The seventeen-year-old cowboy pulled down the brim of his Stetson hat and climbed over the gray wooden corral. He gently lowered himself onto the back of the big Brahma bull. The cowboy was lean and tough, and he moved about with the precision of a cat. A handsome young Irishman with brown hair and green eyes, he had a firm set to his jaw and a habit of looking a man in the eyes as he spoke. Sean McBride tried not to think about the bull’s horns, only inches away, as he busied himself with the rigging he carefully wrapped around his hand. The rosined leather strap must be tight enough for a firm grip during the ride on the bucking bull, yet loose enough for the cowboy to pull his hand free when it was time to get off the animal. The combination had to be right, or the cowboy could get caught in the rigging and be pounded to death by the bucking, spinning bull.
“Does the rigging look okay?”
“It looks good, Son. Be careful.”
Sean’s father was a schoolman, an Irishman with curly black hair and a master’s degree in education. He was in his late thirties and had been breaking and training horses all his life. He loved horses and tried to teach his two sons everything he knew. He didn’t like these damn bulls, though. They were mean and would intentionally try to hurt, even kill, a cowboy. A horse, on the other hand, would go out of its way to avoid stepping on a downed man.
Sean adjusted his hat once more and moved his legs in closer to the sides of the bull. He became aware of a gentle breeze blowing through the tops of the trees above the rodeo arena. A hush had fallen over the crowd. He could feel the eyes of the people on him. Sean glanced around to see if his mother and girlfriend were in the crowd. They were there, about halfway up in the stands. He inspected the rigging one last time. It seemed to be the way he wanted it.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
Sean nodded, the bucking chute door swung open, and the bull lunged through the gate, leaping into the air, landing to the right with a jolt, then spinning to the left violently. The big Brahma continued to spin for several seconds, and the cowboy started to relax slightly and roll with the frenzied movements of the powerful animal. Sean’s legs were hugging the sides of the bull and he was beginning to think he would make it to the whistle when suddenly the bull began to spin in the opposite direction. The cowboy lost his concentration for a second; the bull sensed this at the same instantand began to spin even harder. Sean was flying through the air now and in what seemed like slow motion watched the ground come up to meet him. He slammed into the arena floor, landing on his face, shoulder, and hip at the same time. Instinctively he began to scramble to his feet, but it seemed to be taking a very long time for his body to respond to the message his brain was sending to it. He was thinking he had to get over the fence before the bull had a chance to turn and come for him. He was on his hands and knees now, aware of the throbbing pain in his shoulder, when he saw a brightly colored object streak past his field of vision. Rodeo clown, he thought. The clown is going to distract the bull long enough for me to make my escape over the fence.
Sean pulled himself to his feet and was about to take a step when he felt the horns slam into the small of his back, throwing him to the ground again. He sensed the bull pass over his body as he lay motionless. The animal turned and charged again, this time picking the cowboy up with its horns and flinging him through the air. Once again Sean lay still. By this time, the clown had managed to get into position and, as the bull prepared to attack again, ran between the downed cowboy and the bull. The bull followed the clown, giving Sean a chance to get to his feet and scramble over the fence to safety.
“You all right, Son?”
“Yes, I think so. Let’s go home.”
Mapleview Farm sat quietly among the maple trees and rolling hills of southern Ohio. The lane cut abruptly off the main highway, winding its way lazily up the knoll past the pine trees near the cemetery and around the pond, stopping behind the white house with a red tin roof and white pillars in front. The McBride family was a close one. Everyone worked together to raise the Appaloosa and quarter horses. They also raised Black Angus cattle and had several cats, dogs, and chickens. The pond was full of bass, catfish, and bluegills. Hunting was good in this area. Deer and rabbit were taken in the winter. Squirrel was hunted in the fall.
Polly McBride was a pretty woman with brown hair and eyes. Her family was her life. She kept her home clean and bright and was always there for her family. She loved to work in her garden in summer and cook and can foods in winter.
Patrick was the youngest son; at sixteen he was a year younger than Sean. The two boys had played and worked together all their lives. They loved each other, but they still fought.
One afternoon, the father decided to break one of the young horses he had agreed to train. Four fillies had been roped off the range in Colorado and shipped east for sale. None of the young horses had ever been touched by humans. With the help of a bucket of grain and a lasso, one of the fillies, a big bay, was brought along to the breaking corral, where a twitch was applied to her lower lip. Then the breaking saddle and a bridle were gently placed on the animal.
“I’ll go first, Dad, and wear her down for Sean,” Patrick said.
The three men looked at each others’ faces, aware of the danger, but it was not discussed. Sean moved around to the other side of the horse and placed his hand on her neck. The father stood on the opposite side. Patrick slipped into the saddle and nodded his head.
It took a second for the filly to realize she was free; then she shot straight up in the air, landing on all four extended legs with a jolt. Then she started to buck frantically down the hill. She reared up on her hind legs, striking the air with her hooves. The young cowboy held his balance, but the filly was determined to lose her rider and became even more enraged, cutting to the left, then back to the right. Patrick could not stay with her. He went over her withers into the grass. The father hurried over to his youngest son.
“You okay, Son?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“I want to try her,” Sean said.
The men caught the filly, and Sean prepared to take his turn in the saddle. He climbed on the filly and she immediately reared into the air again, striking at the men, then bucking with all her strength, nearly falling into a fence. Sean was thrown from the horse, landing near the spot where his brother had gone down.
“You hurt, Son?”
“No, Dad.”
“I want to try her again,” Patrick said.
He got on the filly and this time stayed with her a long time. She began to tire, calming some, then stopped bucking and went into a lope, then a trot, and finally walked around the corral.
“I’m proud of you boys; you’ve bucked her out.”