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

The Old Cowboy could rest now.
His horse shook her head, freed from the burdens of travel. After she had
been watered and fed some oats, and a familiar hand had caressed her neck
and curried her body, a tobacco-y breath had whispered in her ear and told
her he loved her.
She was as happy as a horse could be.
The Old Cowboy stretched out beneath a canopy of stars, beside a
mesquite fire, his boots still on, his long legs crossed, his head rested against
his saddle. The length of his body was wrapped in a Navaho blanket, his
Henry rifle by his side, a banged-up tin cup of coffee filling his hand.
Nearby, bacon snapped in a skillet.
Sometimes he wondered how many more miles of trail were left ahead,
and what plans the good Lord might still have in mind for him. But at the
end of a hard day he was usually too tired to grumble, and such thoughts
soon scurried off like jackrabbits in the scrub. It was enough to take care of
your horse and tend to your business when life’s trails seemed steep and the
pass high; enough to set one boot before the other and carry on.
Sometimes the greatest blessing the Lord could give was just that—the
grit to carry on.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY