Lamar Underwood - Horse Tales: Timeless and Compelling Stories of Horses and Their Riders

As a Scribners Publishing author, Will James (18921942) could claim a seat at the table with such literary giants as Ernest Hemingway, Thomas Wolfe, and F. Scott Fitzgerald. He was a superstar author despite being far from a literary type. When he wasnt writing and drawing pictures for his books, he was a real cowboy, a broncbusting, cattle-driving, ranch hand cowboy. His many books began with Cowboys North and South in 1924 and included such titles as All in a Days Riding in 1933 and his masterpiece, Smoky the Cowhorse, published in 1926. His prose included grammatical errors and misspellings, among the many qualities that gave his works a pure straight-from-the-heart quality that endeared him to readers.

THE HORSE IS NOT APPRECIATED AND NEVER WILL BE APPRECIATED enoughfew humans, even them that works him, really know him, but then theres so much to know about him. Ive wrote this book on only one horse and when I first started it I was afraid Id run out of something to write, but I wasnt half thru when I begin to realize I had to do some squeezing to get the things in I wanted; and when I come to the last chapter was when I seen how if I spent my life writing on the horse alone and lived to be a hundred Id only said maybe half of what I feel ought to be said.

The horse I wrote of in this book is not an exception, theres quite a few like him. Hes not a fiction horse thats wrote about in a dream and made to do things thats against the nature of a horse to do. Smoky is just a horse, but all horse; and that I think is enough said.

As for Clint, the cowboy who started Smoky, hes no exception either. Hes just a man who was able to see and bring out the good that was in the horseand no matter how some writers describe the cowboys handling of horses, Im here to say that I can produce many a cowboy what can show feelings for a horse the same as Clint done.

But Smoky met other humans besides Clint, many others, and of all kinds, and thats where the story comes in. And now, my main ambition as I turn Smoky loose to making hisself acquainted is that the folks who will get to know him will see that horse as I seen him.

It seemed like Mother Nature was sure agreeable that day when the little black colt came to the range world and tried to get a footing with his long wobbly legs on the brown prairie sod. Short stems of new green grass was trying to make their way up thru the last years faded growth, and reaching for the suns warm rays. Taking in all that could be seen, felt, and inhaled, there was no day, time, nor place that could beat that spring morning on the sunny side of the low prairie butte where Smoky the colt was foaled.

Smoky wouldnt have fitted the colt as a name just then on account he was jet black, but that name wasnt attached onto him till he was a four-year-old, which was when he first started being useful as a saddle horse. He didnt see the first light of day thru no box stall window, and there was no human around to make a fuss over him and try to steady him on his feet for them first few steps. Smoky was just a little range colt, and all the company he had that first morning of his life was his watchful mammy.

Smoky wasnt quite an hour old when he begin to take interest in things. The warm spring sun was doing its work and kept a pouring warmth all over that slick little black hide, and right on thru his little body, till pretty soon his head come up kinda shaky and he begin nosing around them long front legs that was stretched out in front of him. His mammy was close by him, and at the first move the colt made she rim her nose along his short neck and nickered. Smokys head went up another two inches at the sound, and his first little answering nicker was heard. Of course a person would of had to listen mighty close to hear it, but then if youd a watched his nostrils quivering you could tell thats just what he was trying to do.

That was the starting of Smoky. Pretty soon his ears begin to work back and forth towards the sound his mammy would make as she moved. He was trying to locate just where she was. Then something moved right in front of his nose about a foot; itd been there quite a good spell but hed never realized it before; besides his vision was a little dim yet and he wasnt interested much till that something moved again and planted itself still closer.

Being it was right close he took a sniff at it. That sniff recorded itself into his brain and as much as told him that all was well. It was one of his mammys legs. His ears perked up and he tried nickering again with a heap better result than the first time.

One good thing called for another and natural like he made a sudden scramble to get up, but his legs wouldnt work right, and just about when hed got his belly clear of the ground, and as he was resting there for another try at the rest of the way up, one of his front legs quivered and buckled at the elbow, and the whole works went down.

He layed there flat on his side and breathing hard. His mammy nickered encouragement, and it wasnt long when his head was up again and his legs spraddled out all around him the same as before. He was going to try again, but next time he was going to be more sure of his ground. He was studying it seemed like, and sniffing of his legs and then the earth, like he was trying to figger out how he was going to get one to stand up on the other. His mammy kept a circling around and a talking to him in horse language; shed give him a shove with her nose then walk away and watch him.

The spring air, which I think is most for the benefit of all thats young, had a lot to do to keep Smoky from laying still for very long. His vision was getting clearer fast, and his strength was coming in just as fast. Not far away, but still too far for Smoky to see, was little calves, little white-faced fellers a playing and bucking around and letting out wall-eyed bellers at their mammies, running out a ways and then running back, tails up, at a speed thatd make a greyhound blush for shame.

There was other little colts too all a cavorting around and tearing up good sod, but with all them calves and colts that was with the bunches of cattle or horses scattered out on the range, the same experience of helplessness that Smoky was going thru had been theirs for a spell, and a few hadnt been as lucky as Smoky in their first squint at daylight. Them few had come to the range world when the ground was still covered with snow, or else cold spring rains was a pouring down to wet em to the bone.

Smokys mother had sneaked out of the bunch a few days before Smoky came, and hid in a lonely spot where shed be sure that no cattle nor horses or even riders would be around. In a few days, and when Smoky would be strong enough to lope out, shed go back again; but in the meantime she wanted to be alone with her colt and put all her attention on him, without having to contend with chasing off big inquisitive geldings or jealous fillies.

She was of range blood, which means mostly mustang with strains of Steeldust or Coach throwed in. If hard winters come and the range was covered with heavy snows, she knowed of high ridges where the strong winds kept a few spots bare and where feed could be got. If droughts came to dry up the grass and water holes, she sniffed the air for moisture and drifted out acrost the plain which was her home range, to the high mountains where things was more normal. There was cougars and wolves in that high country, but her mustang instinct made her the fittest. She circled around and never went under where the lion was perched a waiting for her, and the wolf never found her where she could be cornered.

Smoky had inherited that same instinct of his mammys, but on that quiet spring morning he wasnt at all worried about enemies. His mammy was there, and besides he had a hard job ahead that was taking all of his mind to figger out: that was to stand on them long things which was fastened to his body and which kept a spraddling out in all directions.