SMOKE IN THE VALLEY - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Lester answered.  “Mom and Dad always tell us not to play with matches.”     

     “Listen,” I pleaded, “We’re not playing.  We’re building a campfire.  All cowboys have campfires.  Do you know of any that have central heating?”

     After a little more encouragement and arm-twisting, Lester gave in to sound reason.  “Once we get this fire going, we’ll put that arm in a sling,” I said.

     Finding matches was our next priority.

     “Why don’t we ask your Mom and Grams for matches?” suggested Lester.

     “No,” I answered.  “They’re busy canning and wouldn’t want to waste their time looking for matches.”

     Suddenly, I remembered seeing some matches in the house, in an upstairs bedroom, so I grabbed Lester and headed for the house.  I sensed Lester’s reluctance as I pulled him along behind me, body rigid, and heels digging into the ground.

     Not wanting to disturb anyone, I quietly shoved Lester through a back window, and then climbed in after him.  He followed me upstairs and into a side bedroom.  As soon as we had gotten inside the door, I heard a muffled voice coming from inside a drawer across the room.  It was calling, “Over here…over here.”  Lester and I walked over to the drawer, opened it, and there were the matches.  “Must be meant for us,” I said rather matter-of-factly.

Smoke in the Valley - Segment 2 (scroll down for earlier segments)

     “You’re kidding!” he answered in disbelief, “I hope they caught the cow that was responsible.”      

     “Miss Plumpinshort said it was an accident.  Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kicked over a lantern in the barn.  The lantern fell on some hay, which caught fire and spread through the whole city.  It was called the Great Chicago Fire.  It happened a long time ago…in 1871.” 

     I could see Lester was impressed with my knowledge.

     As we continued to nurse our bruises and summon up enough courage to get back in the saddle, I was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea, possibly inspired by Miss Plumpinshort.  “Hey, Lester, why don’t we build a campfire?”  “Besides,” I went on, “real cowboys build real campfires.  Why, you can’t even tell a good story or sing a good song without a campfire.”

     “No wonder it’s so quiet,” answered Lester.

     We found some rocks and placed them in a neat circle.  Then we tried the Boy Scout method of starting a fire.  We found two sticks and began rubbing them together.  We soon realized that only works if you’re a Boy Scout.  Next we tried banging two rocks together, but got more headache than spark.

     “Maybe we need Mrs. O’Leary’s cow,” said Lester.

     “I’ve got a better idea,”   

     “What’s that?”

     “Matches,” I replied.

Smoke in the Valley - Opening segment

     Having just been paroled from Helen Haller elementary for the summer, my cousin, Lester, and I were honing our skills as first class cowpokes at Gramps’ Ranch, a large ranch located in the hills, about three miles above the town in which we lived.    

     It was a warm summer afternoon, and we were out breaking in a couple of horses, which were actually broomsticks with a cloth horse head.  After a romp around the ranch, that included a dazzling display of horsemanship, lasting slightly less than a fleeting moment, our horses finally had us broken in; throwing us out of the saddle in front of a herd of cows, and completely destroying our credibility as first class cowpokes.       

     We decided to take a break in an old bull pen, near the barn, and nurse our bruises.  We were extremely grateful the bull pen was empty, since bulls are historically poor listeners, completely unwilling to listen to reason, and show no remorse for leaving imprints on various parts of your body.

     While several cows wandered over to offer their sympathies, I was telling Lester what my teacher, Miss Plumpinshort, had told our class recently…about a cow that set an entire city on fire.