seat in one of the pickup trucks parked at the periphery of Hunt’s open-air class.
“Son,” Hunt addressed a lanky young man in a plaid shirt and glasses, “if this is all you think you’re worth”—heheld up a shoddily made rigging—“don’t even bother to climb into that arena because I don’t want to have to drag you out.” The owner of the inferior piece of equipment bowed his head in embarrassment.
Shallie knew that the boy’s momentary shame was a small price to pay for a piece of advice that could very well save his life. Hunt pulled a rigging out of his own bag and handed it to the young cowboy, then continued to inspect the others. When he’d deemed them all well prepared, he signaled to Petey, who drove eight high-spirited broncs into the chutes. Dust and the clanging of the metal chute gates clogged the air. The once eager students grew quiet and watchful as they sized up the horses they would soon be tested by.
“Look at them real good, boys,” Hunt warned. “Because not a single one of those animals realizes that this is just a class. To them each one of you is the toughest, meanest rider to ever put metal to horsehide and that’s exactly how they’re going to treat you. They don’t know that you’re students. They won’t be holding back because you’re just learning. This is for real for them so it better be just as real for you too.” Hunt’s tone grew intent as he tried to impress upon his listeners just how serious rodeo was.
“Now what I want each and every one of you to do is climb on board and clamp your riding hand down on that rigging. Then, with your free hand, I want you to reach up and grab yourself a great big handful of sky and hang on.Because that’s rodeo, boys. You may lose that rigging, but you’ll always have the sky.”
His students stared at Hunt, silenced by what was the closest they’d ever hear to a lyrical description of rodeo. Hunt pointed a finger at the lanky kid in glasses.
“Halstrom.”
The young man jumped to his feet. “Yessir?”
“Halstrom, you were looking pretty good on that bale of hay we used for spurring practice. You think you’re ready to put it to something a little livelier?”
“You bet,” he answered.
Only Shallie noticed how the gangly youth wiped moist palms on his bright green chaps. His bravado was false, but then that was the only kind that was truly real in rodeo. Any man who settled down on the back of a horse that was flaming with murderous intent and said he wasn’t scared either didn’t know enough to respect the animal or had a few vital connections missing in the self-preservation department.
“Okay, take chute one.”
Halstrom scrambled up the gate while Hunt assigned the others to their mounts. Halstrom’s long face was lost in the deep shadow cast by his hat brim. Petey helped him to rig up, then swung down to wait at the gate. The bespectacled cowboy was in good form as he burst out of the chute, practically leaning against the horse’s rump when it bucked its hindquarters high in the air. Shalliemarveled at how Halstrom was transformed on the back of a bronc, completely losing the awkward lankiness he had on solid ground. But one good spin tossed him into the air.
“You didn’t want it enough, did you, Halstrom?” Hunt called down from his perch on the catwalk.
Halstrom answered with an angry grab at his hat, lying crumpled in the dirt.
“I didn’t hear you, Halstrom. If you’d wanted it badly enough, you would have ridden. Isn’t that right?”
“Yessir,” Halstrom barked.
“You’ll do better next time, won’t you, Halstrom?”
“I damned well will.” The boy’s response was a furious promise. It pleased Hunt, who turned away with a grin, shouting to the others to be ready for their rides. “Get mad,” he yelled as if repeating a chant. “Be aggressive. Show me what you can do. Show the world. Bear down. Want it. Get it.”
The next student out of the chutes, a cowboy named
“Son,” Hunt addressed a lanky young man in a plaid shirt and glasses, “if this is all you think you’re worth”—heheld up a shoddily made rigging—“don’t even bother to climb into that arena because I don’t want to have to drag you out.” The owner of the inferior piece of equipment bowed his head in embarrassment.
Shallie knew that the boy’s momentary shame was a small price to pay for a piece of advice that could very well save his life. Hunt pulled a rigging out of his own bag and handed it to the young cowboy, then continued to inspect the others. When he’d deemed them all well prepared, he signaled to Petey, who drove eight high-spirited broncs into the chutes. Dust and the clanging of the metal chute gates clogged the air. The once eager students grew quiet and watchful as they sized up the horses they would soon be tested by.
“Look at them real good, boys,” Hunt warned. “Because not a single one of those animals realizes that this is just a class. To them each one of you is the toughest, meanest rider to ever put metal to horsehide and that’s exactly how they’re going to treat you. They don’t know that you’re students. They won’t be holding back because you’re just learning. This is for real for them so it better be just as real for you too.” Hunt’s tone grew intent as he tried to impress upon his listeners just how serious rodeo was.
“Now what I want each and every one of you to do is climb on board and clamp your riding hand down on that rigging. Then, with your free hand, I want you to reach up and grab yourself a great big handful of sky and hang on.Because that’s rodeo, boys. You may lose that rigging, but you’ll always have the sky.”
His students stared at Hunt, silenced by what was the closest they’d ever hear to a lyrical description of rodeo. Hunt pointed a finger at the lanky kid in glasses.
“Halstrom.”
The young man jumped to his feet. “Yessir?”
“Halstrom, you were looking pretty good on that bale of hay we used for spurring practice. You think you’re ready to put it to something a little livelier?”
“You bet,” he answered.
Only Shallie noticed how the gangly youth wiped moist palms on his bright green chaps. His bravado was false, but then that was the only kind that was truly real in rodeo. Any man who settled down on the back of a horse that was flaming with murderous intent and said he wasn’t scared either didn’t know enough to respect the animal or had a few vital connections missing in the self-preservation department.
“Okay, take chute one.”
Halstrom scrambled up the gate while Hunt assigned the others to their mounts. Halstrom’s long face was lost in the deep shadow cast by his hat brim. Petey helped him to rig up, then swung down to wait at the gate. The bespectacled cowboy was in good form as he burst out of the chute, practically leaning against the horse’s rump when it bucked its hindquarters high in the air. Shalliemarveled at how Halstrom was transformed on the back of a bronc, completely losing the awkward lankiness he had on solid ground. But one good spin tossed him into the air.
“You didn’t want it enough, did you, Halstrom?” Hunt called down from his perch on the catwalk.
Halstrom answered with an angry grab at his hat, lying crumpled in the dirt.
“I didn’t hear you, Halstrom. If you’d wanted it badly enough, you would have ridden. Isn’t that right?”
“Yessir,” Halstrom barked.
“You’ll do better next time, won’t you, Halstrom?”
“I damned well will.” The boy’s response was a furious promise. It pleased Hunt, who turned away with a grin, shouting to the others to be ready for their rides. “Get mad,” he yelled as if repeating a chant. “Be aggressive. Show me what you can do. Show the world. Bear down. Want it. Get it.”
The next student out of the chutes, a cowboy named
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