The Empty Saddle

The empty saddle. October has a special meaning for cow punchers in the Vaud 20 or anywhere else for that matter. The crisp nights, the bright blue sky, the red leaves on the maples on the creek bottoms are all background for the busiest time of the year, the fall round up.

So Hoppy is all business as he stands with California at the rail of the Vaud 20 corral. California, you're happy? What about Ace? Who? Aist Beaumont. I want him to set up a corral for the winter calves on the flat.

Where is he? He, uh, well, he, uh, he ain't showed up, Hoppy. What do you mean? He was to be back last night. Yeah, I know. I was talking to the boy at the bunkhouse this morning.

He rode over to C-Forks Friday, you know. I know. He went over to three forks to see his girl. And he, he hopping a dong, a sore. I'm gonna write to get sore when one of my best hands doesn't show up for the roundup.

He's in love, Hoppy. You've got to make a lounge his phrase. Well, maybe so. Sure doesn't like him. He's never let me down before. He knows how bad I need him now. A couple of thousand ate a cattle around up in France.

Sure, Hoppy, but Ace is young. And the minute he said I's an Ellie is somewhere over the three-fourths, he couldn't hear a heifer bellon right under his nose for the wedding bellers and he sees.

Wait. Turn around. Here's a look. Oh, somebody. Ace is busted. Yeah, it's a matter, boy. Where you from? The tides all tore up. Tailed full of birds. Cinching came loose. Sidal dropped down under his belly and scared him.