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Chapter 41: Heading South

Chapter 41: Heading South

March

Jesse and I spend the day familiarizing ourselves with the grounds, stopping at the at all the stalls to assess inventory. He walks me through what features to look for in Angus heifers and bulls.

"So, what are you in the market for, anyway?" I ask him.

"We need a new sire, so I've been searching for a while for a Black Angus bull with the right temperament."

"How do you measure that?"

"It's tricky. Lots of buyers go by the chute score. But I like to look him in the eye. Take his temperature, so to speak. We're heading south towards Brownsville tomorrow morning to check out a candidate at Refugio Ranch. If I like him, I'll ask to see him move in an arena under stress."

"What does that involve?"

"Me and Ash go in there with him, push him around a bit. See how he responds."

"Want any help?"

"Not this time. This time, you watch. We can practice with Redbo on a more docile cow after you see how it's done."

When we finish up there, it's time to head to the main stadium to watch Joe. The bullriding event starts at seven.

Before the first rider is released, Joe and two other bullfighters enter the arena. The other guys have their faces painted like clowns, wearing cowboy hats and suspenders over brightly colored jerseys. Attached to the suspenders is a wide baggy bullfighting skirt.

Joe isn't dressed like the others. His only makeup is like the eyeblack that football players wear, and he's decked out in high-top football cleats, a backwards ballcap over his long blond hair, black leggings, and long baggy shorts. His jersey is bright blue and says "Chaplin" across the back.

I've seen some video of Joe at work, but I've never gotten the chance to watch him perform live. Dad isn't too thrilled with Joe's career choice, so it's not like we ever followed him on the rodeo circuit. He's been on the road ten years, and this is the first time I've been to a show.

The first few bulls they release aren't too ornery. The clowns kind of dance around really close them when the rider falls to distract the bulls.

"See there?" Jesse says. "They stay in his blind spot. That's the safest place."

I nod. "Lord, would you look at the size of that bastard," I say under my breath. The next bull in the chute is short and stocky, built wide and low to the ground.

"That's Black Bart. He's a beast," Jesse says.

Black Bart rips out of the chute, kicking his hind quarters up over and over trying to dislodge the rider. Once he knocks him loose, the bullfighters engage so that the rider has a chance to flee. But Black Bart isn't done bucking yet, and one of the clowns gets a hoof to the kidney, going down.

"Holy shit," Jesse mutters. "Come on now, Joe, don't do anything stupid."

Joe gets right in front of the bull's line of sight, and Black Bart charges him. Instead of running away, Joe runs at him and jumps over his entire body, like he's playing leap-frog.

The crowd roars.

The clowns usher the bull back to the chute, and Joe takes off his hat, waving and bowing to his fans in the stadium.

After the show is over, we meet Joe at the 1st Street Bar in town.

"What'd you boys think?" Joe asks as he sets down an ice bucket of Buds. The waitress comes up behind him with three shots of tequila.