fighting buckskin. The hoof connected with his lower jaw as he made the turn and left the jaw hanging limp and plum useless.

When the old pony looked back for the other wolves, there was long gray hair sticking between his teeth.

It was about then when Smokey arrived on the scene. He'd come up right behind the buckskin, and when the second wolf picked himself up out of the snow and made a grab, which would have been the death of the old horse, Smokey done a side swipe that was quicker than chained lightning. A hind hoof came up and caught that wolf right under a front leg close to the body and took that leg off him like it had been a toothpick.

another horse that had come up from behind and hadn't been reckoned with. It was during this commotion of biting and kicking mixture of buckskin and mouse-colored horse flesh and flying gray wolves that the third and only able wolf disappeared into thin air. Them two fighting ponies had took away all his appetite for colt meat and left a hankering only to be gone from the reach of their destroying hoofs.

three of his kind could have competed with the mad ponies if their attention had been on them from the start but that's where the slip had been made and as it was that lone wolf didn't feel at all equal of resuming what the leader of the pack had started he left the moon faded away into the sky break of day had come

Out on the flat, the little bunch of ponies was knee-deep in the snow and a-pawing away for the grass that was underneath. There wasn't a scratch on nary a hide to show that any had ever seen a wolf. But if Smokey and his partner, the buckskin, hadn't been in that little bunch, there would have been another story to tell.

The little colt, which was so busy digging up feed for himself and plum ignorant of the close call he'd had, would have been amongst the missing and just easing the appetites of three gray wolves. And who knows but what a couple more colts might have been killed along with him, for once a wolf gets a taste of warm blood, there's no telling how far he'll go. The yip-yip and howl of a coyote sounded off from the hills.

and gradual as the sun came up big clouds showed over the skyline from the northwest and seemed like headed to meet and kill that sun's warm rays by noon that day a blizzard had come and the little bunch of ponies faced it on the way back to the shelter of the hills from where they'd left in their run for life the howl of a lone wolf was heard that night and away off to the south there came an answer

an answer that was more drawed out and mournful than any that had ever been heard. Smokey snorted, but with the buckskin only his head went up, his ears pointed towards the sound. He knowed wolves, and he knowed they wouldn't be back. Not that night. The blizzard hung on for a day and filled the ravines with deep drifts. Then the wind died and it settled down to a slow-falling snow.

there was more white mounds where that snow had covered the carcasses of dead critters but amongst them mounds there was one that wasn't made by any of the bellering grass-eating kind a big gray wolf laid there a broke jaw had been the cause of his death

some months later a cowboy run down and roped a three-legged wolf and remarked as he looked close to where a front leg was missing how it must have been an awful wicked bullet to have took that leg off so neat

The already long winter dragged and hung on like it never was going to quit. Snow was deep, and even though the sun climbed higher and stayed longer, there seemed to be no more heat from it than there'd been two months before and when it was at its lowest. The ponies was having a hard time, and as the feed kept getting to be harder to reach, right along they was steady losing on weight and strength.

the roundness that had been theirs a few months before was all gone and instead they showed lean and slab-sided finally and after it seemed there'd be no end to the rough weather there came a break

It turned warmer, and sometime later the snow began to sag and then melt on the sunny side of the hills. Gradually, and after what seemed weeks instead of days, the grass showed in plain sight more and more, till the time come when the ponies didn't have to paw for their feed no more. Then, after a while, there was green stems showing through the dry grass. The dangers of the winter was over.

the range had turned from white to brown and then green and the little bunch of ponies began to perk up considerable the winter hair was a-slipping their eyes showed more bright and pretty soon ribs began to disappear under layers of fat and glossy hides

Then, to make this new green world as great and wonderful as the winter before had been hard and cruel, there began to appear brand-new little colts in the bunch, all slick little fellers and full of play. And as the bunch drifted to the open prairie, they came across little calves, their little white faces a-shining in the sun.

Smokey had more than kept with all the changes to the good. He showed it in every move he made, and as him and the old buckskin, which had got young again, played around and showed jealous over the new colts, it made a sight that was complete in all that life could give. There was months of peace that way. The little bunch roamed the prairies not at all seeming to care where Sunup found them.

tall green feed was a-plenty and everywheres clear swift mountain streams slowed down on the flats and furnished moisture for the big cottonwoods that reached out in the sky and made cool shade and as it was time was just let slip by and enjoyed only as a free-range horse with little colts for company can enjoy it

it was more through habit than heat that the little bunch drifted on up the foothills one day and then higher in the mountain maybe they liked the breeze up there better or the change of feed or maybe it was that too many riders had been showing up off and on which kinda disturbed em

but them riders couldn't be dodged that easy and one day for a whole half hour there was one to within a half a mile of em a setting on his horse field glasses in his hands and looking at the little bunch as they fanned themselves on a high ridge plumb ignorant of the eyes that was on em

That rider had spotted the mouse-colored, blaze-faced gelding, and at the sight of him let out a whistle of surprise of seeing such a horse. He'd rode a little closer then and watched that horse some more. He'd have come still closer, only he didn't want to kettle the bunch and make him suspicious. Besides, he'd just wanted to locate where that horse was running so he'd know where to find him when he wanted to.

he was one of the rocking r men smoky had stood the whole watchful spell without a hunch of it and as him and the little bunch started a-grazing on up the mountain there was nothing further away from his mind than the thought of a human on his trail

of course there wasn't any human on his trail that day but there would be soon for the way that rider talked that night and described smoky to the bronco buster of the outfit all indicated that it wouldn't be long when the little horse would be finding himself in a high pole corral smoky was now a four-year-old going on five

the age when most all range geldings are run in and broke to either saddle or harness for use on the range or to fit em for market the little horse had had a good long time of freedom and if he was kept with the outfit he'd get more but his time for usefulness had come

The free roaming of the hills and flats was passed for a while till the work he'd been cut out for was done, and Smokey's experiences from his cult days until now would go on with more learning and experiences with the human. Smokey's waking up to realizing them things came sudden and almighty unexpected. A long-legged rider on a long-legged horse had showed up on a ridge above him and the bunch.

there'd been a lot of territory covered in a mighty fast time as all lit into a run and they was hazed down onto the flats and then into long pole wings towards the corral then first thing smoky knowed he was penned in and couldn't go no further a big gate was closed and all around him was big cottonwood bars

In another pen joining the one Smokey was in, there was other horses, all geldings and along about Smokey's size and age. The gate between was opened, and Smokey was cut out of his bunch by that same long-legged rider that had run him in, and put through that gate to join them other geldings. The gate was closed again after him.

Smokey peeked through the bars and watched the rider open the outside gate and leave out the bunch he'd run with. He watched one of the mares take the lead and in a long lope head back to the high territory from where they'd come. He watched the little colts running to keep up, and then he seen the big buckskin tagging along,

his pardner and all was leaving him amongst strange horses in a high corral and not far away was a human which to smoky was ten times worse than any wolf he nickered and there was a sound to it that made the buckskin stop look back and nicker and answer the old horse stood there a while kind of like he was waiting but pretty soon he started again and caught up with the bunch

The old buckskin knowed humans. He'd packed many a one of them on many a long ride. His freedom had been handed back to him for the good work he'd done. He'd experienced what Smokey was going through now, and knowing what he did, it was all plain to him just what was up. There was no use of him waiting. Smokey watched him and the bunch disappear in a cloud of dust and out of sight.

If only there was no bars holding him, it wouldn't take him long, and he could still catch up with them. But he was brought back to hard facts by the squeak of the heavy gate as it was pulled open, and the cowboy walked in with a long coil of rope on his arm. Smokey let out a snort at the sight of the human and tore up the earth for the far side of the corral.

Natural fear of the creether had a hold on him, and once against the solid bars, he turned and quivering faced what he felt was his worst enemy. If Smokey could only knowed, there'd been a lot of suffering which he wouldn't had to have went through on account of that fear, if he'd only knowed that right then that human was just admiring him for all he was worth,

and that doing the little horse any harm was the furthest thing away from his mind. But the wild gelding had no way of knowing, and every word that human was saying sounded to him like the growl of a flesh-tearing animal, and every move was a step closer to the victim. He was the victim.

"'The cowboy well understood his kind. "'He'd been raised on the backs of such as him, "'and he was making his living by gentling that kind "'and making good saddle-horses out of them. "'And as he stood there, "'his eyes taking in every move the mouse-colored gelding was making, "'there was a smile showed under the Stetson. "'That smile was just for the glad way he felt "'as he sized him up and seen where he was all saddle-horse.'

not the kind that'd fit in harness and to be shipped to farming countries. He was glad to know that he'd be the first to touch that pony's hide, and as he kept his eye on the gelding, at the same time shaking out a loop, he felt there'd be no end of patience for such a horse as that one looked to be. His loop ready, he walked towards the gelding,

"'Smokey watched him come, and that pony's actions showed where he just wanted to shrink away to nothing and disappear. But he stayed full size and seen where his next best move was to just move, and away to most any old place. The other geldings scattered as the human came on, and Smokey piled in amongst them, full speed to the other side of the corral.'

About that time he heard the hiss of a rope, and that thing which he likened to a snake, coiled up and right around both his front feet. Them front feet was jerked away from under him as he sailed in the air and tried to get away, and then he made a circle in the atmosphere and came down to earth flat on his side. He no more than hit the ground when he tried to get up,

He tried it again and again, and as the cowboy talked to him and advised him to ease up on the fighting, Smokey turned a wild-eyed look his way and snorted. Now lay down and be good, says that cowboy. I sure don't want to skin up that pretty hide of yours. Smokey did lay down. He had to, for in another few seconds his four feet was tied together.

He breathed hard as he laid there, plum helpless. His mind wasn't working no more. His heart was a thumping fit to bust, and the racing of the blood through his body only stampeded his brain. He was past trying to figure out how he was thrown so easy and then held down where he could move only his head.

No cougar or bear could have made him so helpless. He could have fought with them, but with this human it all seemed like he had no chance, and the mystery of that human's power is what put the fear in him, the fear the likes of which was a heap worse than he'd felt if he'd been cornered by a thousand bears, cougars, and wolves.

In a dazed way he seen the cowboy bend over him. A knee touched his neck and the muscles along there quivered the same as if a snake's fangs had been feeling for a halt. A hand touched his ear and another his forehead. There was no pain, but if there had been, the little horse would have never felt it. Pretty soon a hackamore was slipped on his head.

He felt the rawhide bozal around his nose and then the fetter rope around his neck. All the while, the crether was making a low and somehow not aggravating noise. It was a talking to him. The cowboy gave his forehead a couple of rubs, then stood up and walked around to the pony's feet. Smokey felt the tight ropes loosening up from around his ankles and pulled away.

His feet was free, but his mind was confused a lot and he still laid there. Then he felt a pull on the hackamore rope. Come on up and stand on your legs, says that cowboy. And Smokey came to life.

He came to life a-pawing and rearing and a-snorting. His feet was free and he could handle him again. He did handle him and put in all the strength and action he had a-trying to pull away from the cowboy which was holding him with a long rope. There's some talk of the skill that's showed between the angler and the trout.

But the skill that was brought out from that hundred-and-fifty-pound cowboy a-holding that eleven-hundred pounds of kinky, wild horse flesh was past talking about, and beyond the figuring out of any human that's not up to the trade of bronco-busting. The cowboy played his rope and held his horse. He'd held many like him before, and most all had fought the same as Smokey was now fighting.

that pony's eyes was afire as he seen there was no chance for any get-away even when he was on his feet he couldn't at all shake that two-legged hunk of terror and as he snorted and fought the rope that still held fast around his head and neck he began to tire some

and came a time when as the cowboy stood still a few yards away he stood still too and legs wide apart sweat a-dripping from his slick hide he took in a breathing spell he stood there as he watched the cowboy back away and let the rope slide through his hands he watched him open the gate and get the saddle horse that had been left to stand on the other side

seen him get on that horse and pick up the slack of the rope that was holding him. There was thirty feet of it between him and the mounted human, and when the rope was tossed a little as the rider circled around him, Smokey made a leap, and shaking his head like trying to slip what held him, he headed straight on for the open gate. But once past it, Smokey was jerked to a fighting standstill,

He hadn't as yet reckoned that a rope could hold him. The gate was closed after him and the rider went through, and then Smokey felt some slack. He took advantage of that and started out full speed again. He was out of the corral and out in the open. The rope that was still on him was only felt and wasn't holding him from lining out.

A shallow creek bottom full of tall green feed was by that corral, and Smokey headed down it. Any place would do so long as he could run and keep a distance between him and that rider. But that run wasn't to last long. Once again he felt the rope tighten till he was brought to a stop, and facing the rider once more, watched him get off his horse and fasten the end of the long rope to a log.

Well, little horse, says the cowboy as he stood there and watched him for a spell, don't play too rough with this rope. The better you treat it, the better it'll treat you. And with that, he got on his horse and rode off towards the corrals, where more broncs waited for the same edication that Smokey had just got.

that long soft and thick cotton rope and that log which held smoky was the means of his first learnings as to ways for usefulness to the human the more he'd fight that rope and try to get away from it the more he'd learn that his fighting and tearing was of no use

That rope was on the job steady, and to learn him to turn as he run and hit the end of it, it would take the stiffness out of his neck, and there'd come a time when he'd give to a pull from either side without fighting and wanting to be convinced that it could be done. The log which the rope was tied to was part of the teaching apparatus,

heavy enough to hold the pony and even though it could be dragged around some smoky couldn't get very far with it the little horse realized somehow as he sized up the contraption that the end had come to all he'd enjoyed with the freedom he'd had cool shades clear streams and grassy ranges to all roam on as he pleased had been took away from him

He didn't know what was to come next, but he did know that he was on that creek bottom close to Corral's and there to stay for a spell. End of chapter 4. Read by Joni Vatainen. October 13, 2022.

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CHAPTER FIVE OF SMOKEY THE COWHORSE by Will James This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The bronc twister steps up. A cloud of dust was hanging on over the big corrals where Clint, the bronc twister of the rocking-ar outfit, was busy starting raw broncs under the saddle and twisted them in shape for good saddle stock.

It was long, hot, and hard days for that cowboy as he wrestled with the slick, fat, and snorty ponies and convinced them that they all could be led, rode, and handled according to the way he seen fit. But Clint was used to that. He'd been at it for years with nary a rest or relief from the work that was beginning to tell on him.

he'd take ten broncs at a time and soon as he'd took the rough off them ten he'd turn em over as broke and run in ten more raw wild ponies each green colt was rode every day if even only for half an hour and gradually learned to behave under the saddle there was a few that wouldn't learn to behave but the rocking our outfit had good men and all them ponies was put into their work whether they was good or bad

"'Clint had been with the layout for near two years, "'and in that time had broke to ride somewheres around eighty head of horses. "'He'd broke many more for other outfits and never made an outlaw. "'If one did turn outlaw once in a while, "'it was because of that pony's natural instinct to be that way. "'But Clint handled and rode them all just the same. "'If a particular horse couldn't be learned, it sure wasn't his fault.'

and none had better try to learn that same horse anything. As has been said before, bronc-fighting was beginning to tell on Clint. None of them ponies he'd broke had spared him, and instead they'd called on for all that was in him. Many had tried to tear him apart and scatter him in the dust of the big corrals. Hoofs had come like greased lightning and took hunks off his back-wing chaps.

Teeth had took a few shirts off his back, and as he climbed on one after another of these wild kinky ponies, they most all tried to see if they could move the heart of him from one side of his body to the other. There was many times when he was laid up with dislocated shoulders, ribs broke, and legs the same.

from the root of his hair to the toes in his made-to-order boots there was signs if not seen they was felt where some horse had twisted broke or shook something loose each happening had come more or less separate and healed some in time but as some kept a repeating off and on there was some parts of him which never got strong again and as time went on and as clint said

He was beginning to feel loose like an old clock and figured that someday some bucking hunk of horse flesh would take the tick out of him and scatter him out so that none of the parts could never be found again. Clint had started riding rough ones long before he quit growing, and that's the condition he was in at thirty, an old man, far as riding was concerned.

The horses of the same big outfit he'd rode for was worked on the average of only four months in the year, and in them four months, the broke horses was rode only four or five hours once every three days. That might show some of the difference in the work the cowboy and the cow horse does with a real cow outfit. The men go to pieces young and early, and the ponies stay fat.

But there was no grudge, for there's nobody in the world likes to see and ride a fat, strong horse more than does the cowboy. They'll keep the ponies fat and feeling good, and some of them horses find it hard to behave and will try to jar loose the eye-teeth of their riders. The cowboy wants them that way, though. It's a pride of his to have a kinky horse under him that's feeling good, rather than some gentle old plug that's leg-weary.

That all gets him in time, but there's a grin on his face when that time comes, a grin from the pride of knowing that he never was seen on no horse that was against the principle of a cowboy to ride. Like with Clint, horses was the life of him. He loved them for all he was worth, and the greatest pleasure in the world for him was in just being with a corral full of them, handling them and feeling of their hides.

The satisfaction he'd get out of seeing some four-year-old colt learn the things he'd teach meant a heap more to him than the wages he'd drawed for that work, and there was times as he'd be breaking some right brainy gelding and watch the horse pick up fast on the education he'd give him when he'd feel real attached to that pony.

"'He'd hate to give him up when the time came for all half-broke horses "'to be turned over to the round-up wagons, "'and where more teaching in the handling of the critter begin. "'I feel sort of married to them kind of ponies,' he'd say. "'And I sure don't hanker to part with them, "'just when we're beginning to get along good together. "'But,' he'd go on, "'I guess as long as I'll be breaking horses this way, I can't get too sensitive.'

But Clint kept a-being sensitive that way, and he never was happy when he'd see riders coming in on him and then right away hazing a bunch of the broncs he'd started. Someday, he was heard to say once, I'm going to meet a horse I'll really get married to, and then there'll be things a-popping.

"'Clint would have such a liking for some of them ponies "'that he'd forget and didn't want to think "'that they belonged to the company and not to him. "'He was just hired to break them. "'He'd reason that out often, "'but that reasoning never phased the hankering he felt. "'And that's how come, when he run in the mouse-colored gelding, "'he began to do some tall figuring.'

he had a hunch when he first set eyes on that pony that he'd met the horse which would start things a-popping when any rider showed up to claim all that's half broke clint had dreamed of such a horse as the mouse-colored gelding but he'd never expected to see one really living

that pony had got holt of his heart-strings from the start and as he watched through the bars of the corral out to where the horse was picketed he felt him to be the kind he'd steal if he couldn't buy and if he could neither steal nor buy he'd work for it had been two days since he'd run him in and put him on the picket rope outside the corral a ways

and in them two days clint had been mighty fearful lest somebody rode up on him seen the horse and took possession of him as private saddle-stock for the superintendent or some other what owned shares in the outfit and liked pretty horses that way clint wanted that horse mighty bad and he was just leery something would happen so he'd be took away from him

"'But as he'd reasoned some, he was less worried, "'and he'd wind up by saying, "'as he'd take another peek towards the gelding, "'they'd have to let me break him first, "'and before anybody else gets him, "'I'll sure make an outlaw out of that horse. "'That was no way for Clint to feel, maybe, "'but that's just sure enough the way he figured on doing "'rather than lose the horse to anybody else.'

that feeling was passed skin-deep with him and that i think excuses him some in the two days that clint had had the horse up there was no chance past where he could show his feelings and win the pony's confidence if the picket rope tangled him up too much clint was right there to untangle him and each time the gelding fought less when he came

That pony was gradually losing his fear of being et up or tore apart by the human, and pretty soon he felt as Clint came and went that each visit from that creether brought some comfort in a way. It was on the second evening, and when the day's work was all done, that Clint made his way from the bunkhouse to where the gelding was picketed.

he went up to within a rope's length of the horse rolled a smoke and stood there watching him smoky he says you're some horse clint hadn't hardly realized he'd spoke a name he was too busy watching and admiring that pony's every move

So as it was, that name came unconscious-like to the cowboy, and it was used and repeated from then on as natural as though that name had been thought and decided on. He'd named many horses and had always let the name come to him either by the color, size, or shape of each horse, and sometimes by the way they acted. He'd called one tall rangy horse Shorty,

and another low-built small horse, Sky High. Often the name didn't at all fit the horse in that way, but there was some reason there, the same as there was a mighty good reason to call the mouse-colored gelding Smokey. He did look like a rounded, shiny cloud of gray smoke, and as he held his ground and watched the cowboy, he acted as though he might live up to his name and really go up in smoke.

His acquaintance with the human hadn't been very long, and he wasn't as yet any too confident. Clint could tell as he watched just what was going on in that pony's think tank. He could still see fear in his eyes, but mixed in with that fear was a lot of nerve that showed fight. He knowed that pony would fight and make himself hard to handle, and he'd have been mighty disappointed not to have seen them signs in the horse.

It was only natural that any of his kind should act this way, and he figured the wilder the spirit, the bigger and more worthwhile would the winning be. He would take his time, do a good job, and turn Smokey from a raw wild bronc into a well-broke and edicated cowhorse. He took a few steps closer, and Smokey backed away to the end of the rope.

he snorted when he found he couldn't back no further and pawed at the rope as the cowboy kept a-coming still closer and closer clint took his time but came on steady and a-talking the while till he finally got within a couple of feet of the horse and where he could touch him hanging on to the rope with the right hand he reached out with the left and touched him easy between the eyes

"'Smokey flinched and snorted, but he stood it. "'He stood it for quite a spell "'and felt the hand rubbing on his forehead "'and working up and up towards his ears. "'Clint had just about got to one of them ears "'when Smokey rubbed his nose along the cowboy's sleeve, "'took a sniff, and then of a sudden nipped him on the arm.'

that had happened to him before many a time and he'd been ready for it with the result that the pony got only a piece of shirt and no flesh now don't be so doggoned ornery says that cowboy as he kept a-rubbing the same as though nothing had happened i only want to reach between them ears and touch that knowledge bump of yours finally he did reach the bump and rubbed around there for a spell

"'Smokey struck once. "'Clint dodged the front hoof and kept a-rubbing. "'He rubbed past the left ear and down his neck "'till the withers was reached. "'The mane was worked on and all the knots in it untangled. "'The little horse quivered and flinched every once in a while, "'but the rubbing process went on "'till Smokey began showing symptoms "'that he could stand it all easy enough.'

In the meantime, Clint talked to him like he'd never took time to talk to another horse before. And if Smokey could have understood, he'd knowed by that talk just what was ahead of him. But Smokey wasn't thinking on what was ahead. The present had him worried enough as it was. And he was kept busy watching every move that human was making. Smokey had lost considerable wildness during the two days on the picket rope.

"'He'd learned there was no use in fighting the rope that held him, "'that it was best to turn when he came to the end of it, "'and gradually he was getting used to having that rope touch him here and there "'and he'd quit kicking at it. "'He was more familiar with that than with the human who put him there, "'but the rope done the trick of getting him used to having anything touch him. "'It kind of broke him to stand the touch of the hand.'

he was learning to stand that well enough too but the movements of that hand had to be just right not too quick and no jabbing done or there'd be a scattering of something mighty quick i'm sure making a lot of fuss over you says clint as he rubs on past the withers and along his back a ways

"'If you was just an ordinary bronc, "'you'd be missing most of this attention, "'and you'd be finding yourself in the corral "'with me on top of you by tomorrow, "'and turned in the remuda by another month. "'But I got a scheme up on account "'of me liking you the way I do. "'I'm going to take my time "'and make you my private top horse.'

"'And when that's done, I'll have every cowboy in the country jealous of me "'for having such a horse as you're going to turn out to be.' "'With Clint's scheming that way, there was a good chance of him winning out, "'and gradually, steady, the edication of Smokey started in. "'That cowboy called on for all he knowed in the profession of horse-breaking, "'and used it all with a lot of time to shape out Smokey the way he wanted him.'

No company time was used on the horse on account Clint felt it wouldn't be doing the square thing, cause, as he says, it'll be bad enough if I have to steal him. Of course, Clint wouldn't steal that horse, or no other one, but he felt like he'd sure do something out of the ordinary rather than let Smokey go to any other rider.

Every evening after that last meal of the day was over, Clint would be down in the creek bottom with Smokey. What went on there showed some of what Clint really thought of the mouse-colored gelding, and there was no disappointed look on his face when Dark made him return to the bunkhouse. Smokey had been on the picket rope about a week.

in that time clint had kept his eye on him through the day while working in the corral and spent a couple of hours with him every evening the little horse had got used to the rope and wouldn't pay no attention to it no more but as for the cowboy he was just neutral it was hard for him to shed off the fear of the human and which he'd inherited that human was still a mighty big mystery to him even after a week's acquaintance

it had done him no harm but his wild instinct kept awarning him to expect most anything the power that two-legged creether had over him kept him leery and watching for the next move whatever that would be and that's why smoky was still neutral his confidence for the human hadn't come to the top as yet and not a move did that cowboy make which he didn't see

"'You sure got your eye on me, ain't you, little horse?' Clint would say. "'But that's the way I want you to be,' he'd go on. "'For the more you watch, the more you'll see and the quicker you'll learn.' Smokey did watch and see and learn. And then one evening, Clint untied the long picket rope from the log and started leading him towards the corral. The little horse was broke to lead by then, and he followed easy enough.'

His heart was a-thumping in wonder of what was due to happen as the cowboy led him through the big pole gate. He stepped high and careful, and his eyes took in everything that looked suspicious. A slicker hanging over one side of the corral made him snort and try to pull away. Clint talked to him and kept Anna leading him through another gate into another smaller and round corral.

A big snubbing post stuck up in the center of it, and by that post was a big brown and shiny hunk of leather. It was Clint's saddle. "'Well now, little horse, the performance is about to begin. You're going to get your first smell of saddle leather.' Clint had turned as he spoke and began rubbing on Smokey's forehead. For once, since Smokey had been caught, his attention wasn't on the cowboy.

"'That hunk of leather was drawing all his interest, "'and ears pointed straight at it, eyes a-shining. "'He snorted his suspicions and dislike "'for the looks of the contraption that was laying there. "'Waiting, it seemed like, to jump at him and eat him alive. "'Look, snort and paw at it all you want,' says the cowboy. "'You'll get well acquainted with it before you get through, "'and I won't rush the acquaintance either.'

"'Clint didn't. "'He kept Smokey to within a few feet of the saddle, "'and grinning some at the pony's actions, "'kept a-rubbing him back of the ears while the investigation was going on. "'Smokey was forgetting away from there. "'But Clint was persuading him to stick around close, "'and there was nothing for him to do but just that. "'A move from the direction of that saddle right then "'would have queered things and made Smokey scatter.'

and Clint couldn't have held him either for a ways. But the hunk of leather laid still, mighty still, and pretty soon it kind of lost its dangerous look to the little horse. He began looking around for other things in that corral which wouldn't be to his liking, and not seeing anything that was worth getting spooky at, Smokey began watching the cowboy again.

It was about then that Clint reached over and picked up the saddle, slow and easy, and drug it closer to Smokey. At the first move of the rigging, the little horse snorted and backed away, but Clint and the saddle kept a-coming straight towards him, slow but steady. One side of the high corral finally was reached. Smokey had backed against it and couldn't go no further.

the cowboy still hanging on to the rope that held his head came on saddle and all with him and quivering with fear the little horse laid low feet straight out in front and head near to the ground he stayed there and got another and different education with the saddle this time it was dragging

When Clint thought that had gone far enough and seen where Smokey had got over the worst of his fear, he laid the saddle down again, and picking up an old saddle blanket, he began fanning the air with it. Closer and closer to Smokey came the blanket, as the fanning motion kept on, and starry-eyed, the little horse watched. He struck at it and snorted a couple times, and he even tried to turn and kick.

but the blanket came on till finally one corner of it grazed his side he flinched and kicked and tried to jerk away but there was no dodging that spooky-looking thing not a word was heard from the cowboy as the sacking went on this was a part of the edication that was necessary and which should be put through mighty quiet it was all a spooky enough performance to a rob ronk without adding on any talking

and even though the goings-on scared the pony near out of his hide that blanket done the trick of showing him that no matter how bad it looked it wasn't going to hurt him it was one mighty good thing to teach him general confidence in the cowboy and his riggin smoky fought like a cornered wolf and tried to get away but he had no chance

"'Clint had sacked many a bronc that had fought as much, "'and the cigarette between his lips noticed no change of spells between puffs. "'Smokey showed hate and fear of the human once again, "'the same as when he was first caught. "'His instinct had warned him to expect most anything from that creether, "'and he wasn't surprised at the way things had turned. "'But that didn't help any. "'He just wanted to sail clear over the corral and disappear.'

"'Through all that fighting and goings-on, "'the sacking kept up in steady motion. "'Wherever the long blanket touched Smokey, "'he flinched and kicked at it and squealed. "'He was too scared to realize "'that there was no sting or any kind of a hurt felt. "'It was just the looks of the thing which had him going. "'And his fighting instinct just had to answer "'every swish of that thing that circled around a leg one time "'and his neck the next.'

Finally, and whether it was from being tired or fighting, or that he was dazed past caring of what was going on, Smokey began to let up, his kicks began to get less wicked, and his eyes lost some of the fiery look till came a time when he stood near still, and he'd only flinch as the blanket kept a-touching, going away, and touching him here and there and all over.

Clint, noticing the little horse calming down, remarked, "'You'll get so you'll like it pretty soon.' But Smokey wasn't showing no such symptom as yet. He was just standing as best he could, and that was all. Both sides and all around Smokey went Clint with his blanket, till the little horse finally even quit flinching.

The cowboy then dropped the rope that was holding the horse and worked his blanket wilder than ever. That blanket was laid everywhere on that pony's hide and around his legs. He laid it on the ground and drug it under him, and all Smokey would do was to cock one ear and watch it, but he never moved. A half an hour before, such a play would have sent him straight up.

"'Clint worked on for a while longer "'till he was sure there wasn't a spot on that pony "'that'd flinch at the feel of the blanket. "'Then he began to notice that Smokey was finally getting "'so he kinda liked the performance. "'No flies could touch him while that was going on, "'and that blanket being pulled all over him that way "'seemed to kind of soothe some.'

it was about when clint figured he could do no more good in the way of sacking that he picked up his saddle again and came straight towards smoky with it the squeak of the rigging brought some interest from the horse but clint was careful to bring the old blanket with him and keep a fanning the same as to let him know that one was no worse than the other

in the first saddling of most broncs clint generally tied up one of their hind legs so as to hinder him from kicking the saddle out of his hands and at the same time learn him to stand still while that went on a few of em he'd just hobble in the front and being that smokied had more teaching than the average colt generally gets before first saddling clint figured that just hobbling his front feet would do

The sacking had helped a lot, and Clint had no trouble fastening the rawhide hobbles around Smokey's ankles. The pony snorted at him a little, but stood still, for Clint was waving that blanket around as he worked. Once the hobbles was on, he picked up his saddle and eased it up and on that pony's back. Smokey had a hunch that something new was going on, something different than the sacking performance which he'd just went through.

but as nothing happened outside of the flapping of stirrup-leathers and cinches he stood in one spot only a quiver in the muscles along his shoulder showed how much alive he was and how quick he could leave the earth if anything goosed him plenty of practice had made clint past master at putting a saddle on a green colt

nothing happened to make smoky want to move out of his tracks and even when the cinch was reached for and drawed up under his belly he never batted an eye the sacking had all been a mighty fine preliminary for all this that followed and cured the horse from scaring at everything that flapped on around him

as it was smoky hardly realized that he was saddled till clint took the hobbles off his front feet and pulled him to one side at that pull he felt something fastened to him and hanging on that was a new kind of feeling to smoky and it kettled him down went his head and he lit into bucking clint had expected that for no bronc likes the feel of the cinch no matter how loose it might be

"'and when Smokey bogged his head that way, he was ready. "'He let the hackamore rope slide through his hands for a ways "'and till he could get a good footing. "'Then he give that rope a little flip and set down on it. "'That done the trick, "'and it come doggone near upsetting the little horse. "'But Clint let out just enough slack, and that saved him. "'He didn't want to throw the horse, "'but then he didn't want to have that horse buck with an empty saddle either.'

"'Now, Smokey,' says that cowboy as the horse jerked to his senses, turned and faced him, "'I don't want you to waste any of your energy that way. If you want to do any bucking, you just wait till I get in the middle of you.' Smokey waited, but it wasn't through the talk the cowboy had handed him that he did wait. It was that he remembered how that rope had upset him that first day he was picketed to the log outside the corral.

And he wasn't hankering to be busted that way again. There's folks that read some on how horses are broke on the range, and from that reading they get the idea that the cowboy breaks the horse's spirit, that it's the only way a wild horse can be tamed. What I've got to say on the subject, if that's what's believed, is that either them folks read something that's mighty wrong, or else they got the wrong impression and misunderstood what they read.

and breaking a horse the way he's broke on the range is about the same on the animal as schooling is to the human youngster. The spirit of the wild horse is the same after years of riding as it was before he ever felt a rope, and there's no human in the world wants to preserve that spirit in the horse like the cowboy does. He's the one what knows better than anybody else that a horse with a broken spirit is no horse at all.

"'To them that only sees a wild horse roped and rode "'and don't know the insides of the game, "'horse-breaking might seem a little rough, "'but I'm here to say that it's not near as rough as it is necessary. "'And in the long run, it's the rider that gets treated the roughest. "'You let a wild horse get away with something once, "'and he'll try it again till there will come a time "'when even if there's no meanness in him, he'll develop some.'

That's what makes outlaws. Outlaws are made mostly when a horse proves too much for the man that handles him. A wild horse will turn outlaw often if handled by any other than them that knows his kind, and there'll be no way of breaking him, only through starvation and abuse. His spirit would be broken then too, and that proves that the cowboy, knowing his business, will see that the pony's heart is kept intact.

There's a variety in horse minds as big as there is amongst human minds. Some need more persuading than others, and a few of them, no matter how firm they're handled, will have to be showed again and again that they can't get away with this or with that. They'll keep on a-trying, and if ever once they do put a bluff through, there's most generally enough meanness in their system to make them plum-worthless.

"'And like I was saying with Smokey, "'he remembered how that rope had upset him "'that first day he was picketed to that log outside the corral, "'and he wasn't hankering to be busted that way again. "'That little horse had brains. "'If he was convinced a few times, he had the sense to realize it. "'But at the same time, he had to be showed, "'and more because it was part of his necessary education "'than because of any meanness of his.'

He was willing to learn, but the teaching had to come from one who could teach him. There was no meanness in Smokey, not an ounce of it. He was honest, clear, and through, but meanness would develop if a slip was made. He fought and bit and kicked, but Smokey was a wild horse, and he was going only according to his instinct, and more to protect himself from the strange human. That's the caliber of most range horses—

"'Clint had handled many of them, and always won out with their confidence, "'and turned them over as broke with their spirit intact. "'He'd savvied Smokey the minute he dabbed his rope on him the first time. "'That pony was wild, wild as a horse or any animal can get, "'and he had the strength to go with it. "'But Clint seen where that little horse also had a mighty fine set of brains "'between them little pointed ears of his.'

"'He treated him like a grown-up would treat a kid, "'a kid of the kind that'd learn a lot if the chance showed up, "'and he missed no chance to show that pony all he should know "'and how good he wanted him to be. "'Doggone it, Smokey,' he'd say. "'It's too bad you can't know without I have to use a lot of ropes, "'as it is sometimes. "'I bet you don't think I'm a friend of yours, none at all. "'Clint was right.'

"'At first Smokey had took him as an enemy and fought him according. "'Then had come a time when he was willing to trust him some, "'especially when Clint had come and untangled him out of that long picket rope, "'talked to him and rubbed his ears. "'His heart had got over thumping so much when he'd see the cowboy come of evenings, "'and even though the little horse didn't realize it as yet, he'd got to expecting him.'

then and just about when his liking for the cowboy was coming to the top fast something happened that'd make him wonder for a spell if that cowboy was a friend or still an enemy the sacking he'd went through in the corral had sort of jarred the confidence that'd begin to sprout for the bow-legged and then the way his head was jerked up out of his bucking spell with the empty saddle

all had left him puzzled as to whether to start in and do some fighting or else be good and take his medicine smoky had no way of knowing as yet what was expected of him and it was a ticklish time for him it was right then that he'd have to be handled just right and when the turning point for the good or the bad would be decided on

but clint knowed how the turn to the good laid and it was right there that he proceeded to bring it out there was only one way to it and that was for clint to show smoky he had to be good the cowboy knowed smoky had brains a-plenty to realize once he was showed that he had to do just what he wanted him to do that of course would take a little time

The pony would fight some more and wanted to be showed, and to keep him from getting frustrated, that horse would have to have his own way some. End of chapter 5. Read by Joni Vathainen. October 21st, 2022. What makes Hawaiian Bros so different? We have no freezers, no fryers, and no microwaves.

Because when you skip all that, you're left with one thing. Fresh. Right now we're grillin', saucin' and tossin' fresh ingredients into our mouth-watering new wraps. Choose teriyaki-glazed huli huli chicken, the kickin' sweet heat of our Molokai Mac, or the citrusy, irresistible Pacific Island Wrap. Grab one today for just $7.99. Only at Hawaiian Bros. Chapter 6 of Smokey the Cow Horse by Will James

This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Squeak of Leather Twenty feet of rope is laying between the cowboy's hand and the pony's head. The cowboy is standing there, just watching and smiling some at the surprised look that's in the pony's face. That pony had just been stopped sudden in his bucking with an empty saddle.

it was the first time a saddle had been on his slick back and it was no wonder he tried to get out from under that thing nothing had ever clung there before now you just take it easy for a spell and keep your head up says that cowboy as he started walking towards the pony legs wide apart a wild look in his eyes and a snorting his surprise smoky watched him come

He didn't know whether to stand his ground and start fighting or back away as the cowboy came. On he came, and as Smokey was seeing no signs of harm, he stood in his tracks, watched and waited. A hand touched him on the forehead and moved on down his neck. The cowboy was a-talking to him the while, and pretty soon Smokey's heart wasn't thumping so hard no more.

he was then led a little ways and as he heard the squeak of leather and felt the weight of the saddle with each step he took an awful hankering came to him to put his head down and try to buck it off but the cowboy was right there in front of him and he didn't want to be stopped again and so sudden as he'd been stopped that first time the other side of the corral was reached and there clint turned and rubbed smoky on the ear

"'Well, old boy, let's see how you're going to behave when I get up in the middle of you.' Smokey watched the man reach for the latigo and felt the cinch tighten up. A hump came in his back and which made the saddle set near on end. It was the hump that carried the punch in the buck, and most likely Clint could have led the pony around some till the hump wore down and his back straightened up again, but that rider wasn't for taking the buck out of a bronc too quick.'

He believed a good sensible horse should buck at the first few settings, and he wasn't the kind of rider that'd smother that natural feeling and have it come out later when the horse is supposed to be broke gentle. He let the hump be and never moved the pony out of his tracks. He knowed that just one move would be enough to start that pony to exploding, and Smokey was set and just awaiting for that signal to start.

He watched the cowboy raise his chaps so the belt wouldn't hinder his leg action, watched him pull his hat brim down solid, and then he couldn't watch no more. Something had come between him and his vision. It was the cowboy's thumb, which had laid over his left eyelid and pulled it down over his eye. In the next second, he felt a weight added onto that of the saddle, and all of a sudden he could see again.

But what he did see left him starry-eyed and paralyzed. For half a minute, he just stood like petrified. That cowboy had disappeared from the sight of him. And instead, there he was right in the middle of his back, and on that hunk of leather he'd been hankering to shed off ever since it was put on there. Instinct pointed out only one way for him to act—

"'It was telling him that neither the human nor the leather belonged up there in the middle of him that way, "'and that if he tried he could most likely get rid of them. "'There was nothing else to do that he could see, and right then he felt that he sure must do something. "'His head went down, and a beller came up out of him that said as much as, "'I want you!'

up went smoky's withers followed by the hump that made the saddle twist like on a pivot and last came steel muscles like shot out of the earth and which carried the whole mixed up and crooked conglomeration of man and horse up in mid-air and seemed like to shake there for a spell before coming down all seemed heads and tails and made a picture of the kind that was mighty hard to see and still harder to figure out

saddle strings was a-popping like on a whiplash leather was a-squeaking corrals shook as the hard-hitting hoofs of the pony hit the earth and a dust was stirred that looked like a young cloud smoky was scared mad and desperate all the action strength and endurance that was in him was brought out to do its best

not a hair on his hide was laying idle through the performance every muscle tightened and loosened in a way to shake the weight on his back and make it pop clint felt the muscles work even through the saddle and every part of that pony which his legs touched seemed as hard as steel and full of fast-working bumps which came and went twisted his saddle under him and made him wonder if it was going to stay

it seemed like sometimes that smoky was headed one way and his saddle another he wasn't always sure of the whereabouts of that pony's head and in all his riding that's what he wanted to keep track of most cause losing track of a horse's head at them times is something like riding blindfolded a rider would prepare for one kind of a jolt and meet another which would cause things to scatter considerable

"'Clint was still straight up and on top "'when Smokey's hard jumps finally dwindled down to crow hops, "'and then a stop. "'That pony was needing wind mighty bad, "'and as his nostrils opened wide, "'was taking in the necessary air. "'He felt a hand rubbing along his neck, "'and wild-eyed, ears cocked back at the cowboy that was still there. "'He stood and heard him talk. "'You done a mighty fine job, little horse,' says Clint.'

and i'd have been disappointed a lot not to have found that kind of spirit in a horse like you if smoky had been raised amongst humans like a dog and been with em steady that way he'd have had a hunch or felt what clint said and meant but smoky was a wild horse of the flats and mountains and even though the sound of clint's tone and the feel of his hand soothed him some he would buck again and again

it was his instinct to fight the human and he would fight till that human showed he could handle him and proved a friend that had to be done gradual and smoky had no way to know as yet that man could be a friend of his

not while the breaking was going on anyway for through that spell a horse is made to do things he sometimes don't want to do and which all keeps down the confidence that would come faster if that didn't have to be done smoky was doing some tall figuring as he stood there trembling and wondering if there wasn't anything that he could get by with

he'd been made to do things just as that cowboy pleased and he'd found no say in the goings-on none at all if he could only have bucked him off that would have pleased him a lot but the little horse didn't know that he wouldn't have won anything by that

He didn't know he was on this earth for the purpose of the human, and that if he did throw one man, another would climb him till finally he'd have to give in and go through a lot of grief the while. Smokey felt a light slap on his neck. Come on, young feller, says the cowboy. Let's see you trot around the corral a while. But Smokey bucked more than he trotted.

the cowboy let him and when his head would come up he'd keep him on the go till finally there seemed to be no buck in the horse at all i reckon that'll be enough for you to-day says clint as he headed smoky for the side of the corral and made him face the bars to a stop

he then reached for the pony's left ear and twisted it some just enough to keep that pony's attention on the twist of that ear most while he got off clint touched the ground with his right foot and keeping his left in the stirrup at the same time keeping close to the horse's shoulder and out of the reach of his hind feet he held that position for a few seconds

"'Smokey was watching him, shaking like a leaf "'and ready to paw the daylight out of the cowboy "'at the first wrong move or sudden jab of a knee. "'Clint wanted him to watch. "'This was part of the education, "'and all that Cowboy wanted to teach right then "'was for Smokey to stand and not to go acting up. "'Slow and easy, at the same time having complete control of himself and his horse,'

"'Clint raised himself up in the saddle again. "'It was done in a way that only bronc-busters know. "'Smokey never even felt the pull on the saddle as the cowboy climbed on. "'And if that saddle hadn't even been cinched, "'it wouldn't have budged then. "'So neat it was done. "'Clint climbed on and off a few times that way. "'Smokey stood and shivered, scared, "'but willing, it seemed like, to take his medicine.'

"'Maybe it had come to his mind that there was no use fighting that cowboy, "'or else he was getting tired. "'Anyway, that was the last of it. "'Smokey felt the cinch loosen, and then slow and easy the saddle was pulled off. "'About that time he whirled and faced the rider who was holding the saddle. "'He took a sniff at the hunk of leather and snorted like to say, "'Gee, I thought that thing was on me for good.'

The saddle was set to one side, and the cowboy began rubbing Smokey's back with a gunny sack, and according to the way that pony acted, that felt mighty good. His upper lip stuck out and twitched with every motion of the rubbing, and when Clint finally quit, the little horse's action showed plain that he should do it some more. Clint rubbed again. "'I'm afraid,'

he says as he grinned and rubbed that i'm naturally going to spoil you here we just got through with the first saddling and you are beginning to look for favors already smoky's picket grounds was moved to a fresh one for that night and where the grass was tall aplenty and green but somehow his appetite wasn't at its best

and when the break of day come there was very little sign as clint noticed that the pony had et at all he'd just stood in one spot looked like and seemed to have done tall wondering and figuring instead of feeding he was ganted up the same as if he'd been rode all that night and still there was no show of any appetite for the feed that was under and all around him

As Clint worked in the corral busy with other broncs, he'd look through the bars for any show of interest in the little horse. He'd look often, but most every time that pony's position was about the same, and if he did catch him with his head down, he noticed how Smokey was just nibbling at the feed, not eating much. Smokey was taking the change from the life he'd led to what he was now going through kinda hard.

harder than the average wild horse ever does. And Clint laid it that the little horse had more brains than the average, more sensitive maybe, and more able to realize. I guess I'd better lay off of him today, decides the cowboy, as he noticed very little change in him even late that afternoon. He's having a hard time trying to figure things out as it is.

it was bright and early the next morning when clint looked out of the bunk-house door and noticed smoky out on the creek bottom it appeared that the little horse after figuring and figuring had come to some sort of decision and that done and settled had went to eating again

for that's what he was doing when Clint looked out. Smokey was eating like he was trying to make up for the time he'd lost, and he seemed all at peace with everything in general. The cowboy grinned. "'I knowed what that son of a gun has decided on,' he remarked. "'He's going to fight, and I see where I'm sure due for a tossing from that pony today.'

"'Clint done his day's work, and after riding and lining out nine head of rough and kinky broncs, "'went to where Smokey was picketed, and led him into the corral where he'd been initiated a couple of days before. "'He was some kind of a different horse than what he'd been that day. "'His head was higher, and more with just one purpose. "'He didn't shy and snort at every little thing like he did the first time.'

and clint noticed that he never seemed to see the saddle as it was eased on his back and cinched i don't like the sound of them rollers that's making that noise in them nostrils of yours he remarked they sound to me like you meant business

Smokey did mean business. And even though Clint was doing considerable kidding, he meant business too. He wasn't going to let the little horse get away with anything. For he realized that if he did, it'd be harder than ever to persuade him to be good. He'd have to be treated rough. And Clint didn't want to treat him rough.

The cowboy seen the light in Smokey's eyes and understood it. He understood his every action, and they all meant fight. "'I'm glad to see so much spirit in you, old boy,' he says as he pulled his hat down. "'But if you want to fight, I'll have to fight too. And here's hoping the best one of us wins. Let's go.' Smokey only shook his head a little as Clint put his hand on his left eye and mounted.

he didn't want to notice a little thing like that which was just as much a warning from him for that cowboy to get set set well and solid for in this next performance things was going to pop worse than ever there's a big difference between the bucking that comes with the first setting of a bronc and the bucking that comes with the settings that follows afterwards on that same bronc the first time smoky was rode he was just a plain scared pony

of course his intentions was all to the good towards throwing that cowboy saddle and all off but he was too scared and desperate to try and figure out how that should be done

he'd learn from that first setting that plain bucking wouldn't faze that rider he'd have to use some science and with a cool head study out the weak points the rider might have and work on them weak points till a shadow on the ground tells him the cowboy is leaving

Smokey had learned that it wouldn't get him anything to stampede hot-headed into bucking like he did that first time. Maybe that's what he'd been studying on the last day or so. Anyway, he was some cool horse. And when he bowed his head, this time it was all done deliberate and easy.

he lined out with a few easy jumps just to sort of feel out how that cowboy was a setting as a preliminary and with an eye back on all the movements of the rider as he went he laid his plans on just how to proceed and get his man

It was just when Clint seemed to be riding his easiest when without warning Smokey broke in two and brought out some mighty wicked saddle-twisting and cowboy-loosening jumps. Crooked, high, and hard-hitting was them jumps. It looked to the horse like his man was loosened at the sudden turning of events and had been shifted to one side a little, and that's just what Smokey was looking for to carry on the program he'd mapped out.

it was the first encouragement that pony'd got since he first felt a rope on him maybe he could get it over that cowboy yet he bucked all the harder from the new energy the signs of winning brought him no chance did he give so that the cowboy would ever get back in the saddle and straight up

and every jump from then on was used as a kind of leverage against the rider he bucked in a circle and every time he'd hit the ground he was his whole length back from where he'd started up the cowboy was well up on the fork of the saddle and still to one side

Smokey bucked on and cool as a cucumber in a mountain stream, kept a-watching and took care that he didn't buck back under him. He was holding his own and looked for signs of the rider loosening some more, but no signs of that showed. The cowboy was still to one side and well up in the saddle, but he sure hung there, and with his left hand on the Makati, hackamore rope,

he kept his right up in the air and fanned on the same as ever as the fight kept on and no show of the cowboy ever loosening up any more was seen smoky began to wonder he'd tried different tactics and with all his figuring and variety of sidewinding he couldn't tear away from that hanging hunk of humanity

he was getting tired his lungs began to call for air and pretty soon he wasn't so cool no more all that was in him science and everything was brought out on a few more earth-shaking jumps

And when a glance back showed Smokey the rider was still sitting there, he got desperate again and began to see red. He bellared and at the same time forgot all he'd studied on in the ways of getting his man. The fight didn't last long after that. It was too furious and unscientific. Smokey fought the air, the earth, and everything in general.

Nothing in particular was his aim, and pretty soon he lined out in long, easy crow hops and then a standstill. Clint climbed off as Smokey stood, sprattle-legged, and took in the air. The little horse never seemed to notice him, and in a hazy way felt the rider's hand rubbing around his ears and straightening out his mane. "'I knowed you'd give me a tossing today,' says Clint."

And there was one thing Smokey didn't know. It was that no time during the fight did the cowboy feel he was losing his saddle. A setting to one side the way he had been was just a long-staying holt of his, something like a half-Nelson with the Rassler. Poor Smokey had lost again. But in a way, he'd won. He'd won the heart of a cowboy. Because through that fight, that cowboy's feelings was for the little horse.

he'd seen understood and admired the show of thinking qualities and the spirit which was smoky's the idea might be got on account of smoky being the steady loser that his spirit would get jarred and finally break but if anybody thinking so could have seen that horse the next day that idea would have been scattered considerable his time on the picket rope had been spent on more thinking and figuring

and the way he went after the tall grass showed he meant to be in shape to carry through whatever the new scheme was and some would have thought it queer to have seen how smoky the steady loser in the contest seemed to hold no grudge or hate against the winning cowboy as it was that pony seemed to welcome that human a lot as he walked towards him the next morning

and the way he rubbed his head against the shoulder of that smiling rider showed that the fights in the corral had got to be some friendly both was mighty serious and both meant to win in them fights but soon as they was over and the dust cleared there was a feeling the likes of when two friends have an argument

When the argument comes to an end, both the loser and winner are ready to grin, shake hands, and be friends again. Smokey had lost out twice in trying to dodge out from under his man, but he was nowhere's near convinced as yet that it couldn't be done. The third time Clint climbed him, that pony bucked harder than ever, and that cowboy just sat up there and let him.

"'Clint had whipped some horses for bucking that way, "'but he'd whipped them because it was natural orneriness that made him buck. "'With Smokey it was different. "'There was no meanness in him so far. "'That pony was confident that nothing could set him "'once he got onto the hang of knowing how to buck real well, "'and all he wanted was to be showed for sure "'that Clint could really set there and ride him through his worst that way.'

After that was done, he'd most likely quit. The first couple of times Smokey was rode and after he'd quit his bucking, there hadn't been much more to it excepting that Clint would just run him around a bit and turn him a few times till the hump was well down on that pony's back. Smokey had got to thinking that was all would ever come of being corralled and saddled.

and so he was some surprised when after the bucking spell was over at the third setting to see the corral gate open wide the cowboy on him again and heading him for open country smoky took to the high ridges like a duck takes to water he trotted out like a good horse and then was put into a long lope

"'Covering territory felt mighty good to the little horse for a change, "'and he wasn't caring much where the cowboy lined him out to. "'For a spell he'd forgot the weight on his back. "'His ears was straight ahead, "'and the hand he felt on his neck only reminded some that somebody was with him. "'He was needing that change after being bested again like he'd been that third time.'

"'Clint had won once more, and Smokey was a lot in favor of something, "'most anything, to drive off the feeling he'd gotten losing. "'He was taking advantage of the run in that way, and sashayed at a good clip. "'All went fine till of a sudden a jackrabbit scared out of his hiding place "'jumped up and right under Smokey's nose. "'He shied straight up and to one side.'

and at the same time he was scared more by the wing of Clint's chap which had curled up and slapped along his shoulder. Away he went to bucking once again. The first few jumps was mighty wicked, but they didn't last. He'd already had his buck out not long before, and pretty soon he straightened into a lope once again. Clint let him lope a ways, then turned him and headed him back to the corrals.

stopped him there, turned him a few times, and started him out a ways, only to turn him and bring him back again. That went on for a few minutes, and then Smokey was unsaddled and put on the picket rope once more. The run had tired Smokey a little and give him an appetite. He didn't do so much figuring on how to get his man that night, and instead he grazed more, rested some, and even slept a little.

When he was led to the corral the next day, and the saddle put on, he even neglected to watch the cowboy and begin to show interest in the bronx that was in another corral. His ambitions hadn't allowed him to do that before, but somehow things had changed. Figuring ways and means of throwing off that rider had got to be tiresome, especially when nothing but disappointment was ever got by it.

and besides that saddle and man was getting so they wasn't so bad to stand up under no more but as neutral as smoky showed and felt that little son-of-a-gun bucked again of course there was nothing in his bucking that was so wicked as it had been in them first three saddlings it was more that he felt he should buck some it made him feel better and besides he was wanting exercise

but he raised the dust and pounded the earth in good shape even at that and that play of his would have throwed many a man another run like the one of the day before a few turnings and teachings on the feel of the rain and smoky was through for another day he was getting used to the lay of the program clint had set and the new game that was brought on right along as he was rowed began to draw the pony's interest

Then one day the cowboy began dragging a rope on him. He let it drag quite a ways, and even though Smokey watched it mighty close so it wouldn't circle around his legs and throw him like most ropes always did, it didn't worry him much. Pretty soon Clint coiled the rope up and made a loop which he started whirling in the air. The whirling was slow and easy at first and done with a small loop.

"'Smokey looked back all interest and snorted a little. "'He wondered what that rope was doing up there "'and what Clint was up to. "'But nothing happened, only that the whirling kept up. "'The loop was gradually made bigger, "'and then it was thrown on the ground a ways in front of him. "'Smokey shied and snorted, and the coils shot out, "'straightened, and all of it pulled up again by the cowboy.'

but he didn't try to run away from it he hadn't forgot the edication he'd received from the long soft picket rope he'd learned from it that it didn't pay to stampede when a rope was around on account that them ropes had a way of stopping him that couldn't at all be argued with loops was made throwed out and drug in again one right after another

they went one side one time and another side the next then in front and back till smoky began to lose fear no matter which way the rope went or how it coiled up it was at the point when he was beginning to lose interest in the game that clint roped a small bush the rope tightened on it and smoky pulled he pulled more in wonder what was holding him than with the idea of what he should do

But anyway, the bush came out and headed straight for Smokey as it did. He struck at it and would have left from there, but Clint held him and made him face it. Smokey shook like a leaf as slow but sure the cowboy kept pulling the bush towards him. He struck again and snorted as it touched his front feet, and he bucked a couple of jumps when he felt it up along his shoulder, but there was no getting away from it.

The way that bush moved, it looked like something vicious to Smokey. And when Clint took the rope off of it and held it out under the pony's nose for him to see what it was, the little horse near showed signs of shame for getting scared. Loose stumps, branches, pieces of old wagons, and everything that could be drug or moved was roped. Anything that was light enough was pulled up for Smokey to investigate.

and each time he was showed that he'd been shying and fighting for no reason, till finally nothing could be found that brought any more than a snort from him. An old coal oil can was then roped and brought up a-rattling under Smokey's nose, but he even stood his ground at that. He was learning to pull on the rope and made to drag things as heavy as a yearling critter,

then gradually clint made him keep the rope tight and hold it that way till a couple of light jerks on it made him give slack all that took time and the cowboy learned him only one thing each day sometimes very little of that one thing but as the days went by it all accumulated to a lot it done clint's heart good to watch the way smoky was taking to things

His little ears worked back and forth, and with his eyes he never missed a move that went on. His nostrils quivered at all that was new, and the cowboy was noticing with a glad feeling that the pony was putting a lot of trust in him. A word from that cowboy or a touch from his hand was getting to mean a lot when that pony was dubious or at the point of scaring at some new happening.

"'Clint hunted up a bunch of cattle one day "'and acquainted Smokey with some pointers "'in the handling of the critters. "'He'd haze the horse and the bunch, "'cut out some fat kinky yearling, "'and make him put his interest on that yearling only. "'All was a puzzle to Smokey at first, "'and he had no idea of what he should do. "'But Clint gave him his time, "'and coaching him along, "'it wasn't but a few days when the little horse "'understood some of what was wanted of him.'

In the meantime, the teachings with the rope wasn't left behind. That went along with working cattle. And once in a while, Clint would snare some big calf and make Smokey keep his nose along that rope, while the calf circled, bucked, and bellared. Smokey showed signs of liking all that went on. He took interest in it the same way as a kid would to some new game.

He liked to chase the wild-eyed cow, turn her when she didn't want to be turned, and put her where she didn't want to be put. He liked to hold the rope tight on one of the critters and feel that he was the one that was keeping her down. It all struck him as a kind of a game where every animal before him had to do as he and the cowboy wished.

he was all for catching on and not a nerve in him was idle as clint would take him of evenings and ride him out for a spell and chase cut out or rope at the critter

them goings-on had his mind occupied and the fact that he'd figure and think on the subject between times was proved by the way he'd go at things in a decided and knowing-how way when the day before the same thing had left him puzzled and wondering

That little work he was getting, and the all-heart interest he was finding in it, had settled him to the big change from the free life he'd led with the old buckskin horse and the bunch of mares and colts. His mammy was even forgotten, and instead there'd sprouted in him something that made him take a liking for the long, lanky cowboy that came to see and play with him every day. He'd got to finding a lot of pleasure in doing just what that cowboy wanted him to do—

and when that was done there was a hankering in him to do just a little bit more that's the way clint wanted to keep him just a hankering to do more would get results and he was careful to see that the little horse didn't tire on the work he wanted to make it play for him and keep it that way as long as he could for he knowed that was the way to keep smoky's heart and spirit all in one hunk and intact chapter six

Read by Joni Vatainen. October 29th, 2022. You're listening to Classic Audiobook Collection. Give us five stars and share with a friend who likes free audiobooks as much as we do. Now back to the show. Chapter 7 of Smokey the Cowhorse by Will James. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Smokey shows his feelings.

Jeff Nix, cow foreman of the Rocking R outfit, was riding along and headed for the horse camp where Clint was breaking horses. Spring works was over, and Jeff, thinking it was a good time for him to do a little lone riding and kind of visit the camps of the outfit, had left his straw boss in charge of the wagon, caught his best horse, and strung out to cover some of the Rocking R territory.

It was a hot day. Not a breath stirred the air, and as the old cowman rode, he lifted his hat often to kinda let a fresh supply of atmosphere come in underneath. His big brown horse was covering ground in a running walk, and Jeff, keeping him down to that gate, wasn't passing a coulee nor a draw without a glance in it and then to the skyline above.

it was his habit as a cowman to keep his eye on the job while riding and for the good of the company or his own nary a thing had ever escaped his vision unless it was just too far for that vision to reach it was as he was riding along natural that way that he noticed a thin streak of dust to the right of him quite a ways

That dust wasn't made by anything traveling fast, and even though it reached up in the air good and high, Jeff could see at a glance that the dust was stirred by something dragging. He stopped his horse so as to get a steadier view, and pretty soon he could make out the shape of a horse underneath that dust. Something that looked like a turned pack was fastened or hanging onto him and dragging alongside.

Jeff had seen many happenings on the range between man and horse, and from that figured to always investigate anything that suspicioned of something gone wrong, and to investigate quick. He put his horse in a high lope, down draws, over rolling hills, and across dog towns he went, all at the same speed, and pretty soon he comes to where there's only a small ridge between him and what he wanted to investigate.

It was then that he figured it best to take it slow till he'd seen just what was up. If some rider had got caught in his rigging some way as a horse fell, and that horse was wild and unbroke, riding in on a high lope would only make things worse and cause the horse to stampede. Nobody knowed that better than Jeff did.

He got off his horse, walked a ways, and peeking through the tall grass, seen the whole goings-on at a glance. Fifty yards below him was a mouse-colored horse. Looked like a half-broke bronc to him, on account of the way the hackamore was rigged. But that horse didn't act like half-broke. He was going through a performance that most gentle-broke range horses wouldn't put up with.

and that was to half carry and half drag a man, and on the wrong side. Jeff recognized that man as his bronc peeler, Clint, and he was all for rushing down to see what had happened and help. But he held back. He wasn't sure but what the mouse-colored horse would scare and run away at the sight of him, and he couldn't tell but what Clint's hands was fastened to the saddle horn the way he was hanging on.

he could see there was still life in the rider but if the man was conscious he wasn't showing very good sense by hanging on the wrong side of a half-broke horse that way still as he watched jeff began to wonder he noticed for one thing that the horse was headed straight for camp clint's camp and then there was another thing he noticed and which made him wonder and watch more than ever

The mouse-colored gelding wasn't dragging his man. He was more kind of helping him along, seemed like. Each step that horse took was with care and in favor of the man alongside. The pony watched every move that man made. And if the steps sort of lagged or hesitated, he stopped or slowed down till the man braced up some and went again. Jeff's mouth was wide open with wonder as he watched the goings-on.

And when a little while later the gelding happened along a big rock and seen him stop while the man tried to use the rock to get from it up in the saddle, Jeff wondered some more. "'Boy, Jappers, I've seen and handled thousands of horses,' says Jeff. "'But I never thought any horse ever had that much sense.' The old cowman watched for near a half an hour while Clint tried to get on his horse.

he seen the horse stand there all patience and helping the best he could and finally with the help of the rock the favoring of the horse and the little strength the man had and all put together clint was setting in the saddle at last the hackamore reins was hanging loose nothing was holding that pony from bucking stampeding or doing anything he pleased

But he stepped slow and easy, and ears cocked ahead, packed his man to camp with the same care any human would take. Jeff got on his horse and, keeping well behind, followed. What he'd just seen had got him to the point where he'd begin talking to himself, his horse, and the country around.

Yes, sir, by Jappers. And he let Clint get on him from the wrong side, too. Why, this doggone old gentle horse I'm riding now wouldn't let me do that. But then, maybe I better not be too sure about that. I'm beginning to believe, from what I've just seen, that there's things going on in horses' think tanks that's mighty surprising and which don't come out till the right time shows up.

A couple of hours and the camp was reached. Jeff looked around the big corrals as he rode closer for signs of Clint and the mouse-colored bronc. And sure enough, there the both of them are. Clint is still in the saddle and to all appearance unconscious. The gelding is standing by the corral gate, still and waiting.

the cowman rode on towards him but he soon had to stop for he noticed as the gelding seized him how by that pony's actions he wasn't for standing in one spot no longer at the sight of a strange rider coming on him that way jeff had to manoeuvre around considerable to keep that horse from hightailing it the only way he could do it was to go back the way he came till out of sight

Once there, he circled around till he came up on the camp from the opposite side. The corrals and a long shed was between him and the half-broke horse with his unconscious rider. Jeff left his horse out of sight, and hugging close to the shed made his way to where the mouse-colored gelding had been. A peek through a hole in the wall showed him the horse was still there and Clint still in the saddle.

How to proceed from then on was a sort of ticklish proposition. Jeff didn't want the pony to get scared, run away, and throw the hurt rider. And still, he couldn't let the rider stay where he was. He had to take a chance and do the best he could. Around the corner of the shed he came, and slow and easy showed himself to the wild-eyed gelding.

He talked to him, and that seemed to help some, for the little horse stood his ground. Stood his ground is correct, but Jeff had hesitated somehow from coming any closer. He noticed a light in that pony's eyes which warned him plain to keep his distance, and even though Jeff was half-peaved and half-leery at the stand the pony had took,

he couldn't help but admire the show of liking that half-broke gelding had for the rider that was still unconscious in the saddle and laying with his head on the pony's bowed neck the horse's actions had all been a puzzle to jeff at first and as he finally understood it all left him mighty surprised and in a trance with wonder he'd expected that horse to start running away at the sight of him

but instead he was showing fight. The pony wasn't wanting to go no further with the hurt rider. He wasn't going to trust no strange human with that helpless partner of his. Two months or more had passed since Clint and Smokey had met in the dust of the Bear Corral. In that time, the man and horse had had fights. Some had been mighty wicked, and the wild horse would have killed the man, too, if the chance had come.

But all through them fights, the man had won. Slow and easy, but he'd won. Then gradually Smokey began to get confidence in the human, and then a liking. He'd got to looking for his company, and would knicker with a glad feeling as he'd see that human coming towards him of evenings, and he'd let go the length of his picket rope to meet him.

steady good treatment from the rider no matter what the horse had done had won the pony's heart till the little horse could near be seen smiling with the happy feeling that was his every time clint came saddled him and rode him out for a little play with the rope and critter that's the way smoky's feelings had come to be for the bow-legged rider and taking all as was it's no wonder the horse showed fight when a strange human appeared

In his life, Smokey had seen no other but Clint. He knowed him, but he didn't know the others, and he had no more love for them than he had when he was first run in from his free range. Them others was still enemies to him, and right then when that pony felt his partner was depending on him most, he was sure ready to paw the daylight out of that stranger if he came any closer.

He was his enemy, and according to his way of thinking, he was or should be Clint's enemy too. Jeff stood there figuring for quite a spell, a trying to digest and believe what that pony showed. It couldn't come to him to hurt or kill such a horse so as to get the man, and he'd just decided to get his rope, throw a loop over his head and snub him close to the corral when the rider began to show signs of life.

"'Come to, Clint!' hollered the cowman as he noticed the rider move. "'And get off that horse!' Clint raised his head some at the sound of the voice. And as Jeff kept speaking to him, he made a big effort to understand and try to do as he was told. Pain showed in his face as he tried to straighten himself in the saddle.

And as Jeff feared that the rider would lose consciousness again, he hollered at him not to try straighten up, but just slide off and hang on. With a lot of pain and time and coaching from Jeff, Clint finally managed to raise one leg over the cantle of the saddle and let himself slide to the ground.

Smokey stood still as a statue and as solid. His eyes was on Jeff with a steady warning for him to keep his distance. And Jeff did. "'Hang on to the saddle,' coached Jeff. "'Try and get the horse through the gate in the corral, and I'll close the gate on him.' That was done in time, and as the gate was closed, Clint's hands went limp and he fell to the ground."

Lucky it was that Jeff could reach him through the corral bars, but he had to do considerable maneuvering even then to get the cowboy through and under so as not to stir Smokey.

and it was a mighty good thing for jeff as he picked clint up and started towards the house that there was bars high and strong between him and that pony for as high and strong as the corral was jeff worried some and looking back over his shoulder as he went wondered if it would hold him the sun had sunk away and dark had come before clint came to well enough so things was plain to him and he could talk

Jeff had made him as comfortable as possible, boiled some jerky, and made a strong broth which he was holding under Clint's nose for him to sniff at. That cowboy sniffed, looked around, and then said, "'Where's Smokey?' "'If you mean that mouse-collared fighting son-of-a-gun-of-a-horse you was on,' says Jeff, "'why, he's in the corral, and a-fretting his head that I'm going to eat you up.'"

"'Clint couldn't quite get the meaning of that just then,' and he asked, "'I wonder if you wouldn't go take the saddle off of him "'and put him on the picket rope where he'd get something to eat. "'He's gentle, and you can handle him easy.' "'Jeff snorted and laughed. "'Gentle? I wouldn't try to handle him if you'd give me this whole outfit.'

"'I'm not enough of a bronc-fighter no more. And that ain't all. That pony is just a hankering for me to stick my breezer through that corral.' Smokey circled around the corral, not at all minding the saddle that was on him. He wasn't caring for any grass, either. He was too peeved and restless. If Clint had been right-side up and able, things would have been different, and Smokey would have hardly even noticed the stranger.'

there seems to be a heap of difference in the feelings of any thinking animal when a partner is sick or dying the little horse knowed as well as any human that something had went wrong with his partner and the appearance of the stranger at such a time was worrying him the next day was well along and the sun getting high when jeff helped clint on his feet and half carried him towards the corral where smoky had put in the night

"'Clint staggered on alone from the gate, and the little horse, Nickering, came to meet him. His ears was well ahead, and his eyes was a-shining. He looked all interest, and like he was wanting to ask questions. He then spotted Jeff, and at the sight of him his expression changed. His eyes showed fire, and his ears laid back on his neck. "'Well, I'll be dag-gond,' says Clint as he noticed the horse's actions.'

He looked back at the old cowman and grinned, wondering. But the old cowman wasn't grinning any. Jeff figured it best for him to vanish for a spell. Smokey was unsaddled and put on good feed and water, which all seemed to take Clint a powerful lot of time. But he finally showed up and Jeff helped him back to the house. It was on the way over that Clint began to speak, and on a subject that had been on his mind for a long time.

"'You know, Jeff,' he says, "'I think the time has come for me to quit riding Bronx. I feel like I better quit, especially after this last thing that's happened to me.' "'What did happen, anyway?' asks Jeff. "'It was all on account of a fool cow,' starts Clint. "'She showed some signs of wanting to leave the country soon as she seen me riding up on her.'

"'And being she was good and fast, "'I figured it'd be a good time to line Smokey out after her "'and let him turn her over a few times.'

I throwed my rope, but the loop didn't land good. It just sort of sailed in front of her, and she stepped in it. About that time I jerked up my slack, and I jerked it too hard. Down went the critter all in a heap and sudden. So sudden that with the speed Smokey was going, he couldn't stop in time. And first thing we knowed, we both was straddle the critter.

But she didn't stay down long. She got up just at the wrong time and just right to yank Smokey's front feet from under him, raise him up in the air with me on top, and just turned us a couple of somersaults before we landed on the other side. I didn't know much more after that till now. I just sort of felt a weight on my back, and that was all.

"'Maybe I got under Smokey somehow as we fell. But I think it's that fool cow that stepped on me and separated me from my thoughts. I'll most likely be all right in a few days, but I recognize this ailing. I got hurt a few years ago from an ornery black horse I was breaking for the Three Seas, and being that I don't want this ailing to come back with me to stay, I figure I better quit riding rough ones.'

"'There's other parts of me that's hankering for me to quit, too, "'and if you'll let me join the boys at the wagon, "'I'm mighty willing that somebody else gets my job here.' "'Clint was quiet for a spell, and then pretty soon he goes on. "'But there's one favor I want to ask, Jeff, "'if you'll let me stay with the outfit. "'I want to ask that you'll let me keep Smokey in my string "'and as long as I'm with the company.'

What the cowboy had just said came from what he'd figured, thought out, and worried on ever since he'd first set eyes on Smokey. Clint liked all horses, maybe a little too much. But even at that, he liked Smokey still more. The fear that somebody else would lay claim to the horse had had him doing some tall thinking.

He knowed that as long as he was breaking horses, his work would come with raw broncs only, and all half-broke horses would be took away from him as fast as he'd turn them out. Smokey Wood had to go, too, and that's where the hitch came. He figured he'd have to quit breaking horses and go to riding the range, and take the big chance that the horse might be took away from him even then.

he'd noticed how jeff had stood watched and admired smoky and if signs of a human wanting anything right bad ever showed there was never no signs more visible than clint had seen on jeff's features when the horse was in sight there'd been only one way out for the cowboy and he'd took it there was a worried look on his face as he glanced at the foreman and waited for him to answer

But Jeff didn't seem to want to answer right then, and instead he asked, "'How long have you had that horse up, Clint?' "'Two months and maybe a little over,' says Clint, wondering some at the question. "'Wasn't there a couple of boys here about a month ago to get all the broncs you'd started?' "'Yes.' "'Well then, why didn't you let him have that horse smoky?'

he was as well broke then as any of the broncs the boys came after wasn't he clint began to take interest in looking at the wall of the bunk-house about that time he grinned a little and finally answered well jeff i guess you know why jeff did know why and knowed it a-plenty

what he'd seen going on between smoky and the cowboy the day before and that morning had already answered why clint had hid the horse when the boys came to haze away the bronx he'd started the foreman grinned back at the laid-up rider and placed a hand on his shoulder the same as to say that he understood as long as i'm with this outfit he says and which from all indications will be a long time you're mighty welcome to join the wagon as one of my riders

"'You'll be getting top-hand wages, too, Clint. "'The best string of ponies I can put together. "'And as for Smokey, why, I sure would like that horse.' "'Clint's heart fluttered up his throat and came near choking him. "'Yep, I'd sure like to have him,' went on the foreman. "'But after thinking it all over, "'I figure that horse really belongs to you more than he does to the company or me. "'He's a one-man horse, and you're the one man, Clint.'

"'and even if the horse took a liking to me, "'which I know won't happen, "'I'll sure never want to take him away from you, "'not after what I've seen.' "'Clint had underfigured considerable "'when he'd said how he thought he'd be all right again in a few days. "'A week passed, and very little strength had gathered from his hips up. "'His back felt as broke, "'and he had no power to straighten up again once he'd stoop. "'He couldn't even pick up a spur.'

A new rider came one day and took up Clint's work where he'd left it. From that time on, Clint hung around the corrals a-talking and watching the new hand ride. And when he wasn't by the corrals, he could be seen in the shade of the big willows in the creek bottom where Smokey was picketed. Clint had looked at Smokey in a new way since Jeff had come and left.

the visit of the old cowboy had brought out things in that little horse which clint hadn't dreamed of ever being in any horse he'd been mighty surprised and then sort of proud that he could raise such a feeling in the gelding the horse was good as his too that put the cap on his worries of losing him and all was well a month went by the round-up wagons was stringing out for the fall works

and the cow with the big wiener calf was hunting a hole there was twenty-two riders with jeff nick's wagon and amongst em a grinning from ear to ear at some joke a cowboy had sprung was clint and riding smoky long days of rest had put that cowboy in shape to ride

but not to ride Bronx. And when he at last felt that he could make a hand at riding Circle, Herd, and Nightguard, Smokey had been saddled and rode to the home ranch where the wagon was to start from. Smokey'd had a long month's rest before Clint saddled and rode him out that morning. And even though the rider looked okay again to the little horse, there was a feel from the Hackamore Reign that as much as asked him not to buck.

He'd bucked that day when Clint had met too much cow, and as far as that goes, he'd bucked some at every saddling. But as the cowboy started him out for open country and the home ranch that morning, he was made to feel that he should keep his head up for once and line out without a kink. The home ranch had been reached a couple of days later, and there's where Smokey'd got his first look at a busy cow outfit's main camp.

Cowboys was everywhere, and more of them than he could keep track of. Big corrals full of horses, and more horses under the big sheds. Wagons and tents, and when the roundup cook rushed out of a log house to one side and pranced up to try and shake hands with Clint, Smokey let out a snort and shied out of reach. "'Daggone it, Clint!'

says that hombre. I was told you'd quit riding Bronx. What in Sam Hill do you call that spooky thing you're setting on now? Some horse, answers Clint, grinning. Smokey felt some easier when he was finally unsaddled and turned in amongst the other saddle horses. He took a good roll, shook himself, and proceeded to get acquainted.

it didn't worry him none that very few of the ponies seemed to want his company and he was mighty busy going from one of the big corrals into another and giving em all the once-over he finally run across a bay gelding which seemed some familiar and smoky must have seemed the same to that gelding too for both of em started to show interest at once and came to meet one another

necks bowed they touched nostrils some explaining and understanding must have went on cause it wasn't but a few minutes later when each was scratching the other's neck like two brothers and that's what they was brothers the bay horse was none other than the little colt growed up and which his mammy had brought in the bunch one day over three years before signs showed where the saddle had been on his back too

a cowboy had run him in a couple of weeks before and passed the remark as he piled his rope on him that this little bay horse sure shows the makings of a cow-horse jeff had agreed and that's how come smoky found him in amongst the saddle horses that day

He'd showed some of how he'd took a natural liking for the bay. And if one didn't recognize a brother in the other, the way they went at a-scratching each other's withers couldn't have meant much. It was through an intermission at wither-scratching that Smokey seen Clint open the outside gate of the corral and walk in. Alongside of him was Jeff Nix, who'd come along to point out Clint's string of ponies.

Smokey watched them two for quite a spell. He watched Jeff the most, but pretty soon went to scratching his brother's withers again. Clint was all right now and well able to take care of himself, he must have thought. Anyway, there wasn't the feeling in him that Clint needed any protection. Clint had come to see him that evening, and he'd noticed as his partner came that some of the cowboys was watching him from the next corral.

He looked over Clint's shoulder at him and sent out a long, whistling snort. "'I'm glad Clint didn't break all the broncs like he did that one,' remarked one of the boys as he seen the fight in that pony's eyes. "'Yep,' says another. "'He sure made a one-man horse out of him. "'Smokey was turned out in the big pasture that night with the other horses.'

Him and his brother paired off soon as they was out of the corrals, and fed together till daybreak brought a rider on the skyline who corralled them all for the new day's work. That day's work started early. Sunup found all the boys on their horses. The chuckwagon, bedwagon, and woodwagon teams was all hooked on and ready to start at a wave of the hand from Jeff.

Jeff waved, and away all went through the big gates leading out of the home ranch. Three wagons strung out. A remuda—saddle bunch—of two hundred saddle horses followed, and on the swing—sides—of the whole outfit, twenty-two riders, riding good and bad horses, loped along. The fall roundup had started.

End of chapter 7. Read by Joni Vatainen. November 2, 2022. Chapter 8 of Smokey the Cow Horse by Will James. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Smokey starts out. The first day of the fall roundup was to Smokey a whole lot like the first day of school to the kid of the settlement. Only Smokey was full-grown and his brain full-developed.

His eyes stayed wide open and worked with his ears so that nothing of interest would be missed. There was so much that was strange and which kept his senses on the jump. The big wagons with the four- and six-horse teams done a lot of spooky rattling as they followed the pilot, sometimes on a high lope, across the rolling prairies, over benches, and down draws.

"'Then trailing along close behind the thumping of hooves of many ponies, "'the Rimuda made a sound which hinted everything to Smokey, "'everything from a stampede on up, "'and if it hadn't been for the hand that once in a while was felt on his neck, "'and the voice which he heard and knowed so well, "'the little horse would have sure left a streak of dust "'and away from all that confusion of wagons and men.'

There was too many riders around him. They all kept too close, and once in a while as the outfit sashayed on towards the first campgrounds, and some bronc would bust out a bucking and a trying to shed off a cowboy, Smokey felt a lot like doing the same. But always, and whenever he felt like kettling the most, Clint's hand and voice was there to quiet him down.

that hand and voice worked the same as to prove to smoky that as long as clint was around close there was nothing for him to fear as the outfit rambled on clint gradually reined smoky to one side till he was well away and where he would feel more at ease to watch without fear all what the layout had to show that was strange

Smokey's ears then perked up in a different angle, and as Clint talked to him, that spooky-looking outfit lining out across the range got to look less spooky and more interesting. Smokey followed the outfit and watched it till the sun was well up in the middle of the sky. Then the pilot raised his hand, made a circle, and the wagons followed him to a standstill.

A dry camp was made, and the cook had the pots to working a few minutes after the outfit had come to a stop. The rope corrals was strung out in the wink of an eye, and the remuda run in. Smokey had watched the whole proceedings with a lot of interest. The many horses, men, and all had him to using his eyes and ears to the limit.

and the low snorts he'd let out every once in a while as he turned to watch all that went on was as plain as talk that for excitement this sure had everything he'd ever seen before beat to a frazzle come and get it you rannies it was the cook's holler for the riders to come and eat about then smoky seen clint headed towards him and where he'd been left picketed

a little rub back of the ear and smoky was led to the rope corral unsaddled and turned in with the remuda have a good roll smoky horse says clint as he turned him loose and don't let no ornery pony get the best of you smoky looked back at clint for a spell the same as to ask him where he was going

and as the cowboy stood there watching the little horse moseyed on and disappeared amongst the saddle bunch the round-up pan was filling up with the tin cups and plates as the cowboys through eating was making their way towards their saddles by the rope corrals a hard twist catch-rope was unbuckled from them saddles

loops was shook out and pretty soon them same loops began a sailing and a reaching out like a mighty long arm for the horse each cowboy picked out for that afternoon's ride smoky seen and heard the hiss of them loops as they sailed on over past him to settle around some other pony's neck

"'And even though all was done quiet "'so none of the horses would start running too much, "'Smokey had a mighty restless feeling "'whenever them sneaky ropes appeared. "'Clint hadn't roped him only once, "'and that was when he was a raw bronc, "'but he hadn't forgot the feeling that had been his "'when that same rope had caught him, "'stretched him out, and left him plum helpless.'"

his brain was near stampeding with him at the sound of so many ropes and once in a while when he'd spot some strange rider carrying one of them hated coils the sight made him hit for the middle of the herd but even there he wasn't safe for there was no telling how far them ropes could reach it was in winding around and through the thick of the herd that smoky found himself on the edge and crowded against the big rope cable which was the corral

"'The sight that met his eye there had him wanting to hide back in the middle of the herd once again, "'but he had no chance. "'The herd had him wedged where he couldn't move, "'and as it was, he had to stare wild-eyed at all there was for him to see. "'A few feet away was half a dozen riders saddling up, and that's what kettled Smokey. "'The few feet that was between him and them strangers was too close for comfort.'

He was just about to try another grand rush to get back in the middle of the herd, when the sound of something familiar made him hesitate. It was the ring of a spur rowel, a ring he'd heard often, and pretty soon Smokey spots Clint only a few feet away from him and leading a strange horse to his saddle. Smokey stuck his head and neck out as far as he could and nickered at the sight of the cowboy.

and that cowboy, having his attention some other direction at the time, was made to turn mighty quick as the well-known knicker was heard. There was all in Smokey's looks and knicker that seemed to say, "'Pardoner, I need help.' Clint laughed, but the laugh wasn't of the kind that comes from a joke. "'What's the matter, little horse?'

but clint knowed what was the matter he could hear the thump thump of smoky's heart as he came nearer and felt the throb of it as he laid a hand on his neck he rubbed on the slick hide a spell and that cowboy experienced a mighty great feeling when he noticed as he stayed that gradually the pony's heart-beats began to slow down and soon was behaving normal again

Smokey watched the cowboy leave him to go to where his saddle was laying on the ground out a ways. He watched him put the saddle on the strange horse, and when Clint came back leading the horse and finished saddling by Smokey, that pony nipped at the cowboy's chap leg, the same as to say, "'Stick around a spell.'"

He wasted a lot of good company time fooling with the latigos and seeing that his rope was coiled up neat. And even though he knowed that as a good cowboy he should be helping tear down camp, he stuck by the corral and smoky till the last rider was caught, saddled, and rode his horse away. The remuda was let out then. The wranglers circled the bunch and started grazing them till the wagons started again for that night's grounds.

Smokey was hazed along and lost in the big horse herd. Clint watched him, and when he couldn't see him no more, started coiling up the big cable, which was the rope corral used on open range, and with the help of another rider, put it in one of the wagons where it'd be easy reached again. It had been less than an hour since the cook had stopped his team and jumped off the wagon to cook the cowboy's noon bait.

and now he was up on the wagon again and waiting there for the boys to finish hooking up his team and hand him the ribbons soon enough that was done the pilot started and the cook war-hooped his broncs into a running start the bed wagon loaded down with twenty-some odd montana rolls took up the swing and the wood wagon tagged along behind

Then came the Ramuda of over two hundred saddle horses, and Hasingham was the Rangatang, day wrangler. The first circle of the fall roundup was on that afternoon. The circle starts from wherever the roundup wagon might be. The roundup wagon of most countries is composed of three wagons, one for Chuck and Potts and the cook, another for the rider's bedding which is rolled in big canvas tarpaulins,

It takes quite some bedding for twenty or more men, especially in countries where it's apt to snow in the middle of June. The third wagon is for wood and water, and which is used in prairie countries where there's neither wood or water to be found for a ways. The cook drives his chuck wagon. The flunky, cook's helper, drives the bed wagon, and the night hawk,

rider who herds the ramuda at night drives the wood wagon them three wagons which is called the wagon is the cowboy's home while on the range it carries his grub his war bag bag of clothes his bedding and strips of rawhide which he salts down and sometimes cuts into strings and braids things like bozels nose bands or such

the wagon moves camp most every day and sometimes twice and three times a day all depends on how quick the country is worked the circle starts from the wagon the twenty or more riders and the cow foreman ride straight to some point for ten or fifteen miles on top of some butte the bunch stops then the cow foreman scatters the riders

he'll send em in pairs to the right left and straight ahead and spread em fan-shaped to a certain point where they turn or where there's no more cattle to be seen and they'll head back towards the wagon again bringing with em all the cattle that's seen in the ride that's what's called a circle it averages twenty-five miles and ends at the wagon where all the riders meet again each bringing with em whatever cattle was found

The wagon might have moved and a new camp set up while the boys was out on Circle, but wherever the wagon is, that's where the Circle ends. To one side of the camp a mile or so, the cutting grounds where the herd is worked is the spot where all the cattle is brought to from that one Circle, and held there for branding and cutting out whatever is not wanted. Two Circles are made a day.

Soon as Jeff, the cow foreman, sees the wagons lining out in good shape for that night's camp, he puts his horse in a high lope, and looking back at the boys that was doing their best in putting up a ride on the sun-fishing ponies, he grinned as he seen that all stuck on and fanned, and felt mighty proud of being the cow boss of such a bunch of riders. Clint was riding a big Appaloosa called Chapo, and one of the best circle horses the outfit had.

but he wasn't appreciating him much just then and as he rode along leaving the wagons and ramuda to his left his eyes was a whole lot on the dust that ramuda made and a trying to get a glimpse of a mouse-colored piece of horse flesh which he called smoky but smoky was getting along fine as he trotted and loped along on the trail of the wagons he'd no more than left clint by the rope corral when he run across to that brother of his again

and after the two nickered howdy-dos at one another they trailed along side by side plum contented with everything in general the sound of the dozen or so bells that was strapped to the necks of the oldest and wisest ponies was new and mighty pleasant to smoky's ears and it was good to be roaming again and with so much company

it was middle afternoon when the pilot came to a big creek bottom and circled by a grove of willows and cottonwoods the second camp of that day was made the wrangler let the ramuda come to a walk and pretty soon left him to graze on towards the creek a half a mile below camp

and as he seen that all seemed contented to graze drink and roll he left em to go and put up the rope corral snake in wood for the cook and whatever other things that's all the responsibilities of the ringatang he kept one eye on the ponies as he worked and if any restless bronc showed indications of wanting to start drifting

that boy jumped on his horse turned him and watched for a spell till that bronc seemed satisfied to stay many a wrangler had used the excuse of hard to hold ponies just so he could get away from too much work and most always it was a mighty good excuse too but smoky and pecos which was his brother had give no such a excuse to the wrangler

they both seemed mighty satisfied and after they'd had a good drink in the cool stream and a good roll afterwards put their time in getting away with all the blue joint grass they could every once in a while smoky would raise his head and chewing on a mouthful of the tall feed would look up at the ridges around him then towards the camp and wonder at the noise the cook was making with his pots and pans

all had him interested it was all new and with the nicker he'd often hear from one side of the scattered remuda and then the other the steady ring of the horse bells and all the little horse wasn't hankering for anything only just what he was in the thick of he'd been grazing for a good long time and the sun was hitting towards the ridges to the west when to the south a ways he noticed a big dust a-soaring up the sky and a mile high

There was a steady rumbling noise as the dust came closer, and pretty soon he could make out the bellaring of the critter. A big herd it was, the comings of the first circle, and a thousand head or more of white-faced, brockle-faced, speckled, red, black, and all colors and sizes of range cattle topped a ridge, and on a high lope was swung towards the cutting grounds.

"'About that time the horse-wrangler fogged in on the remuda, "'and in a short while Smokey and all the ponies "'found themselves in the rope corral once again. "'The cowboys was needing fresh horses, "'and catch-ropes began sailing once more "'as the twenty and more of them snared their cut-horses. "'A few snaked out broncs, "'and pretty soon all hands was mounted again "'and working the herds they'd brought in.'

Smokey was spooked up once more as he heard the ropes sing over his ears. He heard a familiar voice say, "'How's she going, Smokey?' But the little horse was busy hunting a hole about that time, and he was too excited to knicker an answer. Then, after what seemed an awful long time to Smokey, the ponies was left out of the corral once more, and when the wrangler checked them all to graze, him and Pecos was in the lead."

The ponies was grazing on a low bench, and on the opposite side of the creek from where the cattle herd was being worked, many was cut out and started back on the same range from where they come, and pretty soon Smokey's sensitive nostrils smelled the smoke from the fire that kept the branding irons hot. Then the smell of burnt hair followed. He heard the beller of the critters, and snorting sort of low and in wonder, the mouse-colored pony watched.

he watched the riders at work seen long ropes a-swinging and how them long ropes would stop the bunch quitting steer he was familiar with some of that and somehow there came in him a hunch that he'd like to be closer

there was something about the workings of that herd across the creek that had his blood racing above natural and he felt a kind of a call for the whole of the goings-on a call of the kind he couldn't as yet understand but it was there sure enough finally the smell of singed hair wasn't on the breeze no more branding was over for that day and the last rope was coiled up and fastened by the saddle horn

Smokey watched as all but a few riders left the herd and headed for camp. He went to grazing then, and neck and neck with Pecos, he listened to the rattle of tin plates and the laugh of the cowboys as he nosed around for the tenderest stems of the blue joint. Four riders on cocktail—hours between the last meal of the day and the first night guard—

got on their horses and rode to relieve the riders holding the herd and it wasn't long after that when the quiet of the evening settled on the range even the critters seemed to want to stop bellering for a spell at that time most of the bells of the remuda was quiet and the ponies was dozing smoky had been dozing too but pretty soon his ears perked up at the sound the likes of which he'd never heard before

the sound came from the camp and strange as it was there was something about it that wasn't at all aggravating around a good-sized fire was gathered the cowboys the cook the flunkey the wrangler jeff the foreman and all was in the circle all but the four riders on cock-tail and the night-hawk who'd took the wrangler's place for the night's herding of the saddle-horses

Most of the boys was setting on or leaning against a big roll of tarpaulin-covered bedding, and one closest to the fire was working away trying to get a tune on his mouth organ. That was the sound which had come to Smokey's ears. The older cowhorses all knowed that sound well, and if any of them could have packed a tune, there'd been many in the remuda a-humming.

the song that was being worked at just then had been heard at all the cow camps and round-up wagons of the cow country for many years and handed down from the injun fighting cowboy to the son that took up the trail where he left it and when the horns on the critter wasn't so long no more

there was a lot of memories stirred up whenever them songs was heard and many a cowboy got sentimental at the sound of em for most all cowboys can remember some quiet night when the time of such a song was spread around the herd

Then, of a sudden, and for no reason, a stampede is in full swing. A cowboy dead is found under his horse at the bottom of a 50-foot jump-off and leaves only the memory of the song he'd been singing that night. Oh, I'm a Texas cowboy and far away from home, and if I ever get back again, no more will I ever roam.

"'Wyoming's too cold for me, the winters are too long, and when Roundup comes again, my money's all gone.' Clint had got harmonious, and with the other cowboy a-trying to keep up on the mouth organ, was singing the song. He mixed in about ten verses, and took in other songs as he went.'

"'The tunes changed some, "'but the Texas wing he carried with the tunes "'made them more or less alike and all appreciated the same. "'The last verse had died down. "'Some of the boys looked up expecting more, "'and others, Hat Brim pulled down, "'was stargazing at the fire "'and letting the memories the songs had brought "'lead him back to times and happenings "'that had been stirred the most.'

all was quiet excepting for the crackling of the fire and one of the boys was just about to speak the name of some other old song when off from the direction where the remuda was held a knicker was heard clint looked towards where the familiar knicker had come and smiled the cowboy's voice had carried to where smoky had been grazing and the little horse had stopped grinding on his feed soon as the first verse had hit his ears

He'd listened on through to the end, nickered, and watched the fire on the creek bottom from where the voice had come. He watched it long into the night, till all was quiet and the fire had dwindled down to coals. Time for first night guard to be relieved was near, and Smokey was still watching. Pecos was dozing off a ways, and pretty soon Smokey began to feel a little groggy too, and he dozed with him.

A new day was no more than hinted by the paling sky to the east when the night hawk began bunching the ponies and hazing them towards camp. It was still faint daylight when the catch ropes was a hissing over the ponies heads once again and loops settling around slick necks. Bronx was drug out and a fighting against the saddle while the sun was still back of the ridges but the day's work had started at the roundup camp.

"'In a short while the Bermuda was let out again, "'and the day-wrangler started grazing them "'while the outfit broke camp for other grounds. "'When all was loaded in the big wagons, "'the pilot took the lead, "'and when the sun showed up to begin its circle up above, "'the cook had already moved his kitchen some ten miles, "'and the pots was beginning to feel the heat of the fire underneath.'

Smokey was in another new country that day, and as he grazed with the remuda he noticed the same workings of the day before. Another big herd was brought in from that morning's circle. Then one more that afternoon. More cattle was cut out, and then singed hair floated on the breeze once more.

twice again he was corralled with the remuda for fresh horses the riders was needing and the little horse was slow beginning to get used to the sounds of the ropes and the sightings of the strange cowboys clint was to see him at the last corralling of the day and when the night-hawk took the ponies out for the night smoky nipped pecos in the flanks he felt playful

outside of the time he spent in the rope corral the little horse was enjoying the following of the round-up mighty well there was always so many horses around and all with the bellering of the big herds and the dust that was kept up sure tallied up with the beat of his heart he hadn't figured on what to expect being one of the remuda that way

"'And being that he couldn't make out all that went on, "'he didn't know just what could be expected, "'and that's why maybe he wasn't worried much. "'Going to make a very big circle this morning, Jeff?' "'It was the morning of the third day "'that Clint asked the foreman that question, "'and when Jeff answered, "'he understood what was on Clint's mind. "'He grinned at the cowboy as he spoke. "'You go ahead and ride your smoky horse, Clint.'

"'I'll put you in the inside circle so as it won't be too hard on him.' And that's how come, when it was Smokey's turn to be rowed, that the easiest was handed him. The horse spotted Clint coming towards him. A rope was in his hands, but no loop was dragging, and he met the cowboy half-ways. Of the many ponies that makes up a remuda, there's seldom any that can be walked up to. Even the gentlest has to be roped.'

"'They're broke that way, and it all saves time, "'for a cowboy can stand off thirty feet, "'rope his horse, and start leading him out from there. "'It saves him many steps, "'and when there's so many riders and horses, "'them steps and the time it'd take to make them "'sure would accumulate. "'Then again, there's so many wild ponies "'that would have to be roped anyway. "'So making the whole thing simpler, "'every horse is caught with a loop.'

no good roper ever whirls a loop in catching horses and the only sound that's heard is when the rope splits from the ground to the pony's head once in a while and even with real cow outfits that's well run there's exceptions in roping every horse that way

Smokey was the one exception on the rocking R, and every cowboy was good-natured jealous at the way that mouse-colored son-of-a-gun of a horse would stick his head out every time Clint came around and then left his hiding place from amongst the other horses to meet him.

smokey knowed that something was up as soon as clint came near him but whatever it was he was anxious to be at it him and that cowboy would get along the little horse humped up as he felt the cinch and clint grinned as he remarked going to make this old broke-down cowboy ride this morning huh and smokey did

He bogged his head soon as Clint was well set and bucked and bellared all over the flat like he was a man-eating outlaw. It was the right thing for a live horse to do them cold fall mornings, and Clint was enjoying fanning the dust off Smokey's round rump the same as that pony enjoyed the idea that he sure was giving somebody a tossing. Better save some of that, says Clint as he finally pulled Smokey's head up,

"'cause you might need all the energy you got before you get back.'" About 12 miles or so from camp, a knoll was reached. From there, Jeff scattered his riders to circle and comb the country on the way back. Clint and another rider was the last to be let go, and on the inside, brought with him all the cattle they found. Halfways back to camp, Smokey began to notice big dusts on both sides of him,

them dusts kept a getting closer and closer till pretty soon he begin to see that it was more cattle making them dusts herds kept a being drove in with the bunch clint and the other rider had rounded up and by the time camp was reached all the dusts had throwed in and made one twenty or more riders and over a thousand head of cattle was turned to the cutting grounds and held there a milling

"'Smokey was tired. "'He'd been breathing dust and turning bleary-eyed critters "'till it seemed like there'd be no end. "'Besides, it felt awful hot on his back where the saddle was. "'And even though Clint often got off, "'unsynched the saddle and raised it "'so the cool air could circulate through, "'it wasn't long when his back, "'not used to long saddling, "'would feel as hot as ever again.'

it was a great relief to the little horse when the saddle was pulled off as they reached camp and the rope corral clint then led him to the creek and washed the dry sweat off his back with the cool water and as that was done smoky right away forgot the work of that first circle he felt a lot at ease with everything in general as clint turned him loose in the corral

and a while later when fresh horses was caught and ropes begin sailing again smoky wasn't for hunting a hole like the times before he felt that he'd done his

Pecos was snared while standing a few feet from him, and then the ponies was turned loose. But there Smokey lagged behind a little. He spotted Clint, who was saddling another horse, and he stood in his tracks, watching and maybe wondering. Then the wrangler came, and Smokey followed the Ramuda up the draw.

plenty of grass under and all around him and chance to stand still was for the first time appreciated by the mouse-colored gelding he'd had a taste of real work the first taste and with it had come the feeling that he wasn't no half-broke bronc no more

He was even beginning to look at the critter with a knowing eye, and something was sprouting up in him which left no doubt that he was the boy that could handle her. He never figured on how much there was to learn in the ways of handling that split-hoofed range animal. He'd had no way to know as yet, and as it was, he grazed, feeling sure that he knowed a lot about him.

He felt equal to the old saddle-marked cowhorses that was in the same remuda, and he wouldn't have nothing to do with the raw broncs that was mixed in. But there that high opinion of himself was stopped, for the old cowhorses wouldn't let him associate with them, and as they'd chased him away, he failed to notice that they felt the same about him as he did about the uneducated raw broncs.

but then credit had to be handed to the little horse on account that even though he still had a powerful lot to learn he sure was all for learning and the pride he'd naturally took in the game along with the coaching of such a cowboy as clint all promised that he'd sure get there

Smokey watched every herd that came in, followed the wagon on its everyday move, and was even getting used to them ropes that sung over his head three or four times a day. Of course, Clint was always on hand at each corralling to kind of help him get used to all the commotion, and came a time when the little horse knowed exactly where and which side of the corral that cowboy would be.

His saddle was always on the ground a few feet on the outside, and every horse he caught to ride would always be led or snaked to that same spot. And Smokey got so that whenever he was corralled, he'd make a rush for that one spot where he could easy reach Clint's shirt whenever the attention of that cowboy was needed.

Each rider on the outfit was furnished on average of ten horses. There was anyway three changes of horses every day, which made it that every horse was rode from four to six hours every third day, and that's how Smokey's turn came. Clint rode him out on circle three times, and till the little horse got pretty well onto the hazing of the critter,

And then that pony was of a sudden promoted to the day herd class. Of course, Smokey was somewhat of a privileged character, or he wouldn't have made that so soon. But the way he took hold of the bit and went to work, he sure didn't disappoint Clint any. The promotion started when that cowboy thought of trying him out one day as a big herd was brought in to work.

he'd changed his tired circle horse to smoky and after that pony had his buck out he lined him out to a standstill close to the milling critters it was clint's and smoky's job to see that none broke away outside of what was cut out to be held for the main herd

a dozen other riders was on the same job and most all riding well-reined cowhorses and as smoky noticed the kind of company he was keeping a ticklish feeling came between his ears and a spark showed in his eyes

he was about at the height of his glory and hardly able to stay on earth when quick as the eye could see a big raw-boned steer broke out and wild-eyed dodged past the riders and high-tailed it out for open country in the trance smoky was in he hardly seen anything of the critter but a flash but as the earth had no strings on him either just then it only took a feel of the rain for him to be up and a-flying

that flash that went past him a second before was recognized as an earthly critter soon as smoky set eyes on her and soon as he got the hunch that that critter needed turning the distance between was et up the same as though that horse had been starving for such there was a mighty satisfied smile on clint's face as the steer was shot back in the herd the same way he'd come out

and as for smoky there sure was nothing about him that suggested the end of the trail he was brought to a mighty proud standstill by the herd again and no critter broke out that he wasn't right on the tail of from the start unless it was in some other rider's territory working the herds that was drove to the cutting grounds and holding the day herd was from then on smoky's work

He liked working the herds best on account there was more to do, but then day herding wasn't so bad either. Clint always seen that his rope was kept well stretched, and soon as he knowed the foreman was gone on circle with the other riders, he could easy find some critter he had a grudge against and pile his rope onto, and Smokey sure enjoyed turning him over.

All the boys, excepting the reps from other outfits, had one half a day of day herding every three days. Smokey's time to be rode came on the dot of that time, but Clint didn't always take him out on that, and often he'd switch so that the little horse would get plenty of work cutting out or bringing big calves and slicks to the branding fire.

and that pony was sure beginning to shine there once in a while though clint would get sort of selfish and want smoky's company on that long half a day's herding and it was during them spells that the two got to be more understanding if that's possible to one another neither was so rushed for work then and there was times when the big herd of beef steers and cows and wieners would want to graze and not try to drift away or scatter

At them times Clint would rein Smokey up a knoll, and where both could see the whole of the herd, he'd get out of his saddle and stretch out in the shade Smokey made and take it easy. And there, with one eye on the cowboy, the other on the herd, and swishing flies, Smokey would stand. End of chapter 8. Read by Joni Vatainen. November 8, 2022.

CHAPTER IX OF SMOKEY THE COWHORSE by Will James This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. FIGHTS FOR RIGHTS The fine, cool, and sunshiny days of fall was making a last stand. Rains began to come, and as time was a-crawling towards early winter, them rains got colder and then turned to a wet snow. Mud was where dust had been.

the hard twist throw ropes had turned stiff as steel cables saddles and saddle blankets was wet heavy and cold and the shivering ponies met the feel of them with a hump and a buck the cowboys all a-packing long yellow slickers was beginning to tally up on how much wages would be due em

as the end of the fall round-up drawed near and as they waded through slush and mud from the chuckwagon to the rope corral not many was caring

wet socks, damp beds, two hours of shivering on night guard, saddling ornery ponies in daytime, and when a feller can't even get a footing, and then riding a mawondering if them ponies will stand up as they beller and buck on the slick and muddy ground, all left a hankering only for a warm dugout somewheres, where there's a stove, a

"'a bunk to sit on, and a few magazines to read, "'as Mother Nature does her best to make the outside miserable. "'The last of the beef herd had been turned over "'to another wagon of the rocking R and shipped, "'and Jeff's main herd was from then on made up of cows with big wiener calves "'and all stock that'd need feeding through the winter. "'A couple of weeks more now and we'll be seeing the gates of the home ranch,' "'says Jeff one day.'

but it was a long three weeks before the stock was tended to and when camp was made for the last time the wet snow had got flaky and dry by then and six inches of it was covering the ground now hold on a minute smoky and give a feller a chance won't you it was clinta talking and trying to hold smoky down till he got his foot in the stirrup the cowboy being all bundled up couldn't handle himself as he'd like to

The little horse was cold. Crusted snow had to be rubbed off his back before the saddle could be put on, and he was aching to put his head down and go to bucking so he could warm up. Clint was only half-ways in the saddle when that pony lit into it. But the cowboy didn't mind that. His blood was also a long ways from the boiling point, and any excuse to get circulating good was welcome.

Around and around him and Smokey went, and all in one spot. All the fancy twists of a bucking pony was gone over, and the rider met him all the way. And as Clint rode and fanned and laughed, he'd get fast glimpses of other riders and other horses a-tearing up the white landscape and getting down to earth underneath.

It was the last day of the roundup. All the work was done. The cook climbed on his seat, grabbed the lines the boys handed him, and letting out a war hoop scared his already spooky team into a long lope towards the home ranch.

The sight of the big gates was a mighty fine one to all as the outfit clattered in, especially with the sky a-threatening the way it was. The old cowhorses had their ears pointed towards the big pole corrals. They knowed what the sight of them meant at that time of the year, and none tried to break away as the wrangler run them in.

They was turned out in a big pasture that night, and the next day a couple of riders came, bunched them up, and took them through another gate leading out of the ranch. Clint had took it onto his self to be one of them riders. He wanted to get another look at Smokey before letting him go to the winter range and find out for sure just what condition that range would be in.

the outskirts of it was reached that noon and as clint rode along back of the remuda he was more than satisfied to notice the tall feed that the six inches of snow couldn't hide he noticed the breaks and the shelter they would give then the thick growth of willows along the creek bottom and which meant more shelter clint stopped his horse and the two hundred ponies was left to scatter

His eyes run over the well-known backs for a last time. He wouldn't be seeing them again till spring roundup started, and he watched them slowly graze away.

many was in that bunch that he'd broke and named and starting from the meanest fighting bronc of the rough string and taking all the ponies on up to the best cow-horse of the foreman's string there wasn't one that clint didn't know and know mighty well as to tricks and good or bad points a big old sorrel with a kinked neck and by the name of boar-hound caught his eye

and clint remembered how that pony tried to commit suicide rather than be rowed and how he'd now changed to wanting to commit murder instead and kill a few cowboys then a smile spread over his face as he spotted a tall roman-nosed growler who'd never made a jump till a rope got under his tail

he'd took a sudden liking to bucking from then on and made hisself a reputation at that which scattered over four counties every horse clint looked at brought to memory some kind of a story and there was a variety of expressions which changed with every horse that came under his eye

A big, shaggy black looked his way and snorted, and with the sight of him, Clint remembered how that horse had reached a head one time and kicked to pieces a cowboy that had been unsaddling him. His expression was mighty solemn at the thought of that. But it didn't last long. Like a ray of sunshine, something shot out and scattered that dark cloud of memories four ways.

Smokey had showed himself from behind other horses and not over fifty feet from where Clint was sitting on his horse. The cowboy's face lit up with a smile at the sight of the pony, and getting down off his saddle, he made tracks his way. But he didn't have to go all the way, for soon as Smokey spotted him, he left Pecos, his running partner, behind, and, nickering, came to meet Clint.

"'A feller would think to see you act that you're a sure-enough sugar-eater,' Clint remarked as the little horse came up to him and stopped. He rubbed a hand on the pony's head and went on. "'Well, anyway, Smokey, I'm glad to see that you've got a mighty fine winter range to run on. With all the feed I see here and the shelter that's with it, you hadn't ought to lose an ounce of fat.' Clint felt for the pony's ribs and grinning resumed.

"'And if you ever get any fatter than you are now, you'll be plum worthless.' Smokey followed Clint as he turned and went to where he'd left his horse. "'I wonder,' says the cowboy, "'if you've got the hunch that you won't be seeing me no more till next spring. "'That's a long time, ain't it? "'But never mind, old horse. "'I'm the first cowboy you're going to see when spring does break up.'

"'Clint was about to get on his horse and ride away, but he stopped and felt of Smokey's hide once more. "'Well, so long, Smokey. Take care of yourself, and don't let anything drag you down.' "'Smokey watched him ride away, and nickered once as the cowboy went over the point of a ridge and disappeared. "'He watched a long time even after that, and till he was sure Clint was gone.'

and finally turning went to grazing back till he was by the side of Pecos again. The winter came and hit the range with the average amount of snow, freeze-ups, and cold winds. The coyotes howled the hunger they felt, for there was no weak stock to speak of for them to feed off of, and outside the small varmints they could get once in a while, Pickings was mighty poor.

Horses and cattle was, and stayed in fine shape, and the stockman could hit his bed after the long day's ride, knowing that he could go to sleep right off and not lay awake, a-wondering what he could do to pull his stock through. Smokey met all what the weather had to hand him, with a good layer of fat, a thick skin, and a long coat of hair,

he lost a few ounces but he could have spared many pounds and felt as good feed was a-plenty and the little pawing that had to be done to reach it was like so much exercise and only kept his blood in good circulating order the winter months wore on the ponies drifted from ridge to ridge from shelter to shelter and nothing much came to disturb the quiet of the land

"'Nothing much, excepting then a big, shaggy black "'tried to throw in with Pecos, "'the same black that had kicked the cowboy over the Great Divide. "'But his interfering and butting in was welcome, though, in a way. "'Smokey and Pecos had so much good energy going to waste "'that they'd been just aching for some excuse "'to use some of it for some good.'

It came about that the big black had took a liking to Pecos and at the same time a dislike for Smokey. Pecos was neutral for a while and wondered what the black was up to when he tried to chase Smokey away from him. Smokey wouldn't chase worth a nickel, but he was getting skinned up considerable at trying to hold his ground.

"'Things went on that way for a day or so, "'and every once in a while the black made a dive for Smokey "'like he was going to tear him to pieces. "'His intentions was good, but Smokey sure was no invalid. "'When the snow settled again where he'd held his ground, "'the little horse hadn't give away one inch. "'But the black was twice as old as Smokey, "'more up to the game of fighting, and heavier by a hundred pounds.'

All that began to tell on the mouse-colored hide, and there might have come a time when Smokey would have had to hightail it, only as the scraps was repeated off and on, Pecos began to notice and realize that the black was taking too much territory and he didn't like him no how.

"'So that's how come, that when the black put down his ears "'and made another grand tearing rush for Smokey, "'that something struck him from the offside "'and upset him and his plans of attack all to pieces. "'He found himself jerked off his feet "'and rolled plum over the top of Smokey, "'and he lit headfirst on the other side. "'When he picked himself up out of the snow, "'his spirits was dampened some in wonder.'

and more so when he shook his head and was able to see and notice that there was two mighty vicious-looking ponies awaiting for him to come again he shook his head once more at that and as smoky and pecos bowed their necks and came his way the black turned tail and started a-looking for other company and which would appreciate him more

But whether it was orneriness or just plain thick-headedness, the black tried to butt in again the next day. Maybe he just wasn't convinced. Anyway, Pecos noticed him first, and before the black could even get to Smokey, war was started right there. But Pecos was no match for the black, and even though he wasn't for quitting, the worst of the battle was on his side.

It was about when the crusted snow was flying the thickest that Smokey, who'd been off a ways, noticed the commotion. He seen his partner down on his knees and the black a-chewing away on him. And right about then, the standing Smokey was transformed into a 1,100-pound bombshell. The explosion came as he connected with the black, and then black fur began to fly and soar up above.

Somehow or other, the black managed to gather enough of his scattered senses to know what had happened. Them senses told him to act, and act quick, and he did. He tore himself away from the pressing, tearing mixture of flying hoofs and sharp teeth, and split the breeze making far apart tracks to where horse flesh wasn't so thick.

the next day he was seen with boar-hound the kinked necked sorrel the roman nosed gruller and a few more ornery ponies of the rough string a company bunch more fitting to his kind the days was getting longer and warmer the snow began packing and melting some and pretty soon bare patches of ground showed in plain sight

Smokey and Pecos' hides began itching, and the two was often busy a-scratching one another and starting from the neck went to the withers along the backbone to rump and back again. Big bunches of long winter hair began a-slipping and falling to the ground as they scratched, and came a time when as they rolled, more of that hair was left till finally patches of short slick satin-like hair began to show.

Then green and tender grass began to loom up and plentiful, and that finished the work of ridding the pony's hides of all the long hair that was left. Creeks was swelling from the waters of the fast-melting snows. Spring had come, and the sunshine and warm winds that came with it was doing its work. The roundup cook was once again scrubbing on the chuck box that was on the end of the long wagon.

and the cowboys one by one began a drifting in from parts near and far anxious to be starting on the spring works again some came from different cow camps of the rocking r range a few of the riders that had been let go when the work was done the fall before never showed up but others rode in and after a few words with jeff took the places of them that was missing

clint had wintered at one of the outfit's camps and drawed his wages regular and when the range land began to get bare of snow and the watching out for weak stock was no more necessary he put his bed on one horse his saddle on another and headed for the home ranch

He was one of the first riders to reach that place, and when the horse roundup started, he was one of the first to have his horse saddled, topped off, and lined out to sashay in all of the ponies that could be found on the horse range. Smokey had been feeding on the sunny side of a butte, and for no reason other than to be looking around, he raised his head. Only his ears and eyes showed as he looked over the top of that butte.

But that was enough for him to see a rider coming his direction, and see him before the rider ever had a hunch any horses was around anywheres near. Smokey snorted and hightailed it down the side of the butte to where Pecos and a few other ponies had also been feeding, and the way he acted left no doubt in their minds but what they should be on the move.

They all was at full speed the minute he landed amongst them, and when the rider topped the butte where they'd been a few minutes before, they had the lead on him by near a mile. But the ponies wasn't wanting to get away near as much as might have been thought. It was only that Smokey had got spooked up at the sudden sight of the rider, and him and all the others feeling good as they did wasn't needing much excuse.

The cowboy fogged down on them and a little to one side so as to turn them. They turned easy enough, even though the rider was a long ways behind. And making a big circle, that rider finally had them headed towards the big corrals of the home ranch. A big grin spread over the cowboy's features as the sun shined on the slick back of the mouse-colored horse at the lead of the bunch.

"'And even though there was a half a mile between him and that horse, "'that cowboy knew doggone well that it was him, "'for the sun never reflected on no other horse's hide as well as it did on Smokey's. "'And besides, there was no mistaking the good-feeling action of that pony's. "'Told you I'd be the first to see you when spring broke up,' "'says the cowboy as he held his horse down to a lope.'

The twenty-five mile run from the time Smokey had been spotted kind of filled the bill far as running was concerned, and when the long wings of the pole corrals at the home ranch was reached, the rider was right on the pony's tails and on the job of keeping him going straight ahead into the corral. Then the big gate closed in on him.

Guess you don't know me no more, says Clint to Smokey as he stood afoot in the corral and watched the pony tear around. Then to his self, maybe he don't know it's me that's watching him.

"'Clint was right. The long winter months of freedom without seeing one human had kind of let him get back to his natural wild instinct, and the first sight of Clint had been of just a human, and it had spooked him up till he'd have to calm down some before he'd come to know just who that human was. The cowboy spoke to him as Smokey wild-eyed, snorted, and hunted for a hole.'

But Clint kept a-speaking, and as the pony tore around and heard the voice, something gradually came to him that seemed far away and near forgot. He stopped a couple of times to look at the cowboy, and each time his getting away was less rushing, till, as the voice kept a-being heard, things got clearer and clearer in that pony's brain.

"'Smokey had stopped once more, and neck bowed, ears straight ahead, and eyes a-sparkling, "'faced across the corral to where the cowboy, still standing, was talking to him. "'Doggone your little hide,' says Clint. "'Are we going to have to get acquainted all over again? "'Come on over here and let me run my hand over that knowledge bump of yours, "'and maybe I can get your think-tank to functioning right again.'

"'Smokey didn't come, but he held his ground and listened to the talk. Clint talked on and watched him till the horse lost some of his wild look, and then slow and easy started walking his way. Something and a way in the past seemed to hold Smokey as the cowboy slowly came nearer and nearer. His instinct was all for him leaving the spot he was holding.'

"'But that something which stuck in his memory was the stronger "'and sort of kept him there.'

"'Clint came on a few steps at a time, and then stopped, "'and talking the while took his time till he was within a few feet of Smokey. "'A little flaw of any kind right then in that human's actions "'could have spoiled things easy "'and sent the pony a-ski-daddling away from there in a hurry. "'But Clint knowed horses, and especially Smokey, "'too well to do anything of the kind.'

He knowed just what was going on between that pony's ears and how to agree with all that mixed in there. Finally, Clint got to where by reaching out he could near of touched Smokey. Slow and easy the cowboy raised a hand and held it to within a few inches of the pony's nose. Smokey looked at it and snorted, but pretty soon he stretched his neck and mighty careful took a sniff of the human paw.

He snorted again and jerked his head away from it. But it wasn't long when he took another sniff. Then another and another.

and each time the snort growed less to be heard, till at last Smokey even allowed that paw to touch his nostrils. The fingers rubbed there easy for a spell, and gradually went on a rubbing along his nose, along up to between his eyes, and pretty soon between his ears to that knowledge bump. Five minutes afterwards, Smokey was following the grinning cowboy all around the corral.

The round-up wagons, all cleaned and loaded, was ready to pull out. The remuda was all accounted for, and each string pointed out to each rider. And Jeff, giving the whole outfit another look-over, waved a hand. The pilot reined his horse into a bucking start. All took up his lead, and through the big gates of the home ranch, wagons, riders, remuda, and all lined out.

"'the spring roundup had started. "'Smokey broke the record for learning that year. "'And when the fall roundup was over "'and the saddle was pulled off him for the last time "'before being turned out on the winter range, "'there was two little white spots of white hair "'showed on each side of his withers, "'and about the size of a dollar. "'Saddle marks they was, "'and like medals for the good work he'd done.'

There was a knowing spark in his eye for the critters, too, for the little horse had got to savvy the cow near as well as the old cowhorses that had been in the same remuda that year. There was only one thing that could have been held against the good record of that pony, and that was his bucking. He just had to have his little buck out every morning, and sometimes he bucked harder than other times. That all depended on how cold the weather was.

but clint didn't seem to mind at all if anything he tried to preserve that bucking streak in the pony and he was often heard to remark a horse ain't worth much unless that shows up some but clint had other reasons for keeping the buck in smoky's backbone

"'Old Tom Jarvis, superintendent and part-owner of the Rocking R, "'had joined the wagon for a few days that summer "'and wanted to see his cowboys work his cattle for a spell. "'Him being an old cowman and from a way back before cattle wore short horns, "'made all the working of a herd all the more interesting "'and to be criticized one way or the other. "'He was present steady on the cutting grounds, and so was Smokey one day.'

"'Clint felt the eyes of Old Tom on Smokey "'the minute he rode him to the edge of the herd, "'and an uneasy feeling crawled up his backbone "'as he noticed that that old grizzly "'seemed to have lost his eyesight "'for anything else but his Smokey horse. "'Clint knowed Old Tom's failing for a good horse, "'and he'd heard of how many times "'that same failing had come near "'putting the cowman in jail "'for appropriating some horse he couldn't buy.'

Of course, them times was past, but the failing was still in the old man's chest, and Smokey belonged to him. The cowboy had started Smokey to cutting out, a work where all the good points of a cowhorse have a chance to show up, and Smokey sure wasn't hiding any. Old Tom's eyes was near popping out of his head as he watched the mouse-colored gelding work.

and finally as clint noticed all the interest he figured it a good idea to get out of the herd and hide smoky somewheres before the old cowman came to him and suggested swapping horses the cowboy was afraid he'd already showed too much of that horse and as he come out of the herd he made a circle and took his stand away on the opposite side from where old tom was holding

But Old Tom was controlling owner of that outfit, and he could be any place he wanted to on that range any time. A steer broke out. Old Tom took after him, circling him around the herd, and when he put him back in and brought his horse to a standstill, there was only a short distance between him and the horse he'd had his eye on.

"'Clint was scared, and he cussed a little. "'He tried to keep Smokey down "'whenever a critter broke out that needed turning, "'and even tried to let a couple of them get away, "'but he couldn't do it without making it too plain to see. "'And besides, Smokey had ideas of his own "'about handling them critters. "'The cowboy was worried all the rest of the day "'and lost some sleep that night "'wondering how he was going to dodge old Tom.'

He knowed the old cowman would be around with some proposition to swap him out of Smokey, and that was one of the last things the cowboy would do. There wasn't a horse in the outfit or anywheres else he'd trade Smokey for. It's took for granted on any real cow outfit that whenever a horse is swapped or borrowed out of a cowboy's string and handed to somebody else, that that cowboy is requested to quit or be fired.

In other words, it's an insult that makes any real cowboy want to scrap and then ask for his wages. Clint was a valuable man to the outfit, but with old Tom, one cowboy more or less didn't matter. That is, if that cowboy stood between him and a horse he wanted. He walked up to Clint the next day, and not hesitating any, he says, "'I'm going to try that mouse-colored horse you was riding yesterday.'

and thinking it'd please clint to hear he went on and if i like him i'll trade you my brown horse chico for him he's the best horse i got at the home ranch but all that only made clint get red in the face and fire showed in his eyes as he spoke huh you can't ride smoky why in sam hill can't i asks old tom also getting red in the face

"'Cause you can't,' answers Clint. "'Why, you couldn't even put a saddle on him.' Clint was for quitting the outfit right there and hit for some other country. But the thought of leaving Smokey behind kind of put him to figuring another way out. If he could get old Tom sort of peeved and let him handle Smokey while he was feeling that way, most likely that pony would do the rest."

"'I'll show you whether I can saddle that horse or not,' says old Tom, frothing at the mouth. "'Why, I've handled and rode broncs that you couldn't get in the same corral with, and before you even was born.' "'Yep,' says Clint, grinning sarcastic. "'That was too long ago, and you're too doggoned old now for that kind of a horse.'

Old Tom glared at Clint for a second, and not finding no ready comeback, done the next best thing and got busy. He went to his saddle, jerked his rope off it, and spitting fire, shook out a loop that could be heard a whistling plumb to the other side of the corral. Smokey was surprised into a dozen cat fits as that same wicked loop settled over his head and drawed tight and sudden around his neck.

he bellered and bucked through the remuda a dragging old tom with him the old cowman made a motion and two grinning cowboys went and helped him clint stood on the outside and watched the performance he rolled cigarette after cigarette and tore em up fast as they was made not a one was lit

he seen smoky brought to a choking standstill and that cowboy felt like committing murder as he noticed the fear in that pony's eyes as he faced the strangers but there clint noticed something else and which he gradually recognized as fight there was more fight than fear and at the sight of that the cowboy took hope

"'Since when does a cowboy get help to rope and saddle his horse?' he hollered as old Tom was sizing up Smokey. "'Pretty soon you'll be wanting one of us to top him off for you.' It worked just right, and old Tom's answer was only a jerk on the rope that held Smokey. The old cowman knowed better than to handle a horse that way, and as a rule was always easy with him.

But he was mad, mad clear through, and rather than shoot a cowboy, he was taking it out on the horse. And Smokey by that time was catching up with the spirit of all that went on. He was like a raw bronc that had never seen a human or a saddle, and when he was finally brought up alongside the saddle, there was all about him to show he wasn't safe for anybody coming near.

But old Tom, even though it was a long time ago, had handled many mean horses. He knowed he was past handling them anymore. But this time was different, and he'd do his best to carry it through. The two riders that had been helping him was waved away. He'd show Clint and the rest of the young fellers that he could still do it. He then spread a loop and caught both of Smokey's threatening front feet.

"'Smokey knowed better than to fight a rope, "'and he stood still, knowing he'd soon have another chance. "'Raw-hide hobbles was fastened on his front legs, "'a bridle put on his head, "'and then the saddle was reached for and put on his back and cinched to stay. "'Better say your prayers before you climb up,' says Clint, still prodding old Tom, "'at the same time hoping that he would stop before he went too far.'

But there was no stopping him. He pulled up his chap belt, set his hat down tight, and still mad enough to bite a nail in two, loosened the hobbles, grabbed a short holt on the reins, and climbed on. Smokey looked back at the stranger that was setting on him, and soon as a touch of the rein on his neck told him that all was set, things started a-happening from there.

He bowed his head, made two jumps, and was just getting a good start when he felt the saddle was empty. He made a few more jumps just for good measure and then stopped. Clint was grinning from ear to ear as he walked up to Smokey and put his hand on his neck. "'Good work, old boy,' he says, and then turning to old Tom who was picking himself up. "'Want to try him again?'

"'You bet your doggone life I do,' says that old cowboy. "'All right,' answers Clint, getting peeved some more. "'Go ahead and break your fool neck. There's plenty of buffalo wallows around here we can bury you in.' Old Tom walked over and jerked the reins out of Clint's hands and started to get in the saddle again."

But he didn't even get well in it that time. Smokey bowed his head and went out from under him, leaving old Tom come down on the other side. It was as the old man was about to try Smokey once more when Jeff Nix interfered and told his boss how he'd rather not have him try that horse anymore. "'That horse bucks every time he's rode,' says Jeff."

"'Old Tom knowed he'd come to the end of his string, "'but that didn't ease his feelings any, "'and he was looking for some way of letting some of them feelings out "'before they choked him. "'When he spots Clint standing to one side and by Smokey, "'You're fired!' he hollered, pointing a finger at him. "'I'll get somebody to take the buck out of that horse, "'and the sooner you're off this range, the better I'll like it.'

Clint just grinned at old Tom, which made him all the madder, and about then Jeff spoke. "'I'm doing the hiring and firing on this outfit, Tom, and as long as I'm working for you, I'll keep on doing it.' Old Tom turned on him like a wildcat. "'Fine,' he hollered. "'You can go, too.'

The old cowman had went as far as he could, and as he walked away to catch himself another saddle horse, he had a hunch that he'd also went further than he should. That hunch got stronger as he went on saddling, and as he gave the latigo a last yank, it all developed into plain common sense that he'd sure enough went too far. But old Tom wasn't for giving in, not right then anyway.

He got on his horse, and riding close enough so Jeff could hear, says, You and Clint can come to the ranch, and I'll have your time ready for you. And then to another rider, You handle the outfit till I send out another foreman. A lot of orneriness was scattered to the winds as old Tom covered the long fifty miles back to the ranch, and as he opened the big gate leading in, a brand new feeling had come over him.

He was for catching a fresh horse the next morning early and hightail it back to the wagon to sort of smooth things over best as he could.

He unsaddled and turned his horse loose, and was mighty surprised as he came up to the big ranch house to find both Jeff and Clint already there and waiting for him. Not a hint of the good resolutions he'd made showed as he walked up to him, and after some kind of a howdy, old Tom heard Jeff say,

"'All the boys sent word in by me that as long as you're making out my check, you'd just as well make theirs out, too. I'm sorry for that,' went on Jeff. "'And I tried to talk them out of it, but it's no use. They're all for quitting if I go.' The old cowman never said a word as he led Jeff and Clint in the big house."

he walked to a big table in the center of the living room and there he turned on his two riders a smile was on his face and he says dog gone it jeff i'm glad to hear that then old tom still pleasant but serious went on

"'For no man does his best work unless he's doing it with somebody he likes and has confidence in.' "'Yes,' he repeated. "'I'm glad to hear that. But the question is now, you're fired and freed to go, ain't you?' he asks. "'Yes,' says Jeff. "'Soon as I get paid off.' "'Well, how's chances of hiring you over again?' "'I can't afford to let a foreman like you go, Jeff.'

Jeff seemed to figure a while, and then looked at Clint. And old Tom, guessing what was on his foreman's mind, went on. "'And of course, being that I have no say in the hiring and firing of your riders, "'Clint wasn't fired at all, and he can keep on riding for you.' Finally, hands was shook all around, and as Jeff and Clint started back for the wagon the next morning, old Tom was on hand to see him go."

"'And don't worry about that doggone mouse-colored horse of yours, Clint,' he says as him and Jeff rode away. "'I'll never want him.' The riders reached the big gate leading out of the ranch, and there Jeff remarked as he got off his horse to open it. "'I guess old Tom didn't have to say that he was awry.' And Clint more than agreed."

End of chapter 9. Read by Joni Vatainen. November 30, 2022. Chapter 10 of Smokey the Cow Horse by Will James. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Amongst the Missing The Ramuda was in the big corrals of the home ranch once more, and after a few winter horses was cut out, the rest was hazed towards the winter range and let go.

Four long winter months went by. Then one day the roundup cook began to get busy cleaning the chuck box. Meadow larks was a-tuning up on the high corral posts, and along with the bare patches of ground that could be seen, no better signs was needed that spring had come. Clint was again the first to spot Smokey that spring, and noticed the amount of tallow that pony was packing.

He was in fine shape for whatever work that'd be his to do that summer, and soon as him and the cowboy got through with their first howdies, they both went to work like they'd never had before. Smokey took up to where he'd left off the fall before and kept on accumulating science in ways of handling the critter till that critter would just roll up an eye at the sight of the mouse-colored pony and never argue as to where he wanted to put her. She'd just go there.

Spring work went on. Middle summer came, and sometime after, the fall roundup was in full swing again. Thousands of cattle was handled, cut out and culled. Big herds of fat steers was trailed into the shipping point and loaded in the cars. And when the weaning was done and the old stock was all brought in close to the cow camps, Jeff headed his wagon towards the home ranch once more.

The work was over, the remuda was turned out, and the riders that was kept on the payroll saddled their winter horses and scattered out for the outfit's different camps. Winter came on and set in. Then spring bloomed out green once again, and with it the cowboys spread out on the range once more. Season after season followed one another without a ruffle that way.

The same territory was covered at the same time of the year. The wagon rolled in at the same grounds. The rope corral stretched at the same spot. Old riders disappeared and new ones took their place, like with the ponies. The old cowhorses was pensioned, replaced by younger ones. And the work went on, season after season, year after year,

The same outfit rambled out of the home ranch and combed the range like as if no changes was taking place. Jeff, the cow boss, the roundup cook, Clint, and a couple more riders was all that was left of the old hands as the wagon pulled out one spring. The others had cravings for new countries and went and throwed their sous-gons on some other outfit's wagons.

"'Five years had went by since that day when Clint, riding Smokey, had joined the wagon. "'Five summers was put in when every time Smokey was saddled and rode, "'Clint was the cowboy that done it. "'Not another hand had touched Smokey's hide in all that time, "'excepting when old Tom had tried to appropriate the horse for his own string.'

and since that day there hadn't been any excuse for Clint to worry about anybody taking Smokey away from him. There wasn't a cowboy in the outfit who didn't more than want the horse, and if Clint ever failed to show up when the spring works started, there'd most likely been some argument as to who should get him, but he'd always been the first to ride in at the home ranch at them times, and none had the chance to lay claim on the horse.

In them long summers, and as Smokey was rode off and on, the little horse had got to know Clint as well as that cowboy knowed hisself. He knowed just when Clint was a little under the weather and not feeling good. At them times, he'd go kinda easy with his bucking as the cowboy topped him off.

The feel of Clint's hand was plain reading to him, and he could tell by a light touch of it whether it meant, go get her, easy now, good work, and so on. The tone of his voice was also mighty easy to understand. He could tell a lot of things by it, especially when he was being got after for doing something he shouldn't have done. His eyes was wide open at them times, his neck bowed, and he'd snort sort of low.

But when Clint would tell him what a fine horse he was, Smokey was somehow different. He'd just take it all in the same as he would warm sunshine on a cold fall day, and near close his eyes for the peace he was feeling at the sound of the cowboy's voice. The way Smokey could understand the man who rode him through and around the big herds had a lot to do in making him the cowhorse he'd turned out to be.

his strong liking for the rider had made him take interest and for learning all about whatever he rode out to do there'd come a time when smoky knowed the second clint had a critter spotted to be cut out and the pony's instinct near told him which one it was till nary a feel of the rein was needed and the dodging critter was stepped on and headed for the cut

"'The same with roping, and where Smokey could do near everything "'but throw the rope that caught the critter. "'There he shined as he did anywhere else under the saddle. "'He'd keep one ear back, watch out and follow the loop leave Clint's hand, "'and sail out to settle around a steer's horns. "'And the slack was no more than pulled "'when the pony would turn and go the other way.'"

he knowed how to lay the critter and none of the big ones ever got up not while smoky was at one end of the rope one of the many happenings that all went to show of smoky's knowing how to handling the critter there's one clint and the boys like to tell of it was only an average of the others that happened but there was something about that one which made the telling easier as to the wonders of that horse it was the detail that counted there

There was a big steer in the herd with a crooked horn that had curved and threatened to grow some more and right through his eye. Clint and Jeff spotted the steer at the same time, and while one of the boys went to the wagon to get a saw to cut the horn off with, both Clint and Jeff took their ropes down and proceeded to catch the critter.

"'The steer was wild, big and husky, and wise, "'and soon as he seen the two riders coming through the herd headed his way, "'he broke out of it and tail up in the air began to leave the flat. "'About then is when Smokey appeared on the scene. "'That little horse et up the distance between him and that steer in no time "'and soon carried Clint to within reach.'

"'On account of the crooked horn, "'Clint had to rope the steer around the neck, "'and that he did neat and quick. "'Everything went on as it should. "'Smokey run on past the steer "'and Clint throwed the slack of his rope "'over that same steer's rump. "'And in another second, "'that critter would have been laying with toes up to the sky "'and ready to tie.'

The unexpected happened about that time, and when the rope tightened, the steer didn't lay at all. Instead, there was a sound of something ripping. Clint went up in the air about three feet, turned a somerset, and hit the ground. The saddle stood up on end on Smokey's back, and only the flank cinch was holding it there. The stub latigo of the front cinch had been ripped right through by the tongue of the cinch buckle like it had been paper.

Every rider around the herd seen the thing happen and had already figured how it wouldn't take long for Smokey to get himself out from under the remains of that saddle, for near every horse would go to bucking and raising the dust when being pinched around the flanks that way, and Smokey had seemed so inclined to want to buck that it was thought he'd never overlook that chance.

the boys was already grinning at such a good promise of seeing a little excitement but the grins soon faded to looks of wonder for smoky instead of trying to get shut of the saddle showed he was using his brain to the best way of keeping it there he was a cow-horse and working and it was no time for foolishness so when the rigging reared up on his hind quarters that way he reared up with it and turned while in the air

When his front feet touched the ground again, the saddle was where it belonged and he was facing the steer. When that story was told to the country around, there was many hard-to-be-convinced riders who laughed and shook their heads and remarked how it was pure luck that the pony acted that way. But if they'd known Smokey, if they'd seen how he juggled that saddle and worked to keep his halt on the steer, there'd been a different tune.

The steer had stayed up and with his ten hundred pounds of wild weight had fought at the rope and hit the end mighty hard. Then Smokey done another thing and which kept the boys a staring and doing nothing. The steer was making another wild dash for open country and Smokey, instead of holding his ground and waiting for the steer to hit the end of the rope, broke out in a sudden run and right after the critter.

When the speed of both of them was up good and high, Smokey of a sudden planted himself till his hocks touched the ground, and when Mr. Steer hit the end of the rope that time, it was just as though that rope had been fastened to a four-foot stump. His head was jerked under him, he turned in the air, and when he came down, he laid.

There was only one thing that horse didn't do, Jeff had remarked afterwards. He didn't give the rope a flip before he sat down on it. Smokey had kept the rope tight, and Clint tied the steer down to stay till the crooked horn was sawed off. When that was done, Clint put up a hand and spoke, and Smokey gave slack so the rope could be pulled off the steer's head.

Big herds of Mexico long-horned steers had been bought by the rocking R and shipped up into that northern country. They got fat on that range and wilder than ever. And there's where Smokey showed he had something else besides the knowing how. Them long-horned critters are too fast for the average cowhorse to catch up with in a short distance. But not with Smokey.

He had the speed to go with what he knowed, and Clint would have time to whirl his rope only a few times when the little horse would climb up on the long-legged steer and pack the cowboy to within roping distance. Many a cowboy had remarked that it was worth the price of a good show to watch Smokey work, whether it was around, in, or out of a herd, and many a rider had let a cow sneak past him just so he could see how neat that pony could out-dodge a critter

and when after the last meal of the day and the cowboys stretched out to rest some talk or sing none ever had any argument to put up and no betting was ever done against whatever clint said smoky could do or had done they all knowed and admired the horse and came a time as these cowboys came and went that smoky began to be talked about in the cow camps of other cow outfits

one whole northern state got to hear of him and one cowboy wasn't at all surprised when heading south one fall and close to the mexican border to hear another cowboy talk of smoky of the rocking r the owner of a neighbor outfit sent word by one of his reps riders representing other outfits one day that he'd give a hundred dollars for that horse smoky had been broke only two years then

Old Tom laughed at the offer, and Clint got peeved. The next year, that offer was raised by the same party to $200, and Old Tom laughed again, but Clint didn't know whether to get mad or scared this time. Anyway, things went on as usual for a couple of years more, and then a big outfit from across the state line sent in an offer of a cool $400 for the mouse-colored cowhorse.

Good saddle horses could be bought by the carload for $50 a head about that time, but there was never no price set on a good cow horse. And as a rule, that kind can't be bought unless an outfit is selling out.

The biggest price that was ever heard offered in that country for any cowhorse had never went over two hundred, and when rumors spread around that four hundred had been offered for Smokey, many figured that whoever offered it had a lot of money to spend, but them who figured that way had never seen Smokey work. Old Tom came up to Clint that fall after the wagon had pulled in and showed him the letter offering the four hundred.

"'Clint had heard about the offer, and he just stargazed at the letter, not reading. "'Instead, he was doing some tall wondering at what old Tom was going to do about it. "'He was still stargazing and sort of waiting for the blow to fall "'when he felt the old cowman's hand on his shoulder, and then heard him say, "'Well, Clint, I'll tell you.'

Then old Tom waited a while, maybe just to sort of aggravate the cowboy, but finally he went on, "'If my cattle was starving and I needed the money to buy feed to pull them through with, I might sacrifice Smokey for 400, but as things are now, there's no money can buy that horse.' The cowboy smiled, took a long breath, and grabbed the paw the old man was holding for him to shake. "'But I'm hoping—'

resumed old tom that someday soon you'll get a hankering to drift to some other country and quit this outfit so i can get smoky for myself i'd fired you long ago only i'd have to fire jeff too and somehow i'd rather get along without the horse till one of you highbinders quit clint had kept a-smiling all the while the old man was speaking then he gave his hand another shake and walked away

He knowed old Tom had said that last just to hear how his voice sounded. As usual, Smokey was turned out on the range along with the Ramuda for that winter. Clint had helped haze him to the brakes as he'd always done, and noticed as he stopped and let the ponies graze and scatter that the feed was mighty short and scarcer than he'd ever seen it.

the whole summer had been mighty dry and the range short on grass but this little scope of country that was the saddle-horse range had always been good and the ponies had always wintered there better than if they'd been in a warm stable and fed grain

Clint thought some of taking Smokey back with him and keeping him up for a winter horse, but then he'd have to turn him out when spring works came on, and the cowboy didn't want to think of going out on spring roundup without his top horse.

No, he decided. I'm going to let you run out this winter, but I'll be out to see how you're making it and don't lose too much tallow. You're getting to be too valuable a horse to take any chances of losing, he says to him as he scratched him back of the ear. But, he went on, you're not half as valuable to the outfit as you are to me, old pony, even though old Tom won't consider no price on you.

clint was on his way back and had no more than got sight of the buildings of the ranch when old white winter hit him from behind and made him clap his gloved hands over his ears holy smoke he whistled through his chattering teeth she's sure starting ferocious and she had

The first initiating blizzard of the season was more than just a snowstorm with a wind. It was a full-grown blizzard, drifting over the country, covering up the feed with packed snow and freezing things up. It kept up for two days and nights, and as it cleared up, the thermometer went down. The next day, Clint was busy bringing in old stock closer to the ranch and where they could be watched.

and as another blizzard hit the country again a few days later that cowboy was kept on the jump bringing under the sheds and next to the haystacks all the stock he'd hunted up clint was in the saddle all day every day and sometimes away into the night

A month went by, and in that time two feet of snow had accumulated on the range. More was threatening to come, and all the cowboys that was kept on the rocking our payroll more than had their hands full. The ranch hands would roll up their eyes at every bunch of stock the riders brought in to be fed, for as they figured, they already had all they could handle, and if this kept up, old Tom would have to hire more hay shovelers and buy more hay.

"'Clint had worried some about Smokey and figured to hunt him up sometime. But as on account of the deep snow, he couldn't get his horse out of a walk. He never could make it. Besides, there was always a bunch of cattle somewheres on the way, and amongst them there'd be a few that needed bringing in. But with all them drawbacks, Clint finally reached Smokey's range late one day.'

The gray sky was getting darker, and night was coming on as the cowboy topped a ridge and spotted a bunch of ponies. Amongst the bunch was a long-haired, shaggy-looking, and lean, mouse-colored horse, and Clint could hardly believe his eyes or keep from choking as he rode closer and recognized his smoky horse. The cowboy was for catching the horse right there and bringing him into the ranch.

He wondered if Smokey could travel that far, but as the horse raised his head out of the hole in the snow where he'd been pawing for feed and spotted the rider coming towards him, Clint was surprised to see so much strength and action. Smokey hadn't recognized the cowboy, and before he took a second look, he'd hightailed it from there in a hurry. Clint watched him and smiled as he seen that the horse wasn't in near as bad a shape as he'd first thought.

"'But I'm going to take you in just the same, you little son of a gun, "'for God knows what you'll be like in a few weeks from now if this weather keeps up.' "'He started on the trail Smokey and the other ponies had left, "'and it was good and dark by then. "'But the trail in the deep snow was easy enough to follow. "'He wondered, as he rode, if he could get Smokey to stand long enough "'so as the horse would recognize him under all the disguise of his winter clothes.'

for at night especially he looked more like a bear than anything. Then again, horses are spookier and harder to get near at that time. Clint had his doubts if he could catch him, and he figured he'd most likely have to take the whole bunch along in order to get him to the ranch. He was riding along on the trail and trying to get sight of the ponies, when to his left just a little ways and out of the snow came a faint beller,

It sounded like a critter in trouble, and Clint stopped his horse. The beller came again, and he rode towards the sound. All curled up, shivering, and near covered with snow, a little bitty calf was found. Couldn't be over two days old, figured the cowboy, and he wondered how the poor little cuss could still be alive. "'Where's your mammy, Johnny?' says Clint as he got off his horse and came near the calf."

But the words was no more out of his mouth when a dark shadow appeared and Bellaring tried to get the cowboy with her horns before he could get on his horse. In making his getaway, Clint noticed tracks of more cattle, and following him a ways, came across another cow with another calf. Only this second calf was older and more able to navigate. These two wall-eyed heifers must have been missed during last fall's roundup.

clint figured and just as luck would have it they both have winter calves well smoky he says as he looked the direction the ponies had went i guess that leaves you out this time it was near noon the next day when clint showed up at the ranch packing a little calf on the front of his saddle

He found Jeff by the big sheds where the cattle was sheltered and fed and told him, I had to leave this little feller's mammy out about ten miles. There's another cow and a young calf with her, and maybe you better send a man out after him before this storm that's coming catches up with him. Me? I'm going to eat the whole hind leg off a beef and roll in between my sous-guns.

the storm clint had spoke of came sure enough and seemed like to want to clean the earth of all that drawed a breath the snow piled up and up till as the cowboy remarked the fence posts around the ranch are only sticking up about an inch and soon won't be visible no more

that storm would have meant the death of all the cattle that was on the range and most of the horses too but as the tail of it came a high wind sprung up the snow drifted and piled high in the coolies and at the same time took the depth of it down considerable wherever that wind hit

When it all finally quit raging, there was many patches where the grass was buried only by a few inches, and them patches the wind had cleared was what saved the lives of the range stock that winter. Clint had worried about Smokey as the stormy weather came on. He'd tried time and time again to get to him, but always some helpless critter made him branch off and finally turn back.

tomorrow clint kept a-saying but the tomorrows came and went and the cowboy always a fretting hadn't got near smoky's range the great liking clint had for the mouse-colored horse made him fret and worry more than was necessary

That liking made him imagine a lot that was nowhere's near true, and many a time that cowboy rolled in his bunk, tired and wore out, and dreamed of seeing Smokey caught in the snowbank, weak, starving, and wolves drawing near. Smokey had sure enough lost considerable fat, and his strength was reduced some too, but he was nowhere's near weak.

That is, not so weak that he couldn't get up easy once he laid down, or be able to travel and rustle for his feed. The last big storm had took him down some more, but he was still able to plow through the snowbanks that had gathered on the sides of the ridges and get on the other side where the feed was easier reached. If it didn't snow too much more, there was no danger for Smokey and the bunch he was with.

him and pecos had got to know the range so well they knowed where the best of shelter could be found when the winds was cold or the blizzard howled and then again they knowed of many ridges and where the snow was always the thinnest they had a spot to fit in with or against whatever the weather had to hand out and whether the next on the program was to be sunshine or more snow they was still well able to enjoy or compete with either

Weeks had passed since Smokey had raised his head out of the hollow in the snow and spotted the rider who'd been Clint coming onto him. And then one day here comes another rider. Smokey had been the first to spot that other rider. And as was natural, him and the rest of the bunch made tracks away from there until the rider couldn't be seen no more.

A mile or so on, the bunch went to pawing snow and grazing again. Night was coming on. A wind was raising, and pretty soon light flakes of snow began to come. Then when the night was well on, and as the wind got stronger and the snow heavier, the rider showed up again, right in the middle of the bunch this time, and before Smokey or any of the others could see him.

The ponies scattered like a bunch of quail at the sight of him and so close. But they soon got together again and on a high lope went along with the storm. The rider followed on after him, and as mile after mile of snow-covered country was left behind, the ponies realized there was no dodging him. Heavy drifts was lunged into and hit on a high run as they tried to leave him behind.

and then as they'd cross creek bottoms a mile or so wide and where the snow was from two to three feet deep the run began to tell on them they finally slowed down to a trot and as the rider wasn't pressing them any there came a time when going at a walk seemed plenty fast they was getting tired the night wore on with them a traveling that way the heavy wind pushed them on and their long hair was matted with snow

but tired and hard as the deep snow was to buck through it all seemed better to drift on that way than stand still in such as the storm had turned out to be they drifted on not minding the rider much no more then after a while it began to get light slow and gradual the new day come and the rider finding a thick patch of willows let the ponies drift in the shelter

he tried to look on the back trail as he let him drift and he grinned as the thick stinging snow blurred his view that old blizzard will sure do the work of covering up my trail he remarked as he looked for a sheltered spot amongst the willows he soon found the sheltered spot and where the wind was more heard than felt and getting off his tired horse began tamping himself a place where he could move around a little and not have the snow up to his waist

He tied his horse up where he'd be within easy reach, and soon had a fire started out of dead willow twigs. Rice and jerky was cooked in a small lard bucket and et out of the same. When that was gone, a few handfuls of snow was melted in the same bucket and coffee was made. Then a cigarette was rolled, a few puffs drawed out of it, and the man, curled up by the fire, was soon asleep.

"'All of him, from the toe of his gunny-sack-covered boots "'to the dark face which showed under the wore-out black hat, "'pointed out as the man being a half-breed of Mexican "'and other blood that's darker, "'and noticing the cheap, wore-out saddle, "'the ragged saddle-blanket on a horse "'that should have had some chance to feed "'instead of being tied up, "'showed that he was a half-breed from the bad side, "'not caring and with no pride.'"

He slept, feeling sure that no rider would be on his trail in this kind of weather, for the trail he'd made was wiped out and covered over near as soon as he made it. And as for the horses he'd stole, he knowed they wouldn't be facing this storm and trying to go back. They'd be more for staying in shelter instead and try to find something to eat.

seventeen head of rocking r saddle stock counting smoky was half a mile or so further down the creek bottom from where the half-breed was sleeping they hugged the thick willows for the shelter they'd give and feed off the small green branches the rye grass and everything they could reach which they could chew on

Smokey and Pecos side by side rustled on through the deep snow, sometimes ahead and sometimes behind the other horses, all a-nosing around or pawing for whatever little feed could be found. But many cattle had been there ahead of them, and when the darkness came on, they showed near as drawed as they'd been that morning.

"'The snow had let up some during the day, "'but as night drawed near, the wind got stronger. "'The snow was drifting, and there'd be another night of travel "'when no trail would be left to show. "'The breed woke up, looked around and grinned, "'then got up and shook himself. "'The fire was started again. "'Another bait was cooked and consumed, "'and after all was gathered, he mounted his horse "'and went to looking for the ponies he'd left "'to graze down the creek bottom.'

he run onto em a couple of miles further and where he'd figured they'd be and as dark settled over the snow-covered range he fell in behind em and started em on the way an hour or so of traveling and then smoky who was in the lead found himself between the wings of a corral a corral that was made of willows and well hid the breed had built it for his purpose and signs showed that it had been used many a time before

Long willow poles made the gate, and after he run the ponies in and put up the poles, he went after his rope on his saddle. Many a brand had been changed in that corral, and on both horse and cow. Other times he'd used it just to change horses, and that's what he wanted just now, a fresh horse.

he wasn't changing for the sake of the tired horse he'd been riding it was just that he didn't want to take chances of having a tired horse under him in case somebody jumped him his loop was made and through the dark he was trying to see just what horse to put his rope on

The white background helped him considerable in making out the shapes of the ponies, and there was one shape he was looking out for before he let his loop sail, the shape of a mouse-colored, blazed-faced horse which he'd noticed and watched all along. Pretty soon, and the furthest away from him, he got a glimpse of Smokey's head. He recognized the white streak on his forehead, and his rope sailed.

Smokey snorted and ducked. The rope just grazed his ears and went on to settle over another horse's head. In the dark, the breed couldn't follow his rope, and he didn't know but what he'd caught Smokey till he pulled on the rope and brought the horse to him. He cussed considerable as he seen he'd caught another horse than the one he wanted.

but as he noticed that this horse was good size and strong looking he let it go at that and didn't take time to make another try for smoky i'll get you next time you he says as he looked smoky's way and saddled the horse he'd caught letting the poles down the breed mounted the fresh horse let the ponies out and turned em out of the creek bottom onto a long bench

the strong winds had blowed most all the snow off there and excepting for a few low places where it had piled deep traveling was made easy he kept the ponies on a trot most of the night and sometimes where the snow wasn't too deep he'd crowd em into a lope

steady the gate was kept up and finally after the breed seen that the ponies was too tired and weak to travel much more he began to look for a place where he could hide them and where they could rustle feed during the day that was soon to come on the other end of the ridge he was following he knowed of a place and taking down his rope he snapped it at the tired ponies and kept them on the move till that place was reached there another stop was made

the storm had dwindled down and wore out till nothing was left but the high wind it kept the snow drifting which would keep on covering tracks and make travelling easier

But the breed didn't need the storm to help him no more, for as he figured, the country ahead and where he was headed was all open. He expected no riders would be found on the way at that time of the year. And as he'd been on that route many a time before with stolen stock, he knowed just how far it was between each good hiding and stopping place, both for himself and the stock.

There was corrals on the way, some built by him and others built by more of his kind. Sometimes he would change the iron on the ponies he'd just stole, but as the hair was too long for anybody to be able to read the brand that was on them, that could wait a while till he got further away and could travel in daytime more.

He was pleased with everything in general, and as he left the ponies and started hunting a shelter for himself, he grinned, satisfied as he melted snow for his coffee and figured on the prices the ponies would bring. He knowed good horses, and even though they was in poor shape now, he knowed what they'd turn out to be after a month's time on green grass. And then there was Smokey, that mouse-colored horse,

He'd heard how $400 had been offered for that pony, and allowed that some other cowman to the south would be glad to give at least half that price for him, once it was showed what a cowhorse he really was. A few hundred miles to the south was the breed's hangout, a place in a low country and where the snow hardly stayed.

"'Once there, he could take it easy. Let the ponies fatten up, and after the brand was well-blotched, so nobody would recognize the original, he'd sell them, one at a time for a good price, or ship them out to some horse dealer. In the meantime, he had nothing to worry about. The storm had took his trail off the face of the earth. There was a good seventy miles between him and where he'd started with the horses, and

and near a hundred miles to the rocking our home ranch. End of chapter 10. Read by Joni Vathainen. December 28, 2022. Chapter 11 of Smokey the Cow Horse by Will James. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The feel of a strange hand. A long month had passed since Clint had rode out to get Smokey and came back with a calf instead.

Every day since, that cowboy had been for going after Smokey again. But the deep snow and storms had more than kept him breaking trails for snowbound cattle that was weak and needed bringing in. He couldn't find no time and hadn't been able to frame no excuse so as he could hit out for Smokey's range. Then one morning he got up with a hunch.

He tried to keep it down, but every morning it got stronger till finally Clint just had to saddle up the best horse he had and hit out for where Smokey had been wintering. The last big storm had let up a few days before, and many fresh tracks covered the horse range. Clint trailed and trailed. He found and went through many bunches of ponies, but no Smokey.

Even the bunch that Pony was running with when last seen had seemed to evaporate into thin air. And there Clint wondered. He wondered if somebody'd stole him and the bunch. But he put that off, figuring that no horse thief would steal horses packing as well-known a brand as the rocking R unless he was a doggone fool or a doggone good one.

Anyway, as worried as Clint was, he felt some relieved in not finding the bunch Smokey had been with, for if he'd found them and no Smokey, that'd be proof enough that the pony had went and died somewheres. The other ponies he'd seen that day still looked good and strong, and that was proof enough that Smokey must be the same.

Most likely him and his bunch just drifted with that last storm and went back to their home range, Clint thought as he headed his horse back for the ranch. But the hunch that was still with him didn't seem to agree with that thought none at all. Two weeks later found the cowboy on the horse range once more and making a bigger circle. But Smokey and his bunch still kept being amongst the missing.

He told old Tom about it as he got back to the ranch that night, but the old man didn't seem worried. He waved a hand as Clint said how he'd finally got to believe that the whole bunch had been stole. "'Don't worry,' he says. "'We'll find him and all the rest during horse roundup.' Finally spring broke up, the deep drifts started melting, and the creeks began to raise. Then after a while, and when the hospital stuff—'

"'the old cattle which had been kept and fed under the sheds through the winter, "'had been turned out on the range a couple of weeks. "'Riders began stringing out towards the horse range and gathering the remuda. "'Clint lined out by himself and hit for the country where Smokey had been raised. "'He reached the camp where he'd started breaking him, "'and from there he rode every morning with a fresh horse "'and running down every bunch of stock horses, "'hoping to get sight of the mouse-colored gelding.'

He rode for a week and seen every horse that was on that range, strays and all. And finally, after he'd combed the whole country where Smokey had run as a colt, he rode back to the ranch, feeling disappointed but a-hoping that the other riders had found him. The Ramuda was in the big corrals when he got there. All of it, excepting for the seventeen head which couldn't be found nowheres. Smokey was one of the seventeen.

There was a few more days riding, and then, of a sudden, old Tom decided Clint had been right. The horses was sure enough stolen. His big car hit only the high spots as the old man headed for town. Jack Rabbits was passed by and left behind the same as if they'd been tied, and when he hit the main street he was doing seventy.

He put on his brakes and passed the sheriff's office by half a block, but he left his car there and hoofed on a high run all the way back. That official was notified of the theft and notified to notify other officials of the state and other states around, and old Tom stuck close to see that that was done and mighty quick.

a thousand dollars reward was offered for the thief and the same reward for the return of the horses naming one mouse-colored saddle horse as special the spring round-up went by summer and then the fall round-up and the close of the season's work nothing of smoky nor any of the ponies he'd run with or the horse thief was heard of it seemed like one and all had left the earth for good

and if what all old tom often wished on the thief could have come through that hombre would have sure found himself in a mighty hot place clint rode on for the rocking r through that summer and fall and always as he rode he kept an eye on the country around and hoping that sometimes he'd run across his one horse smoky

he didn't want to think that the horse had been stolen and he kept a saying to himself as he rode he's just straight away somewheres there wasn't a draw coulee or creek bottom passed by without the whole of it was looked into and never before was the rocking our country looked into so well

Every rider on down to the Wrangler kept his eyes peeled for the mouse-colored horse, and even though cattle is what the wagons was out for, there was more eyes out for Smokey, and cattle was only brought in as second best. It wasn't till fall roundup was near over that Clint began losing all hope of ever seeing Smokey again in that country, and as them hopes left him, there came a hankering for him to move.

"'Maybe it was just to be moving "'and riding on some other range for a change. "'But back of it all, and if Clint had stopped to figure some, "'he'd found that his hankering to move "'wasn't only foreseeing new territory. "'There was a faint hope away deep "'that someday, somewheres, he'd find Smokey. "'For that pony had got tangled up in the cowboy's heartstrings "'a heap more than that cowboy wanted to let on, even to himself.'

He couldn't get away from how he missed him. He'd thought of him when on day herd and how the horse had seemed to understand every word he'd said. On cutting grounds, he'd kept a comparing whatever horse he'd be riding with Smokey and find that pony, no matter how good he was, a mighty poor excuse of a cow horse alongside of the mouse-colored pony that was missing.

but all them good points of smoky's was nothing as compared to the rest of what that horse really had been as a horse and there's where smoky had got under clint's hide as a horse one in a thousand the last of the wagons had trailed into the home ranch and the next day the remuda was hazed out to the winter range

"'Clint wasn't along that fall to see the ponies turned loose. Instead, he was in the big bunkhouse at the home ranch and busy stuffing his saddle into a gunny sack. A railroad map was spread on the floor and which the cowboy had been studying. Jeff opened the door of the bunkhouse and took in at a glance what all Clint was up to. He noticed the railroad map laying by his foot and smiled.'

i figured you would he says now that smoky is not with the outfit no more the first of winter had come and hit the high mountains of the southern country big dark clouds had drifted in drenched the ranges down to bedrock with a cold rain and hung on for days

then the rain had gradually turned to a wet snow kept a-falling steady and without a break till it seemed like the country itself was shivering under the spell finally and after many long days the dark clouds began to get lighter and lighter and started lifting and drifting on then one evening the sun got a chance to peek through and smile at the country again

it went down a-smiling that way and after it disappeared over the blue ridge a new moon took its place for a spell and like as to promise that the sun would smile again the next day and it did it came up bright and real fitting to that arizona country the air was clear as spring water in a granite pool and as still the whole world seemed dozing and just contented to take on all the warmth and life the sun was giving

A mountain lion was stretched out on a boulder, warm and comfortable, where the day before he'd been in his den all curled up and shivering. Then a few deer come out of their shelter, hair on end and still wet through. But as they reached the sunny side of the mountain, it wasn't long when it dried again and laid smooth. Further down the mountain, and more on the foothills, a little chipmunk stuck his head out of his winter quarters and blinked at the sun.

He blinked at it for quite a spell like not believing, and pretty soon came out to make sure. He stood up, rolled in the warm dirt, and in more ways than one made up for the long days he'd hauled away. Other chipmunks came out, and then he went visiting. More seeds was gathered as he went from bush to bush, and even though he already had a mighty big supply already stored away, he worked on as though he was afraid of running short long before spring come.

He was at his busiest and tearing a pine cone apart for the nuts he'd find inside when he hears something a-tearing through the brush and coming his way. Away he went and hightailed it towards his hole, and he'd no more got there when he gets a glimpse of what looked like a mountain of a horse a-running for all he was worth. A long rope was dragging from his neck.

The chipmunk went down as far in his hole as he could, stood still and listened a minute, and then, storing away the nuts he'd gathered, stuck his head out once more. He chirped considerable as he looked around to see if any more out-of-the-ordinary or dangerous-looking was in sight. And he'd just got time to blink at the scenery a couple of times when he gets a glimpse of another horse. This one was packing a man, and at the same speed went right on the trail the other had left.

The chipmunk never wondered what this running was all about. He just chirped and ducked out of sight. But it wasn't long when he stuck his head out again and gradually showed all of himself. He stood up on a rock close to his hole and looked around from there. He could see two objects out towards the flat, moving fast, and seeming like one trying to catch up with the other.

he watched him till a raise finally took him out of sight then he watched some more and in other directions and seeing nothing that he'd need watching he went to visiting again and to gathering more nuts out on the flat and on the other side of the raise the two objects went on how glad that one object in the lead would have been to have changed places with the chipmunk and like him been able to crawl down a hole and hide for a spell

for hours and hours through the night he'd been trailed his hoofs had sunk deep into the mud every step he'd took but across foothills and doby flats he went on always the human close behind twice that human had disappeared and he'd took hope but soon he'd show up again and mounted on a fresh horse would chase him more a rope had settled once around his neck he'd fought till it broke and run on a-dragging it

he was getting tired mighty tired and beginning to feel with each step he took that the country was in cahoots with the man and trying to hold him back his feet went ankle-deep in soft rain-soaked ground and pulling out and placing him head steady on and on was getting to be more and more of an effort once again the man disappeared only to show up mounted on another fresh horse

The man's relay string had been well placed, and as the horse he'd been chasing was getting tired and easier right along to turn the way he wanted him, he could near see how the end of the chase was going to be. The sun was getting well up in the sky when skirting along the foothills and going through a thick bunch of cedars, the tired horse noticed dead cedars piled up in a way that made a fence.

Any other time he'd whirled at the sight and went some other way, but his vision wasn't very clear no more, nor was his brain working very good. He'd went on his nerves and kept on long after his muscles had hollered quit, and he'd got to the point where he was running because something away back in his mind kept telling him that he should, really not knowing why.

He was past caring where he went, and even if the rider behind had stopped and quit, he'd kept on running just the same and till he'd dropped. He followed the cedar fence, hardly realizing it was there. Then from the other side of him appeared another fence. It gradually pinched in on him as he went, till finally both fences led up to a gate and into a corral hid in the thick trees.

There he stopped, realizing somehow that he couldn't go no further, and legs wide apart, breathing hard, sweat a-dripping from every part of him, he stood still. The half-breed closed the pole gate and turned, looking at the horse. "'Now, you ornery mouse-colored hunk of meanness, I guess I got you!'

But Smokey, eyes half-closed and not seeing, head near touching the ground, and the rest of him trying hard to stay up, never seemed to hear. Many months had passed, and many things happened, since Smokey had been hazed away from his home range on the rocking R. There'd been long nights of traveling when many miles was covered, and very little feed was got on the way.

Then, long, weary miles of travel had accumulated till near a thousand of them separated him from the country where he'd been born and raised. Many strange-looking hills and flats he'd crossed as he was kept on the go with Pecos and the rest of the bunch. And when he'd come to the desert, it'd been a great relief.

The deep snow had gradually been left behind by then, and the bare sagebrush flats had took the place of the snow-covered prairie. Many bunches of wild ponies had been seen on the way, and once in a while a little bunch of cattle was passed by. The country had kept a changing. From rolling prairie it went to low hills, low hills to mountains, and on the other side more low hills and then sagebrush.

The sagebrush had stayed in the landscape from then on, and only added some yuccas as the southern country was reached, then Spanish dagger, barrel cactus, and cat claw. Finally, a wide river in a deep canyon of many colors had been reached and swam across. A few days more travel, and then it seemed like Smokey and the bunch had got there. Anyway, there'd been no more traveling.

the next day the half-breed had corralled all the ponies and with a running iron blotched the rocking r brand over with what looked like a wagon wheel the original brand was disfigured complete and then the horses were shoved up on a high knoll while the new brand heeled

the knoll was a high flat mesa with rim rocks all around and where it could be got up on only in one place that place had then been closed with a rope and a blanket stretched over it there was good feed up there and enough snow and rain water in a natural reservoir to last many days

all would have been well for smoky and the long trip with the bucking of snow hard traveling and all with the changes of the country would have been took in as it come but along with that trip there'd groad something between that pony's ears which had got to chafe it was a hate a hate with poison and all for the breed that had kept him and the others on the move

"'Smokey was born with a natural fear and hate of the human. "'He'd carried it always, "'excepting when Clint, that one man, was around. "'But hating humans had never bothered him, "'not till the dark face of the breed "'had showed itself over the skyline. "'With him in sight, that hate had got to grow "'till murder showed in his eye.'

and the little fear that was still with him was all that had kept him from doing damage to the dark complected human that had trailed along behind all the way he'd boiled over to himself stayed in the lead and far away from the breed as he could the breed had throwed a rope at him one day and missed smoky had never been missed that way before and from that once he'd learned that by ducking at the right time there was such a thing as dodging a rope

The next day the breed had thrown his rope at him again, and Smokey, watching, had ducked at the right time and once more the loop had missed. The breed began cussing as he spread another loop and tried to place it around Smokey's neck, but his cussing didn't do him any good, and the loop fell short a foot from the dodging pony's head.

"'Smokey would have enjoyed all that if he hadn't meant it so much. "'And what's more, the breed had got ferocious, "'which all made things more serious for the horse. "'He'd hated the sound of that breed's voice as that hombre, fighting his head, "'and cussing for all he was worth, had coiled up his rope once more and made ready for another try. "'And in that third throw the breed had fooled Smokey.'

He'd swung his rope like as to throw it, but the loop had never left his hands. Smokey had dodged and dodged, thinking sure that the rope had come, but it never had. And finally, when he'd quit dodging, it did come, and with the speed of a blue racer, had circled around his neck. Smokey had fought like a trapped grizzly as the rope had drawed up, and the breed had to take a few turns around the corral post to hold him. "'I'll fix you now, you!'

Cussing a blue streak, the breed had broke a limb off the willows that hung over the corral, and coming towards Smokey had been for showing that horse who was boss. He'd went to work and tried to break the limb over the fighting pony's head. Orneriness had stuck up in the breed's gizzard, and anything would be done. Even killing the horse right there would have been honky-dory so long as he could ease his feelings some.

he'd pounded and pounded till the limb began to break and as he'd noticed it give that way he was going to keep on till it did break but there again luck had been against him the rope that had held smoky went and separated at the honda and set the horse free the breed had raved on some more at seeing his victim getting away and throwed the club after him as the pony staggered back against the other ponies

and then somehow realizing that then was no time to fool with ornery horses the breed had caught another horse i'll tend you some more he hollered at smoky and getting on the other horse he'd let the bunch out and started him on the trail two hundred miles of that trail was covered and in the time it took to cover that distance smoky had fed on hate for the breed till the hate growed to a disease

Killing the breed would be all that could cure it. Every blow that human had pounded on his head that day, a couple of weeks past, had left a scar. A scar that healed on the surface, but which went to his heart instead, spread there and stayed raw. Then one day, on the edge of a big desert flat and amongst the junipers, the breed spotted a high, strong corral.

A log cabin with smoke coming out of the chimney was off to one side a ways, and standing in the door was a man. The first man the breed had seen since starting out with the stolen horses. But he felt safe. Five hundred miles had been covered. The brands on the horses had all been picked, changed for a time by just cutting the hair.

and besides as he figured it'd be a good place to stop a while and recuperate and as he seen the place was a cow camp he thought maybe he could get the cowboy to help him some with that mouse-colored horse he was still wanting to tend to and packing a grudge against the cowboy wasn't much for the breed the minute that hombre rode up but as company was scarce he kind of stood him and even agreed to help him with the horse

"'Smokey watched the two walk in the corral the next day "'and knowed something was up. "'His ears laid back at the sight of the breed "'and hate showed from every part of him. "'He was ready to fight, "'and if anything he was glad of the chance. "'But Smokey had no chance. "'Too many ropes settled on him at once, "'and the first thing he knowed, "'he was flat on his side and tied down "'before he could use either hoof or teeth.'

The horse was no more down and helpless when the breed, seeing his victim within reach and where he couldn't get away, began to rid of what had been on his chest for so long. And when Smokey, even though tied down, reached over and near pulled the shirt off of him with his teeth, was when the breed figured he had an excuse to beat that horse to a pulp, even though the horse had no chance.

The cowboy, not understanding the breed's tactics for a spell, stood off a ways and watched. There was all about the horse to show that he'd been right in his first dislike for the dark-faced hombre. At first he was for interfering and shoved the club the breed was using right down his throat. Then he noticed how the pony would like to do the damaging instead. He thought of a better way and walked up. "'Listen, feller,' he says to the breed,

"'What's the use of beating a horse that way? "'Why don't you give him a chance "'and try to do it while you're setting on him?' "'Maybe you think I can't do it,' "'says that hombre bleary-eyed and mad clear-through. "'The scheme had worked fine. "'The cowboy grinned to himself "'as he helped the breed put the saddle on Smokey. "'Once he'd got a little too close to that pony's head "'while helping that way, "'and that horse come within an inch of getting his arm,'

The cowboy overlooked it and to himself remarked, the poor devil has sure got a reason to be mean, and I guess he's at the point where he figures no human is his friend anymore. The cowboy was right. Anything on two legs, whether it was the breed or any other human, had sure enough got to be Smokey's enemy, a crather to scatter into dust and put out of the way whenever a chance showed up.

the saddle was cinched on and while the breed was getting as much of the seat under him as he could the cowboy took off the foot ropes and soon as the last coil was pulled away he made long steps for the highest part of the corral and where he could watch everything to his heart's content the cowboy had no more than reached the top pole of the corral when a sudden commotion which sounded like a landslide made him turn

"'Smokey had come up, and at last given a chance, "'had more than started to make use of it. "'It was his turn to do some pounding, "'and he'd done it with the saddle that was on his back, "'and which went with every crooked and hard-hitting jump he made. "'The breed had rode many hard horses, and he was a good rider, "'but he soon found that Smokey was a harder horse to set "'than any he'd ever rode before.'

and as good a rider as he was there was many a twist brought in that he couldn't keep track of they kept a-coming too fast and it wasn't long when he began to feel that setting in that saddle on such a horse was no place for him the saddle horn and cantle was taking turns and hitting him from all sides till he didn't know which way he was setting

Pretty soon he lost both stirrups, and once, as he was hanging over to one side, one of them stirrups came up and hit him between the eyes. That finished him. He hit the ground like a ton of lead. The cowboy on top of the corral had laughed and enjoyed the performance all the way through, and when the breed dug his nose in the dust of the corral, he laughed all the more. He'd never been more agreeable to see a man get busted in his life.

The breed laid in a heap, never moving, and then the cowboy, finally getting serious, was forgetting him out of there before the horse spotted him and reduced him into thin air. Somehow, he wasn't caring to see a human get tore apart and right before his eyes that way, even if the human did deserve killing. But Smokey's interest was all for shedding the saddle right then and all that carried the breed's smell. Finally, it began to slip.

Higher and higher on his weathers it went, till the high point was reached, and then it started going down. When it reached the ground, the hackamore had come off with it. And before Smokey, slick and clean, straightened up again, the breed had picked himself up, and without the help of the cowboy, sneaked out of the corral.

"'The next few minutes was used by that cowboy "'in telling the breed to get another horse saddled "'and hit the trail while the hitting was good, "'and helping him get his horses together "'boosted him out of the camp. "'But the breed wasn't through with Smokey. "'He was going to tend to him again some other time. "'Months had went by before that other time come, "'and it had been away late in the next fall "'before that hombre ever put his hands on Smokey again.'

In that time, the other ponies which all had seemed inclined to behave had been sold. Smokey had been kept in the corral, treated with a club regular, and fed post hay, till, as the breed figured, he'd break the pony's spirit, or break his neck. But he was going to make him behave some way, so as he'd get the price he'd be asking for him.

Then one night a high March wind had sprung up, rattled the corral gate, and finally worked it open. Smokey hadn't been long in seeing the opening, and when a few days later the breed, hunting for the horse, spotted him, the mouse-colored gelding had took up with the wild bunch, and only a glimpse of him did he get.

Every once in a while that whole summer the breed had tried cutting Smokey out of the wild bunch and run him in, but that pony had been harder to get near than any of the wild ones he was with. He knowed what was on the program for him if that breed ever caught him again. The steady beatings he'd got from him had made his hate grow for the human till a striking rattlesnake looked like a friend in comparing.

But the breed hadn't been for quitting. He couldn't stand to have anything get the best of him, not even an ornery pony. And as Smokey enjoyed his wild freedom them summer months, the breed had kept a-studying which circle Smokey and the wild ones would take whenever they was being chased. And getting a good lay of the land, he finally figured a plan.

and that's how come when he started out after smoky again in the fall he knowed just where to place a relay string of ponies at the other end was a trap corral and well hid then the breed spotted the horse late one afternoon and fell in behind him and the other wild ones he was with

it had been a long chase the wild ones had dropped out of the run one by one and branched to one side but smoky and the rest of the strongest had kept on right along the trail where the breed had stationed his fresh relay horses finally and as the breed kept a-coming in on em with fresh horses the strongest of the mustangs kept a-branching out

But Smokey had kept on straight ahead till, leg-weary and staggering, he'd found himself in the wings of the trap corral, and then inside, past being able to see the grinning half-breed who'd closed the gate on him. A few days went by when Smokey seemed in a trance. He remembered some of being led and jerked all the way back to the breed's hangout,

of being saddled the next day and jerked around some more and then rode out and with spur and quirt made to trot around he didn't realize the breed had set on him or he didn't seem to care the little hay that was throwed out to him wasn't noticed and hardly did he drink only if by chance he happened to mope around the corral and find himself standing in the stream that was running in one side of it

there was everything about the horse to indicate that in a few more days he'd be laying down never to get up no more his trail seemed fast coming to an end and the heart that was left in him had shrunk till nary a beat of it could be felt the breed kept a-riding him out thinking he at last and for sure had the horse right where he wanted him

"'I'll make a good horse out of you, you scrub,' he'd say as he beat him over the head with his quirt and at the same time cut him with the spur. Smokey had seemed to feel neither the quirt nor the spur. He didn't flinch nor even bat an eye as both would come down on him and leave the marks. There seemed to be no sign of hopes or life left in the horse."

and the abuse went on till finally, and one day the breed happened to cut the horse a little deeper and in a more sensitive place. That cut had stirred the pony's shrunk-up heart, and a faint spark had showed in his eyes for a second. The next day Smokey even snorted a little as the breed walked into the corral, and he tried to buck some as he climbed into the saddle.

the breed was surprised at the new show of spirit and remarked as he took down his quirt i'll take that out of you from that day on smoky's heart began to expand towards natural size once more but it wasn't the same kind of heart that had once been his

"'That first one had died, and this one had took root from abuse, "'growed from rough treatment to full size, "'and with hankerings in it only for finding and destroying "'all that wasn't to his liking, "'and there was nothing to his liking no more. "'The breed he hated more than anything in the world, "'but Smokey, with that new heart of his, "'wasn't for showing them feelings much.'

He'd got wise in ways of how and when to do his fighting and where it'd do most good. He'd wait for a chance. In the meantime, he'd got to eating every stem of what little hay the breed would hand him. He'd have to live to carry out them new ambitions of his. But somehow, a hint of Smokey's new ambitions must have leaked out. Anyway, the breed had a hunch that it wouldn't be well for him to come too close to that pony's teeth and hoofs.

He'd often watch him through the corral poles and wonder. He'd sometimes wonder if it wouldn't be best to just place a .45 slug between that pony's ears instead of fooling with him. But the hopes of still being able to sell the horse for a good price would always keep him from drawing his gun. "'A good long ride'll fix you,' says the breed one morning as he drug his saddle near the corral chute. "'And I've got a long one ahead for you today.'"

"'Smokey was prodded into the chute with a long pole "'and saddled where he couldn't move. "'Then the breed climbed in the saddle, "'opened the chute gate, "'and started the horse out on a long run. "'Ten miles of country was covered which Smokey didn't see. "'His instinct made him dodge badger holes and jump washouts, "'and his eyes and ears were steady back "'and on the human he was packing, "'if he could only reach with his teeth and get him down.'

The breed's spurs kept a-gouging him, and along with the quirt a-pounding, Smokey was kept into a high lope. With that kind of tattoo being played on him, the pony gradually began to warm up and getting peeved. It wouldn't be long if that gait was kept up when he'd be reaching the boiling point and then get desperate. A steep bank was reached by the edge of a creek, and there Smokey sorta hesitated a second,

his ears and eyes was pointed ahead for that second and looking for a place where the going down wouldn't be so sudden when the breed always looking for some reason to deal the horse misery put the steel and laid the quirt to him at once that took smoky by surprise and the flame that had been smoldering in his heart loomed up into an active volcano all at once

down over the bank he went and when he landed he had his head between his front legs and went to bucking from there by some miracle the breed stuck him for half a dozen jumps then he made a circle in the air and landed on all fours at the foot of the bank a shadow on the ground and right by him made the breed reach for his gun near as quick as he landed it was the shadow of the horse and too close

His gun was out of the holster, and he turned to use it. But he was just the splinter of a second too late, and the six-shooter was buried in the ground as Smokey, like a big cougar, pounced on him. End of chapter 11. Read by Joni Vatainen. January 7th, 2023. Chapter 12 of Smokey the Cow Horse by Will James. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

When the Good Leaves Big posters was tacked on the telegraph poles all around the little town of Grama. Them posters could be seen in many windows of the town stores and advertised the coming rodeo and cowboys reunion. Amongst the prizes that was wrote down on the poster was prints from photographs of bucking horses and steers. And taking most of the room in the center of it was the picture of a bucking horse which outdone all the others.

It showed that horse throwing his rider in a way few riders ever get throwed. Then in big letters underneath was the words, The Cougar Challenges the World's Best. The Cougar was the name of a bucking horse, the main attraction and challenger to all the good riders of the country. No line was drawn as to where them riders came from or how far.

and the purse that was offered for the one who could ride that horse and scratch him was enough to make any good rider want to come a long ways and try. Many had come and tried him at other rodeos and where the cougar had performed, and found that that pony was no ordinary bucking horse, and as all that tried him could tell, afterwards there was more than his bucking to contend with.

He was mean. There was murder in his eye. And if it wasn't for the pickup men who hazed him, many a cowboy would have been pawed to pieces even before he could have hit the ground. That pony seemed to have a grudge against humans in general. His ambition was for exterminating them all off the face of the earth. But there was one thing which the riders noticed in him as most queer, and that was in the way he seemed to hate some humans worse than others.

his hate was plainest for the face that showed dark a story followed the horse and which kept a-being repeated as rider met rider at different rodeos and frontier day celebrations it was that the horse had been found on the desert amongst a bunch of wild horses and packing an empty saddle there'd been dried blood sticking to the hair along his jaw and some more on his knees

The horse had been roped and tied down, and the rider had looked for signs of wounds or cuts on his hide, but nary a scratch had been found. The horse was then advertised in the county and state papers and described as a mouse-colored, blaze-faced, stocking-legged gelding, and packing a brand that looked like a blotched wagon wheel. The advertisement was kept running for two weeks, and nobody showed to claim the horse.

He was kept in the pasture for a few days more, and then one day one of the riders run him in the corral. The cowboy had liked the looks of the pony from the day he'd set eyes on him. He'd figured him as an ordinary horse that had been spoiled a little. And shaking out a loop, there'd been no doubt in his mind but what that could be took out of him easy enough.

But he hadn't gone very far when he found that the pony would have to be throwed before a saddle could ever be put on his back. There was a look in the horse's eye which he didn't like, and that cowboy having handled all kinds of horses knowed mighty well what that look meant. He kept his distance, and from there worked his ropes till the horse went down to his knees and then flat to the ground.

The saddle was cinched on tight, and seeing that the hackamore was on the pony's head to stay, the cowboy took his seat while the horse was down, and reaching over, took the foot ropes off. What went on in the next few minutes was past ever being described with talk, and as that cowboy felt, telling about it would be a disgrace as compared with what really happened, something like trying to paint the Grand Canyon of Arizona on black canvas with black paint.

Anyway, that cowboy had reached for the top pole of the corral and got on the other side of it before the pony had really got started to whatever he was up to, and there on the safe side he'd done a mental roundup and it all came to him. He remembered the empty saddle that was on the pony's back when found that day two weeks passed, then the dried blood that had been on his jaw and more of it on his knees.

The cowboy had remarked as through the corral poles he'd watched the man-killer. A twelve-hundred-pound mountain lion is what that horse is. That's where his name Cougar had come in, and no horse never lived up to a name like the mouse-colored gelding did to his. Then had come rumors of a Fourth of July celebration which was going to be pulled off in some big town to the south. There was to be bronc riding and everything that went with it.

a prize of a hundred dollars had been offered for the best bucking horse and that's how come one day that the cougar made his first appearance before a grandstand a warning was given to the pick-up man and hazers to be on hand and watch out nobody got hurt and them few words of warning that way had proved to sound mighty right before that day was over

The cougar had been tried out, and then a hundred dollars was handed to the rider who'd brought him in. He'd won the prize. There was no doubt in anybody's mind but what that pony was by a long ways the meanest and hardest horse to ride there. And not only there, but anywhere else and wherever hard bucking horses was rode. Fifty dollars additional was offered for the right to keep the horse for rodeo purposes.

That was refused, and when the last day of the doings come and the riders came up for the finals, another fifty was added to the first offer and accepted. A bill of sale was made out, and the cougar from that day on was drove from stockyard to stock car and from arena to arena. In front of the crowded grandstand is where his fame as a fighting, man-hating, bucking outlaw began to spread.

and from state to state town and range folks alike was on hand and whenever he was to be rode and handled for watching that horse perform was alone worth more than the price that was asked for the ticket at the gate of the rodeo grounds it wasn't long when the folks through whole of the southwestern states began to talk of the cougar as they did of their favorite movie actor actress or the prince of wales

tourists from europe and from all parts of the u s came and went and carried stories with them about the wonders of the wickedness of that horse then rodeo committees began to perk up their ears and at the same time started bidding for him

The cougar's presence got to be valuable, and came a time when $500 was offered by a rival who also made a business of furnishing rodeos with strings of bucking stock. The offer wasn't considered, none at all, and the riders around had their doubts if even a thousand would change the ownership of that horse.

every summer through the mouse-colored outlaw was skipped along with the others more or less of his kind and unloaded at some different rodeo grounds every few weeks and for three or four days he was rowed at

"'Twice or three times a day during the doings, "'some strange rider would climb him. "'The chute gate would fly open, "'and out would come a tearing, bellering hunk of steel coils "'to land out a ways, and like a ton of lava from up above, "'jar the earth even up to the grandstand. "'The judges, pick-up men, and others around "'would find themselves short about ten pairs of eyes "'as all tried to catch every crooked move that pony put into his work.'

All breaths seemed to be held up during that time, but never no time was them breaths held up for very long.

"'cause very soon there'd be a scattering of a tall cowboy "'who from the chute had started on top, "'took a lot of wicked jars while setting there and so high, "'and good rider as he'd have to be, "'soon came to conclude that it was sure no disgrace "'to be separated from his saddle and flung out a ways. "'Not on that horse.'

Very seldom would the rider have to walk back very far, and sometimes only a few feet was between the rider who was picking himself up and the chute where he'd rode out from so fast and furious. As an all-around outlaw and bucking horse, the cougar had no rival. There wasn't a horse in the state or any state neighboring that could compete with him in either fighting or bucking, and folks seeing or studying the horse often wondered,

For anybody who knowed horses could see that that horse hadn't been born a natural outlaw like most of the rodeo's bucking horses generally are. That pony had brains, a big supply of them, and which showed in the way he'd go about throwing his man. He wasn't like the average bucking horse, who'd often buck back under the man that was already loosened, and instead, when the cougar felt a man lose an inch, that inch was never got back.

the saddle kept a-getting away from him from then on but there was more and which was all proof as to the amount of brains that pony carried there was his hate for the man and which showed the same as the hate one human would have for another only it was more dangerous and then again as the cowboy who took care of him often remarked the way that horse packs a grudge somebody sure must have dealt him a dirty deal some time or other

"'I know there's sure something on his mind besides that, too, "'and like he's pining for something that's gone and hopeless. "'At them times he acts like he wants my company "'the same as though he was craving for somebody. "'But them spells don't last long, "'and soon he seems to come back to earth and realizing things. "'That's when I'm not going within reaching distance no more. "'But by golly, I sure wish sometimes that horse would like me as well as he hates.'

the first two years he put in as the cougar and bad horse was the most ferocious two years any horse went through it was wicked times not only for the horse but for all who handled and tried to ride him there was so much poison in that pony's heart that the only way he could live was by hating and being hated

he fed on it and the bars or poles that was between him and whoever he wanted to get at in his fits of wickedness showed signs a-plenty of his hankering to murder the destroying ability of that pony's teeth and hoofs sure was visible and convincing he wasn't at all the same horse that had faced a cowboy some eight years or so past

he hadn't wanted to fight then he'd just wanted to get away and be left alone and he'd only fought that rope that held him and even though his suspicions and hate of the human had been natural he hadn't seen anything about that cowboy he wanted to disfigure he'd done a mighty neat job of bucking in the rocking ar corrals and made clint pay attention to his riding pretty well but his bucking then even though it was hard didn't compare much with the bucking of the cougar

He'd just been bucking through instinct. It was the natural thing for a brainy range horse to do, and when he bucked, it wasn't for meanness, but just to see if he couldn't get out from under that rig and man. He'd felt like it didn't belong up there in the middle of him, and he'd only wanted to make sure that it all could stick. He'd given it all a mighty good test, of course, but as compared with the way Smokey had acted with how he was now acting as the cougar,

It would match well with a man playing a peaceful game of solitary and a gambler dealing for his life with some hated enemy. The cougar would have killed himself to get his man. He was past caring for his own hide and only lived to hate. But even as strong as that hate was, it was queer to see that he wasn't interested to do damage only to the men that handled or tried to ride him.

maybe that was because there was always so many around the grandstands was full of people and it was the same around the chutes and corrals of the rodeo grounds them crowds might have confused him to a standstill and sort of made him keep neutral till only one or two come near another thing that might have fooled a few was the way the cougar carried his ears

Most every town person has noticed how some horses in the city streets have some kind of leather muzzles to keep them from biting passing folks.

Them horses have their ears back most of the time, and whenever somebody comes near, they have a mighty cranky look, too. But as a rule, they're not as wicked as they look. It's just that they're tired of having everybody that goes by stop and try to feed them peanuts or apples and such, or being petted and sometimes rubbed the wrong way.

Some horses' disposition can't stand it, and them few seem to get so they can't keep their ears forward and look pleasant any time. They're always laying them back and looking like they would do some damage. But the most they would do if they had no muzzle would be to maybe just nip a little hunk of hard-twist serge or a little silk off different folks' arms. Like a feller says to me one time, it's just that they're bored.

the horse out on the range no matter how mean he might be hardly ever puts his ears back at a human when he does it's only once in a coon's age and only for a split of a second in the next split of that second something has happened the cougar being a sure enough range horse and with real mustang of the early spanish blood to boot carried his ears in the ways of that kind

he'd look at a man through the chute timbers and with his ears straight ahead but in them eyes under the shadow of them ears was a fair picture of what would happen if that man ever stepped in that chute with him it didn't need no imagination to see it either never did the cougar lay his ears back unless he was sure of his victim

When he did, there'd be an ambulance wagon racing through the arena and remarks in queer low tones passed by white-faced folks up in the grandstand, which all kept accumulating and piled up in the cougar's reputation as a bad horse. A little bit of a freckled-faced hombre who'd made the grand finals was along the chute one day and up to ride the cougar,

he'd come from across the border and through the first three days of the rodeo had proved himself to be a ranahan top hand of bronc riding as well as in steer roping by golly he was heard to say as the cougar was hazed into the saddling chute i've come a long ways to get a setting at that pony he felt of his taped spurs to make sure they was there to stay

and if you watch close he went on grinning i'll give you all a few lessons on how to play a tune with a spur rowel at the tip of a pony's ears the little vaquero cowboy was feeling good he hadn't been to town for a year or more and a chance to ride a mean horse where there was folks around was a big change to him

Barrel Cactus and Spanish Dagger had been the only witnesses to his riding ability, and riding a side-winding pony on dobie flats or higher mesas wasn't so apt to bring out the best in a rider as when in a nice arena where there's a band playing and folks a-cheerin'. "'There's a horse to my liking,' he says as he took a look at the cougar."

The way that pony was acting while being saddled didn't faze the rider none at all. The grin on his face kept spreading all the wider as he made ready to climb the chute. He'd handled many a fighting horse. And to him, they all could do only one thing, and that was their worst.

As a true rider of the range, he welcomed anything that'd test his skill and ability. And if the cougar had come straight up from hell, wore horns, a forked tail, and cloven hoof, he'd have grinned all the more and bet his year's earnings that he could send him back to where he came from with his tail between his legs and hollering, enough, rider up, hollered the hazer. But the judges was already watching, for it was the cougar coming out.

The cowboy let out a war hoop and grinned as the chute gate flew open and the cougar came uncorked. He packed that grin past the judges and at the same time reefed, spurred, the earth-jarring outlaw with taped rowels from back of the ear to the back of the saddle skirts. "'Yep!' he howled as the bellering cougar left the earth once more.

A cloud of dust went up which kept the judges from seeing what went on. But even if there'd been no dust, they couldn't have followed what all had happened, and had happened too fast. In the next particle of time, a twisting hunk of mouse-colored horse flesh was tearing up the arena towards the chutes and the fence along it. The cowboy was still war-hooping and fanning, but he was to one side and being snapped around like a whiplash.

The cougar had found his stride, and as usual was getting his man. The pickup men rode up to grab Holt of the horse's head and before the man was thrown. But they was just too late, and in another second something happened that made everybody in the grandstand turn pale and hang on to each other. For the cowboy, still a fanning, was, by a wicked jolt, loosened from his saddle and headed for the ground.

"'The cougar reared up while the rider was still in the air, "'then turned and with ears back, teeth a-flashing, "'hoofs a-striking with lightning speed, "'went to carry out his heart's cravings. "'The man was juggled up there for a second and then came down. "'The horse, like the cougar he was, "'right after him and to finish what he'd started. "'It was then that Providence or something seemed to interfere.'

for as the rider came down and reached the earth he was on the other side of the fence which kept him from being totally reduced to dust but even with the fence separating the cougar wasn't through there was a noise of splintering timbers as he tried to reach the cowboy and it wasn't till two ropes settled around his neck and pulled him away that it was what you'd call ended

A few riders rushed up to find the cowboy setting up and shaking his head like a trying to get back amongst the living. Pretty soon he looked up at the men around him, and a sort of vacant grin spread over his features. Then he looked at his clothes, noticed his shirt was most tore off him. He wrinkled his face as he moved his body and felt kinks along his ribs and back, and looked at his handmade rawhide chaps which showed marks where hard hoofs had connected.

"'The sight of them made him grin again. "'And after a while he says, "'Doggone good thing I had these chaps on, "'or I'd be setting here and going at them one better.' "'From that day on the freckled-faced cowboy was, "'or tried to be, at every rodeo and near whatever shoot "'the cougar honored by his presence. "'He'd run up against a horse he couldn't ride. "'It was hard to take, "'and he couldn't get it into his head how it was done.'

He'd never seen a horse he couldn't ride before, but there was more, and which all kept the cowboy to following the outlaw. The unnatural meanness of that pony had him guessing, and he sort of wanted to figure it out while a-setting on top. There was a horse that not only called for skill and nerve, but the thinking ability of the pony was sure worth a-trying to match. Winters and springs and falls found him on the range and doing his work there,

he was getting all kinds of good practice with his everyday work and when summers come he was always on the trail of the cougar and with new hopes that he could go back to the range and tell his majordomo that he rode him slick and clean and to a standstill

For two summers he followed him. In that time competing with other good riders, he'd had three chances at him, and each time them chances wound up with him hitting the ground and running as he hit. "'That horse sure means what he does,' he was heard to say to one of the riders one time, "'and by golly that's just what makes me keep after him.'"

Three more long summers of rodeo work went by, and the cougar kept on a challenging the world's best riders. Another spring came. More rodeos was followed, and where it was advertised that the cougar will be present, the posters went on a telling how in five years' time no rider had been able to set the horse till the gun was fired. And as the cowboys remarked, that was one truthful statement.

Smokey kept on a-throwing men right and left that spring and on through the summer. He kept his record and back clean that way till away along towards the fall, and then one day at the start of another rodeo, a cowboy from the Wyoming country, who'd come south for the winter, happened to hear of the doings.

A couple of days later, that bronc fighter showed himself at the rodeo headquarters, and remarking how he'd heard of the cougar, signed his name and entered on bronc riding. He qualified and went through the tryouts and semifinals like it was all so much play. The cougar was a horse kept for the finals only, and that's the pony the cowboy had been trying to reach.

the others he'd had to ride had only been a means for him to get to the cougar he'd easy won the right to ride that horse and also the chance to win the thousand dollars that was up for any rider that could

he hung around the chute and mighty close the next afternoon soon the time would come for him to really try his ability and while waiting he was using that time to seeing that the latigos and cinch had no weak spots and would be able to stand the strain of staying around the middle of that cougar horse

Then the judges hollered out his name as the next rider out, and about that time the mouse-colored outlaw peeked through the bars of the chute at him and snorted. The rider whistled at the sight of the mean-looking head, and grinning a little, remarked, "'I got a hunch that this pony is going to be te-odally different than any horse I ever rode, but here goes, and I got to wish myself luck.'"

You'll need lots of that, says one of the cowboys. The saddle was on, the cinch reached for and drawed up to stay, and then the rider climbed over the poles of the chute and took his seat on a back that had throwed the country's best riders. He pulled the rope rein up just tight enough, worked his feet ahead a little, and setting back some to sort of meet the first jolt.

He took off his hat, laid all the balance he could in it, and then hollered, "'We're coming out!' Coming out was right, but shot out would have been more fitting in that case. Anyway, the judges hardly seen either the horse or the man till both was out there and both a-fighting to win. There was a mighty big surprise showed on all the faces around when as the first big cloud of dust cleared, it was noticed the rider was still up there,

"'and what's more, all indicated that he was going to stay there. "'The judges was setting on their horses, "'and Popeye'd with the miracle of the performance looked on petrified. "'Such a rider on such a horse was seldom seen, "'and they was so all took up with the goings-on, "'they didn't notice that the rider had rode past the limit "'and forgot to fire the gun marking the end of the ride. "'Then somebody hollered and jarred him out of the trance they was in.'

The shot was fired, and the report had no more than died down when the rider seemed to quit from there and fell off the horse. The punishment he'd took in that ride had been enough to do him for many a day to come. He'd felt like his backbone was going to be pushed through his throat from the first jump, and that feeling had kept repeating right along with each fast-coming jolt till he was near unconscious.

Being the rider he was, he stuck there and tried to fight away the dizzy feeling and keep track of the horse at the same time. Then, after what seemed an hour, he heard a faint echo of the shot and realized in a way that he'd qualified for first money. He'd been the first man to ride that horse past the judges, and that was enough. He wasn't caring right then if it would be said that he didn't ride the horse to the finish.

one of the riders who knowed the cougar mighty well had watched the horse come out with the same thrill that had always been his at that time he'd seen the pony come out many a time before and as that last performance came to an end he leaned over to one of the boys near him and says

"'Do you know, it strikes me like the cougar is beginning to fade out as a bucking horse. I don't think that pony's been keeping up his standard the last few times he's been rode, and especially this last time. If that cowboy who's just left him had straddled him last summer, I'm sure and certain he wouldn't have stuck as long as he did.' "'Well, I've been sort of noticing that, too, and figured the horse had slowed down some,' agrees the other rider.'

But that's got to be expected, considering that the cougar's been in the arenas for going on six years now. I don't see myself how them legs of his has been able to stand the strain that long. Them remarks was true. Nothing was meant against the cowboy who'd been the first to stick him past the judges. And as them words was said, they meant just that, with no hint that they could have done the same. And what's more, other cowboys had noticed the same what these two had spoke of.

The cougar was beginning to slow down, but that last would maybe give some idea of what a bucking horse the cougar really was or had been. That pony slowing down that way began to be noticed more and more every time he was rode. The little vaquero from across the border went back satisfied that fall. He'd been the second man to ride the cougar.

and when the last rodeo of the year had been pulled off the cougar had been rode twice more and to a finish the folks in the grandstands was surprised and come to the conclusion that he wasn't so much of a bucking horse after all but they didn't realize

Anyway, the thousand-dollar purse that had been offered for anyone who could ride him had dwindled down to five hundred, and the cougar was fast losing the reputation he'd made as a man-hating bucking horse. Even his hate for the human had seemed to die down. He'd throwed a rider one day who'd landed right in front of him. The crowd had held their breath, expecting to see that cowboy mangled to pieces right before their eyes.

all that would have happened and mighty quick a year or so before but this time the outlaw didn't seem to notice the man he'd bucked on right over him and seeming like careful how he placed his hoofs as he'd went so as to miss him

There was murmurs in the grandstand afterwards that the cougar was no outlaw at all, maybe just a pet and trained to buck, and like his man-killing reputation, which was most likely only a sort of a draw card and advertising for the rodeo. But whatever the folks in the grandstand thought, Smokey had reasons of his own for gradually getting away from being the cougar.

it wasn't that his legs was getting stove up or giving away on him so much as the way things had come to him as year after year he met up with the strange riders that had come to try him and even though none of em seemed to want a close acquaintance with him there was nothing about them boys for the hate he was packing to feed on

Not once since that day he'd bogged his head in front of the first grandstand had a club nor even a twig ever been laid on him. For the first couple of years, Smokey had let the heart the half-bred had transplanted in him control his actions. The poison of hate in that heart had kept him from noticing or go according to the good treatment he'd been getting.

and it was close to the fifth year before his ears began to perk up to the show of admiration and respect that was handed him from all around the name of the cougar lived on for a spell but the horse that had been packing that name was fast getting away from having the right to such then the next spring came and with it rodeos began to be pulled off here and there

good riders begin following the cougar again as before and with the hopes that some day some time or other they'd be able to pull their riggins off that pony's back and be able to say i rode him but long before middle summer come them hopes had died down in many of the boys for the cougar wasn't the cougar no more

them fast crooked and hard-hitting jumps of his and which had jarred the thoughts and balance out of so many a good rider had died down and put the horse as an average with the other bucking horses rider after rider forked him and sort of disappointed had rode and fanned him easy enough where a year or so before no fanning had been required to qualify

The cougar kept a bucking on and on every time he was saddled, and he was rowed through to the finish oftener and oftener till finally no rider was ever throwed no more, not from that pony's back. The heart of the cougar was shriveling up and leaving space for the heart that was Smokey's, and that heart, even though older and weaker, was making a mighty strong stand and steady coming back.

Soon there came a time when the mouse-colored outlaw didn't have to be handled from a distance no more. No high corral was needed for protection against his teeth and hoofs. And like most of the other buckers, he could be led from the stock car to the rodeo grounds without any other ropes holding him back and away from the man that was leading him.

Then one day a rider brought in a big raw-boned grey, remarking that here was an outlaw. And an outlaw he was, sure enough. From his Roman nose on up to his sunk, dead-looking eyes, and taking in his lantern jaws onto his thick neck, and along with the rest of him, all indicated the natural outlaw. But what made him as a most valuable horse for the rodeos was in how he could buck.

That's all he knowed. And like all natural outlaws that way, that's all he wanted to know. Right away, he was called the gray cougar, the same as to try and bring back the real cougar. But there was no comparing the gray outlaw with the cougar, not when the last one had meant business. To begin with, the gray horse was mean only because it was his natural instinct to be that way. He didn't have the special ambition nor the brains that the cougar had.

with the gray it was just jug-headed orneriness and in no way could he compete with the mouse-colored man-killer but he made a fine outlaw just the same a second best that'd do he managed to buck a few men off from the start and right then is when the old cougar begins sliding into the background for it had been quite a spell since that pony had made a man ride for his money

the appearance of the gray outlaw had kind of marked the downhill start for smoky's career as a bucking horse and then one day the end came sure enough and in a few minutes as usual the cougar was announced to the crowd and them in the grand stand who'd often heard but never seen that wicked pony in action was naturally mighty interested as that notorious horse made his appearance in the saddling chute

Many in the crowd had seen him buck before, and some of them stopped breathing for a spell, and while the gate was opened, most anything was expected from that horse, and all of them that looked on felt sure of seeing something that had come up to their expectations, and then some. The gate opened, and out came a streak of a mouse-colored horse with a cowboy on top.

and the cougar that famous outlaw lined out across the ground on a long lope anywheres and in any line very little respect is ever showed for a has-been if the cougar had fought and tore things up as he'd once had all would have been hunky-dory and the crowd would all been satisfied

but the horse had come to the end of his fighting streak not a jump was left in him for the smoky heart had growed over and smothered the heart that had been the cougar's he was a has-been and only willing to be the plain behaving smoky again

The crowd was disappointed. They felt they wasn't getting their money's worth. And there was hollers of, "'Take him away and hook him up on a milk wagon!' or, "'Sell him for a lady's saddle horse!' and so on. It was queer, but only natural to notice, that them loudmouth remarks was passed only by the most useless, and of the kind that's plum helpless whenever away from their home grounds. Others hollered more to kind of show off,

But the looks they'd get from the sensible folks around only went to prove that the show-off was of just plain ignorance. The cowboy rode the cougar till the other side of the grounds was reached. There he stopped him and climbed off, and hearing the hurrahs from the grandstand, he touched the horse on the neck and says, "'Never mind, old horse, you've done yours.'

And I'd liked mighty well if I could have turned you loose amongst that bunch that's making all that noise up there and watch them scatter. But you're not fighting anymore. The rodeo was on its last day. The prizes was handed out that night, and the next morning, the bucking horses was loaded in the stock cars on the way for some other town where another rodeo was going to be pulled off.

In them boxcars there was one place where the cougar had stood while on the road, but this time, and in that same place, was a gray horse who snorted as the train began to move. The cougar had been left behind, and from the inside of the stockyards watched the train pull out of sight. End of chapter 12. Read by Joni Vatainen. January 12, 2023.

CHAPTER XIII OF SMOKEY THE COWHORSE by Will James. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. A MANY MEN HORSE The cougar, being he was useless for rodeo purposes, had been sold to the livery stableman for twenty-five dollars. It was figured that at least twenty-five dollars worth of use would be got out of him there,

The horse was fat and strong-looking, could be broke to harness, and made to do his share with any of the six and eight horse teams which was kept on the road across the deserts as freight teams. But one day, and before the harness ever disgraced the cougar's hide, a bunch of tourists had flocked into town to stay for a spell, and one of the crowds suggested a little horseback riding.

The livery stable man was at once swamped with orders for saddle horses, and before he got through tallying up how many he could furnish, he found he was short of about three. By scouting around, he dug up two more, but he was still short one, and then his eye fell on the mouse-colored horse.

At first he was for overlooking that horse entirely, but as he needed one more to finish up the party, he couldn't very well afford to overlook any horse that might do. He caught the horse and saddled him, and scared but game, he got in the saddle. If that pony still had one jump left in him, it was up to that old boy to find out, and one jump from that horse would be that much too many. He'd never do for no tourist then.

But the cougar never even humped up as he was rode around the stable corrals. The man's legs began to quit shaking, and as he sat there, his face gradually turned from blank white to natural color again. And then he began to grin and show pleasant surprise as he noticed how well the horse reined whichever way was wanted. "'Bye, Jappers!' he remarked to the stable door. "'This feller is a real saddle horse!'

So, when the tourists, all togged up in their shiny riding habits, appeared some time later, the stableman was all ready and waiting for him. He sized them all up as to which would get along with each horse best, and being he was still dubious as to what the cougar might do, he looked them all over careful once more till the strongest and most able-looking young man in the bunch was spotted. The cougar's reins was handed to him, and sort of cautious, he asked,

"'I suppose you know how to ride well?' That young man turned on him, surprised at such a question, and answered, sarcastic, "'Why, certainly!' The stableman grinned as he watched him and all ride up the street. "'Why, certainly!' he says to himself, and grinned some more. "'I hope he's just as certain on his riding when he gets back!' It was evening before the party, slouching all over their horses, returned to the stable.

The stableman smiled, satisfied, as he noticed that the young feller, not at all messed up, was still riding the cougar. He'd been worried about letting that young feller have the horse, but everything was okay now, and the folks seemed to have all enjoyed their ride considerable, and so well that they wanted the horses again for the next day. "'This is a very fine horse,' says the young feller as he got off the cougar.

there was all about him that as much as went on to say why certainly i can ride the stableman had seen many like him and knowed exactly how well he could ride but he was relieved in learning that the cougar had behaved so well and what's this horse's name asks the young feller for a minute the stableman does some tall thinking

If the horse's real name was given out, the young feller would sure swell up and bust in learning that he'd rode the famous outlaw nobody else had been able to ride for so long. And even though the horse hadn't made a single jump with him, his certainly would get more conceited than ever. And then again, he maybe wouldn't want the horse anymore. So after hesitating a while, he finally came onto a new name for the horse. "'Cloudy is that horse's name,' he says."

that name sounded sort of pleasing all around and it fitted the color of the pony mighty well but then the good points for it would never loom up like the name of smoky had in the cow country to the north nor would it ever be mentioned about from state to state and give thrills just as the sound like the name of the cougar had often done

But then again, that horse wasn't the same no more. He'd went from top cowhorse to champion bucking horse and all-around outlaw, only to fade away in a livery stable and there for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to ride as they pleased. Cloudy was just a livery plug. As a raw bronc, and then cowhorse, Smokey had been for learning all that could be learned—

"'As the cougar and outlaw, he'd been for killing "'and disfiguring every man that gave him the chance. "'There'd been something that called on him "'to do his best while on the rocking our range, "'and there he went to the top as a cowhorse. "'Something else and very different had stirred his interest "'while in the arena of the rodeo grounds. "'He'd shined there as a fighting outlaw, "'and in a way that had made all the others seem to be out of sight.'

He'd had something big to work for, both on the range and in the arena, but now it seemed like, as the big livery stable doors closed on him after his first day of use there, that the end of his string had come. He'd sort of felt it in a way, soon as the last car of the bucking horses he'd been with went and disappeared over the skyline. He hadn't tried to get away, or even snorted when the stableman came in the corral where he'd been left and led him out.

he'd followed the man to the big stable and as he was kept there he found nothing about the place nor the folks around that suggested anything worth while working for he was just a horse there a plug that could be rented by the hour or day and even though all seemed strange and new compared to what he'd been used to there was nothing in the goings-on which could put a spark in his eye

maybe it was that his heart was growing old but anyway and after getting acquainted some with the place the pony sort of took things as they come without snorting out his opinions he was fast getting past caring his main interest of life soon began to be only for the manger of hay and the little grain that was fed him when the day's work was done

one day the stableman came and curried him that was a new experience for the horse never had a curry comb ever touched his hide before somehow he didn't mind it and then come a time when the feel of that performance was looked forward to it felt near as good as a good roll in the dirt the currying his feed of grain a rest and to be left alone had got to be the remains of the mouse-colored pony's ambitions

but he had to work and earn what hay and care was handed him he didn't mind working but all this aimless chasing around he took out to do most every day wasn't at all to that pony's liking he'd been broke to do something useful and which had to be done afterwards and with his bucking there was a reason but with these equestrians as they was called they didn't seem to know themselves what they wanted to do or where they wanted to go

they'd just wander around and handle him with a rein in each hand like he was a plow horse they'd run him up and down streets where the ground was hard on his feet and let him walk where the going was soft and level it was no wonder that the end of the day and the stall at the stable was looked forward to so much never before had that horse appreciated his night's rests as he was now doing

he'd near close his eyes for the peace he'd feel then and eat his hay and grain slow the same as though he was fearing that as soon as it was gone he'd have to be out again and going there'd been a short spell through the night when he'd closed his eyes all the way and his tired mind like his tired body would be at rest

and then after a while when his eyes would open again he'd clean up what little hay he'd left the night before and that way gather all the strength he could for the day's work that was soon to begin near every morning early a gray-haired man and sort of stout around the middle would come a little pancake saddle with flapping iron stirrups would be put on the pony's back

and after a lot of hard work and puffing the equestrian would finally get up and on the horse and the early morning ride would begin the man was heavy and set his saddle mighty awkward but with all his weight and awkwardness and as cloudy got acquainted some with the man he finally sort of took a liking for him

That one seemed to know where he wanted to go, and when he got there, even though it was no place in particular, the old feller would always get down off of him, sometimes he'd talk to him, and Cloudy would listen. It didn't matter if he couldn't make heads or tails of what the talk was about, he just liked the sound of his voice. Them morning rides was always on the outside of town, up some canyon or lane, and Cloudy felt better at them places.

besides he was never rushed and if he was put into a trot or a lope it was done proper and in a way both man and horse enjoyed seldom would any sweat ever show after the ride was over and the stable was reached again

"'But the day's work would be just beginning for Cloudy, "'and the stable was no more than got into sight "'when Saddles would be changed and another person, "'fresh and aching for a jaunt, "'would get on him and start out on another ride. "'When he'd be brought back at noon, "'he'd just have time to eat his grain, "'when another equestrian would darken the stable door "'and ask for Cloudy. "'I enjoy riding that horse so, don't you know?'

Everybody preferred Cloudy to any horse the stableman had, and being that feller wasn't running that business for his health, he rented him out every chance he got and fed him an extra feed of grain so the horse could stand up under the work. Sometimes that horse would be rode till away into the night, then brought in dripping with sweat and often staggering, but the next day his work went on just the same.

Folks of all ages, sizes, built, and packing from none to a big amount of brains, came and rode Cloudy. Once in a while he'd be handled right, and like it was known that a horse has feelings and brains. But most of the time his feelings wasn't at all considered. No thought would be given that the horse might have already went a long ways, or that he might be tired.

but amongst all that rode him the boys was the worst and fast running the old pony downhill and towards the end the most of em would start the horse on a high lope and from the time they got on him till he was brought back that high lope instead of being let up on would most always wind up into a high run

Up and down the side streets they'd race him, loan him to other boys to race him some more, and each would do their best to show off how fast they could make the tired horse go. There was times as the spur, a quirt, was laid on the old horse to make him go faster, when the cougar heart which had died in him near showed signs of coming back to life again. But the pony's spirit had dwindled down as the years accumulated, and he couldn't back the way he felt.

he was weary both in mind and body and no chance was ever given him so as to let either rest and if once in a while the heart of the cougar did make a try at coming back it wasn't for long the flame would only sputter and go out and another rap with the court would only make him try to do his best once again just as plain cloudy the livery stable plug

the boys girls and grown-ups kept a-setting on the old horse and not knowing but sure and steady was riding and dragging him down to a death that'd be away ahead of the time when it should come

they'd compared well with a pack of wolves for like that kind none of them would ever wanted to come within a hundred yards of the horse when he was up into fighting none of them would ever dreamed of wanting to set on his back when he was the cougar and hankering to fight and kill but now and at last he was down there was no fight in him no more and like the pack of wolves they compared so well with they all closed in on him

the only difference was the wolf pack killed their victim quick they don't leave the life drag on for days weeks and months nor let the victim suffer to finally die slowly and by degrees then again the wolf killed to eat and live but there was no blame ever attached to these human wolves who was killing the horse only for the pleasure they'd get in riding him and the fine exercise that went with it

Most of them meant well, only they didn't know. Cloudy, always true in whatever he'd done, was so willing. No jab of the spur was needed to make him go, and his willingness to do his best that way was often, if not always, mistaken, and took for granted that he was feeling good and raring to go. They didn't know the difference between a tired, wore-out horse and one that's fresh and fit to be rowed.

Then again, there was many who never stopped to realize. To them, a horse was just a horse, and they didn't know nothing about horses. That kind figured a horse to be like an automobile, always able to go and as fast as was wanted. And instead of stepping on the gas like is done with a car, just give the horse the whip. And that way kept him right on a-going. A winter came and scattered the bright fall days four ways—

the coming of the long cold winter along with the raw winds that swept down from the divide brought to the folks around a dread of the dreary months that was to follow them folks wasn't for enjoying being out much any more and instead found a lot of comfort in being where there was a roof over their heads and a fire roaring between the four walls

The tourists had all left and scattered back to where they came. The town was dead, and many heads was got together a-trying to figure ways to break the monotony that had took hold of the community. For two weeks a cold wind had blowed down off the mountain, and once in a while would bring along light flakes of snow that kept a-skipping and never seemed to light.

the weather was cussed at by some while others kept busy bringing in wood and coal and not any had a good word put in for old man winter not any excepting one and that one was only an old livery stable plug that old plug couldn't have said anything anyway but he done better he felt what he couldn't say

he felt that the coming of winter that way and the evaporating of the tourists and the others as it came was all that saved what little life he had left there was saddle sores on his back and he'd got to where there was nothing to him but a rack of bones on which a hide hung that hide was faded from many a sweating and in spots the hair had wore off and left it bare

his weary legs near buckled under him and was hardly able to pack the weight he'd reduced to and another couple of weeks more the old pony would have been done for he'd long ago been going on his nerve and that had been fast wearing out on him but now it looked like old man winter had come just in time and saved him from the bone pile

There'd been two weeks when the cold winds howled, whistled through the cracks of the stable and shook it. And in them two weeks, the old horse had recuperated some till he was able to listen to the howling wind and feel the while that no equestrian would be showing up to interrupt the rest that he was needing so bad. Every person around wondered when that awful wind was going to stop.

but with cloudy if ever he could have he'd wished that that wind would last forever it had got to be sweet music to his ears and he dozed to his heart's content only to be woke up out of his dream to stare at a fresh forkful of hay once in a while then he'd eat a spell listen to the wind some more and on the sound of it go to dozing again maybe dreaming of a winter range somewheres and far away

Pecos is by him maybe while he dreams then other ponies of the rocking are and on a ridge watching him is Clint the only real friend he'd ever knowed the winter months wore on and cloudy begin to look like a horse again then spring come and the air that came with it got the folks to wanting to be out

One day, the gray-haired gent who'd rode cloudy in mornings of the summer before showed up again and was picked on as one steady customer for the pony. Then, a few days later, a young lady came to the stable who just loved horses and asked if she could get cloudy every afternoon and whenever the weather was fit to ride in.

the stable-man let her have the horse once and noticing what good care she took of him figured her as another steady customer for the old horse with her and the gray-haired man showing up every day he allowed how that would be enough work for him and none of the other equestrians ever got a chance to set on that horse from then on

a few years before and if cloudy had been the kind of horse folks would want to ride that pony would have been able to take on a couple more equestrians and stand up under the work easy enough but now he was getting too old for much more riding and the stableman realizing that was trying to make him last as long as he could

But Cloudy was getting stiff mighty fast along the shoulders and front legs. He couldn't reach out no more in the same stride that had been his. And instead, whenever a front foot touched the ground for another step, it was like he was placing it on needles, and careful so as not to jar his shoulders and the rest of his body any more than he could help.

There was times when he felt like he wanted to split the breeze the same as he used to, but that feeling was mostly in his heart, and his old legs couldn't follow up. Them old legs had hit the ground too hard too many times, and jarred too many riders out of the saddle at the rodeos where he'd performed as a bucking horse.

then the first year of livery stable work where he was jammed around on the town's hard and rocky streets put the kibosh on him for fair the old tendons had been called on to do too much

but neither the old gent nor the young lady that was riding him every day noticed the stiffness crawling up on the old horse he still went and he still seemed willing to go some more and far as they could tell he was as good as any four-year-old

Both took care of him so well that no hint ever came to either of them that they was riding an old horse what had a long ago earned freedom and a rest for what few years was still his to live. Every afternoon the girl came, her pockets loaded down with lumps of sugar, and refusing help, saddled Cloudy and headed him for a trail from where the scenery around could be seen and well.

she'd pet him on the neck and run her fingers through his mane and talk while the pony given plenty of time would pick his way through the rocks and brush she'd let him rest often while in the steepest climbs and sometimes would get out of the saddle so as to give him a better chance at them times she'd reach in the pocket of her white riding habit and get a few lumps of sugar she'd brought for him

"'Cloudy hadn't been much for sugar when it was first introduced to him. He'd sniffed and snorted at the white lump, but the young lady had kept it under his nose till he finally nibbled at it. It didn't taste so bad, and he'd nibbled at it again, and some more, till came a time as the girl kept defeating it to him right along he'd got to looking for it.'

he'd even stop sometimes look back at her while she was on him and make it mighty plain that he wanted another one of them white lumps and when she was by him on the ground he kept a-trying to stick his nose in her pockets and reach for em he knowed where she carried it what a surprise it would have been for the cowboys who knew cloudy when he was the cougar the man-killer to have seen him in the act of bumming a young lady for sugar that way

and what a surprise it would have been for that same young lady to have learned that not so very long ago that horse would have took her hand and snapped it off at the wrist if that hand had ever come to within reaching distance it would have been a surprise sure enough and afterwards she'd figured the horse being mean that way would have been on account of rough treatment by someone

She'd been right, even if that someone was only a scrub of a degenerate half-breed and not fit to be classed amongst humans. Without him coming into the life of that pony, there wouldn't have been no such a horse as the cougar, and he'd still be known around to the northern country as Smokey, the best cowhorse that ever busted a critter.

But anyway, and whatever had been in the past of the horse that was now better known as Cloudy, didn't worry the young lady any. To her he was the sweetest horse she'd ever seen, and she kept to supplying him with sugar. If she knowed that lumps of sugar wasn't the best thing there is to feed a horse, she'd filled her pockets with a handful or so of grain instead, or something that's more fitting to a horse's stomach that way. But she didn't know, and she sure meant well.

fine warm spring days came the kind of days when folks and animals alike hunt for a place where the sun shines the best the last storm of the season had left and as it went the last of cloudy's rest had come to an end that pony was rearing to go as best he could

when the young lady came and saddled him one bright afternoon and as she'd been cooped up considerable herself her spirits more than agreed with that of the horse out of the stable old cloudy went his legs hardly feeling the stiffness that was in em and seeming like his hoofs was more for flying and not at all for touching the ground the old pony acted like he wanted to go so bad that the girl didn't have the heart to hold him back

besides the stableman had told her one time that it wouldn't hurt to let him run once in a while if for a short ways so leaning ahead on her saddle she let the horse go cloudy et up the distance and brought up sudden changes of scenery as mile after mile was covered and left behind

with the warming up of the run the stiffness went out of his legs he felt near young again and was taking the steep hills more like a four-year-old than the old stove-up horse he was sweat began a dripping from him and as the gate was kept up that sweat turned to a white lather

his whole hide was soaked and steaming from the heat of his body but he kept right on a-wanting to go and like the girl the excitement of the run had got a-holt of him till neither realized they was carrying a good thing too far the girl's hair was flying in the breeze that was stirred she'd lost her hat but she wasn't caring

to be going and splitting up some more of that breeze had got to the girl's head and cheeks flushed and a-smiling she was sure getting a heap of joy out of just being alive and a-going the trail followed along a stream and up a canyon it kept a-getting steeper and steeper and the old horse began to breathe harder and harder till finally his wide-open nostrils couldn't take on enough air to do him no more

he had to slow down or else drop in his tracks but cloudy didn't slow down and not a sign showed on him that he was wanting to he was the kind of a horse that never quit and would keep right on a-going till his heart stopped the girl not at all realizing kept a-riding and enjoying the fast pace for all she was worth

she might have rode the old pony to his death that afternoon only the trail stopped and she couldn't follow it no further it had washed out during the spring thaw and a place ten feet wide and as deep had cut the trail in two she stopped there and coming out of the trance the fast ride had put her in she started looking for a place to cross but there wasn't any and the only way left was to go back on the trail she'd come

she put her hand on cloudy's neck like to tell him how it was too bad the trail stopped short that way but she never got to say the words the feel of the sweat and lather that covered the horse left her dumb and then she noticed how hard he was breathing

The thrill of the run had turned to sudden worry and fear for what she might have done, and another sort of excitement took a hold of her as she realized and then wondered what to do. She stepped away from the horse and wide-eyed looked at him. She'd never seen a horse shake and quiver all over like that one was doing. He seemed like hardly able to stand up, rocked back and forth like he was going to keel over any minute.

"'Claudie was jiggered, overrun, and his staggering scared her all the more. "'She must do something, and quick. "'The first thing that came to her was to try and cool him off before, "'as she figured, he fainted from being overheated. "'She tore at the saddle and worked at the latigos till it was loosened. "'Then she pulled it off and with the blanket throwed it to the ground.'

steam raised off the pony's back and at the sight of that girl got excited all the more then she spotted the mountain stream below and just a little ways she led the horse careful and over to it and then thinking steady of quick ways to cool the horse off she figured it a good idea to lead him in the water and where it was the deepest

she skipped from boulder to boulder till finally a place was found where the water came up above the pony's knees and there she let him stand while with her cupped hands she splashed the cold snow water on his chest shoulders and back a half an hour or so of that and the horse at last quit quivering showed signs that he was cooled off and got his breath all okay again

"'After a while he drank, and then drank some more, "'and the girl watching him felt sure that the worst was over "'and that the horse was saved. "'She smiled, petted him on the neck, "'and felt relieved at the natural way he'd got to acting again. "'The sun was hitting for the tall peaks to the west "'when the girl finally decided Cloudy was all right again "'and fit to start back. "'He was good and dry by then and felt cool.'

she'd kept him in the shade all the while and being that mountain shade is not at all warm at that time of the year the old pony was near shivering from the cold by the time the girl led him back to the saddle and put it on him again the ride back to the stable was like a funeral march as compared with the one starting out

The horse was kept on a slow walk all the way, and every care was taken by the girl so that only the easiest trail was followed. She worried as she rode along and noticed that the horse didn't seem to be the same as before. His step wasn't so sure, and he'd stumble when there was nothing on the ground for him to stumble on, and then he'd sway like he was weak.

it was way after dark when finally the stable was reached the stableman was there and waiting and greeting the young lady with a smile he asked did you water cloudy before you left no says the girl but i watered him on the mountain where i turned to come back the reason i ask is because the new stable-boy i hired forgot to water him this morning or he thought i did

The gray-haired man didn't get to ride cloudy the next day, nor did anybody else, for that horse was hardly able to even get out of the stall. His legs was like so many sticks of wood, and with no more bend in them than them same sticks have. His head hung near to the ground, and not a spear of the hay that had been put in the manger had been touched.

The girl came to the stable that noon and would have cried at the sight of him. Only the stableman came up and she held the tears back best as she could. "'Looks like he's done for,' says that feller as he came up. He didn't ask the girl what she'd done, "'cause a look at the horse told him the whole story better than the girl could have. "'And as he figured, a man has to take them chances when he's renting horses out that way,'

Besides, the girl looked so downhearted about it that he didn't have the heart to do any more but try to cheer her up. "'I'll doctor him up the best I can, and maybe get him to come out of it a little.' The girl took hopes at them words, and her eyes a-shining asked, "'And can I come and help you?' Every day from then on, the time the girl had used a riding cloudy was spent in the stable and by that horse."

liniments and medicines of all kinds was dug up and bought and used and as the stableman watched her trying to do her best he'd only shake his head he knowed it was no use and if the horse did come out of it he'd never come out of it enough to ever be of any use as a saddle-horse again the horse had been foundered

"'The twenty-four hours without water, the hard run and sweating up, "'and then cooled off sudden in ice-cold water, "'and drinking his fill of that same water and all at once, "'had crippled him and stoved him up in a way where he'd be plum useless, "'only maybe for a slow work and hooked to a wagon. "'A month went by, and the doctoring went on, the girl always a-hoping.'

and then one day she came to the stable to find the horse gone she hunted up the stableman and finally after a lot of running around found him up in the hayloft i figured says that feller on finding himself cornered that it'd be best to turn him loose there's good range up north a ways and thinking it'd do him more good to be loose that way on good feed i just took him up there

But there was no good range in that country, not for many miles. The stableman had lied to save the girl's feelings, and instead, realizing that he couldn't turn the horse loose only to maybe let him starve, and being he couldn't afford to keep and feed a useless horse, there'd been only one way out. He'd sold him to a man who bought old horses and killed them for chicken feed.

End of chapter 13. Read by Joni Vatheinen. January 17, 2023. Chapter 14 of Smokey the Cowhorse by Will James. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Dark clouds, then tall grass. The man collecting old wore-out and crippled horses had come along and led him away.

He had a little salt grass pasture a short distance out of town, and that's where he took the old horse. He turned him loose amongst a few more old horses, and would keep him there till the time come when some chicken man around town would need the carcass of one of the horses to feed to his chickens. Then the horse what looked like it had the shortest to live would be killed and hauled away.

it didn't look like the end was very far for the mouse-colored horse all the work he'd done and the interest he'd had while under the names of smoky and the cougar had stopped being accounted for and sort of pinched out under the name of cloudy and now he had no name

He was just chicken feed. And soon, if he stayed in that pasture, all what he'd been and done would be blotted out with the crack of a rifle shot. But the old pony had no hint of that, and as it was, he wasn't for quitting as yet. His old stiff legs was still able to carry him around some. The doctoring he'd got at the stable had helped him more than what had been hoped.

and then getting out in a pasture where he could keep moving around as he wanted to was helping him some more. Besides, his old heart was still strong. Quite a bit solid meat was covering his ribs, and with the salt and wire grass to graze on, he could still make out and mighty well.

A few weeks went by when once in a while and every few days, one of the old horses he was pasturing with was caught, led out, a rifle shot was heard, and he'd never be seen no more. Other old horses was brought in, and they'd pasture on with him till one by one they'd also disappear, only to be replaced by more of them. The old mouse-colored horse must have looked like he was good to live for a long time yet.

Anyway, the chicken horseman had kept him, maybe for emergency, and so he wouldn't be out of horses if an order for one, and that kind, was hard to get. Then one day, a man came, looked all the old horses over, and finally, like he'd decided, pointed a finger towards the horse that had last been known as Cloudy.

That pony was caught and led out the same way other horses had disappeared. But no rifle shot was heard. Instead, a lot of parleying went on. Cloudy was led alongside of an old bony something that had once been a horse.

The old rack of bones was hooked onto a light wagon and seeming like hardly able to stand as the eyes of the two men went from him to Cloudy, to sort of figure out which of the two was worth the most and how much the most. Finally, the dickering came to an end and seemed like agreeable to both parties. Three dollars to boot was handed and the trade was made.

the rack of bones was unhooked the harness pulled off of him and turned loose in the chicken horse pasture then cloudy's old heart missed a few beats as that same harness was picked up again and thrown over his own back

as true a saddle horse and once hard to set on as the mouse-colored horse had been the feel of that harness on his back was as much the same as if a shovel or a hay fork had been handed to a cow-puncher with the idea of his using em the old horse felt it a plain disgrace and snorted as it was buckled around him to stay

but the black-whiskered hombre that buckled it on him never seemed to notice or care that the horse had no liking for the collar and all the straps. He kept on a-fastening the harness, and when that was done he jerked the old pony around and backed him into the shafts of the same old wagon that the rack of bones had been unhooked out of.

"'Cloudy kept on a-snorting and looked on one side "'and then the other as the shafts of the wagon was raised. "'If only he could act the way his heart wanted him to. "'But he didn't have the strength, the action to put in it, "'nor the energy no more. "'The most he could do was to snort, quiver, and shake his head.'

"'But as he was all hooked up "'and the man jumping in the wagon grabbed his whip, "'Old Cloudy done his best to try and get back "'to some of the life and tearing ability that had once been his. "'He kicked a couple of times at the rattling thing on wheels "'and which he was fastened to. "'Then he tried to buck some "'and finally wound up by wanting to run away. "'But the harness held "'and the rattling thing behind came right along wherever he went.'

and worse yet he felt the stinging lash of the man's whip as he fought on and tried to clear himself then the jerking of the bit through his mouth and with all that to show how useless his fighting and wanting to get away really was the old pony soon lost heart he finally settled down to a choppy lope then a trot that was just as choppy and at last to a walk

Another sting of the whip was felt on his flank, and at the same time the line was jerked at the bit, and Cloudy, still pulling the wagon, was made to turn up a lane. At the end of the lane was a shack made of old pieces of boards and covered over with the tin of old oil cans. To the right of that, and a little ways further, was another shack that looked like a mate to the first, only worse.

and that one was going to be cloudy's place of rest and shelter whenever work was over there he was pulled to a stop unhooked led to the manger and tied the stable door was closed with a bang and after a while the old horse still wanting to cling to life regardless of what came stuck his nose in the manger to nibble on some of what was in it

He reached for a mouthful of what he'd naturally took for hay and chewed for a spell, but he didn't chew on it long. There was a musty taste about the long, dirty brown stems that didn't at all fit in with any hay he'd ever et. The kind that had been put in the manger for him to eat was the same that the livery stableman had used to put in the stalls and bed the horses down with.

It was straw, only this was musty straw and wouldn't even make good bedding for horses. Cloudy felt hungry long before the next morning came, and often through the night he'd nosed into the musty straw with hopes of finding a few stems that'd do to fill an empty space. But there wasn't any to be found. The old rack of bones that had been there before him had looked for some too, and with no better luck.

"'Claudie's new owner figured it cheaper to swap horses with the chicken man "'and give him a few dollars to boot whenever any horse of his gave out. "'He wasn't going to buy no high-priced hay for no horse. "'The straw was given to him for the getting "'and would keep any horse alive and working for at least six months. "'And then, or whenever the horse would be too weak to go anymore, "'he'd trade him for another.'

Any kind of a horse, fat or thin, could always be used by the chicken man. And in trade, he'd always take one of the fattest to take the place of the one he'd just starved near to death. That way, year in, year out, he'd keep a-draining the last of the life of every horse he'd get his claws onto. His property, and where he starved the horses into making a living for him, took in a couple of acres.

half of that land was rocks mostly and where he kept a few chickens he bought or stole a little grain for them but they well repaid him every time he went to town there was a basket of eggs in his wagon and which he sold well the other half of his land was cultivated and where vegetables of all kinds had been made to grow

That's where the help of a horse was needed, to pull the cultivator or the plow, then the hauling of the vegetables to town, and once there, any odd jobs that could be got, and which would bring a few dollars for the use of the horse and wagon. It was bright and early the next morning when the work began for Cloudy.

The man showed his teeth in a grin as he looked in the manger while putting the harness on the horse, and noticing the straw in there hadn't hardly been touched, remarked, "'You'll be eating some of that before you get through.' "'Cloudy was made acquainted with many different kinds of implements and work that day. "'All was mighty strange and plum against the ways of working which he'd been broke to do,'

it was pull and pull one contraption and then another back and forth through furrows turn at the end and then back again if he slowed down or hesitated wondering what to do there was the whip always on hand to make him decide and mighty quick his muscles having developed under the saddle used to pack weight and set that way wasn't for getting next to the change very easy

"'Looking through a collar and pulling steady "'was so different to heading off "'and turning a wild-eyed critter. "'It wasn't at all like coming out of the chute "'in front of a grandstand "'and seeing how many jumps could be put into one, "'nor didn't compare even with packing equestrians around. "'He'd felt some free under the saddle, "'and even though all of it had been real work, "'there'd always been something that fitted in "'and which made him feel natural.'

But now, with all these straps a-hanging onto him, there was a feeling that he was tied down. Them straps even seemed to wrap around his heart at times and keep it from beating. And taking all the strange hard work, the stinging of the whiplash on his ribs, nothing fit to eat after he was tired out and the day was over, it was no wonder that the old pony's heart began to shrivel up on him.

"'As the long days run into weeks "'and the work in the field and in the town "'got to bearing down on him, "'the old pony even got so he couldn't hate no more. "'Abuse or kindness had both got to be the same, "'and one brought out no more result "'or show of interest than the other. "'He went to the jerk of the lines like without realizing, "'and when he was finally led into the stable "'when night come, the feeling was the same.'

There he ate the musty straw because it was under his nose. He didn't mind the taste of it. He didn't mind anything anymore. Of the odd jobs that Cloudy's owner would get to do around town, and whenever he could get away from his truck and chicken farm, there was one which he looked forward to the most, and which the thought of made him rub his hands together with pleasure.

It was that of scattering the posters advertising the annual rodeo and celebration that was pulled off in town and every early fall. But that wasn't all. There was many other things for him to do at that time, for which he could charge without anybody ever finding out whether all he'd been paid to do really had been done. That year, as usual, he was ready and right on the dot to take on some more of that kind of work.

He'd hooked up the old mouse-colored horse and, taking a load of vegetables on the way in, stuck around town doing the different kinds of work the rodeo association had furnished him with. He'd be on the go all day and prodding the old horse into a trot, sometimes even if the wagon was loaded. It'd be away into the night before he'd turn the tired horse towards home. Every day was a great day for the man.

There was so many people around to make the town lively, and being most of them was strangers, he could get to within talking distance of them easy enough, and a few would even stand to have him around for a few minutes at the time. Them strangers had come to see the rodeo. Most of them was from other towns around, and mixed in the crowd once in a while could be seen the high-crowned hat of a cowboy who'd come to ride, rope, and bulldog.

Then, at the Casa Grande Hotel, and registered there was many cattle buyers from the northern states. They'd come to bid on the big herds of cattle that was being crowded across the border from Mexico, for Pancho Villa and the Yaquis was making it hard for the cattlemen of that country. Villa took the cattle to feed his army, while the Yaquis run off whatever Villa overlooked.

and the cowman that could, and had any stock left, soon seen where if he wanted to save anything of what he'd worked to accumulate, he'd have to rush whatever that was to the border and get it on American soil mighty quick. That's how come that the stockyards of the border towns was filled with cattle, and that the hotels along them same towns was filled with cattle buyers.'

"'The Casa Grande Hotel was the most filled, "'on account that along with the business of buying cattle, "'a little pleasure could be got there afterwards. "'A rodeo was in that town, and night celebrations, "'and being that them cattle buyers was still as much cowboys as ever, "'a good bucking contest and the fun afterwards couldn't be overlooked, "'not if it could be helped. "'Yep, the town was sure lively.'

Two of the buyers was sitting in the lobby of the hotel one morning and a-talking on the first day's event of the rodeo.

A telegraph pole which stuck up right before their vision and on the edge of the sidewalk, and nailed to that pole was a poster advertising the rodeo, and with a photograph of a bucking horse in action on it, told all about the great bucking horse and outlaw, the gray cougar, the only one that could compare in wickedness and bucking ability to the cougar, that once famous man-killing horse.

The two went on to talking about the rodeo, and naturally the talk drifted on about the gray cougar and how he could buck. "'The boys tell me,' says one of the men, "'that this gray cougar horse couldn't hold a candle to the real cougar when it come to bucking and fighting. According to that, the other horse must have been some wicked.'"

The man was still talking on the subject when an old mouse-colored horse, pulling an old wagon loaded down with vegetables, came to a stiff-legged stop, and right by the telegraph pole on which the poster telling all about the gray cougar was nailed, the man in the lobby grinned a little at the sight of the old horse a-standing there like in comparison with the famous gray outlaw, and pointing a finger in his direction, he remarked,

"'There must be the old cougar right there, Clint. Anyway, he's got the same color.' The man called Clint grinned some at the joke, but the grin soon faded away as he kept a-looking at the old horse and noticed the condition he was in. Then he seen the saddle marks that was all over the pony's back, and he says, "'You never can tell. That old pony might have been mighty hard to set on at one time, too.'

"'But the way he looks right now, them times are sure done past and gone.' "'Yep,' agreed the other man. "'It's a miracle that pony can navigate at all. "'I wonder how it is that this humane society hombre "'that's sticking around the rodeo grounds doesn't happen to notice such as this. "'I'd like to help hang a feller for driving a horse like that around.'

The conversation was held up for a spell as the two men watched the bewhiskered man come out of the hotel with an empty basket and climbed the wagon on which the old mouse-colored horse was hooked. He grabbed the lines and the whip both at the same time and went to work putting the horse into a trot. Clint was forgetting up as he seen the whip land on the old pony's hide, but the other man grabbed a hold of his arm and says,

"'Never mind, old boy. Most likely that Humane Society outfit'll fall on that Bolshevik's neck before he gets very far.' The man called Clint sat down again, but he was boiling up inside, and he didn't at all look pleasant as the conversation was resumed and noticed how his friend turned it to other things and away from the subject of old horses and such.

He wasn't for answering very quick when that same friend went on to talking about that country to the north. How he'd heard rumors that the rocking R might be selling out in another year or so. I wonder why, he asks. Clint turned to his friend and, grinning at his idea of changing the subject that way, finally answered,

"'I guess it's because old Tom feels the end a-coming. Besides, he's getting crowded all around by small outfits, and his range ain't holding up like it used to. But what are you going to do when the rocking R sells out? You left that country quite a few times the last few years, and I notice you always go back like there was no other that suited you. I've got that fixed.'

says Clint, gradually taking more heart in the new subject. And there he tried to describe some. You know abouts where that camp is where I used to break horses when I first started working for the Rocking R? It's where the outfit used to run their stock horses. Well, I bought that camp from old Tom Jarvis. That is, I talked him into selling it to me and 4,000 acres of the fine range around to go with it.

I'm thinking that this shipment I'm getting together now will be the last old Tom will ever buy, and by the time I get this trainload of Sonora Reds north and delivered to him, I'll have enough money to make the final payment on my place, and still have enough left to buy a few head of cattle and start stocking it.

"'Clint often thought of his little place "'up in the heart of the cow country to the north. "'He could picture his own cattle ranging there "'and packing a brand of his on their slick hides. "'He'd a long time hoped for the likes, "'and at last he was getting it. "'A couple more days now, and he'd be heading north again, "'and there to stay this time. "'The last day of the rodeo had come, "'and Clint was to start with his trainload of stock that night.'

him and his friends was sitting in the lobby of the hotel that evening a-talking and wondering when they'd be seeing one another again when outside and by the telegraph pole came the same old mouse-colored horse and stopped not an inch from where the two men had seen him a couple of days before both was quick to spot him again this time and right then for some reason or other the conversation died down

the first sight of that old pony hadn't been forgot and when he showed up the second time right before their eyes he was like reminding em and natural like set the two men to thinking that old shadow of a horse told some of the hard knocks of life of things that was past and gone and which could have been bettered while the bettering could be done

It was while the thinking was going on that way that Clint sort of felt a faint, far-away something a-knocking, and from down the bottom of his think tank. That something was trying hard to come back to life as that man's eyes kept a-going over the pony's blazed face and bony frame. But it was buried so far underneath so many things that had been stacked there that the knocking was pretty well muffled up.

"'It'd have to be helped by some sort of a sudden jolt "'before it could come out on top.' "'The jolt came as the vegetable man got on his seat on the wagon "'and, as usual, reached for the whip. "'Clint's friend, trying to keep him from running out and starting a rumpus, "'had tried to draw his interest by asking, "'What's become of that cow-horse Smokey that used to?' "'But the question was left for him to wonder about, "'for Clint wasn't there to answer.'

Instead, the hotel door slammed and only a glimpse of that same cowboy could be seen as he passed by the lobby window. In less than it takes to tell it, he was up on the wagon, took a bulldogging halt of the surprised vegetable man, and by his whiskers drug him off his seat and down to earth. The telephone on the desk of the sheriff's office rang till it near danced a jig, and when that feller lifted the receiver, a female voice was heard to holler,

"'Somebody is killing somebody else with a whip by the Casa Grande Hotel. Hurry, quick!' The sheriff appeared on the scene and took in the goings-on at a glance. Like a man who knowed his business, his eyes went to looking for what might have caused the argument as he came.

he looked at the old horse whose frame showed through the hide then the whip marks on that hide he knowed horses as well as he did men and when he noticed more marks of the same whip on the bewhiskered man's face he stood his ground watched and then grinned

"'See, cowboy,' he finally says, "'don't scatter that hombre's remains too much. "'You know we got to keep record of that kind "'the same as if it was a white man, "'and I don't want to be looking all over the streets "'to find out who he was.'"

clint turned at the sound of the voice and sizing up the grinning sheriff went back to his victim and broke the butt end of the whip over his head after which he wiped his hands and proceeded to unhook the old horse off the wagon that evening was spent in investigating

"'Clint and the sheriff went to the chicken horse man "'and found out enough from him about the vegetable man "'and his way of treating horses "'to put that hombre in a cool place "'and keep him there for a spell. "'I'm glad to have caught on to that feller's doings,' "'remarks the sheriff as him and Clint went to the livery stable, "'their next place of investigation. "'There, Clint listened mighty close "'as he learned a heap about the mouse-colored horse "'when he was known as Cloudy.'

the stable-man went on to tell as far as he knowed about the horse and the whole history of him and when that pony was known through the south-west and many other places as the cougar the wickedest bucking horse and fighting outlaw the country had ever laid eyes on

"'Clint was kind of proud in hearing that. "'He'd heard of the cougar, "'and that pony's bucking ability "'even up to the Canadian line and across it. "'And to himself, he says, "'that smoky horse never did do things half-ways. "'But he got to wondering, "'and then asked how come the pony "'had turned out to be that kind of a horse. "'That the stableman didn't know. "'It was news to him that the horse "'had ever been anything else, "'and as he says,'

"'The first that was seen of that horse is when some cowboys found him on the desert, "'amongst a bunch of wild horses and packing a saddle. "'Nobody had ever showed up to claim him, "'and as that pony had been more than inclined to buck and fight, "'is how come he was sold as a bucking horse? "'And believe me, old-timer,' went on the stableman, a-shaking his head, "'he was some bucking horse.'"

Well, says the sheriff, that's another clue run to the ground with nothing left of but the remains. That night, the big engine was hooked onto the trainload of cattle as to per schedule and started puffing its way on to the north. In the last car, the one next to the caboose, and the least crowded, a space had been partitioned off.

in that space was a bale of good hay a barrel of water and an old mouse-colored horse the winter that came was very different to any the old mouse-colored horse had ever put in the first part of it went by with him like in a trance not realizing and hardly seeing his old heart had dwindled down till only a sputtering flame was left

and that threatened to go out with the first hint of any kind of breeze clint had got the old horse in a warm box stall filled the manger full of the best blue-joint hay there was and even bedded him down with more of the same

"'Water was in that same stall and where it could be easy reached. "'And then that cowboy had bought many a dollar's worth of condition powders "'and other preparations which would near coax life back even in a dead body. "'Two months went by when all seemed kind of hopeless. "'But Clint worked on and kept a-hoping. "'He'd brought the old horse in the house "'and made him a bed by the stove if that would have helped.'

as far as that goes he'd have done anything else just so a spark of life showed in the old pony's eyes but he'd done all he could and as he laid a hand on the old skinny neck and felt of the old hide he'd cuss and wish for the chance of twisting out of shape who all had been responsible

Then his expression would change, and he'd near bust out crying as he'd think back and compare the old wreck with what that horse had been. As much as Clint had liked Smokey, the old wreck of a shadow of that horse wasn't wanting for any of the same liking. It was still in the cowboy's heart aplenty, and if anything, more so, on account that the old pony was now needing help and a friend like he'd never needed before.

and clint was more on hand with the horse now that he was worthless than he'd been when smoky was the four hundred dollar cow-horse and worth more finally and after many a day of care and worrying clint began to notice with a glad smile that the pony's hide was loosening up

Then after a week or so more of shoving hay and grain, conditioned powders and other things down the old pony's throat, a layer of meat began to spread over them bones and under that hide. Then one day a spark showed in the pony's eye. Soon after that, he started taking interest in the things around. As layer after layer of meat and then tallow accumulated and rounded the sharp corners of Smokey's frame,

that pony was for noticing more and more till after a while his interest spread enough and with a clearer vision went as far as to take in the man who kept a-going and coming once in a while touched him and then talked clint liked to had a fit one day when talking to the horse and happening to say smoky he noticed that pony cock an ear

The recuperating of that horse went pretty fast from then on, and as the winter days howled past and early spring drawed near, there was no more fear in Smokey's last stand being anywhere's near. As the days growed longer and the sun got warmer, there was times when Clint would lead the horse out and turn him loose to walk around in the sunshine, and that way get the blood to circulating.

Smokey would sometimes mosey along for hours around the place and then start out on some trail, but always when the sun went down, he was by the stable door again and then Clint would let him in.

clint would watch him by the hour whenever the horse was out that way and he'd wonder as he kept his eye on him if that pony remembered if the knocks he'd got from different people in different countries didn't forever make him forget his home range and all that went with it

"'Not many miles away was where he was born. "'The big mountains now covered with snow "'was the same he was raised on, "'and which he tore up with his hoofs as he played "'while a little colt and by his mammy. "'The corrals by the stable and sheds "'was the ones he was first run into and branded, "'and in them, a few years later, broke to saddle. "'But what Clint would wonder the most as he watched "'is whether Smokey remembered him.'

The cowboy had kept a-hoping that sometime he'd be greeted with a knicker as he'd opened the stable door in the morning. Clint felt if the horse remembered, he would knicker that way at the sight of him and like he used to. But morning after morning went by, and even though Smokey seemed full of life and rounded out to near natural again, no knicker was ever heard.

Somebody must have stretched that pony's heartstrings to the breaking point, he remarked one day as he stopped, wondering as usual, and looked at the horse. Finally spring came, sure enough, and broke up the winter. Green grass-covered ridges took the place of snowbanks, and the cottonwoods along the creeks was beginning to bud.

It was during one of them fine spring days when riding along and looking the country over, Clint run across a bunch of horses. In the bunch was a couple of colts just a few days old, and knowing that old ponies have such a strong interest and liking for the little fellers, the cowboy figured the sight of them would help considerable in bringing Smokey's heart up a few notches, and maybe to remembering.

he fell in behind the bunch and hazed them all towards the corrals and as smoky turned loose that day spotted the bunch his head went up then he noticed the little fellers and that old pony gathering all the speed there was in him headed straight for the bunch and amongst them

clint corralled him and all the rest together and setting on his horse at the gate watched smoky while the horse was having the time of his life getting acquainted the pony dodged kicks and bites and went back and forth through the bunch and a spark showed in his eye which hadn't been there for many a day

The cowboy could near see the horse smile at the little colts, and he was surprised at the show of action and interest the old pony had reserved or gained. He was acting near like a two-year-old, and Clint grinned as he watched. "'Doggone his old hide,' says the cowboy. "'It looks to me like he's going to live and enjoy life for many summers yet.' Then thinking strong, he went on,

"'and maybe in that time he might get to remembering me again. "'I wonder. "'He watched Smokey a while longer and till he got acquainted some, "'and at last, deciding it'd be for the best to let him go, "'he reined his horse out of the gate and let the bunch run by. "'The old pony seemed to hesitate some as the bunch filed out. "'He liked their company mighty well, but something held him back.'

Then a horse nickered, and even though that nicker might not have been meant for him, it was enough to make him decide. He struck out on a high lope and towards the bunch. One of the little colts and full of play waited for him, and nipping the old horse in the flanks, run by his side till the bunch was caught up with. Smokey was living again. Clint sat on his horse and watched the bunch lope out over a ridge and out of sight.

and with a last glimpse at the mouse-colored rump, he grinned a little. But it was a sorry grin, and as he kept a-looking the way Smokey had gone, he says, "'I wonder if he ever will.'" With the green grass growing near an inch a day, Clint wasn't worried much on how old Smokey was making it. He figured a horse couldn't die if he wanted to, not on that range at that time of the year.

but some day soon he was going to try and locate the old horse and find out for sure how he really was. Then a lot of work came on, which kept the cowboy from going out soon as he wanted to, and then one morning, bright and early, as he stepped out to get a bucket of water, the morning sun throwed a shadow on the door, and as he stuck his head out, a knicker was heard.

"'Clint dropped his bucket in surprise at what he heard and then seen, "'for standing out a ways, slick and shiny, was the old mouse-colored horse. "'The good care the cowboy had handed him, "'and afterwards the ramblings over the old home range had done its work. "'The heart of Smokey had come to life again, and full size.'

End of chapter 14. Read by Joni Vatheinen. January 24, 2023. End of Smokey the Cowhorse by Will James.

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