The Diary of Jerrod Bently by J.W. Osborn (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

cloud. “You are scaring him,” a voice said from behind me. There was Scrub Pot, standing quietly at the gate of the corral. I had not heard a sound until he spoke and I had no idea how long he had been standing there watching. “I’m not scaring him,” I defended “He just doesn’t want to get saddled.”
“Try putting the saddle down and walking up to him, Jerrod Bently,” he said. My method was failing miserably, so I put the saddle on the ground and walked up to Mud. He didn’t bat an eye. I turned around and there was Scrub Pot. The man moved like a ghost and he startled me, as I never heard him walk up behind me. “You will need this,” he said as he held out a long raw hide rein. “What is this?” I asked. “Wiki wiki,” the old Indian replied, you will lead him with it. But you will have to put it in his mouth.” I felt like cringing. I had forgotten about bits and bridles. “Ah..” I began. The old man smiled “You are green, Jerrod Bently, “ he said “but you learn fast , are willing, and unafraid.” His arthritic hands moved like magic, and without any struggle or fear, the horse opened his mouth and received the looped end of the rein over his lower jaw. “Come, Jerrod Bently,” Scrub Pot instructed “You will learn.” I did not understand why this old Indian had taken a liking to me, but I sure was glad he had. I had heard tales of the Blackfoot and was glad to be on his good side. He taught me how to saddle my horse. I even got the bit in Mud’s mouth. Yes, I was learning and now I was really feeling good about myself. I will be the first to admit that in those days I was a green horn , but I was not alone. I would watch and learn. “You will ride well,” he said “Like a warrior.” I pulled my saddle off over Mud’s gray back and turned to thank him for his help, but he was already gone. Scrub Pot had vanished, like a ghost and come to think of it, Sam Dodge often did the same thing. . .
Angus Watson counseled with Sam Dodge as the camp fire burned down. They were going over plans for tomorrow. He was talking more about the fine horses in Scotland than he was concerned about the thousand head of scrawny cattle just beyond the fence. I saw Sam shake his head, and I could tell he was worried about something, but this was the trail boss and the ram rod. I was just a drover, or should I say hoped to be a drover, so I went my way, back to the place under the supply wagon where I intended to bed down for the night. I thought of my hotel room and decided I would not miss it or the weekly sheet changes or the chamber pot. I was no stranger to hard work, and this new job, this new life was a chance to start over on my own terms. I could have looked forward to the life my father had back in New York, working on the docks all of his life and then lying in a bed for the last few years of it, his back so painfully damaged that he could not walk or get up. No, that was not for me. I wanted the freedom of the open range, and I was about to find out just how hard this job could get. I was about to settle down for the night. Dawn was not far away and with it would begin the biggest adventure of my life. Some of the men had retired to the bunk house at the Flying S, while others chose to sleep under the stars. I had my spot all laid out under the supply wagon and was just about to lay down when the sound of gun fire erupted way too close for comfort and a thousand cattle suddenly became very noisy and very restless. I sat up quickly, the gunfire kept on. Something was wrong. Watson was on his feet issuing orders, but it was Sam Dodge I saw vault over the haunches and onto the back of Scrub Pot’s paint and ride off at a dead run. With that much action going on, I got up, figuring I would saddle Mud and ride out to see if I could help with whatever was going on. Trouble already and we had not even left the Flying S Ranch. I was half way to the corral gate when I realized I did not have a gun. I saw Doc on his black sweep past me at a gallop. Whatever had happened, he was on his way to join Sam Dodge. “What’s going on?” I hollered after him.
“Rustlers, I expect,” He called back, “There’s either going to be a shooting or a hanging.” Then he was gone into the shadows.
“A hanging?”I said to myself. “In my novels that is what they did with rustlers and I was not at all sure I was up for that. However, I had Mud in hand and I saddled him again and followed the other cowboys heading out to calm the restless herd. How they would do this, I had no idea.. The moon was full that night, so I could see where I was going. Some of the cattle had spooked and were running wild, I saw Doc and Sam out the in the middle of them and with them was a man on a huge sorrel. I did not recognize him as he waved his coiled rope in the air, as they tried to turn the runaways back toward the herd. The cattle seemed to be calming down as I rode into the field urging Mud into a trot. “Rustlers?” I asked as I rode up to Doc and Sam. Sam grinned when he saw me, it seemed like he was glad I had shown up. “No”. the big man on the sorrel replied “A couple of mountain lions. It’s safe now. I shot one of them. The other one is probably all the way to Houston by now. “
”Mountain lions,” I thought to myself. “I had forgotten about them. My palms began to sweat as I held onto my reins. “This fellow said there were two and he had only shot one of them.” Oh this was not good at all. “I-I didn’t think there’d be critters like that out here?’ I stammered worriedly.
“They are everywhere,” Sam answered quietly “Except New York City.” Sam was sitting on Scrub Pot’s paint, no saddle, no bridle, no wiki wiki either. “What happened to your saddle, Sam?” I asked. Sam grinned devilishly from under the brim of that hat he wore. “I didn’t need it,” he answered “I needed a fast horse quick. “ As I watched, Sam turned the paint around and started back toward the ranch, no saddle, no bridle, no nothing but him and that black and white paint. Only Indians rode like that, or so I had read in my books, but Sam Dodge didn’t look like any Indian I’d encountered. There was a lot about this soft spoken “cowboy” that I was yet to learn. Yes, there was something about Sam that set him apart from the others. In time I would learn all I needed to know about this intriguing young wrangler.
“Hey Bently,” Doc said as he spun his black around to head back in “Glad you came out here. You’ve got grit, I will give you that.” I was impressed by his maneuver but as I watched him ride away, it dawned on me, I was out in the middle of a huge field surrounded by long horns and somewhere a very angry mountain lion. I guess Mud sensed it too and decided to jump into the air. I lost my reins, my balance and my dignity and landed face first smack dab in the middle of a fresh cow pie. So much for fancy cowboy maneuvers, I needed more practice before I could even think about riding like Doc or Sam. The stranger rode up next to me and tipped back his hat. “You all right boy?” he asked, trying not to laugh out loud at my misfortune. “Fine,” I stated sarcastically as I scrambled to my feet , and grabbed Mud’s trailing reins. “Nathan Travis,” the stranger said, offering his hand.
“Jerrod Bently,” I replied as we shook hands. His grip was like a vice and I knew this man was one to be reckoned with. That was when I noticed the silver star inside a circle pinned to his leather vest. “You the sheriff?”, I asked. He grinned broadly “Texas Ranger,” he replied proudly. I was impressed. The Texas Rangers were in all of my dime novels too and they always shot straight, got the bad guy and won the girl in the end. “Pleased to meet you,” I said. We rode back to camp together. It seemed he was looking for some one. Travis didn’t say much but from what little I gathered from our conversation was that he was trailing a dangerous criminal. Mountain lions, stampeding cattle, dangerous outlaws, Indians? Suddenly I missed New York.
The ranger went back toward town, and I slid off Mud and led him to the corral. The excitement was over and thinking I was alone, I started to take the saddle off Mud’s back. “Balance is everything,” a voice said behind me. I looked over my shoulder and there was Scrub Pot standing in the moon light by the fence.”stay in the middle of your saddle.”
“You saw me take that fall?” I asked, a little embarrassed by my lack of horsemanship.
“I see everything, Jerrod Bently,” the old Indian replied. I remembered I had once read that Indians were believed to have a sixth sense. “Where is Sam Dodge?” I asked.
“Gone to bed,” Scrub Pot replied “We rise early, Jerrod Bently,” he added. I went back to tending to Mud thinking there was one more thing I wanted to ask him. When I turned around, he had vanished.. “Indians,” I said as I turned Mud loose in the corral “They sure know how to sneak up on a man.” Sometime between lying down on my blankets under the supply wagon and the raucously loud crowing rooster on