He Rode Tall

excerpt

knew that he should be resenting the fact that he was spending
his time collecting his neighbor’s cattle, but the reality was that
he was actually enjoying the round-up. The cattle had spread out
over an entire meadow and were insistent on staying. Joel had to
steer the big gelding directly into the cowherd to budge them
from their vegetarian delight. Even then, once they turned and
headed in the right direction, they would quickly dart back to the
meadow for a newfound patch of heaven to munch on the
moment that he had backed off to let them continue to Smith’s
pasture on their own.
The gelding was enjoying the intensity of the work as well. He
was nimble for a big horse and seemed to delight in using his agility
to dart from animal to animal. Just then, Joel was hard on the
heels of a Black Angus cow when she turned sharply and dashed
back to the oasis of lush grass. The buckskin whirled after her in
unison, as if he was anticipating her escape attempt. Joel grabbed
for the saddle horn, and even with the stability it provided, he
was barely able to stay in the saddle. Just as he struggled for and
regained his balance with both boots firmly in the stirrups, the
buckskin stopped on a dime and again pivoted in tune with the
moves of the black cow, making Joel almost rocket over the
horse’s head to a hard landing, but again, he held tight to the
horn. Wow, Joel thought, I like this.
On the far side of the meadow, Tanya was working hard on the
little bay. From everything Joel could see, there was a whole lot of
cow in these Circle H horses. Sure, they were reiners, but he
couldn’t help but wonder how they would perform in the cutting
arena; not that he knew anything about the sport of cutting, or
how to train a cutting horse, but both of the horses had that
cat-like agility that it takes to excel as a cutter. He would have to
play with that idea, but for now, as he and Tanya moved the lean
but lightening-quick cattle through the tall lush grass, he knew
he needed to focus on the task at hand and leave his speculation
for another day.

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Poodie James

“Well, you keep an eye on him. This could be our opportunity.”
Spanger peeled off back to the curb, erasing his frown and nodding
greetings as parade watchers who stood packing the sidewalk
looked up and let him ease through. The first contingent of horsemen
was passing, a sheriff’s posse from Colville. The riders doffed
their white Stetsons to the crowd. Behind the posse came two
clowns with brooms, outsized dustpans and barrels on wheels.
“They should be following the Packard,” the chief said to himself.
A platoon of Marine Corps reserves from Seattle approached.
Spanger watched as they executed their maneuvers to commands
from a gunnery sergeant with a chest a size too big for his body.
“Oodareah, hah,” the gunny bellowed. The platoon reversed direction.
“Oodareah, hah,” and they were headed north again. The sergeant
halted the platoon and ran them through the manual of
arms, their M-1s snapping from one position to the next. “Pah ray
reh. Ai lehf.” The Marines dropped their rifles, extended them to
the side and stood with their left hands behind their backs. Their
heads swiveled toward the crowd in front of the hotel.
Spanger looked into the young faces and saw Riley Patterson
crouching in the Guadalcanal mud at dawn, the chin strap of his
helmet dangling, his rifle to his shoulder, slowly pitching backward
as the blood began to gush from the hole in his chest. “Jesus, Sarge,”
Patterson said, “oh, Jesus.” He died before Spanger could crawl to
his side. That left Darwin, the little B.A.R. man Eddie Krotz and a
Japanese machine gun nestled in the trees 50 yards up a rise.
“What’ll we do, Sarge?” Krotz said.
“Stay the hell down, for one thing,” Spanger said, “and whisper.
They may think we’re dead. I don’t know what we’ll do. What have
we got?”
“I got this Browning and three clips and a satchel charge and a
couple of grenades.”
“I’ve got a little ammo for the M-1, plus whatever Patterson had
left,” Spanger said. He reached toward a body next to him. “And now
I have the lieutenant’s .45.” He was shaking, but he was surprised at
the calmness of his thinking. The machine gun was quiet.

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Übermensch

Adventure
And this of course was an adventure. Best part of
the narrative was that we never recognized the others
when they came from the cold, puffy cheeks, pockets
full of chocolate.
We always fought for a single raisin and the circus
clown decided to leave since he couldn’t make ends meet
with the money he earned so he became an accountant.
After he studied for years he took his diploma with
our support, eager we were to learn why poor people
never learn what an accountant does and we all stayed
motionless like in an old black and white photograph.
Indeed we were awestruck at the ferocity of the tempest
that arrived from our holy and venerable beliefs to just
destroy our small hovels.
I like those who feel embarrassed when luck favors them
And think “they are card thieves.”

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