They’d loaded the cows in a hired semi and the calves into a converted hay wagon. This wagon had rubber tires, a long tongue and 12-foot homemade side boards. There was enough wire at the corners to run transatlantic cable from New York to the Canary Islands.
“I’ll take the calves and lead the way. You ride with the driver,” instructed the boss.
The road picked up incline as the procession wound its way into the hills above Ellensburg. The trailer tracked as well as a camel draggin’ a unicycle through a fresh-plowed field against the rows. The driver grumbled, but Steve kept an eye on the swaying trailer ahead. He noticed the right rear tire go from low to flat.
The semi pulled alongside the boss’ pickup to alert him. “Just keep goin’,” shouted the boss, “We’re almost there!”
Smoke began to roll out of the tortured tire. Soon, sparks were flyin’! Steve was the first to spot flames.
They pulled over as the pickup and trailer ground to a halt. The rear of the trailer was burning like an old apple crate. They cut through the wire and pried the backboards off.
The calves were smashin’ themselves to the front, as Steve fought his way through the smoke and fire and began pushing and throwing the 200 pound calves out onto the highway. They’ll find ’em, thought Steve, That’s what cowboys are for!
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