Ron came to the arena early, before anyone else, he thought. As he rounded the cattle chute, he saw a dark figure, standing in the center of the rink, what was left of moonlight glinting off the 10 inch knife in the figure’s right hand.
”I’ll take that buckle, cowboy”, he yelled as he flicked the knife in his hand toward Ron.
The buckle he wanted cost Ron six months in a hospital and seven pins in his right leg. A bull named “Timestop” had broken his femur by trouncing on him like a dirty rug. It was the hardest ten-thousand dollars he ever won.
He gave himself to the thought of running, but he knew his freshly healed leg wouldn’t permit that. So, he started to undo his belt.
The flat leather wasn’t like the rope he used in heeling, but the feel of it in his hand was familiar enough to give him an idea.
Ron did a few quick calculations in his head about the length of the dark figure’s reach and the length of his belt. He wouldn’t be able to rope his assailant with it, but the fourteen ounce metal buckle with its notch hook on the underside would make a great Morning Star.
Ron held the belt out like a dead snake in his hand and the figure started running toward him, knife held high above the attacker. At just the right distance, Ron let the buckle fall to the sand of the rink and took the other end of the belt firmly in hand.
Swinging it over his head and then letting the buckle fly toward his enemy’s face, he yelled, “Welcome to the Twilight Rodeo, mother fucker!”
”I’ll take that buckle, cowboy”, he yelled as he flicked the knife in his hand toward Ron.
The buckle he wanted cost Ron six months in a hospital and seven pins in his right leg. A bull named “Timestop” had broken his femur by trouncing on him like a dirty rug. It was the hardest ten-thousand dollars he ever won.
He gave himself to the thought of running, but he knew his freshly healed leg wouldn’t permit that. So, he started to undo his belt.
The flat leather wasn’t like the rope he used in heeling, but the feel of it in his hand was familiar enough to give him an idea.
Ron did a few quick calculations in his head about the length of the dark figure’s reach and the length of his belt. He wouldn’t be able to rope his assailant with it, but the fourteen ounce metal buckle with its notch hook on the underside would make a great Morning Star.
Ron held the belt out like a dead snake in his hand and the figure started running toward him, knife held high above the attacker. At just the right distance, Ron let the buckle fall to the sand of the rink and took the other end of the belt firmly in hand.
Swinging it over his head and then letting the buckle fly toward his enemy’s face, he yelled, “Welcome to the Twilight Rodeo, mother fucker!”
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