We start out from Utah—
head to Abilene’s rail,
drivin’ them cattle
down that hot dusty trail.

A camp is made ready
each day we are out—
new drovers are learnin’
what cow punchin’s about.

Chuck wagon pans rattle—
we men eat some grub,
pull burrs from our blankets—
use some liniment rub.

The coyotes are howlin’—
puts them steers on the prod,
they sound awful eerie
like the devil—not God.

Ol’ Jake strums his guitar
as we take to our beds—
on hard-ridden saddles,
we lay weary heads.

The cattle are lowin’,
we been pushin’ ‘em fast—
gotta get ‘em to market
where we’ll all rest at last.

****************

In wee hours of mornin’,
lightnin’ strikes from the clouds—
them cows start to stirrin’
when the thunder gets loud.

They start out to runnin’
while our energy’s spent—
they’ll stampede near five-mile
‘cause they sure are hell bent.

I leap on my horse
even with his back bare—
grip legs around him,
dust an’ dirt fill the air.

Then gallop beside ‘em—
gotta get to herd’s head,
they’ll run till their dyin’,
an’ that’s just what we dread.

I see by moon’s shadow
as clouds start to part—
the men are a ridin’
with all of their heart.

I can hear cattle bawlin’
from left an’ from right—
wild eyes a gleamin’
with fear in the night.

The cowboys are leadin’—
they get ‘em ta turn,
I slow my horse down
an’ my thighs start to burn.

By dawn they’re surrounded—
steers now settled down,
hope there’s still some beef on ‘em
when we reach that rail-town.

Supply wagon’s comin’
with the rest of my gear—
I’m tired of this drovin’
but I’ll be back next year.

The pay—it ain’t worth it,
but me an’ my stud
will join up, I reckon,
‘cause its just in our blood.

 

Tamara Hillman
©2005