volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

The Old Cowboy rode down the bluff,
towards the dead animal. He approached cautiously, downwind, away from
its sharp hooves. He stared down for a long moment before sliding his Henry
into its scabbard. Then he stretched his legs, making his stirrups groan, and
looked around at the vast stillness surrounding him. Here, hours can pass
in a moment, years drift in and out of focus in the beat of a heart. Here,
history thunders and moans in the wind.
He eased down from his saddle and pulled a skinner’s knife from his
warbags.
Kneeled beside the Pronghorn, he spoke in low tones,
“Sleep well, old fellow. It’s the way of the world.”
Then he pushed the tip of his knife into the animal’s throat.
Blood surged forth onto the ground.
When the flow slowed, the Old Cowboy turned the animal onto its back
and gutted it from ribs to pelvis, being careful not to cut into any internal
organs. He spread the cut apart and scooped intestines, liver and stomach
onto the ground. When this was done he stood, grabbed the animal’s hind
legs in his bloodied hands, and dragged its carcass to a nearby tree.
Retrieving his rope from the saddle, he bound the animal’s rear legs with
it, tossing the other end over a limb. He guessed the buck’s weight at just
over a hundred pounds. As he tied off the free end of the rope to his saddle’s
pommel, he found himself wondering what it had been doing out here all
alone, away from the herd. What had caused it to separate from its own
kind? Maybe it was a loner, a drifter like himself. And, like himself, he
wondered if this is what he would come to one day, only hung from a limb by
his neck.
He patted his roan’s croup and she started, shook her head, ready for
labor, desirous of knowing more about what was expected. The Old Cowboy
murmured gently into the shell of her ear while moving her forward a few
feet, pulling the buck into the air.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY