Side Trail
A Rattlesnake Hat Band
Leslie Johnson
The whole time we’d been riding, Mac had done nothing but whine about getting a rattlesnake hat band. If he could get one of those bad boys, he’d be punchy for sure, and people would start taking him seriously about being a cowboy.
“I’m not sure a hat band is what makes a cowboy.” I mused, letting Siego step over the log the shorter Quarter horses had hopped over. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear Doc Martin’s and a surfer shirt, if you think clothes make a difference.”
“Shows what you know.” He snorted. “You know how much these things cost?” He waved at his shoes.
“More than your horse.” piped Lee. Everyone laughed.
We had gone about half way around the trail, where it opened out into a meadow the Park had designated as a rest stop. As such, it boasted two outhouses, some picnic tables, and a hydrant. There were also some pedestrian paths that led down to the reservoir the horse trails circled. Mac had decided to stroll down one while the women folk visited the “facilities”, leaving me to hold his horse.
He hadn’t gone but a few feet down the path when he stopped, looked down, and then backed carefully. Once off the path, he yelled for us to come over, excitedly waving his arms.
“Who’s got a pistol?” he yelled.
Uh, no one. We’re in a state park.., remember? We rode slowly over to him, holding the reins to his horse and followed by the others, who had mounted up by this time.
“Get off your horse, Hervie!” he asked, “Help me kill this snake!” We all leaned over the saddle horns to peer down the path, and sure enough, there lay a large timber rattler, enjoying the sun. Hervie shook his head, “You want that band, you kill it.”
“Lee, come on buddy!” he pleaded.
“Uh, uh! I’m afraid of ‘em!” he looked over at his girl friend and Mac’s wife. They both shuddered and shook their heads.
“Don’t even think about it.” I glared.
“Jeeze, Mac,” Hervie snorted, “Just get a big stick and kill it!”
“Fine!” Mac scowled, “I’ll just do that!” He began to cast around for a stick or limb to murder the snake with, and settled on a log about ten feet long. It was so heavy he could barely raise it up, but he was sure it was long enough and big enough he could mash the snake without getting too close. Weapon in hand, he sneaked up on the snoozing reptile, then swung it up over his head to deliver a crushing blow.
The log hit the rotted limbs of the tree hanging over the path, and they exploded like a shotgun blast and came raining down chunks at a time. Mac was knocked into the bushes on the other side of the path, and the rattler disappeared in the excitement. His horse jerked away from me and took off running, the horses of the other three spun and bolted. Lee’s girlfriend got bucked off, Caroline, Mac’s wife, was pummeled by the limbs of the trees her horse ran through, and sported a black eye and a split lip for about two weeks thereafter. Lee’s horse bucked all the way to the outhouses. Our horses didn’t spook, so I got off to dig Mac out of the brush, and Hervie went after the two that ran off. He had to chase Mac’s horse nearly to the parking lot on the other side.
We all chipped in on a rattler hat band after that, it seemed much safer than letting him try to get his own. As to it convincing people that he was, indeed, a “cowboy”, I leave to your discretion.
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