Smoky, the cow horse

by Will James

Smoky's mother had sneaked out of the bunch a few days before Smoky came and hid in a lonely spot where she'd be sure that no cattle nor horses or even riders would be around. In a few days and when Smoky would be strong enough to lope out she'd go back again, but in the meantime she wanted to be alone with her colt and put all her attention on him without having to contend with chasing off big inquisitive geldings or jealous fillies.

She was of range blood which means mostly mustang with strains of Steeldust or Coach throwed in; if hard winters come and the range was covered with heavy snows she knowed of high ridges where the strong winds kept a few spots bare and where feed could be got. If droughts came to dry up the grass and water holes, she sniffed the air for moisture and drifted out acrost the plain which was her home range to the high mountains where things was more normal. There was cougars and wolves in that high country but her mustang instinct made her the "fittest." She circled around and never went under where the lion was perched a waiting for her, and the wolf never found her where she could be cornered.

Smoky had inherited that same instinct of his mammy's, but on that quiet spring morning he wasn't at all worried about enemies, his mammy was there, and besides he had a hard job ahead that was taking all of his mind to figger out, that was to stand on them long things which was fastened to his body and which kept a spraddling out in all directions.

The first thing to do was to gather 'em under him and try again, he did that easy enough, and then he waited and gathered up all the strength that was in him, he sniffed at the ground to make sure it was there and then his head went up, his front feet stretched out in front of him, and with his hind legs all under him he used all that strength he'd been storing up and pushed himself up on his front feet, his hind legs straightened up to steady him and as luck would have it there was just enough distance between each leg to keep him up there. All he had to do was to keep them legs stiff and from buckling up under him, which wasn't at all easy, cause getting up to where he was had used up a lot of his strength and them long legs of his was doing a heap of shaking.

All would of been well maybe, only his mammy nickered "that's a good boy," and that's what queered Smoky. His head went up proud as a peacock and he forgot all about keeping his props stiff and under him. Down he went the whole length of his legs, and there he layed the same as before.

But he didn't lay long this time. He either liked the sport of going up and coming down or else he was getting peeved, he was up again, mighty shaky, but he was up sure enough. His mammy came to him, she sniffed at him and he sniffed back, then nature played another hand and he nursed, the first nourishment was took in, his tummy warmed up and strength came fast. Smoky was an hour and a half old and up to Stay.

The rest of that day was full of events for Smoky, he explored the whole country, went up big mountains two feet high, wide valleys six or eight feet acrost and at one time was as far as twelve feet away from his mammy all by himself. He shied at a rock once, it was a dangerous looking rock, and he kicked at it as he went past. All that action being put on at once come pretty near being too much for him and he come close to measuring his whole length on Mother Earth once again. But luck was with him, and taking it all he had a mighty good time; when the sun went to sinking over the blue ridges in the West, Smoky, he missed all the beauty of the first sunset in his life, he was stretched out full length, of his own accord this time, and sound asleep.

The night was a mighty good rival of what the day had been, all the stars was out and showing off, and the braves was a chasing the buffalo plum around the Big Dipper, the water hole of The Happy Hunting Grounds, but all that was lost to Smoky, he was still asleep and recuperating from his first day's adventures, and most likely he'd kept on sleeping for a good long spell, only his mammy who was standing guard over him happened to get a little too close and stepped on his tail.

Smoky must of been in the middle of some bad dream, his natural instinct might of pictured some enemy to his mind, and something that looked like a wolf or a bear must of had him cornered for sure. Anyway, when he felt his tail pinched that way he figgered that when a feller begins to feel it's sure time to act, and he did. He shot up right under his mammy's chin, let out a squeal, and stood there ready to fight. He took in the country for feet and feet around and looking for the enemy that'd nipped him and finally in his scouting around that way he run acrost the shadow of his mammy,—that meant but one thing, safety, and that accounted for and put away as past left room for a craving he'd never noticed in his excitement. He was hungry, and proceeded right then and there to take on a feed of his mammy's warm, rich milk.

The sky was beginning to get light in the East, the stars was fading away and the buffalo hunters had went to rest, a few hours had passed since Smoky had been woke up out of his bad dream and there he was, asleep again. He'd missed his first sunset and now he was sleeping thru his first sunrise, but he was going to be prepared for that new day's run, and the strength he was accumulating through them sleeps and between feeds would sure make him fit to cover a lot of territory.