Shepherds for Science
by W. C. Tuttle
We found out why the roan wanted to get a down-hill pull on us, ’cause as soon as we hit the grade the animal inagurates a new style of bucking. Was it effective? Oh, man, I’d rise to remark it was. I just hung on and prayed. I used up all the white man’s religion I ever heard about, and I’m just beginning to make medicine to the totem of the Alaskan Siwash when the cinch breaks.
I feels myself float into space, and then I goes out in a blaze of bright lights. After while Old Man Misery seems to come along and runs his fingers all over my carcass, and then I opens my eyes. I’m laying on my back with my feet up the side of a rock, and a short distance from me is Dirty, hanging by the back of his shirt to an old mesquite-snag.
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