In this excerpt from Never Burn Your Moving Boxes, Jolyn is working on a ranch in Northern Nevada, proving herself a worthy hand when she meets Jim Young, a cowboy who soon becomes her husband.
I nudged my horse into a run and started swinging my rope. Jubilee was known to buck when riders leaned out to throw a loop to catch them off balance at the exact moment they were most vulnerable. The other cowboys told me this, but today I didn’t care about the risk of personal injury. I was hot, thirsty, and determined to catch that runaway steer.
I was also tired of not “necking” stuff outside. If you’re going to be a cowboy, you need to be able to rope cattle around the neck or by both hind feet as needed. Roping an animal’s feet after somebody else has necked it is physically easier on your horse and less mentally stressful for the roper, since you don’t have to move at breakneck speed to catch the animal. So far, I had been a full-time “heeler,” too timid to run up behind a fast cow and throw my rope at a full gallop. So many things could go wrong—my horse could step in a badger hole and fall down, I could get bucked off, or (worst of all) I could catch the cow but lose my rope and look dumb in front of the crew.
Then one day I overheard Ty tell someone that he seemed to be the only person on the ranch who was able to neck stuff outside. The shame at possibly being considered a coward was worse than the potential danger. It was time to step up my roping game.
That day at the Holland Ranch was my chance to prove myself. I kicked Jubilee until he brought me into position directly behind the fat Hereford yearling, my left hand steering the reins and my right arm swinging my rope as hard as I could. A semi-truck and trailer roared past barely twenty feet away as we ran full-tilt down the shoulder of the highway. I stood in my stirrups, leaned over the saddle horn, and launched my rope. The loop circled around the steer’s neck on the first try. I quickly dallied my rope around my saddle horn and reined the big gelding to a stop. Through no skill of my own but to my great fortune, he never once tried to buck.
The steer stopped to face me when my rope came tight. Now what? Determination had helped me catch the steer, but I had no clue what to do with him after that. I glanced behind me toward the rest of the cowboy crew. Hopefully one of them would come help.
Just then, Jim rode into view. He crested a swell in the sagebrush flat with his hat pulled down tight and his rope in his hand, loop built and ready to swing. He saw me right away and trotted over, riding tall and straight in the saddle. His horse carried his head up with his ears pointed forward.
“Good job,” Jim said. “Now, to lead him, just kick your horse up right beside the steer. Keep a little slack in your rope. If that steer wants to trot, you just trot with him.”
I followed Jim’s instructions and we headed toward the wire gate on the other side of the highway. When the steer walked in the direction I wanted him to go, I gave him some slack in the rope so he could catch his air and be rewarded for going the right way. When he stopped, I stopped my horse and waited for the steer to move toward the gate. Then I steered Jubilee beside him so the loop around his neck would loosen and he could get some more air and another positive reinforcement. I didn’t say a word, just followed Jim’s instructions and led the steer across the blacktop like I roped and led cattle every day.
As we approached the gate, Ty rode his horse up alongside me and threw another head loop on the steer to offer additional support leading the captured escapee to his new home. I looked straight ahead and kicked the gray horse onward.
Jim rode up behind us and started swinging his rope. I didn’t look back like an experienced cowboy would have. I was sick and tired of acting timid and being the backup help, so I locked my eyes on the wire gate up ahead and spurred Jubilee with both feet. Nobody was gonna have to tell me to hurry up that day.
Suddenly shouts of “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” rose up behind me, followed by laughter. I turned in the saddle to look back. Jim had his rope dallied to his saddle horn, firmly attaching him and his horse to the steer I was leading. His horse had assumed a crouched position as he tried to stop the steer, but he wasn’t able to since I was still forging ahead in the lead. I stopped my horse just before we pulled Jim through an H-brace made of two upright railroad ties with a horizontal piece wedged between them in the fence corner.
“Don’t forget to look back once in a while!” someone called out. I laughed along with the crew. I was also secretly impressed with Jubilee. He’d never faltered or lost stride even while dragging a fat red steer and a horse ridden by a tall cowboy. That horse was a powerhouse. (And he hadn’t sent me flying.)
This excerpt was reprinted with permission from Trafalgar Square Books. Visit trafalgarbooks.com to read more about Never Burn Your Moving Boxes by Jolyn Young (2023; $19.95) and to order your copy.
