When I was just a teenage boy, I’d say about sixteen. We rode into the Yellowstone, Old Faithful’s what I mean.
We must have been at least a dozen cowboys, maybe more. We were looking for some fun and got in trouble to the core.
We found a hitching post and tied the horses for the day. My cousin saw some elk. Said, “We should chase those elk away!”
Now being sixteen years and never thinking consequence, we hopped back on our horses. We didn’t have a lick of sense.
That day I’d chosen Stretch to ride. He wasn’t known for speed. He’d seen his share of trail rides, just a tired and worn out steed.
So, the elk took off a running. Stretch was kicking up his heels. The wind was blowing in my face. The thrill how one boy feels.
I heard a vroom, then turned my head, felt sickly to the gut. ‘Twas a Ranger on his motorcycle right on Stretch’s butt.
So, we left the trail into the trees, now past time for our fun. We had to make it back to camp. Twelve outlaws on the run.
Well back at camp each cowboy’s tale was taller than the sky. But I’m the only one who’d looked the Ranger in the eye.
The Ranger got a look at me. I’m sure he knew my dad. I wondered just how long it’d be before I’d soon be had.
That day was fifty years ago. We cowboys were tight lipped. No one told his Mom or Dad. Not one tongue ever slipped.
Did the Ranger ever tell my folks? I’ll prob’ly never know. But if they’d ever asked me well, I guess I’d tell ‘em so.
Each time I’m at Old Faithful I still feel I’m on the run. But forgive me ‘cuz I must admit. I’ve never had more fun!