THUNDER ON THE PRAIRIE

 It happened down in Kansas
 in the cattle drive that year.
 We'd driven several thousand head
and Dodge was drawing near.
The men were feeling frisky
and the herd was movin'fine.
Ahead was Dodge and whisky--
woman, poker, wine.

The cattle all were travelin' good.
Each paunch was filled with grass.
The stock had watered three hours back
at Conestoga Pass.
Cows are ploddin' animules;
but scare 'em, they get fast.
A thousand hoofs will jump as one
then swiftly thunder past.

Some folks say a cowboy sings
to calm the skittish steers.
Others say a cowboy sings
to simply please his ears.
But put a cowboy in the dark
and like as not, he'll sing.
The reason matters little.
His song's a soothin' thing.
Rawhide Smith was singin'
as he circled on his rounds.
The cattle seemed t' cotton
to Rawhide's mellow sounds.
 "Whoopee ti yi yea. Git along little dogies.
It's your misfortune and none a' my own."

The night had cooled the prairie down.
It baked the whole day long,
but now the dust was kickin' up;
the wind was growin' strong.
Overhead and to the west
ominous black clouds
had formed above the skyline
and draped the moon in shrouds.

The storm was still a long way off;
its rumble barely heard.
The cattle all were layin' quiet;
with very few that stirred.
Save for streaks of lightening
showing cattle now and then,
you'd not have known two thousand steers
were there beside the men.

Then a slashing bolt of lightening
gave the sky a ragged tear;
and a crashing jolt of thunder
exploded in the air.
Rawhide Smith was singin'
"a whoopee ti yi yea."
but while the man was singing,
he was prayin' all the way.
Blinding rain came pelting down,
obscuring all the herd.
You couldn't make out Rawhide;
and his song was barely heard.

The thunder shook the country.
The herd jumped up as one;
and then, without exception,
each steer began to run.
The rain came down with fury,
bombarding every steer.
Rawhide Smith was caught up front;
with cattle in the rear.

We looked around for Rawhide.
His slicker caught our sight.
He was trying to outrun
eight thousand hoofs in flight.
The lightening cast an eerie glow
upon each racing steer.
The prairie shook from pounding hoofs;
while I just shook from fear.

Not till daybreak did we stop;
with Rawhide's fate unknown.
The trail looked like the wreckage
left  by Texas 'clones.
The cattle all were smeared with mud,
with tongues all lolling out.
Soon they started feeding
and milling all about.
Where was Rawhide?  Not around!
We couldn't find a trace.
It wasn't hard to track in mud;
and we searched everyplace.

 And then we saw some yellow
 from the slicker Rawhide wore.
 We looked and found poor Rawhide
concealed by mud and gore.
Rawhide was a prairie man.
we buried him out here.
Lonesome--yet, not quite alone--
with echoes sounding everywhere.

"Whoopee ti yi yea. Git along little dogie.
I've unpacked my bedroll
and found a new home."

                              Bette Wolf Duncan
                                  copyrigh1999
   

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