Choice gleanings from 45-plus years of Unregistered Bull.

"Look at that old viejo over there across the lobby," said John. "The one that looks like he's old enough to have chased buffalo through this country and poor enough to have gone without a square meal ever since. He's an example of how looks can fool you. He's not quite as old as he looks, and he's got a big ranch without much grass on it but plenty of oil wells.

"I remember working for him a long time ago. Another button name of Slim and I took a job at his headquarters one year when jobs were few and far between. The first thing he told us was how fond he was of a certain horse he called Old Chunky. ‘He's the best hoss that ever lived, and maybe the best one that ever will live. Whatever you boys do, don't let anything happen to Old Chunky. I don't mind telling you he's more important than a whole pen full of cowpunchers.'

"Well, sir, as you might expect, Old Chunky wasn't so valuable in our estimation as he was in the old man's. In fact, we learned to hate Old Chunky right away. He was spoiled worse than any horse I ever saw. His worst habit was breaking away from a gate just as you went to pen him and leading the rest of the remuda to the back of the horse trap. He had to do it about four times every morning before he'd let us get the horses in the corral. If we were out with the wagon, it was the same way. The boss wanted him in the pen every morning with the rest of the horses, whether he rode him or not. Old Chunky caused us more extra work than another thousand steers would have.

"One time the old man went to town for a cattle convention or something. When he left, he gave us the usual instruction on how to keep busy while he was gone and added the inevitable words of caution about taking good care of Old Chunky.

"The boss hadn't got out of sight before Slim started thinking extra hard about ways and means of getting even with Old Chunky. We'd been losing sleep worrying about that subject for some time. 'I've got an idea,' said Slim. 'It may get me fired, or maybe both of us, but I don't care. I can't go through life bein' a slave of somebody's old pet horse.'

"Next morning, when Slim went to rustle the horses, he took the boss's 12-gauge shotgun with him. It was loaded with fine birdshot. Just as he got the horses nearly in the gate, Old Chunky snorted, made other smart-aleck noises, and headed for the back side of the horse trap as hard as he could go. Slim went around 'em again and headed 'em for the pens. At the gate, Old Chunky ducked his head and turned back again. Slim let him have a charge of bird shot in the rump. He wasn't close enough to do much damage, but he was close enough to take a lot of effect, at that. Old Chunky went into the pen so fast he had to slide all four feet to keep from going over the fence.

"Next day, Slim took the shotgun with him again when he went to bring the horses in. Old chunky started to turn back at the gate, so Slim let go with the shotgun. He missed, but Old Chunky didn't seem to realize it. He charged into the pen as hard as he could go, taking the rest of the horses with him.

"He peeled off just a little, but he was healed up when the boss got back. 'How's Old Chunky?' was the first thing the old man said. 'Mighty fine,' said Slim. 'In fact, better than I ever saw him before.'

"The boss couldn't wait to see his favorite mount, so Slim went right out and brought him in the pen. Of course, he couldn't take the shotgun with him, but he figured Old Chunky had learned his lesson. However, just to be sure, he broke a straight limb of a dead tree and carried it across his saddle like a gun. Old Chunky saw this and headed for the corrals in a dead run.

"The boss saddled him up and trotted him around a minute. Then he had an unfortunate idea. 'Bring me my shotgun, Slim,' he said. 'I saw a covey of quail when I was comin' home this evenin'. I believe I'll ride down there and get us a mess for supper.'

"Old Chunky looked mighty leery when Slim handed the boss the gun. 'What's the matter, here?' the boss said. 'Old Chunky acts like he's afraid of this gun. Why, I've shot a thousand coyotes off him!'

"'Dern if I know,' said Slim. 'I imagine the old dickens is just too fresh. He needs a lot of settin' on.'

"'Don't tell me what Old Chunky needs,' said the boss. 'He's got more sense than all the cowboys in this country put together.'

"Pretty soon, we heard a shot down in the pasture. Then we heard the brush rattling something awful. All at once, here came Old Chunky and the boss. The boss was settin' back on the reins for all he was worth, but Old chunk was comin' home wide open. He didn't stop ‘til he was in the horse lot. Slim went down in the pasture and got the gun, which the boss had dropped when the runaway began. When he got back, the boss was just beginning to get his breath, but he was still plenty mad.

"'Gimme that gun,' he said. 'I'll show this old fool he'd better not run off with me any more. He nearly killed me!' So he up and shot Old Chunky in the rump with another charge of birdshot. He was far enough away so he didn't do any harm, but Old Chunky came as close to climbing on top of a 10-foot fence as a horse possibly can.

"'You oughtn't to've done that,' said Slim. 'It's liable to make a fool of a good horse. Besides, it's cruelty to dumb animals.'

"This brought the old man to his senses. 'Slim,' he said, 'you're shore right. You're the only cowboy I've seen yet that I'd trust with Old Chunky. So I'm gonna let you put him in your mount for a week or two and ride some of that fresh air out of him.'

"'That'll be all right,' said Slim, 'only don't ask me to do any shootin' off him. I'm afraid you've nearly ruined him already.'" — (S.F. 03/26/53)