IRVING O’BRIGHT, THE COWBOY
by Reavis E. Dixon

     In the fall of 1941, when we moved to the Tracy Guest farm, Daddy strung a clothes line of heavy wire between two pine trees in the woods just outside the yard fence. Mama would wash our clothes in number two wash tubs, sometimes beating them with a stick to loose the dirt. When she had finished, the clean, but wet garments were hanged on the line to dry.

     In those days the countryside was open range. Cattle and various other livestock roamed freely in the forest to feed.

     Late one afternoon a neighbor, Irvin O'Bright was on horseback rounding up his cattle. A few dashed into the woods behind our house, and Irvin swiftly chased behind them on his horse. He ran at a gallop, upright in the saddle, and the roundup was going well until he started between the two pines where Daddy had strung the clothesline. It caught poor Irvin squarely across the mid section, and jerked him violently from the horses back. He landed with a thud, and sat there shaken but uninjured for a few moments.

     He finally gathered his feet under him, and as he set off to catch his horse he yelled to my mother who was standing in our back yard. "That thing’s going to kill somebody!"

       Thankfully nothing about Irving was harmed, except his dignity. Without doubt, he always kept a sharp lookout for clothes lines whenever he rode horseback from that day on.