e had to
cross their Badlands, ride roughshod above the timberline or grab for
cover to avoid a ricochet.

The two legged coyotes are still with us no matter how humanitarian we
might fancy ourselves.

The Ox-Bow Incident[2] can overtake most anyone, although the saying
"meeting one's Waterloo," seems at this writing more commonplace. In
ramrodding an outfit to market, or seeing a plan to completion, all
must stand clear of brackish water, wolfsbane and loco weed. Place
these symbolist terms in their updated context and you will understand
a hockey player's nickname "cowboy," and the slow irrelevance of that
veneer time.

A primeval instinct beckons through time to the campfire. And I suppose
a campfire logic might be said to exist in all of us. The thinking of
things out carefully over a second and third cup of coffee, cautious
self exploratory reasoning. Today, any job ad will still warn: "Only
the aggressive with a proven trail record need apply." Myths and more
myths, the saga makers are legends in their own time, recreating
themselves shamelessly.

It may be time to pull on the reins, but allow one last indulgence. Who
is the modern centurion? The town marshal finds his present niche in
foreman, boss man, supervisor(?) The heart is a lonely hunter and
amidst renegades, mavericks and poisoned water holes, the modern
Cincinnatus[3] or wagon-master will be found contending with an array
of tenderfoots, greenhorns and Jimson weeds up the Chisholm Trail
through the Cimarron to market.

Chiggers, jerky, sweat beetles and hardtack are but mementoes of this
earlier romantic interlude.

[1] The formation of a circle shaped wagon train to ward off danger at
the time of the Utilanders trek across the Transvaal to the Orange Free
State.

[2] Popular novel written in the early nineteen forties.

[3] Legendary Roman hero who safeguarded a vital bridge into the city
from the Etruscans.

JABIRU

Clarence, the pipe stem would grow hot with rage, then become agitated
over his apparent inability to stop smoking. You see, he was a misfit
in more ways than one. He didn't snap firmly in place when ordered, and
more importantly, he resented the appendicular attachment to a place
and time not his own choosing.

Clarence would stew near the pipe bowl, rife with burnt ends and
hacking smoke. The pipe had a bite and it was he who enlisted its
bitter end.

Now Clarence had designs of escaping tobacco road. He envisaged