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

He squares his shoulders.
He opens his door.
In the hallway outside his room a brawny cutting horse, black
and white, already saddled, tears at a bale of hay.
The saddle is dazzling, made from hand-tooled black leather
with Indiana silver tapaderos and hip drops, silver breast collar,
martingale and corona pad, and a silver-encrusted cantle and
horn.
The silver-inlaid butt of his Winchester 94 sticks out of an
intricately-tooled scabbard.
The horse sees Roy and shakes her head as if to say Howdy,
boss.
Roy pats her muscular neck.
He picks up the dangling reins and leads her along the hall,
down the stairs and into the muddy street.
As they amble along the sidewalk, Roy tips his hat at female
passersby, and his horse nods courteously to all. At the corner
they stand and wait for the bus.
When it arrives, Roy leads his horse aboard. He starts to
drop coins into the meter but the old, skinny bus driver waves
him away.
“I know who you are. You don’t have to pay—like them.” He
stabs a thumb toward the rear of the bus. The riders are mostly
glowering, unshaven, dirty and mean-looking. “It’s an honor to
have you ride my bus, Ranger Roy.” The old, skinny bus driver
leans closer and whispers, “—and even more of one to have you
ride my you-know-what.”
Roy’s eyes widen. He drops the reins and in a flash grabs a
fistful of the old, skinny bus driver’s company blouse and hauls
him aloft until his head smacks the bus’ ceiling.
“The only reason you ain’t dead right now is I ain’t et
breakfast yet, an’ I ain’t never kilt nobody—man, woman, nor
even people like you—on an empty stomach.”
He lowers the quailing driver back into his seat.
“You even look at me in that there mirror, an’ I’m liable to
plug you.”
Roy drops a handful of coins into the meter.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 1