A Cowboy Christmas an American Tale by Tom Van Dyke

Author:Tom Van Dyke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Publisher: Tom Van Dyke
Published: 2017-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

In the solitude of the morning, admiring the majesty of the sunlit haze rising on the snowcapped peaks of the purple mountains, I was filled by the awesome power of a sunrise glowing over the fertile range, running free from the horizon in all directions.

The Indian embraced Mother Earth, realizing their oneness of spirit from their very beginning. I was feeling that spirit and discovering my dream. And before I grew old, I would experience both.

I joined the round-up of wild range cattle scattered and hidden in the arroyos and ridges of the distant landscape. My joy and observation were harshly interrupted by assaults to my nature dealt daily by stiff company. The cutlery of their barbs and biting jest belittled and made me feel the fool.

Apparently Eddy’s thirty mile round-about retrieving his forgotten bedroll gave him time enough to grow dislike for the cook and now harvest his revenge on the cook’s helper.

It got rough fast.

Once after dinner, I was mounted up waiting on the outfit. Without me noticing, Barlow snuck around and put a prickly pear fruit under Arrow’s tail. His immediate performance made for the mid-day amusement and pleasure of the outfit. Arrow went to pitching and bucking and hopping around the camp, stomping on the fire, scattering the hands, flipping over the coffee pot and pans, tearing down the fly on the chuck wagon, and flap-jacking me into the wild blue yonder.

Eddy was well liked, with a quick lip. He inspired the cowhands’ relentless parade of insults and sport with me. Whatever I did or had to say, fell on deaf ears or was fodder for ridicule. With tone and temper, they made me feel small.

Grey skies and muddy water came over me, shaping my thinking. My temper ran afoul. I slipped into melancholy and turned inward. I was alone.

Long days were followed by longer nights. Riding night watch on wild cattle we were readying to sort-out and trail brand, I heard Eddy run his mouth and the laughter of the hands around the campfire.

In the habit of making unexpected visits, the old man silently rode up beside me circling the herd, “Beautiful night.”

“Yes, sir, it truly is.”

“Doing more than your share of night guard?”

“Better than feeding the cackle around the fire.” I was ready to rip.

“Kind’a sour are ya?”

“Sir, I’m looked upon as an empty vessel, not fit to hold reins, barely able to ride the wood!”

The old man answered me as if he hadn’t captured my mood. “I see you stopped kickin’ your horse . . . your riding is improving. You’re stayin’ in the middle. There’s drape in your reins . . . you’re feelin’ it—developing a light touch. In time it’ll all come together, boy.”

Like I said, the old man didn’t miss much.

“Thank you, sir.”

“The boys you’re riding with have those skills, son. Had ‘em since they were bitty. Vaqueros were held in the arms of their papas and rocked to sleep while riding the rhythm of a walking horse. Cowboys were whirling and dropping their strings on the rooster while collecting eggs for momma.

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