End Of The Ride

 In the last installments, we met Furlow Thompson and his band of followers. Finding a bull calf with its owner gone, Furlow decides the group should herd the calf into a chute and set him up for a ride. The first try didn't go well, so he orders a second ride and a second length of rope. We join them. 

We were stunned.

Not a one of us wanted to move. Not a one of us wanted Furlow Thompson to be angry enough to get back at us later. Not a one us wanted to be kicked from the club. Not a one of us wanted to torture that poor calf any longer. Not a one of us didn’t dread seeing Furlow in charge of our destiny. All we had to do was not move. We could be free from his spell. Let him proceed on his own.

 “I’ll get the rope,” Bobby Joe Hankins said. With that, we went into action.

Within minutes, we had the calf in the chute, the gate ready, Furlow astride the young beast, and the new piece of rope tying his feet beneath its belly. The other length was looped around Furlow’s hand perpendicular to the calf’s frame. We all stood back. With his free hand, he motioned for T-Boy to come to the gate. He shook his head. The second time the commandment came with a long oath involving a racial term. T-Boy obeyed, despite the danger to himself. We saw his hand tremble as the grabbed the latch that held the gate closed with one and held a length of fence with the other.

Furlow nodded. The gate flew open, the calf roared into the pen. Furlow ducked his head under a cross-member and came along for the ride.

The calf ran over T-boy and left him lying in the dirt. The rest of us scattered. Milton Henderson didn’t move fast enough, and the calf hit him next. He flew into Ralph Wilson and knocked him into the fence of the pen, knocking out a length. With that, the calf spun to his left and Furlow fell to the right, perpendicular to the calf’s body. With that, he became a whirling sledge, threatening anything in the way. “Get me off this thing,” he yelled.

Nobody moved. In fact, most of us backed away from this dangerous apparition. Everyone moved, that is, except Raymond Hester. He was standing fast, from fear more than a willingness to help, and found himself slammed by Furlow’s body. Raymond flew backwards into a water trough, thrashing with his head barely visible.

Furlow’s head was nearly reaching the ground. His feet had rotated to the calf’s side and his shoulders bounced each time they hit the ground. Around and around they went, with Furlow yelling curses at us for not helping him. He had passed us four times before, without discussing it, we herded the calf into a corner of the pen while Boogy Shannon ran up with a knife and severed the rope holding Furlow onto the calf. There was a “thump.” Furlow fell to the ground and looked up at us.

 He smiled. “That was some ride,” he said. “I showed him, didn’t I though?”