Smoky, the cow horse

by Will James

That rider had spotted the mouse-colored blaze-faced gelding, and at the sight of him let out a whistle of surprise of seeing such a horse. He'd rode a little closer then and watched that horse some more, he'd of come still closer only he didn't want to kettle the bunch and make 'em suspicious, besides he'd just wanted to locate where that horse was running so he'd know where to find him when he wanted to.—He was one of the Rocking R men.

Smoky had stood the whole watchful spell without a hunch of it, and as him and the little bunch started a grazing on up the mountain there was nothing further away from his mind than the thought of a human on his trail. Of course there wasn't any human on his trail that day, but there would be soon, for the way that rider talked that night and described Smoky to the bronco buster of the outfit all indicated that it wouldn't be long when the little horse would be finding himself in a high pole corral.

Smoky was now a four year old going on five, the age when most all range geldings are run in and broke to either saddle or harness, for use on the range or to fit 'em for market. The little horse'd had a good long time of freedom and if he was kept with the outfit he'd get more, but his time for usefulness had come. The free roaming of the hills and flats was past for a while till the work he'd be cut out for was done, and Smoky's experiences from his colt days on till now would go on with more learning and experiences with the human.

Smoky's waking up to realizing them things came sudden and all mighty unexpected. A long legged rider on a long legged horse had showed up on a ridge above him and the bunch; there'd been a lot of territory covered in mighty fast time as all lit into a run and they was hazed down onto the flats and then into long pole wings towards the corral, then first thing Smoky knowed he was penned in, he couldn't go no further. A big gate was closed and all around him was big cottonwood bars.

In another pen joining the one Smoky was in there was other horses, all geldings and along about Smoky's size and age. The gate between was opened and Smoky was cut out of his bunch by that same long legged rider that'd run him in, and put thru that gate to join them other geldings, the gate was closed again after him.

Smoky peeked thru the bars and watched the rider open the outside gate and leave out the bunch he'd run with. He watched one of the mares take the lead and in a long lope, head back to the high territory from where they'd come, he watched the little colts running to keep up and then he seen the big buckskin tagging along. His pardner and all was leaving him amongst strange horses, in a high corral, and not far away was a human which to Smoky was ten times worse than any wolf.

He nickered, and there was a sound to it that made the buckskin stop, look back, and nicker an answer. The old horse stood there a while kinda like he was waiting but pretty soon he started again and caught up with the bunch. The old buckskin knowed humans, he'd packed many a one of 'em on many a long ride, his freedom had been handed back to him for the good work he'd done, he'd experienced what Smoky was going thru now and knowing what he did it was all plain to him just what was up. There was no use of him waiting.

Smoky watched him and the bunch disappear in a cloud of dust and out of sight. If only there was no bars holding him it wouldn't take him long and he could still catch up with 'em, but—He was brought back to hard facts by the squeak of the heavy gate as it was pulled open and the cowboy walked in with a long coil of rope on his arm.

Smoky let out a snort at the sight of the human and tore up the earth for the far side of the corral. Natural fear of the crethure had a hold on him and once against the solid bars he turned and quivering faced what he felt was his worst enemy.

If Smoky could only knowed, there'd been a lot of suffering which he wouldn't had to've went thru on account of that fear, if he'd only knowed that right then that human was just admiring him for all he was worth and that doing the little horse any harm was the furthest thing away from his mind. But the wild gelding had no way of knowing and every word that human was saying sounded to him like the growl of a flesh tearing animal, and every move was a step closer to the victim;—he was the victim.