Lucifer

I have always believed that there comes a time when every cowpoke finds themselves on a hoss they cain’t ride, no matter the size of the outfit or the number of times that same horse ridden till its head hung low. I have found mine.

His name was Lucifer. I did not name him.

Had I done so, I might have picked something softer, like Beelzebub or Old Scratch. But Lucifer he was, and Lucifer he remained, a name that suited him as a saddle suits a porcupine.

It weren’t as though I was some greenhorn fresh off the coach. I had spent a respectable number of years in the saddle, busting broncs and guiding cattle across lands so dry even the rattlesnakes carried canteens.

I had thrown a leg over more horses than I could count, which is to say, more than ten. And yet, Lucifer stood there staring at me with a look that made me suspect he had studied philosophy and concluded that humanity was a mistake best rectified by his four hooves.

“You sure you want to do this?” asked Jed, a man whose primary occupation was laughing at the misfortunes of others.

“Ain’t no horse alive I cain’t ride,” I said, with the confidence of a man soon disabused of such notions.

“Well, then,” he said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice that sizzled upon hitting the dust, “I reckon today’s the day we find out if there’s a horse that can ride you.”

Lucifer waited as I swung into the saddle, which should have been my first clue that things would go poorly. A horse worth his salt bucks a little when you mount to remind you of your place in the world.

But Lucifer stood still as a graveyard at midnight. I no sooner settled in than he let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and then the devil went to work.

I will not bore you with the technicalities of bronc riding except to say that I did none of them. Instead, I dedicated myself to an artistic interpretation of flight, my trajectory suggesting that I had taken up astronomy.

I soared, I tumbled, I prayed. I landed.

Jed strolled up to where I lay, half-buried in dust and regret. He leaned over me, hands on his knees. “You stick the landin’ real nice,” he said. “Like a sack of flour.”

For his part, Lucifer wandered off a few paces and turned to regard me with an expression of mild disappointment as though he had expected more entertainment from the affair. Then he flicked his tail and began cropping hay, insult added to injury, as it suggested the whole thing hadn’t been worth his full attention.

I lay there, considering my options. Option one was to ride ever again and to find a new profession, such as banking or peddling notions. Option two was to accept my fate and prepare for a life of ridicule and derision at the hands of my so-called friends. Option three was to get up, dust myself off, and pretend it had not happened.

I chose option three.

I climbed to my feet with the dignity of a man who has fallen in public and is trying to pretend he meant to do it. I brushed myself off, set my hat back on my head, and turned to Jed.

“I declare, Jed,” I said, “I do believe Lucifer’s got a powerful dislike for me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t take it personal,” Jed said. “He’s got a powerful dislike for everyone. But I’d say you’re special—he saved somethin’ extra just for you.”

“Mighty kind of him.”

Jed grinned. “You wanna try again?”

I looked at Lucifer, who was looking at me with the patience of a schoolmaster waiting for his most troublesome pupil to realize he had brought the wrong answer to the lesson. I reckoned I learnt my lesson.

“You know, Jed, I believe I have demonstrated my ability to ride this horse just fine,” I said. “The trouble is, he refuses to demonstrate his ability to be ridden. I think we have reached an impasse.”

“So that’s a no?”

“That is a most emphatic no.”

And so, I lived to ride another day, though I made sure it was on a horse with fewer opinions. But to this day, when I pass through certain towns, I find that old-timers remember me not for my skills, victories, or even my handsome and rugged visage.

No, they remember the day I took flight and left my dignity somewhere in the dust, courtesy of a horse named Lucifer.