Brief description:
“ Ride’im, cowboy; ride ’im!” The familiar cow-puncher cry had just been shrilled by one of a half dozen cowboys who leaned against the iron bars enclosing the big corral of Griffin’s ranch, watching a horse and its rider raising the dust inside.
“ Whoop-eel” cried a second cowboy.
It was a sight worth watching, worth the yells of the beholders. The horse was of the variety known as “ buckin’ broncho.” The rider was a calm, masterful youth of about twenty years. The dust of the battle royal shaded the horse and rider. It was evident that something was due to be broken in the outcome of the battle, either the horse—~or the rider’s neck.
During the lulls, when seemingly the horse was subdued, but really was gathering strength for new antics and cavortings, the audience of cow-punchers discussed the fight.
“ Danged if I don’t think the Kid ’will do it” said one as he wiped the sweat from the band of his sombrero with a red bandana. The Texas sun was very hot. “He said he’d bust thet danged hoss a’fore he went to West Point, or the danged hoss would bust him, sure’ nuff.”
“ Thet’s jus’ like ’im,” said another. “He’s jus’ like his ol' man. The Kid has tried t’ bust that devil hoss ’fore now. Las’ time, ’member, he got a busted arm outen it?"
.......
And yet, Old jack hesitated about sending his son off to an “Easterner" college. He had heard and read (too much about them). He thought, with fear in his heart, of his son returning, to him thin-chested, pulling at a long cigarette holder, and receiving lavender-scented notes from girl —flappers—left behind him in the East.
One day the senior Griffin had returned home from a cattlemen’s meeting at the county seat. His face was aglow. His Congressman had told him of a wonderful college in the East -- a man’s college. There the Kid would imbibe the blessings of a college education, and yet be subject to none of the dangers.
It was a hard school, where life was more difficult than a cowboy’s. None of its students had time for “lounge lizardry” or flappers. They must exercise their bodies in becoming proficient in the arts of manhood: becoming expert in the use of rifle, pistol, saber, boxing, command of men, and -- riding.
That last item had sold Old Jack.Any school which made its pupils ride must be all right. And so, the Kid was duly appointed to West Point. Now, the time was at hand when he was to make the long journey northeast to the United States Military Academy at West Point, N. Y.
“ Whoop-eel” cried a second cowboy.
It was a sight worth watching, worth the yells of the beholders. The horse was of the variety known as “ buckin’ broncho.” The rider was a calm, masterful youth of about twenty years. The dust of the battle royal shaded the horse and rider. It was evident that something was due to be broken in the outcome of the battle, either the horse—~or the rider’s neck.
During the lulls, when seemingly the horse was subdued, but really was gathering strength for new antics and cavortings, the audience of cow-punchers discussed the fight.
“ Danged if I don’t think the Kid ’will do it” said one as he wiped the sweat from the band of his sombrero with a red bandana. The Texas sun was very hot. “He said he’d bust thet danged hoss a’fore he went to West Point, or the danged hoss would bust him, sure’ nuff.”
“ Thet’s jus’ like ’im,” said another. “He’s jus’ like his ol' man. The Kid has tried t’ bust that devil hoss ’fore now. Las’ time, ’member, he got a busted arm outen it?"
.......
And yet, Old jack hesitated about sending his son off to an “Easterner" college. He had heard and read (too much about them). He thought, with fear in his heart, of his son returning, to him thin-chested, pulling at a long cigarette holder, and receiving lavender-scented notes from girl —flappers—left behind him in the East.
One day the senior Griffin had returned home from a cattlemen’s meeting at the county seat. His face was aglow. His Congressman had told him of a wonderful college in the East -- a man’s college. There the Kid would imbibe the blessings of a college education, and yet be subject to none of the dangers.
It was a hard school, where life was more difficult than a cowboy’s. None of its students had time for “lounge lizardry” or flappers. They must exercise their bodies in becoming proficient in the arts of manhood: becoming expert in the use of rifle, pistol, saber, boxing, command of men, and -- riding.
That last item had sold Old Jack.Any school which made its pupils ride must be all right. And so, the Kid was duly appointed to West Point. Now, the time was at hand when he was to make the long journey northeast to the United States Military Academy at West Point, N. Y.
Publication
Argosy Magazine, August 4, 1928