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

The old, skinny bus driver sags into his seat, relieved to be
alive.
“Howdy, ma’am.” Roy says this to a matronly woman who
swoons and bats her eyes.
Roy is used to female adoration.
He stands in the aisle swaying with the motion of the bus, one
hand grasping a chrome pole for support, while his horse nods
fondly at the buckaroos.
When they reach their destination, Roy leans his fringed arm
across a couple of black-clad, pink-haired girls engaged in deepthroat
kissing, and pulls the signal cord.
He and his horse disembark.
They amble along some more—tipping and nodding—and in
no time step onto Mel’s front porch.
Like that they stand in the livingroom.
Roy leads his mount over to one of the oil paintings. He
studies it closely.
Cowboys are ranged around a blazing campfire. The two
men in the foreground cook dinner while the ones behind are
most like pulling on a bottle, telling yarns.
Roy frowns his disapproval of cowboys who drink.
“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the Galloping Gourmet!”
Mel is drinking a martini out of a soup tureen.
An olive the size of a tennis ball floats inside.
“And look. He brought his darling pet.”
The horse shakes her head.
“It’s so adorable.”
Mel fingers the silver encrusted saddle.
“And quelle butch.”
Rick appears. His shirt is off, revealing his tattoos. He
brandishes a knife and waves it about wildly.
“Anybody in here I can kill?”
Mel, waving Rick aside as if batting a mosquito, stares
pointedly at Roy.
“Your head cold, dearie?”
Roy, realizing his hat is still on, quickly removes it.
“Pardon me, ma’am.”
200 ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY