Cow Trail

By Colleen "Keke" Black

The minute Jason saw the new boy at school, he knew he was a kindred kicker. He was long and lanky, and Jason knew it was as hard for him to find Wranglers to fit as it was for Jason. He made his way to him, stuck out his hand, and said, "Hi, I'm Jason Kelly." The new boy took Jason's hand with a firm grip and said, "Steve Vickers, I'm glad to meet you." That was the beginning of a friendship filled with adventures, fun, and sometimes sadness. Jason was elated when Steve shared the news that his parents had leased some acreage complete with a windmill and an old ranch house. "We'll be moving our cattle in soon, and I'll be taking care of them for the summer. Would you like to help me?" Things were going well until the boys realized someone or something was stealing their food. Every effort was made to catch the thief but to no avail until one day they found a young Mexican American boy sleeping in the feed house. "No send back," the boy pleaded. "I American. I help people, God tell me." Cow Trail is not only the story of teenage boys as they experience trails and victories of a ranching life but also how God can take a tragedy and turn it into something good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098011710

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Cow Trail

Colleen Keke Black

Copyright © 2020 by Colleen Keke Black

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

To the three wonderful men in my life:

My son, Tim

My son, Kim

My grandson, Aaron

Chapter 1

The Problem

The bull lowered his head. His eyes blazed with hate and fury. Maddened by the ropes that held him, he bellowed his rage with a defiance that echoed through the brush and gorges of the low-lying hills. He shook his head, determined to win his first challenge with man.

The horses, flanks glistening and slick with moisture, moved forward, pulled back, and stepped sideways as they strained to keep a taut rope between themselves and the bull. They moved with grace and urgency, sensing the imminent danger should they fail.

Hurry, Jace, Steve called, open the gate.

We had brought the pickup and trailer as far into the pasture as possible. I dismounted and ran up the ramp to the gate. A few feet farther and we would have him loaded. It had taken an hour to reach this point, and we did not want to lose him.

We had found a small herd of wild bulls early that morning. They were in the River Pasture and had hidden themselves in the tall thick brush and cattail that grew along the river’s edge. Incredibly, they had remained undetected for perhaps ten or twelve years, surviving even occasional floods, when the river spilled over the land, filling gullies and creating temporary marshes and bogs.

Water from the river and an ever abundance of grass that grew along the river’s edge had kept them fed and healthy. There had been no need for them to go to the feedlots or watering tanks.

Miguel was the first to see them. We were riding the ridge of a hill looking for strays when he spotted them. He reined his horse in.

Look over there! he yelled, pointing to a clearing near a ravine where the river forked, forming a small island in the middle.

Miguel leaned forward slightly. He shaded his eyes with one hand. Do you see them? he asked.

Dadgum! Steve said. I don’t believe it! There are no brands on those suckers. They musta been hidden in here for years!

Wow! Would ya look at the size of those horns. Man! They must be fifteen, sixteen inches around at the base. I’ve never seen wild bulls this big before! I said in amazement.

One…two…three…four…five…six! Six bulls and twice that many or more cows and calves, Miguel said, counting hurriedly.

There may be others in the brush, Steve reminded us.

Watch out for those bulls, Miguel warned. See that one to your right? See the shape of his head? They’re inbred, and that makes ’em plenty bad, loco, I mean big trouble.

We’d better tell Charles and my dad what we’ve found, Steve said.

After hearing our news, Charles decided he wanted the river bulls cleaned out. He offered a bonus for each one brought in.

When we returned, the herd had scattered. Some of them had gone past the ravine and were grazing a quarter of a mile or so farther down the river.

We decided that Matt, Billy Jess, and Randy would take the ones downstream and Steve, Miguel, and I would work on the ones in the clearing just ahead.

It had taken most of the day of manipulating, of being manipulated, of outwitting and being outwitted, to finally get our ropes on this one. The others had simply gone into the river and refused to come out.

My hand was on the latch of the gate when I heard Steve yell. Turning, I saw the bull as he gave a final thrust, packed with a ton of savage strength; Miguel’s rope had snapped as though a mere thread. The bull, realizing he had scored a partial victory, pawed the earth and turned to face his remaining adversary.

Terrified, Steve yelled, Jace! Jace! Get a rope on him, quick, dang it! Dang! Do something! Hurry!

I dropped the latch and whirled around. Clutching the saddle horn with my left hand, I frantically shoved my foot into the stirrup and pulled up. In an effort to get another rope on the bull, I took the rope that circled my right shoulder and flung it across Henrietta’s back. In my haste, I came down too hard. Instead of it reaching out to the bull, it whipped beneath Henrietta’s belly, stinging her with a sharp, sudden pain. I felt her nervous tremble and the unexpected pitch that reflected her terror. With only one foot in the stirrup, I knew my fall was inevitable.

As Henrietta lashed out, I saw the bull. His attention was now directed toward me. Uttering low warning sounds that sent uncontrollable chills through my body, he pawed the earth and shook his head a final time. The dust flying from his shoulders gave the appearance of smoke. As he lowered deadly horns, I had little trouble visualizing fire coming from his nostrils. Primed for the charge, he looked like Satan himself.

Faintly, as in a far distance, I could hear my name being called. I struggled to open my eyes, but they were so heavy I could not.

The voices were coming closer. Slowly, the weights lifted from my eyes, and I was able to open them. A row of bleary, unrecognizable faces hovered over me.

Jace! Jace! Steve cried. Oh thank God, thank God!

Steve’s face came into focus, and I realized that he was crying. The tears rolling down his dusty cheeks had made tiny mud streaks. He hurriedly wiped them away with his shirt sleeve.

Matter, Steve? I asked. The words caught in my throat, and I struggled to get them out.

I thought you were dead. You scared the heck out of me, Steve answered with obvious relief.

How do you feel, Jace? Matt asked.

Okay 1, 1 guess, I said as I made an effort to raise my head.

No, no, don’t move, just lie still, Matt cautioned me.

What am I doing? I asked, totally confused. Why am I here?

You took a nasty fall, you hit your head pretty hard, Matt explained.

Charles is bringing his station wagon, and we’re going to take you to the doctor, so don’t worry now, just try to relax, Steve assured me. As soon as we can get to a phone, we’ll call your mom and dad.

I relaxed momentarily. The bawling of a distant cow jolted my memory. What happened to the bull? I asked.

Dad and the others came. Dad shot him. The bullet just grazed him, but at least it hurt him enough to turn him away, Steve answered.

Desperately tired, I closed my eyes and rested my now throbbing head on the jacket that had been folded into a makeshift pillow. I welcomed the cool, wet rag that was placed on my brow.

Why was I here anyway? I thought to myself as I waited for the station wagon. Why had there always been such an overwhelming desire in my life to be a cowboy?

As I pondered these questions in a state of semiconsciousness, I could remember that even as a small child, I had always wanted to be a cowboy.

When I was four years old and folks would visit, invariably, one of them would say, Jason, what do you want to be when you grow up? And I would say, A cowboy. Everyone would smile and say, Isn’t that cute!

My answer to these questions when I was twelve was the same as it had been when I was four, and by the time I was fifteen, the yearning for the life of a cowboy was utmost in my mind. Mom and Dad began thinking of all the reasons why being a cowboy was as respectable and as fine as being a doctor or lawyer. They never laughed at my ambition but encouraged me to do my best at whatever I chose.

I had one slight problem. How do you get to be a cowboy? To be a cowboy, you have to have cows; and to have cows, you have to have a ranch. Owning a ranch doesn’t happen magically. You are either born into it, come into an inheritance, or somehow you manage to save enough money for a down payment and then you work, sweat, and hope you will be able to make the payments.

I certainly wasn’t born into it. My dad worked in the oil fields, and although our home was comfortable, it was never pretentious. Our wealth was measured in love; for everything else, we lived from payday to payday. I knew there would never be a rich uncle who would one day drop me a bundle, so I figured it would be up to me whether or not I realized my dream. I was confident that this would not be a problem. The world was waiting for a young kicker to conquer it, and I believed I was ready for it.

I had long since outgrown toy pistols and stick horses and deemed myself ready for something more challenging, like a real horse to ride. That presented another big problem. Where would I find one? Since I had lived in a small town all my life, the opportunity had never presented itself.

Throughout my life, I had been exposed to a certain amount of wilderness and wildlife. My family was outdoor oriented and took advantage of every opportunity to go on picnics and such. Many of our vacations were spent camping on the Guadalupe River in the hill country of Texas. We swam and fished in the river and climbed the hills that appeared as mountains. At night, raccoon, with their bandit faces, came to rob our camp. These trips offered the kind of adventures a young boy would never forget. But as yet, I had never ridden a horse.

The opportunity came when I was nine years old. My brother, Adam, who is eight years older than I, had a friend, David. His family owned a ranch fifteen miles north of town. He often invited Adam out for afternoons of ranching fun. I could hardly believe my ears when, on one such afternoon, Alan asked me if I would like to go with him. In five seconds, I was ready and we were on our way.

The ranch covered several thousand acres, and David, his dad, and one hired hand did most of the work. Of course, there were plenty of chores for David’s younger brother and his two sisters.

When we arrived, David greeted us warmly.

Hi, guys, he said, how ya doing?

Couldn’t be better, answered Adam.

Hey, I was wondering, David said, our neighbor found one of our bulls in his pasture, so I told Dad I’d try to find where the fence is down, and I thought you’d like to go with me. We could ride the horses.

Yeah, you bet, answered Alan. Turning to me, he asked, How about that, Jason, you game?

My answer was a grin that went from ear to ear.

David brought the horses out of the corral, and I watched as he and Adam saddled them up. Tingles ran up and down my spine, and my heart began to pound so hard I thought it would jump out of my chest. I had to admit I was somewhat anxious. The horses did look enormous, and I was still a small boy. When one of them whinnied and snorted, I wasn’t so sure I was ready for this. David assured me that Rusty had a special liking for small boys and that his younger sister rode him almost every day. I couldn’t let a girl do better than me, so I took the boost my brother offered me and there I was, sitting in a saddle on a horse! Part of my dream had, at last, come true.

Rusty must have felt the exhilaration and, at the same time, the anxiety that welled within me for he stood perfectly still as Adam handed me the reins and secured my feet in the stirrups.

David and Adam showed me how to keep my back straight, hold my legs in, and go with the gait of the horse to keep from being bounced up and down. They showed me how to spur him in the flanks with my heels when I wanted him to go and to gently pull up on the reins when I wanted him to stop. In my mind, I had done this many times. I felt I knew exactly what to do.

Cactus and mesquite brush reached out for me as we rode down the trail. I could see why a cowboy wore chaps when they were on roundups and other things that required brush