Generations in Agony...Texas: Chapter Twenty-seven

Cowboy 101…
“Gonna have to heave that saddle up over and land it on her back, son,” Carl Speck Sr. told his grandson. “Like I done showed you, put that off-side stirrup on your horn soes it won’t get all tangled under.”

Charlie took a big breath and lifted the saddle. It was a load, his shoulders screamed and his knees almost buckled. Determined, he refused to allow his body to sag or bend under the weight; he sure did not want his grandfather to see him as a weakling. The horse—a dapple-gray mare with an indifferent temper—stood watching the boy. She swished her tail at flies and munched on the dry grass happily as her eyes watched Charlie’s 1st attempt with a western rig.

Her back looked to Charlie like it was a mile high, even though it was dead level with his eyes. Already this morning, he had taken note that he was only a couple of inches shorter than his grandfather, who was a wiry lank of a man. Carl only wore long sleeves and his Wranglers, so Charlie had no idea what his muscle mass might sport, but the old man had put his saddle on Cleo as if it were no more than a paper napkin. Charlie’s arms were stretched to the limit just holding the saddle and now he had to get it from his waist to the back of this horse, a three foot distance, with a turn in mid-lift, allowing the bulk of it to plop down across her spine. He had never felt more like a tenderfoot and he just hated that. On all the movies, and in most of the western novels he had read, tenderfoots were always getting the brunt of the jokes. Glancing at the old man, he saw only a serious face, eyes watching the effort carefully.

“Once you lift it up, move your weight up under it and shove, Charlie,” Carl said easily. “Wanna do it all in one motion, if you can. Go on…giver ‘er a try out.”

Charlie grunted and lifted, thinking about the Russian weight lifters that he and his dad had watched on ABC’s Wide World of Sports a year ago. He bowed his spine and bent at his knees, then gave it all he had, getting the saddle up to his chest, where he tried to make his turn while shifting his movements to a pushing upward. The saddle got to within inches of the mark, but caught on the top her the mare’s ribcage. She easily stepped to one side and the whole of it fell to the grass with a thud.

Red faced with shame, Charlie bent down to pick it all up again.

“Don’t worry about it, son. Takes everybody a time or two to get the knack of it.”

On his second effort, Charlie actually landed the saddle right on the horse’s spine.

He stood staring at it up there, surprised that he had done it; sweat was soaking through his shirt, but he could have cared less. A grin spread over his face and he glanced at the old man.

Carl nodded. “Almost there, now you gotta get ‘er cinched up.” He moved over beside the boy and showed him how to adjust the rest of the rig; how much slack to leave on all the bits and pieces. “There ya go, son. She’s ready to mount, once you get the rest of your rig on.”

“What else do I need?”

Carl pointed to Cleo. “You ain’t got bags and all that, but you’ll need rope, and a lariat; I’ve got extra of those—always a good idea for a cowboy to keep a few handy. Fill you up a couple of canteens. Gonna want to strap it all down…” He pointed to the bits of rawhide strapping that were placed around the saddle for that purpose.

“Don’t you just hang it on the horn?” Charlie said. “That’s how I’ve seen them do it in the movies.”

Carl chuckled. “You can pretty much forget what them boys do in picture shows. I reckon that’s more for the camera. You want to ride a real rig, you need to think like a cowboy. This is work, boy, it ain’t play.”

“No, sir…”

Once he was deemed ready, Carl instructed Charlie to mount his ride. Charlie stepped up and lifted his right foot. “Wrong leg, son, less you wanna ride around back’erds all day long.”

Charlie lifted his left. His foot stopped a few inches shy of the stirrup; he had to use one of his hands to actually get it in the loop. Now he was off kilter, leaning backwards when he went to grab for the saddle horn. He missed and his legs pushed him back. Off balance, he fell on his butt with a thud. “Dang!”

“There you go,” Carl said with a snicker. “You’ll be cussin’ like a cowboy in no time at all. Plenty in this job to cuss about. Try ‘er again…”

On his third try, Charlie stepped up and tossed his leg over the back of the mare. He was startled by how wide she felt under him. It felt as if his legs were sticking out, so he turned his hips and knees until he had them angled down to where his heels touched the animal’s ribs. Carl stepped up close and looked at Charlie’s stirrups. He patted on of Charlie’s legs. “Take this foot out soes I can get you adjusted.”

Charlie watched his grandfather lift the flap and take in the stirrup straps until Charlie’s feet rested easily. “Try to stand up in them stirrups now, son.”

He obeyed and smiled when he felt how well he was balanced now. “This is what they mean by standing in the saddle?”

“That’s right, but don’t go gettin’ ahead of yourself here. Need to learn to sit in a saddle before you get all fancy.”

“This is really great. Thanks…Carl.”

“We’ll see how you thank me once you get off this rig tonight.” Carl moved to his horse and was in his saddle within seconds. He moved over to the truck and leaned in the back, opening a toolbox and pulling something out. Then he turned Cleo around and moved back to Charlie, holding out a pair of old work gloves. “You’ll need these.”

In every movie Charlie had ever seen about cowboys, they were always wearing gloves. He smiled and took them, pulling on one, which was too big; his fingers were a good half-inch from the tips. “They’re a little big, but it won’t matter. You just want to keep your hands from getting rubbed raw. Protect your hands, your feet and your ass, Charlie. Keep your hat on too. This sun’s as hot as the blazes of hell itself and I’ve seen men get there brains cooked right out of their heads working out here in it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re ready then,” Carl nodded. “Daylight ain’t sittin’ still either.” They moved off toward the herd and Charlie had a moment to consider just how big it was. The moronic-looking cows stretched over the landscape for as far as he could see.

Carl began to give Charlie lesson in riding: How to communicate with the animal; how to go from a walk, to a lope, then a full out run. At the end of the first attempt at running, Charlie yanked on the reins too hard and went sailing off the saddle when the mare came to a full and sudden stop. He landed with a tumble and a cloud of dust. Looking back, once he had cleared his head, he saw his horse just standing there looking at him; he could have sworn the animal was smiling at him.

“Too much brakes!” Carl yelled. “Gotta give a few easy pulls when your full out, that-a-way.” He demonstrated the maneuver for Charlie. “You alright?”

“Yes, sir…” Charlie dusted himself off, noting how the fine dust had gotten down his shirt and the back of his jeans.

He took his reins and remounted. After a little more practice, he was okay with the basics. Then Carl began to show him the tricks of the trade: how to cut out a steer from the heard; how to group a few together. Of course, Cleo and Carl were a magnificent pair to watch. Cleo, without much urging from Carl, could move one way or another, depending on the temperament of the steer. Charlie had more trouble with his mare, neither of them familiar with the other. Still, in all, she was a gentle horse, and once she got used to Charlie’s lighter weight, she fell into a rhythm with him as they began to work their way through the herd.

“Okay, now…” Carl pulled up beside Charlie and pointed at the herd. “You move through this section and cut out a hundred head. We want to move them back this way, see?” He was pointing at the fence line that they had come through. Moving all these beasts twenty miles east to the rail-head.”

Charlie gulped. He had only just started doing this. Now his grandfather was telling him to do some cowboy work that he never would have dreamed of before. He nodded and kicked his mare’s sides.

“You know how to whistle, don’t you?” Carl said as they separated.

Charlie nodded. It was a trick his dad had taught him. He let go a loud whelp of a sound. The cattle stirred a bit at the sound of it. Then he heard Carl let go a staccato of short whistle bursts. His group of steers moved along quickly. So Charlie copied that whistle and smiled at the way the bovine responded, moving to his right as he cut through the herd.

They repeated the process all day long without pause, taking water when they moved to come back to the edge of the herd in order to cut out another group. Charlie got the knack of leaning off his saddle to open and close gates; he rode with his lariat in hand, smacking it on the side of his legs, or over the head of any steers that failed to respond to the cut. He watched his grandfather and copied his moves, adding those to his own. By two in the afternoon, he felt like he had the hang of it, pretty much. Then, he saw his first break-out…

It was a group of seven that peeled away from the herd in front of Carl. He let go a deep cry and Cleo bolted off to get in front. As she closed, Carl had his lariat spinning over his head, twirling it with his right as his left hand held the loose reins. To Charlie, it appeared that his grandfather was holding on to Cleo with just his legs. Then, as if on queue, Carl let go the lariat and his loop flew over the lead steer’s head, cinching tightly around one horn and around his jaw. The animal let go a mewling sound, and it was all over as Cleo turned the group back and Carl slacked off on his lariat just as the group rejoined the group he was about to cut away to the next paddock.

Charlie looked at his lariat. So far, all he had used it for was to smack heads and wave it around. He had turned out seven groups, to his grandfather’s twelve. He wondered if lunch was in the plans, but determined to go as long as the old man went, which ended up being well after six. “That’s enough for today, Charlie,” Carl told him as they turned back for the camp, following Charlie’s last group. “You done perdy good.”

Feeling the tightness in his joints and muscles, Charlie had no idea just how tired he actually was until he tried to jump down from his saddle. His legs simply did not obey and he crumpled into a heap.

“It’ll take a day or two before you get your legs back,” Carl told him as he jumped down, as spy as a cat. “I’ll give you some horse liniment here in a bit. It’ll help.”

Charlie was worried. His legs would not work at all. Every time he tried to get his feet under him, his legs acted like wet noodles. Finally, with all the will he had, he managed to stand, shakily.

“Get that saddle off,” Carl said. “Need to rub down your horse before we get the fire going.”

“Yes, sir,” Charlie answered and forced his legs to move. After a few steps, despite the pain, his muscles remembered their job, much to his own relief. He would have been mortified if he could not go on with the job. It was, after all, the first day. He wanted to make a good impression, but knew that being a tenderfoot to it all was just part of the learning process. His dad, in fact, had told him many times just how tough it actually was. But reality came with teeth; teeth that sank into his bones to the point that he felt tears trying to form in his dust-weary eyes. But, he got his saddle off, then brushed down his mare, then watered and fed her while he dug out her hooves and rubbed Absorbine into her legs. The bottle of powerful heat-rub had such a strong smell that he had to keep his nose away from the open top; it burned his sinuses just getting a close whiff of it.

“Roll down your britches and rub some of that into your legs, Charlie. Burns like the dickens, but once you get used to it, you’ll feel better.”

While Carl got the cook fire going, Charlie did as his grandfather suggested. Then, as he sat on the ground and pushed down his sweat-soaked jeans, a thought occurred to him. “They advertise stuff like this on TV…only, it’s called Absorbine Jr. Is it the same stuff?”

Carl chuckled as Charlie rubbed a goodly portion of the liniment into his quivering thighs. “That TV stuff is weaker. This here stuff’ll set your ass a-fire.”

No sooner had Carl said this, than Charlie began to feel the effects on his legs. He still had his aching calves to cover, but his thighs felt like he had sat on hot coals. “Oh! Oh!” He stood and danced around with his pants around his ankles.

Carl chuckled harder as he set a cook pot over the fire and dumped two cans of beans into it. Then he broke up a few chunks of jerky into the pot as he got coffee brewing on the other side of the fire.

Charlie sucked air and jumped around, embarrassed and concerned. His legs were as red as beets and the fire did not seem to be diminishing. “Oh man, this is hot stuff!”

“Works though. Without it, you’d wake up tomorrow and you wouldn’t be able to stand up.”

Charlie finally pulled his jeans back on and walked back to the fire where he rolled out his blanket, leaning back against his saddle, just like he’d seen countless hundreds of cowboys do on TV and the movies. Despite the pain, the searing heat of the liniment, he felt something so good that he had to sit there and think for a bit to figure out just what it was. “This is like a dream come true, Carl.”

“It is?” The old man looked up from stirring his stew; his expression was one of confusion. “How’s that?”

“I always wanted to try doing this…” Charlie looked at the fire; the crackling flames rose from a dozen or more dried cow-patties. “I’m glad I hid out in the trailer.”

“Well…it’s a dying thing, being a cowboy. Ain’t what it used to be.”

Charlie sat up. “What was it like? Back then I mean. You know…when you started doing it.”

“I’ll tell you a little bit about it once we eat. I don’t know about you, but I could eat the ass end of a mule about now.”

Charlie chuckled at his grandfather’s expression. He tried to imagine just how one might do such a thing.
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