We call it Squirrel Meadows. What a perfect place to stay. It’s nestled in the
Tetons. Ain’t no better place to play.
The road is long and dusty, but it’s never overrun. That’s where a dozen cowboys
went to ride and have some fun.
We made camp at the old cabin. Breakfast came at near daylight. Eggs and
bacon, buttered hotcakes filled your stomach nice and tight.
‘Twas time to saddle up ‘cuz we’d be riding most the day. We always hoped for
safety so we asked someone to pray.
The South Boone trail to Berry Creek was overgrown and steep. The switchbacks
on the mountain kept us moving at a creep.
The horses gave their extra. You could smell the dried-up sweat. So the cowboys
rode back to their camp. But the day weren’t over yet.
With the horses fed and watered, they’d kick off their cowboy duds. Then settle
down to dinner with the thickest steaks and spuds.
I cut a hunk of tender meat and raised it to my mouth, when I saw a man
approaching. He was riding from the south.
He rode in on a bicycle. I said, “Got a place to stay?” He said, “My name is
Fletcher. I’ve been riding hard all day.”
We told him, “Hop on down and you can stay here for the night. We hope you’ve
got an appetite. You gotta have a bite.”
Fletcher was as skinny as a toothpick on a string. I wondered how much food he’d
eat, if even anything.
But Fletcher fooled the lot of us, with his hollowed-out entrails. I think that lonely
biker was dug out to his toenails.
He gobbled down the rarest steak. That biker sure could dine. I thought for just a
minute that he had his eye on mine.
He polished off the cream-style corn. I waved the spuds goodbye. Then he
finished up his dinner with half a berry pie.
Well, Fletcher’s healthy appetite was something to admire. Each cowboy gave a
belly laugh while circling round the fire.
We talked and joked into the night, then no one made a sound. The cowboy’s
thoughts were ’bout the day, a good time all around.
