There never was a horse that couldn’t be rode;
Never was a cowboy who couldn’t be throwed.
One time when my father was about twelve years old, he and six or eight of his pals were looking for a job. They thought if they could get themselves a job they’d have money of their own to spend. They heard that a man had brought a herd of wild horses to the railroad corral, and he was looking for somebody to ride the horses. You see, if he could say to a prospective buyer that the horses had been ridden, they would bring more money. So he hired this bunch of boys to ride his horses. They were wild mustangs and the boys were to get twenty five cents for each horse that they rode. The first day that my father went home all ragged and muddy and bruised, Grandma demanded to know where he’d been run over. He was proud to say that he had made fifty cents riding the wild mustangs. That irritated her so she got ahold of the mothers of the other boys and they started for the railroad corral. Now can’t you just see a bunch of angry mothers lifting their long, full skirts and trudging down through the dirt and everything to the corral? They confronted that man (Grandmother did the talking) and she told him what she thought of an adult that would use little boys roughly like that, and that if he didn’t get his horses out of town, she’d have him run out. Well, before dark, he and his mustangs were gone. She really put the fear in him.
The following is an MP3 audio file of Mama telling the same story as quoted above: