A Dusty Tires Short Story

Original drawing by Ken Drenten, Dec. 11, 1976; digitized and colorized in 2024.

By Dusty Tires

“My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?” – John 14:2

The sleek black pony ran wild and free on the prairie with a herd of others of his kind, always searching for food and water and always wary of wolves, coyotes and rattlesnakes. The herd lived day and night in the open, facing heat, rain, wind and even snow when it got cold in the winter.

One hot summer day, some men on horses came by and put ropes on some of the horses. The pony was caught, too.

The horses were taken back to a place where there were more men and horses, and a fenced-in corral with food and water. The very next day, a dusty cowboy rode up on a brown horse and sat on the fence and looked at the horses. Soon he got off his horse, hoisted himself upon the fence with the others and looked only at the black pony.

After sharing some jokes and a cigarette with a couple of the other cowboys sitting on the fence, he smiled and said, “I want that black one.”

The cowboy got down from the fence, reached into the saddlebag on his horse and counted out some money. He handed it to the pony’s owner, who nodded. Then he caught the pony with a rope. “Here, boy,” he said.

He climbed onto the black pony’s back. The pony was afraid, and he ran and jumped and bucked. But the cowboy did not fall off. He stayed on, and the pony calmed down.

“I guess he’s yours,” the pony heard someone say.

The next thing he knew, the pony had a metal piece placed in his mouth attached to a rope. The rope was attached to the cowboy’s horse. The metal tasted awful. He tried to spit it out.

The cowboy talked to him calmly, but led him firmly away from the corral, back out to the prairie. He walked behind the brown horse that the cowboy rode. The brown horse had a magnificent leather saddle with silver stirrups, saddlebags, a Navajo blanket and a rifle in a sheath. The black horse wondered what he would have to do to be trusted with such equipment. The brown horse said not a word to him. But the man spoke.

“Listen to me,” the man said. “If you do what I tell you to do, I won’t promise you an easy journey, but you will get to my ranch all right.”

The pony did not know what else to do, so he followed the man on his brown horse.

“Since you are my horse, I am giving you a name – Pard,” the cowboy said. The pony had no idea what this meant, but he walked along.

As they rode along, the cowboy talked to the horses and sang songs. Curious, the pony listened. One of the things he heard the cowboy repeat was, “Never, ever go off the trail. Remember this and you’ll be OK.”

After a few hours, Pard smelled some sweet grass just off the trail, and he was hungry. He forgot what the cowboy had said and began straining toward the grass.

Just as he reached for the grass, his hoof tripped over a sharp rock. Ow!

The cowboy stopped, got down and inspected the hoof. He put some liniment on it and swung back into the saddle with a sigh. The ride resumed, and soon the pony began to get thirsty. He looked around.

He could smell water in the distance! He started to go toward it. He freed himself from the string of horses and began walking away.

“Now Pard, for your own good, remember, stay on the trail,” the cowboy reminded him, starting to tie his rope back onto him.

But the pony snorted and bucked. All he could think of now was to try to get to the water. He ran off the trail. When he had run a long distance, he looked around, and the man on his horse was far behind.

The water was right where he had smelled it, and he drank. It tasted good. Then he heard a snarl from behind him and turned around – it was a wolf!

He ran again, but he was already tired from running away from the cowboy on the horse. The wolf was close behind him. Suddenly, BANG! The wolf dropped to the ground.

The cowboy loped up on the brown horse. He put his Winchester repeating rifle back into its sheath and caught the exhausted pony’s reins.

“You were lucky, Pard,” he said. “Next time you might not be so lucky. Now will you stay on the trail with me?”

Pard snuffled. He was sore and tired, but what was worse, the wolf had scared him badly.

Back on the trail, Pard followed, but he was mad at the cowboy for not warning him about the wolf at the water hole. He stopped stubbornly. The cowboy on his horse stopped and turned around.

“Did I buy a mule or a horse here?” the cowboy said, smiling at him from his saddle.

Pard didn’t say a word, but just glared at him and snorted. The brown horse turned his head and snorted back.

“Pard, you don’t know where my ranch is, or how nice the grass is there,” the cowboy said. “I haven’t told you where you’re going, but trust me, it’s a lot better than this. Look around you – this is scrubland, good for nothing but wolves, coyotes, snakes and cacti. You had better stay with me.

“It’s another few days and nights on the trail to get to where my ranchland starts. That’s where I live,” he said. “It’s not easy to get to, but there’s plenty of green grass and fresh water where we are headed. And you’ll even have a barn to sleep in when it gets cold. Are you coming?”

Pard was sorry he had gotten mad at the cowboy. He wanted to live on the cowboy’s ranch. He knew it would be a difficult journey, but he decided to trust him. And so Pard chomped on the hard metal bit and followed, one step at a time.

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