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

Crouched on an outcrop of granite,
the rifle’s barrel balanced on his left knee, the Old Cowboy held the
Pronghorn buck in his sights. He squinted along the barrel of his Henry,
took a deep breath, then released it slowly as the buck passed behind a tree.
He made out the grazing animal to be between two-fifty to three hundred
yards. It was Tom Horn once boasted he plugged a man at three hundred
yards, and that there wasn’t no one but him could do a deed like that in all
Wyoming.
He’d been wrong about that, and knew it well.
But not all men are drunken braggarts, like Tom.
The buck leisurely nosed the tall grass. Thinking of Tom brought a song
to mind, and the Old Cowboy’s coppery lips moved as he whisper-sang the
words—
Life is like a mountain railroad
With an engineer so brave;
We must make this run successful
From the cradle to the grave;
Watch the curves, the fills the tunnels
Never falter, never fail;
Keep your hand upon the throttle
And your eye upon the rail—
He recalled how, back in ’03, Frank and Charlie Irwin had sung this as
Tom was hanged by the horsehair rope he had braided while in jail.
That had been a somber day, and for many a reason besides the passing
of an old friend.
The wild days were done, what with Tom gone. Ton Horn—the man
who brought in Geronimo single-handed, and thus ended the Indian Wars.
The sheep ranchers and homesteaders came along close behind and built their
churches, outlawed spitting, strung barbed wire and telegraph lines all over
the place—
As you roll across the trestle
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY