GAIL GARDNER
Away up high in the Sierry Petes,
Where the yeller pines grows tall,
Ole Sandy Bob an’ Buster Jig,
Had a rodeer camp last fall.
Oh, they taken their hosses and runnin’ irons
And maybe a dog or two,
An’ they ‘lowed they’d brand all the long-yered calves,
That come within their view.
And any old dogie that flapped long yeres,
An’ didn’t bush up by day,
Got his long yeres whittled an’ his old hide scorched,
In a most artistic way.
Now one fine day ole Sandy Bob,
He throwed his seago down,
“I’m sick of the smell of burnin’ hair,
And I ‘lows I’m a-goin’ to town.”
So they saddles up an’ hits ’em a lope,
Fer it warnt no sight of a ride,
And them was the days when a Buckeroo
Could ile up his inside.
Oh, they starts her in at the Kaintucky Bar,
At the head of Whiskey Row,
And they winds up down by the Depot House,
Some forty drinks below.
They then sets up and turns around,
And goes her the other way,
An’ to tell you the Gawd-forsaken truth,
Them boys got stewed that day.
As they was a-ridin’ back to camp,
A-packin’ a pretty good load,
Who should they meet but the Devil himself,
A-prancin’ down the road.
Sez he, “You ornery cowboy skunks,
You’d better hunt yer holes,
Fer I’ve come up from Hell’s Rim Rock,
To gather in yer souls.”
Sez Sandy Bob, “Old Devil be damned,
We boys is kinda tight,
But you ain’t a-goin’ to gather no cowboy souls,
‘Thout you has some kind of a fight.”
So Sandy Bob punched a hole in his rope,
And he swang her straight and true,
He lapped it on to the Devil’s horns,
An’ he taken his dallies too.
Now Buster jig was a riata man,
With his gut-line coiled up neat,
So he shaken her out an’ he built him a loop,
An’ he lassed the Devil’s hind feet.
Oh, they stretched him out an’ they tailed him down,
While the irons was a-gettin hot,
They cropped and swaller-forked his yeres,
Then they branded him up a lot.
They pruned him up with a de-hornin’ saw,
An’ they knotted his tail fer a joke,
They then rid off and left him there,
Necked to a Black-Jack oak.
If you’re ever up high in the Sierry Petes,
An’ you hear one Hell of a wail,
You’ll know it’s that Devil a-bellerin’ around,
About them knots in his tail.
∞
REMINGTON GRAVES
The desert had agreed to an ancient pact and sighed its dark winds without want. The shades of red and sun bleached burgundy covered the mountained backdrop as shadows ran like frantic orphans.
Arcane wailings whistled through the sun cut holes in the stones and crawled with their never ending fingers across the landscape. Cacti watched in silence as the long white Cadillac sped and growled with its clangorous heart; the virulent V8 pulled, despite the swallowing slow burn of apathy that sits in plain sight waiting for every man its prey.
One red and white beaten, mangled duct-taped boot floored the gas pedal irreverently while Heartaches played on the radio as loud as the stereo would allow. Patsy somehow set the mood-always. Filterless cigarette after cigarette. Elbow out the window. Right arm stretched over the passenger seat. Clouds of dust and stone trailed behind as he would deviate from the asphalt to take a hit of the bottle from his right shirt pocket. Wayfarers reflected the terrain in his travels. He was growing hungry again and knew a diner was approaching. The road spoke to him. They communicated in silence as Cline bellowed and boomed. He’d glance in the rear view and there she would be, singing to him with a wink. “Ain’t that a laugh?” she would pucker.
The ding of the diner alerted Dawn the waitress as she drooled out slowly, “ Howdy, stranger. Just grab a seat anywhere ya please. I’ll be right over with some coffee and some pen and paper to take your order.” She stood from a stool and disappeared into the back as he sat at the bar cocking his hat back and rubbed his eyes, stretching his neck from side to side. “Take your time, darlin’, Just don’t take too long now. Daddy’s gotta eat.”
“Ok, what will-…” she managed to get out as her eyes fell upon the lanky cowboy. “Well, you’re as pretty as a movie star. You in the pictures, Mister?” She yelped as she pulled out her pad from a stained apron. “Got a name?”
His blue eyes widened, biting down on a Lucky as he lit it and said, “Name’s Bill Bailey….and nope, not a big fan of the pictures, doll. Now, music. Yeah, that’s got my heart strings. This dump gotta jukebox somewhere?” He said shifting in his seat looking around. “ I start to get irritated I go too long without Patsy playing, know what I mean?”
“We got a jukebox, but no Patsy, sorry.”
”Now see… that’s the kind of business that gets my Irish up right there. How in the hell you…never you mind, girl, just fetch me a piece of cherry pie, will ya? And be quick about it too.”
”I—“
“Too slow,” he said smiling and cocking the cigarette to the side and grabbing her by the neck , slamming her against the wall right next to the kitchen door. “I really didn’t want to do this until I had my breakfast, but we might as well get ‘er done.”
”Please, Mister, please.”
“Please what, you miserable cunt?”
‘Shh, don’t make a peep, Dawn,” he said as he pulled out his revolver and shot the cook in the face as he stepped out. “Goddamn it, now who the hell’s gonna cook me that chicken fried steak? You know how to cook, don’t you?”
“Not no chicken fried….,” she gurgled as his straight razor slid across her neck slowly.
”Your momma failed as mother,” he said puffing clouds of smoking with his cackle.
Door slammed shut. Ignition turned on. Booze wetting his lips. “You know, it’s a good thing I never tire of these diners, darling, cause there’s plenty more up ahead. You ready, ol’ gal?” He asked turning the wheel to the right and looking into the rear view.
And came the crooning, “I love you so much, it hurts me….”
∞
