RIDIN' FOR THE BRAND



We noticed the cowboy standing off by himself, just within earshot.  It was a shoot day and time for
cowboy church before the shooter’s meeting.  We had been engaged in small talk and I was beginning to
set up the story I was planning to tell when I stopped to invite the cowboy in to join us.  He refused my
invitation.  I was telling a story of a cowboy on a trail drive being confronted by an iterant preacher when I
noticed the lone cowboy edging closer to the shed we were under.  I can tell you from experience that it’s
tough to tell a story and stay on track and at the same time try to figure what some lonesome cowboy has
on his mind.  Especially when you have a one-track mind like I do.
After the “Amen” we all headed for the shooter’s meeting and on to the day’s event.  I ended up on the
same posse as “Ole Lonesome.”  Wonder how that happened?  I believe you only get so many
opportunities in this life and I’ve been playing catch-up for long time now.  So whenever I had the chance I
would find myself talking with “Lonesome.”  Just casual gun talk.  You know, “what’ch shoot’n?”  “You
make your own stuff?”  Important things like that.
It didn’t take long to realize that he was wounded.  Oh, he hadn’t been shot, but he was wounded just the
same.  It was obvious he had something on his mind, so when we took a break I offered him a cup of
Joe.  I noticed that when he spoke of church or the Scriptures, he always referred to them in the past
tense.  When I attempted to enter the Lord into the conversation he always changed the subject, so I let
him talk.  We were interrupted by the call, “Shooter Up!”
Before the day was finished I did manage to explain that all we were trying to do was give the day to the
Lord and acknowledge to Him that all things, even our shoot’n, was by His blessings and under His
control.  When I invited Lonesome to church, he thanked me and walked off into the crowd.  I felt empty.  I
knew he was hurting but there was little I could do for him.
It was a three hour drive to get back home.  As usual I spent too much time talking and having a good
time and let it get dark on me.  Now we were headed south in the dark.  We were tired and Prissy was
being a good passenger – she was asleep.  This left me with my thoughts and I was thinking about
Lonesome.
It happened so fast I hardly knew that anything happened at all.  It was one of those dark nights when
everything seemed so far away.  For the moment the whole world was inside the car I was driving.  The
taillight of the car in front of me was the only reminder of the real and bigger world just outside the
windshield.  This did not have much real meaning at 75 MPH.
In an instant it was over.  The brake lights flashed, the car swerved, and as I shot past I could see
something floundering on the side of the road.
We stopped behind the other car and walked back.  The white-tailed deer lying on the side of the road
was more scared than injured.  The driver of the other car raised the pistol he was holding, shot the deer,
turned and walked back to his car.  “Once they’re hurt it’s impossible to help them,” he said as he walked
past me.  “It’s better to shoot them than to leave them like that.”
I felt empty in the presence of the waste and utter cruelty of the event.  The injury was not life threatening.  
The question was not the injury but the wildness of the animal.  It was simply easier to shoot her and be
done with it.  Twenty years of carrying a badge had taught me that you do not argue with a man with a
pistol in his hand.
As I drove on through the night I reflected upon how we all are much like the unknown driver with the gun.  
How often in the name of religion do we find it to be easier to shoot the wounded than to love and care for
them?  How convenient it is to leave the forgiving to God.  We need to stop shooting our wounded.  There’
s enough of us already.

© Carl H. Lenz, 2007
ROAD KILL