Jake shook the thought off and, for a brief moment, started thinking about what he might do with the first place prize money, but his attention was soon brought back to the far end of the arena as Willie and his horse bolted out of the box. Seven point six seconds later, the crowd was going wild. Even though the stands were only three-quarters full, the noise was deafening because Willie Butler had done the completely unexpected and was not only in possession of the first place day money but, more important, he had beaten Jake and won the event.
“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen!” said the announcer. He added slowly and loudly, “Willie Butler is our new Dodge City Roundup Rodeo tie-down roping champion!”
“Fuck! I’ll be a son of a bitch. How the hell did this happen?” Jake asked himself, shaking his head. He watched in disbelief as Willie climbed back on Buck, waited for his time to become official, then rode his grey horse around the arena, thoroughly enjoying what was supposed to be Jake’s victory lap.
The thought occurred to Jake that there were several “teams” of ropers who traveled the circuit together to cut expenses, and every one of them would have been happy and proud if their partner won an event like this, especially in the manner it was won, but not Jake. Not at all. In fact, the more he watched Willie wave to the fans, the madder he became. How could a nobody named Willie Butler from a pothole of a town called Empire City, Oklahoma beat him on a stage like this? The thought defied explanation. Jake knew he was better, better than anyone, and that certainly included the likes of Willie Butler.
Even though Jake didn’t win a buckle at every event, until this week, nobody had actually ever beat him. Jake had always beaten himself by missing with his rope, or mistiming his jump from the box, or not getting the calf on the ground fast enough, or by some other stroke of bad luck totally out of his control. He could live with those instances because, no matter how hard he, or anyone else, for that matter, practiced, a little bit of luck, good or bad, always seemed to have a hand in just about every run at every event. The feeling of letting a win get away was bad enough, but nothing he couldn’t deal with because usually he could practice harder with his rope, time his jumps from the box better, or get the damned calf on the ground faster next time.
Today, though, Jake had a feeling inside he had never felt before, and he didn’t like it one bit. Today was a first. His first three times weren’t the best he’d ever posted, but they were pretty damned good and he got beat fair and square by a guy who normally wasn’t within sniffing distance of first place prize money. Jake had done everything he could to help Willie, from loaning him money to picking up the entire tab at hotels and restaurants, even coaching him to be a better roper. Hell, how many times did Jake get Willie laid just because he was always standing next to him at whatever bar they happened to be at? Too many to count.
The more he thought about it, the more he knew he could never allow this to happen again. After all Jake had done for him, Willie had the nerve to snatch the prize money and the buckle away from him. How could he? This was totally unacceptable. Furious as he was, Jake wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it, but they had a long drive to Yuma this evening and Jake was pretty sure he could sort it out then.
“Jake, what do ya think?” asked Willie as he rode out of the arena and hopped out of the saddle. “I did it! I finally did it!” he beamed.
“Yeah, ya did,” said Jake with a begrudging smile as he gave his friend what appeared to be a gracious hug. “I’m proud of you; you did good.”
“Thanks to a guy by the name of Jake O’Brien!” answered Willie as he faked several punches to Jake’s midsection. He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and added after he exhaled, “I swear, Jake, after we had that talk, everything’s starting to come together. It’s strange. I’ve lived my whole life with good eyes, but now it’s like I see everything in color for the first time, and I owe it all to you.”
Jake faked another smile. “I’m glad for ya, Willie. But come on, grab your horse. Let’s get paid and get the hell out of here. We gotta get to Yuma by tomorrow night.”
“I thought you said we didn’t have to get there before Wednesday?” asked Willie, grabbing the reins of his horse and walking after Jake.
“That was before you beat me today,” answered Jake testily. “Looks like I got a lotta work to do. I gotta make damned certain today never happens again.”
“You sure?” asked Willie. “Word is everybody’s meeting over at The Long Branch Saloon after the rodeo’s over. It ain’t far, and it’s famous. We can raise a little hell, and I’ll even buy. And, after today, we’ll both get laid for sure. What do you say?”
“You can,” said Jake as Willie hurried to catch up. “I’m leaving for Yuma as soon as I grab Chief and get paid. You can meet me there if you want.”
“Come on, Jake,” Willie pleaded, still trying to catch him. “Every time you win, we always go out. Always.”
Jake stopped in his tracks. “Like I said, you can go if you want but, for me, the answer’s no. What do you want to do?”
“Well, shit,” said Willie with disgust. “You know I need the ride. I got nobody else.”
“Well, come on, then, let’s go.” Jake resumed his march. “We’re done here.”
Willie stopped in his tracks and watched his friend walk ahead without ever turning around. He heaved a disheartened sigh, then said, to no one in particular, as he and Buck started after Jake again, “Damn you, Jake, you can be a strange son of a bitch sometimes.”
* * *
Three hours later, Willie was sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s Chevrolet truck as they traveled down US 54 West and crossed into New Mexico. “Damn, Jake, look at that,” said Willie with a wide grin as he held up his first place prize money check with his right hand. Jake took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at the piece of paper, but said nothing as he turned his attention turned back to the business at hand.
“Winning is never going to get old,” said Willie, folding the check and putting it in his top pocket.
“Yep, I know what you mean.” Jake gave a half-hearted sigh. “But don’t go getting too cocky. I don’t mind you winning second every time we go out, but there’s one thing I can’t have and that’s you ripping that check out of my hands anymore.” Jake glared at Willie without a hint of a smile and added, “You took that prize money from me.”
“Come on, Jake, what the fuck?” asked Willie, shaking his head. “I beat you and everybody else fair and square and you know it.’
Jake chuckled before answering, “I don’t mind you beating everybody else.” He paused to tap himself on the chest as he finished, “It’s this guy right here I have a problem with.”
“Then it’s your problem, not mine.” Willie shrugged.
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Jake, staring straight ahead.
“Damn it, Jake, cut it out. I beat you. Get over it.” Willie slumped back in his seat. He pulled his Stetson over his eyes and added, “Better yet, let’s just drop this whole conversation. I’m tired, tired of listening to you whine.”
Jake never took his eyes off the road in front of him but, if he had glanced at his friend, Willie would have seen a look in Jake’s eyes he had never seen before.
The first thought to cross Jake’s mind was to pull over in the middle of nowhere and have Willie and his horse get the hell out of the truck. They could both walk to Yuma as far as he was concerned. Willie now had a look in his eyes, or maybe a swagger, that made Jake realize he could be a true threat to his income for the foreseeable future. That was the part that upset Jake the most. Jake had not only given Willie money, and rides to and from just about every rodeo in the northern hemisphere over the last two years, but he had also let Willie ride his own horse a few times when he had a problem with Buck.
How could he have been so stupid to give a second-rate roper named Willie Butler all the advice and help he would need to come back later and stab him in the back? Or, more precisely
, in the bank account? A visual came to him of a suitcase full of hundred dollar bills flying out the window of his truck, and he was the one tossing it out by the handful. A thousand memories raced through his mind of him and his dad Patrick watching other ropers at hundreds of different rodeos, studying countless reels together of super 8mm film projected onto the living room wall, and of the thousands of hours spent practicing with each other in the backyard arena, all toward the end of Jake O’Brien becoming the greatest roper who ever lived, not some nobody named Willie Butler.
Patrick’s voice started drumming in his ear, drilling home the same old advice every time Jake picked up on a technique he knew would make him better. “Son,” his dad told him, “these things you’re learning ain’t for public consumption. It’s not your job to help other ropers. It’s your job to beat them. So never, ever, give your enemy any kind of ammunition he can turn around and use against you.” Jake knew he had violated that sacred advice in a big way.
He shook his head and muttered, just loud enough for Willie to hear, “Jake, you stupid fuck, you gotta make goddamn sure you never do that shit again.”
“What’s that?” asked Willie from under his hat.
“Nothin’,” answered Jake. “Just nothin’.”
But the more he thought about today’s events, the madder he got. To top things off, it wasn’t long before darkness set in and he was forced to listen to Willie snoring in the seat next to him.
Less than a mile passed beneath the truck before Jake started thinking about the heartless ways he could part with his former friend. He could dump him off in Yuma, then he and his horse could figure out their own way to get from town to town. The smile quickly disappeared, however, when he realized he would lose the respect of every other cowboy in the country if he took that route. It wouldn’t bother Jake at all but, once word got around about his callousness, every man in the United States trying to make a living roping calves would have a lot more incentive to beat him.
So that idea quickly went down the toilet, but it didn’t take long for him to start thinking of something else. Soon the smile returned to his face as he spent the next half hour daydreaming about how Willie’s confidence and prize money would be affected after he found himself and his horse on the side of the road in the darkness, wondering how the hell he was going to get past the next eight hundred miles and make it to the Yuma Arizona County Fair And Rodeo on time. But he still had to come up with some kind of plan before Willie woke up.
Chapter 5
“The Jealous Are Troublesome To Others,
But A Torment To Themselves.”
—William Penn
Yuma, Arizona
It had been four days since Willie’s first prize win, the one that should have been Jake’s. Jake threw his saddle onto Chief, then leaned underneath his horse to grab the cinch strap. He threaded the nylon belt through the buckle, then tightened it until he was satisfied the seat fit perfectly on his horse. He laid his rope and piggin string around the saddle horn before grabbing the reins and leading Chief out of his stall. Horse and rider made their way down the middle of the busy open-sided livestock barn where twenty-five or thirty cowboys rushed around taking care of last-minute details before their events.
Jake and Chief exited into the afternoon sun, where Jake turned right and headed toward the outdoor arena a hundred yards away. Encouraging words came from participants and fans alike as man and horse made the walk to the arena and, as usual, Jake took time to answer or thank everyone who offered a kind word along the way. He felt good about his chances today, primarily because he wore the Number 5 on his back, which was the number he wore when he won his very first event as a kid in Oklahoma several years before. He considered it a great omen and couldn’t wait for the tie-down event to begin, but his thoughts and confidence were yanked out from underneath him as he approached the staging pen at the end of the arena.
“Jake! Hold up!” Willie’s voice came from behind him.
Jake stopped in his tracks and turned to see Willie leading Buck into the gate where all the other ropers were gathered, making his way through what seemed like twenty horses and riders crammed into a space the size of a tuna can. Between the commotion of the crowd and the chatter among the competitors trying to take care of their business, it was difficult to make out any voice in the din, but Willie was close enough that Jake didn’t have the luxury of getting away or pretending he was busy with something else. Up to this point, Jake had been happy Willie and Buck had been assigned to a stall eight doors down from him, which turned out to be far enough to keep away from the bullshit Willie was constantly spewing.
For the last four days, it appeared everything coming out of Willie’s mouth fell into one of three extremely annoying categories. First, Willie was either bragging about his victory in Dodge City or trying to pry more advice out of Jake that could make him even better. More infuriating, he had a bucketful of different subjects that had absolutely nothing to do with rodeo at all that he kept yapping about. For example, the NFL draft had taken place over a month before, but now, all of a sudden, Willie had an insatiable interest in what type of impact The Tyler Rose would have for the Houston Oilers when the season began. It was ridiculous how he couldn’t stop talking about it. Hell, everybody knew the guy hadn’t even played a down yet but, according to Willie, Earl Campbell should already be enshrined in the Professional Football Hall of Fame. Jake liked watching football, and might have taken a little concern if the Dallas Cowboys had drafted him, but that situation didn’t turn out to be so now it was all bullshit and he couldn’t care less. Football didn’t have a damned thing to do with rodeo anyway.
Over the course of the last forty-eight hours, Jake went from thinking Willie was just an irritating dumb ass from a small town in Oklahoma to an arch enemy who would stoop to any level and use any trick he could to keep Jake off balance. In fact, now it seemed like everything Willie said or did was done with the sole purpose of getting under Jake’s skin. Throughout Jake’s life, he had needled other ropers plenty of times to try to get an advantage, but not once had he ever done it to someone he traveled with, or depended on to get from one rodeo to another, or borrowed money from, or got lucky enough to get laid just because he was hanging out with them at some bar when they picked up the tab. Even though needling was needling, Jake believed there were unwritten rules regarding the art that should never be broken, yet Willie seemed to have no regard at all for such professional decencies.
As Jake watched his competitor get closer, the thought occurred to him that Willie’s tactics were really getting under his skin. For the first time since he could remember, Jake felt uneasy about his chances because, after last week, there was talk going around that maybe Willie could turn out to be Jake’s equal, or maybe even better. He knew, however, that a resounding win this week would help dispel those rumors and throw cold water on any hopes anyone else might have of trying the same thing.
“What’s up?” asked Jake as Willie walked up beside him.
“I just wanted to say thanks again for everything you’ve…” said Willie.
Jake cut him off. He stopped his horse and checked his tack one last time. “Listen, Willie, you need to cut the shit. Don’t thank me anymore. It’s getting old. You beat me fair and square last week, but right here, right now, is a whole ’nother ball game.” Jake dropped to his right knee to practice tying an invisible hooey a couple of times, then he stood and put his right hand on top of his hat, making sure it was secure on his head, before he put his boot in the stirrup and climbed into the saddle.
“But I…” started Willie.
“Look, I gotta go.” Jake tipped his hat and added as he turned Chief. “Good luck.”
“Good luck to you, too.” said Willie.
Jake could feel Willie’s eyes following him as he put his piggin string between his teeth, checked to make sure his gloves were snug, and rode his horse over into the box.
The announcer’s voice came over
the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the tie-down event, and to get this shindig started off right, we have none other than the young, up-and-coming superstar, Jake O’Brien, coming out first! Let’s give him a hand!”
Jake barely heard the words coming over the loudspeakers, or the cheers from the crowd that packed the stands surrounding the outdoor rodeo arena. He expertly backed Chief up into the corner of the box, then swung his rope in the air above his straw hat a couple of times. He nodded once to the man in charge of the chute. Chief’s eyes were wide and focused as he and Jake bolted from the box on the heels of a fleeing calf.
Jake’s throw was dead on, and the lariat settled around the calf’s neck. Almost instantly, Jake’s left leg was out of the stirrup and over the back of the horse. A split second later, he let go of the saddle horn with his left hand, used his right to toss his rope as high in the air as he could, and jumped out of the other stirrup just as the calf ran out of slack and was yanked to a stop. Jake landed in front of his horse as Chief’s stiff front legs dug into the soft brown rodeo dirt.
Jake grabbed the rope with his left glove immediately after his boots hit the ground, then raced the short distance to his prey. Chief was slowly backing away to keep the rope taut as the wide-eyed calf tried to pull the other way, but Jake quickly pulled the calf close, grabbed two legs, and hauled it off the ground onto its side. Two seconds later, Jake had three legs tied and raised both hands into the air as he turned to watch the flagman hoist his red banner to signal the judges the run was official. Jake instinctively looked at the scoreboard to check his time and saw 8.1 posted but, a couple of seconds later, the number switched to 18.1.
Roped & Tied Page 8
