The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #78979 Message #1427033
Posted By: Amos
04-Mar-05 - 09:47 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: 'Top Screw' / 'Top Hand'
Subject: RE: Lyr Req: 'Top Screw' / 'Top Hand'
Lighter,
I dunno what you would like to think I'd like to think, but I think you're right -- top rope was the best twirler, and the top horse was the best at knowing what to do when the dally was on the horn.
Whle searcxhing for an answer to your quest ion, I was led astray by the following wonderful recoolllection.
A
TALES: We had a little excitement, chasing some Mexican thieves...
...[W]ho robbed Mr. Pitcher of everything he had in his little Jim Crow store. John [Robinson] and I were absent from our camp, six days on this trip. There were nine of us in the pursuing party, headed by Mr. Moore, our boss. We caught the outfit, which consisted of five men, all well armed and three women, two of them being pretty maidens, on the staked plains, headed for Mexico. It was on this trip that I swore off getting drunk, and I have stuck to it -- with the exception of once and that was over the election of President Cleveland -- it happened thus:
We rode into Tascosa about an hour after dark, having been in the saddle and on a hot trail all day without food or water. Supper being ordered we passed off the time waiting, by sampling Howard and Reinheart's [saloon] bug juice.
Supper was called and the boys all rushed to the table -- a few sheepskins spread on the dirt floor. When about through they missed one of their crowd -- a fellow about my size. ON searching far and near he was found lying helplessly drunk under his horse, Whisky-peet -- who was tied to a rack in front of the store. A few glasses of salty water administered by Mr. Moore brought me to my right mind. Moore then after advising me to remain until morning, not being able to endure an all night ride as he thought, called, "come on, fellers!" And mounting their tired horses they dashed off at almost full speed.
There I stood leaning against the rack not feeling able to move. Whisky-peet was rearing and prancing in his great anxiety to follow the crowd. I finally climbed into the saddle, the pony still tied to the rack. I had sense enough left to know that I couldn't get on him if loose, in the fix I was in. Then pulling out my Bowie knife I cut the rope and hugged the saddle-horn with both hands. I overtook and stayed with the crowd all night, but if ever a mortal suffered it was me. My stomach felt as though it was filled with scorpions, wild cats and lizards. I swore if God would forgive me for getting on that drunk I would never do so again. But the promise was broken, as I stated before, when I received the glorious news of Cleveland's election.
-- Chas. A Siringo, A Texas Cow Boy , 1885/L