RIDERS

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

By
Ross A. Wilmeth

			                    

    © COPYRIGHT 2025
All Rights Reserved
Ross A. Wilmeth                      

RIDERS

CAST

BOB.......average build, around thirty-five.

LARRY.....tall and thin, around thirty-two.

FRANK.....small and thin, around forty-seven.

PETE......heavy set, closing in on fifty-five.

One set:
The fence of a stock pens at a rodeo arena.

TIME:   1981

PLACE: The stock pens at a rodeo arena.

SETTING:	AT RISE: The stage is dimly illuminated by a soft glow of early morning sunlight. Stage-right sits BOB, a man in his mid-thirties.  He is dressed in a worn out western cut suit. He sits on a couple of canvas bags, must like tool bags.  Stage-left sits LARRY, a tall man about the same age.  He wears jeans, a white shirt, a baseball cap and tennis shoes.  He sits on an old metal ice chest.  A moment, then the lights go to black on the stage and LARRY and come up on BOB.)

BOB: That’s Larry.  We're sort of partners, I guess.  That is, we got together a few years back and started traveling. I had an old sixty-nine Malibu. Well, it wasn't really a Malibu, but it looked like one. It was a oh, shit, I can't remember. I've always called it a Malibu.  Well, that's neither here nor there.  Anyway, I had a way to get from one rodeo to another, and Larry was just starting out on the circuits.  I guess I had been doing it for a couple of years.  We're bull riders. We have never made the Nationals.  That's the Super Bowl of Cowboys. Well, not all cowboys, just us that do it as a sort of...well, hell, we're athletes. Kind of like football players except we must furnish our own bandages and pain killers.

(BOB takes a pint of whiskey from his coat pocket and takes a quick drink.)

I carry it for Larry. (pause) anyway Oh, wait, wait, I got to set a couple of things straight.  Now, I drink, and Larry does but that doesn’t mean all the cowboys do. Maybe a beer or two after a hard day's work.  A long sip out of a bottle at a dance.  But that's not all cowboys.  (laughs) Most do though...no, no, I'm just kidding. You can't just put this liquid shit in your body and keep riding. Can't become a World Class Champion drinking.  Although I knew an old boy...well, he was a kid back then...well, really it was just a few years ago.  Anyway, he won the Bull Riding Championship Buckle...drank like a dried up fish.  But most of the young boys coming up don't touch anything stronger than Dr. Pepper.  The cowboy that won one year drank just bottled spring water.

(BOB puts the pint away.  He's silent for a moment.)

Hell, he had over a hundred thousand dollars in winnings that year.  It more than likely cost him over two hundred thousand to get there with the price of bottled spring water these days. (laughs) No, but seriously, it costs a lot of money to do this, a lot of your own money. I mean, for entrance fees, travel expenses, hell, trainers, yeah, some of those old (pause) young boys have trainers. (laughs) I guess I'm sort of Larry's trainer and he's mine. That's why I keep the bottle.  (pause) So we started to rodeo together.  Lot of dreams.  Hell of a lot of dreams.  That is, I had them.  Larry I guess I always knew.  He has a kind of philosophy.  If you're happy keep doing it.  With me those dreams still sneak in especially when I'm dancing with a woman and her perfume hits my old nostrils just right...oh, yeah, or a song!  You know how it feels when you hear an old song and things you forgot coming back as if you're right back then.  Everything is clear as a Panhandle sky.  Wichita Lineman...that's the song that brings back my first rodeo...hell, that must have been fifteen years...hell, (pause) And movies too...that's what got me into doing his...well, I also love the fucking shit out of it!

(BOB sits up on the bags.)

Rodeoing.  I really like it.  I guess movies just kind of helped me to see what I wanted to do.  Always thought it was something when the new cowboy in town climbed up on the unbreakable, killer horse and broke him in a couple of seconds and then rode off in the sunset with the pretty schoolteacher. She is in a long, white dress and the old cowboy in clean, pressed jeans and a sharply creased, white hat.  (pause) But, shit, movies today.  Larry once was a real sharp dresser.  Almost like the cowboys in the old movies.  But now he wears just about nothing else but an old pair of sneakers and a cap. He says he's protesting that movie about the Urban Cowboy...they even made it in Texas...right after that all hell broke loose with the fashion world.  Boots...shirts, even blue jeans got to where a real cowboy couldn't afford them. Just those...Park Avenue types...oh, or those boys that live in Greenwich Village in New York.  Hell, when we're up that way riding...I won't even bend over…if I've got my hat on. (pause) So Larry's doing his protesting.  Me? I wear this old thing.  Had it for ten years.  Always wear it on the day of a ride...like to look sharp when I give my money for my entrance fee.  Got to be positive...and that's what I've tried to do all these years.  See, I've got to do odd jobs sometimes when my winnings aren’t too good.  Hate washing bottles...shit, did that for two months in Atlanta.  Just so I would have the money to pay my fee.  Nice feeling to lay that money down and say to the pretty, little lady sitting there at the registration desk, "Give me a mean one today, Honey."  She smiles up at me with those ruby, red lips.  You take a deep breath and take in a lung full of that perfume and with her soft hands she hands you your number and says, "Good luck, Bob."  (pause) Bob...that's my name.  Only time I hear my last name is over the Arena's Announcer's P.A.  But Bob is all I really need.  Except...hell, I guess I know about fourteen or maybe fifteen other boys named Bob.  Shit, make fifteen hundred.  And a damn good number of them have the same last name.  (pause) Bob Smith...Bob Keeper...know three of them. But most of us Bobs are known more by where we're from or what we do...like, oh, I guess, like Bob from Clovis, Bob from Lubbock...(laughs)...Bob that damn 
Yankee...Me?  Well, I'm Bob with 
Larry.
(BOB sits back against the bags as the lights FADE TO BLACK on him and UP ON LARRY.)

LARRY: Names...names...names.  Like drifter...hobo...don't hear that much anymore.  I might get it from an old bum in a dive bar.  (pause) Gypsies. Now that one hurt me.  Call my Mommy or Sis, even my names but I get a sick feeling when I hear someone call me a Gypsy Rider...hell, it's like telling the world I don't give a damn about anything.  Like I don't care about things or people even.  It really hurts me. (pause) Hell, it's just fucking mean.

(LARRY gets up off the cooler and takes out a beer. He drinks.)

Breakfast of Champions...that's another name.  Champion.  It really bugs me.  If you make a lot of money sitting on top of a bull for eight seconds, then they call you a Champion.  Hell, having your picture and name stuck on hats and the bottom of boots don't make you a champion.  My Daddy never got a Gold Buckle, or his name sewed to the butt of a pair of jeans but he...he was...shit, he worked our ranch for thirty years.  (pause) My Sis and I got him this plastic trophy.  It was just about fifty cents, I think...and tiny.  But it had a sticker we put on it that said, Champion of Dads.  (pause) It wasn't a big ranch...we also did some cotton farming cotton up on the Panhandle of the GREAT STATE OF TEXAS.  Learned to ride just about anything, bulls, horses, even a couple of big, old bore hogs.  That's a ride let me tell you. Shit, that damn old hog can get you on the ground and root your stomach out of your belly button and eat the damn thing.  Bulls just stick you in the guts and move on...if you're lucky.  And let me tell you, luck has a hell of a lot to do with it.  My folks went broke farming, I mean, ranching and ended up north working in a factory making needles for hospitals or something. I pulled out and started to wander around the country. (smiling) Found I have a certain way with women. It doesn’t matter what age, size, or shape.  I can always find one that feels she needs to...well...take care of me, short term usually.  (pause) Anyway, I got into a couple of fights in a little town in Kansas over a girl...all right, over two.  One was a girl and the other was her mother.  The girl's brothers or sons...hell, I never could get it right, decided I should have a new face...leg, arm.  So, I defended myself and... hurt one badly.  I went to a Country Work Farm 
for a year.  While I was in... prison. We did some work around this rodeo, and I got to talk to some of the riders...cowboys and well, I figured that what the hell I'll try it...I knew which end of the bull to kiss and which end to kick.  (laughs) You have got to figure it out yourself.

(He takes a long drink and then opens another beer.)

Well, I figured I'd become a rider and see the country.  Also, those old boys mentioned a couple of times that some damn good looking women hang around the arenas.  And most of those women figure it's just once a year so they let loose...I like that in a woman...just have a good time and forget it until you're alone and too drunk to do anything else.  Then you got something to keep your mind off the damn hangover the next morning.  So, I got out and started to travel.  I mean, rodeoing.  Wasn't too bad the first couple of years...then that name started to pop up.  I didn't have any fancy pick-up or car. . .had to bum rides from one place to the next.  It worked out if the offer came from a cowgirl but most of them have husbands or big and I mean big Daddies’.  So, I went with a fellow named Bob.  He seemed nice enough and he had a car...a nice car.  It was one of them sporty Chevy's...hot rod type of thing...Malibu.  Jet black and had dual exhausts.  Eight track stereo player, the works.  Great damn car.  Not a bad back seat either.  (pause) Shit...got drunk one damn night and drove it into a cement wall.  I did my best to keep Bob stone drunk for three days so I wouldn't have to tell him.  (pause) I guess that's when I realized he and I would be together. (laughs) He hides my whiskey, and I get him women...sometimes.  Hell, Bob's a good old boy. Still dreams of being Champion.  And maybe he'll do it. But I figure if he and I stick together something good is bound to happen. I mean being a good rider is only part of it.  You got to be damn lucky.  Almost as if Old Lady Luck has got to sleep with you every night and just before she gets up each morning she rolls over and gives you a big kiss and pat on the ass and says, "See you tonight, Lover." Luck...luck is all that makes a drifter, hobo or even a gypsy rider a Champion.

(LARRY stands and takes a long drink of the beer as we see FRANK, a small man around forty-five.  He crosses to the stock pen.  He is carrying a bucket of feed.  A moment, both BOB and LARRY cross to FRANK.)

FRANK: (toward the pen)
Okay, Mr. Williams.  Be right back.

(FRANK turns and sees the two men.)

LARRY: Old Man Williams got you running around before sunup?

FRANK: Lost a roping calf to a bunch of kids last night.

BOB: Stole it?

FRANK: Yeah.  Sheriff found several of them outside of town drunk this morning bar-be-queuing the poor thing.

LARRY: Old Man upset?

FRANK: Spitting fire.  I better get over there and see what he wants.

(FRANK picks up the bucket. We hear the bull kick.)

FRANK:(looking at the pen)
It's either you damn bulls wanting something or Mr. Williams.  Shit!

(Speaking to LARRY and BOB as he EXITS.)

FRANK: Draw your ride for tonight?

BOB: Not yet.

FRANK: (calling off)
That's what I mean today.

(LARRY and BOB stand looking into the pen.)

LARRY: I remember that one.  Didn't Old Man Williams stock the Lubbock rodeo?  Yeah, he did.  I rode that one.  I scored high on that mean bastard.

BOB: (laughing)
You haven't broken fifty points in six months.

LARRY: Really?  Shit.  (pause)  Was Lubbock seven months ago?

BOB: Damn, Larry, it was two weeks ago.

LARRY: I'll be damned.  Lost half a year between here and Lubbock.  That's what you get when you're living the high life.

(BOB turns away from the pen.  He looks off.) 

BOB: Did you tell the Kid where we would be?

LARRY: Yeah.  (pause) Said he wanted to call his dad.

BOB: That's nice.  Your kid ever calls you?

LARRY: Sure.  On my portable, hip phone.

BOB: You call her?

LARRY: I can't even remember where I've been for the past six months.

(LARRY turns and sits against the pen.  He opens a paper sack and removes a cup of coffee.)

LARRY: Used to take us two, three days to get to the next rodeo.  Hell, with the kid we pop in that new pick-up of his and down the road we fly.  (pause) 
Shit, I bet in the last two days we've been across Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico...we go to Colorado?

BOB: On our way to Oregon. Now, boy, it was a kick.

LARRY: Well, hell, sure.  We stayed there for three days.

BOB: Three days?

LARRY: I think.  Yeah, sure.  Three days.  The kid had an aunt he wanted to see up around Portland.  But shit, I still had a hangover when we got to Flagstaff.

BOB: It seems I was winning more by doing less of the circuit.

LARRY: We weren't laying out as many entrance fees, Dummy.

BOB: Don't call me names, Shit-face.

(BOB and LARRY look at each other for a moment. Then LARRY holds the cup of coffee up to BOB.)

LARRY: Want some?

BOB: Nope.  While you were sleeping me and the kid ate breakfast.  (pause) He wants to head for Waco right after 
the last ride, tonight.

LARRY: Oh, no.  (pause) I’ll talk to him.  Hell, we got to stay.  The dance is great here.  Most of those farmers let their little daughters come to town alone tonight. Do a little buckle rubbing.  Nope, I'll talk to him.

(SOMETHING off right catches LARRY'S eye.  He waves and smiles.)

BOB:(looking)
Oh, shit.

LARRY: I'll call her over.

BOB: You do, and you'll be drinking that coffee through your ass.

LARRY: Just trying to help little cupid.

(LARRY stands.  BOB crosses and investigates the pen.)

BOB: She still there?

LARRY: Frank's talking to her.  Now, those two make a unique pair.

BOB: Frank's okay.

LARRY: And Horse Mary?

BOB: What do you want me to say, that she loves me...what?

LARRY: No.  Say that you love her and I'm going to be an uncle of a fine looking pony.

BOB: Pony this, Smart-Ass.

LARRY: Just trying to get the facts out, Buddy.

BOB: Fact one, Buddy, I did her a favor.  Fact two...shit, fact two is the one girl who really likes me, and I could give a shit.

LARRY: Love'em and leave'em.

BOB: Not Horse Mary.  Well, maybe not sober.

LARRY: (looking off)
Here they come...nope, just Frank.

(FRANK ENTERS.)

FRANK: Bob, Mary was telling me that--

BOB: (to FRANK)
Get off it!

FRANK: What?  (pause) I was just going to tell you her new horse joke.

BOB: Sorry, Frank.

FRANK: Little touchy.

LARRY: He gets that way before he rides.

FRANK: Knew a cowboy once that you couldn't say a word to him a couple of days before a ride.  (pause) Shot a man once for asking him the time.

(LARRY and BOB look at each other and at FRANK.)

BOB: Who?  

LARRY: Yeah, what's his name?

FRANK: Shit don't think anybody had the guts to ask him.

(FRANK begins to laugh.  He crosses to the pen.)

FRANK: Just trying to help you boys lighten up.  Don't want to be too tense when you climb into the chute with all that beef.

LARRY: We took a couple of shots before.

FRANK: That booze can really fuck you up without you knowing it. (pause) Sure didn't help me.

LARRY: You were a drinker, Frank?

FRANK: Poured the stuff down my throat on a hot day I sweated the shit.
It took three months from me.

BOB: What?

FRANK: Booze.

BOB: No.  What took three months from you?

FRANK: The booze.  I woke up one morning and couldn't remember three months.  Couldn't clown anymore.  None of the riders trusted me.  That really hurts. Got to have your boys’ respect.

BOB: You got mine, Frank.

FRANK: Am not clowning no more.

BOB: But you still take care of us when we need it.  Right, Larry.

LARRY: Oh, sure.  Yeah, you bet.

FRANK: Thanks, Boys.

(PETE, a heavy set man about fifty, ENTERS. He is wearing a clean white shirt and blue jeans.  He wears a big black hat.)

PETE: Hey, boys.  Hi, Frank.

FRANK: Thought you were going to skip this little gathering, Pete?

PETE: I might not ride.  But I was going to Waco.  Heard about the calf.

FRANK: Just some kids.

PETE: You boys riding?

(PETE stands looking at the two men.  They both 	become uneasy.)

LARRY: What the hell are you looking at, Pete?

PETE: Well, to be honest with you two. (pause) I guess I'm looking at a couple of serious bull riders.

LARRY: What's that mean?

PETE: Hell, it seems I've seen you two more rodeos this season than I have in the last...ten or fifteen.

LARRY: There's a lot of different rodeos out there.

PETE: Don't take offense.  I was thinking it's good to see a couple of gypsies getting down and really gutting it out.

(LARRY and BOB look at each other not knowing what to say to PETE.  FRANK crosses from the pens.)

FRANK: Yeah, what we got here are a couple of riders.  I'll see you later, Pete.

PETE: Sure thing, Frank.

(FRANK EXITS.  PETE crosses the pen.  LARRY and BOB stand on either side of him.)

PETE: Damn, good Rodeo Clown in his day.

LARRY: Yeah, he was telling us booze got the best of him.

PETE: (quickly)
Bull shit.  He took a horn right through his back and into his stomach. He was clowning at the Nationals when it happened.  Hell of a Rodeo Clown. I bet he could teach some of those young ones a thing or two.

BOB: Frank?

PETE: Yeah, Frank.  (pause) Surprised, right?

BOB: Well, yeah.

PETE: Well, I'm surprised to see you two finally doing something.  (pause) Hell, I might even ride today. Show you boys how it's done.

(PETE slaps them on their backs and turns crossing off.  LARRY and BOB watch as PETE EXITS.  They look towards the pen for a moment.)

BOB: He was World Champion three times.

LARRY: Yeah.  I know.

BOB: Yeah.  Sure, it feels good.  He is talking like that to us.

(LARRY pulls a pint of whiskey from his hip	pocket. He drinks and gives it to BOB, who also drinks.)

LARRY: Is Pete as good a sweet talker as Horse Mary?

BOB: Larry, someone's going to hear you and think me and her have got something going.

LARRY: Well, I bet she thinks of you as her little World Champion.

BOB: (smiling)
You do, do you?

LARRY: Yeah.  I can just picture it.  You, Horse Mary and Little Pony, a couple of little love birds.

BOB: Really?

LARRY: Oh, sure. But, you'll have to change your name to Horse Bob.

BOB: (laughing)
I think I'll just change your face.

(BOB and LARRY rough house for a minute. LARRY falls beside the pen.  The bull kicks at the pen causes it to rock.  The two men jump up.)

LARRY: I want that one.

BOB: Me!  I feel I could really mark up some points on that bastard.

LARRY: Yeah, well, I'm the one that could.  Besides I've had more complete rides than you.

BOB: Bull shit.

LARRY: I have.

BOB: No, you haven't.  (pause) Tell me how you did last week in Clovis.

(LARRY stares at BOB then takes a drink from the bottle.  He slowly puts the top on the bottle and hands it back to BOB.)

LARRY: Now, wait a minute, Bob.

BOB: Come on...Clovis, last week.

LARRY: Yeah, yeah, I remember.  I had a re-ride.  Damn bull turned on me in the chute.  A kid from Plains, Texas beat me out by a point.  His name was Ricky...Ricky Marshall.  Right?

BOB: That was a month ago in El Paso.

LARRY: Damn.  (pause) How did I do?

BOB: I don't think we were in Clovis.

LARRY: You shit bird. (Pause, he looks off.)  Shit!  Here she comes!

BOB: Where?  Where?  (pause) Damn you, Boy.

(BOB takes the top off the bottle and holds it out and acts as if he is going to pour out the liquor.)

BOB: Maybe I should just pour this shit on the ground.

LARRY: Don't taste too good that way. Besides, you won't have anything to drink.

(BOB takes a drink and hands it to LARRY.)

LARRY: I guess we should go and register.

BOB: Yeah. (pause) Hell of a way to make a living.

LARRY: Makes sense to me.  We pay out good money to see if we can sit on the back of a stupid bull for eight seconds. If we beat the clock then we must beat a few other cowboys with our score.  Simple.

BOB: What the hell does that mean, Larry?

LARRY: Honestly?

BOB: Yeah.

LARRY: Damned if I really know.  But I need to borrow my entrance fee from you.

BOB: Then it makes sense.

(BOB and LARRY EXIT.  A moment lights up on midafternoon.  FRANK ENTERS carrying a bucket and a paper sack from a fast food burger place.  He also had two sodas and a pint of milk. He sits on the bucket. FRANK removes the hamburger and opens a soda taking a long, deep drink.  The bull kicks hard at the pen.)

FRANK: Just hold on to your horses.  (laughing) I guess you can't really do that.  (He takes a bite of the burger.) It tastes like the food I give you.  Want some?  It isn’t as if you'll be eating one of your own.  (He looks in the burger.)  Look.  Look at this.  Now, is that a real tomato?  Shit.  (He throws it back into the bag and opens the other soda and drinks.) Doc would shoot me if he saw me drinking this shit.  Wants me to drink just milk and water. (looking at the bull) Lost most of my stomach to an old bull.  Might have been your daddy. (bull kicks) Got stuck on my birthday.  I was thirty-five and the best fucking Rodeo Clown in the world. Shit.  Saw my stomach came right out my belly button...just thought boy, you're dead.  Nobody thought I was hurt.  I got back up and everybody was laughing thinking it was some trick.  Boy did it stink. I must have a bad digestive system.

(FRANK finishes the second soda and opens the milk.)

Your mother's milk.  My medicine…Doc says it helps what's left of my stomach to digest my food. I want to drink four or five of these a day.

(He turns the milk container up and drinks.  He sees someone off left and gives a big wave.  Calling off stage.)

Hey, Kid!

(Bull kicks the fence, FRANK 
talks to the bull.)

He traded his bull for you. Heard those two, Larry and Bob saying how they wanted you and that you would score good.  So, the Kid gives this old boy fifty bucks for you.  I like to see youngsters with that kind of guts. So, you better give that boy a good ride or I won't talk to you anymore.

(He throws the empty container in the sack and begins to roll himself a joint.)

Pete told me about this stuff.  Said it helped his sister forget the pain when she was dying of cancer.  Help me digest those sodas.

He lights the joint.)

Good stuff.  Got it from that Kid who's going to teach you a thing or two.  It gave me almost an ounce of this pot. Said he was giving it up. Larry told him real cowboys don't smoke it.  Shit.  It's better than tobacco.  That shit takes the wind out of you. (laughs) Hell, I mean, think about it. Horses eat grass and they run fast.  Shit.  That Larry is a bullshit artist.  I've seen him smoke his brains out. But sometimes he knows what's happening.  I guess the Kid could do worse.

(FRANK gathers his things.)

But, if I was starting out like the kid you probably wouldn't be in better hands than Bob.  Dreams keep you going and Bob is a dreamer.  And the kid will learn about women from Larry.

(FRANK starts off.  The bull kicks.  FRANK turns back to the bull.)

Hey, Bull.  Just remember the Kid is good and you aren’t as tough as you think.  All he needs is eight seconds.

(FRANK EXITS.  The lights change to late afternoon.  PETE and BOB ENTER.  They both 	are drinking beer.)

PETE: Records show three times.  But most of that year I believe I should have taken the Nationals.  But I got three buckles.

BOB: You never wear them.

PETE: Got the years on them.  (pause) Don't want them little girls to know how old I am.

BOB: Most of the time I don't want to know how old they are.

(The men laugh and take a drink and stare out at the bull.)

PETE: Look at your bull, yet?

BOB: Yeah, a small black...Nineteen-B. Don't look like much. Don't think I'll do too good....

PETE: Act.  (pause) Make them judges think that little black bull is throwing you every which way but loose.

(PETE hands BOB his beer and climbs up on the top rail of the pen.  He straddles the rail and takes a white scarf from his pocket and ties it around the rail.  He puts his right hand in the scarf and leans forward.)

PETE: Take your time in the chute.  Make sure your old balls are set and wave your hand around...let them judges look at you before you come out...then just rock like crazy.

(PETE begins to ride the fence.  He's rocking back and forth and throwing his head back.  Then he jumps off and lands on his feet. Taking the beer.)

PETE: Then look back at that old bull and yell something at the top of your lungs, direct toward a judge, something like...YOU MEAN SON OF A COW...YOU DAMN NEAR BROKE MY NECK!!!

(BOB takes a big drink.  He had become involved with the fantasy ride of PETE.)

BOB: HELL, YEAH!!!  DAMN, RIGHT!!!  RIDE'EM, COWBOY!!!

(They both laugh.  Then stare out at the bull.)

BOB: Damn, right.  (pause) Thanks, Pete.

(They drink.  A moment, LARRY ENTERS.)

LARRY: I drew that stupid red bull...the one with the stuff on its head...looks like a mop head.

BOB: No shit.

LARRY: I might have to carry the damn thing out myself and let him ride me. How about you?

BOB: Not much better.

LARRY: You?

PETE: Just watching.  Old Man Williams got good stock but a little too unpredictable for me.  Like to try and get to know the bull...you know how it moves its head, kicks...even the direction it shits.

LARRY: (laughing)
That is bad...you get thrown and fall right in the middle of a pile of it.

BOB: What's worst is when you land in a pile it shoulders first. Right back here.

(BOB points to his shoulder.)

BOB: And you don't know it.  And none of your so called buddies will tell you and you get a sweet thing out on the dance floor.

LARRY: Hey, Bobby, I didn’t know.  Honest.

PETE: Larry.  I'd be ashamed.

LARRY: Honest.  (pause) I kept smelling something but hell with Bob you don't know if it's the stock pens or his cologne.

BOB: I'm wearing the same shit you do.

LARRY: Now.  But that other stuff.  Damn boy, I think a herd of milk cows would follow you into the desert wearing that stuff.

BOB: I guess you should know about milk cows, Lover Boy.

(PETE steps back laughing.  BOB and LARRY enjoy having him as an audience...)

LARRY: Milk cows can give you a little extra.  What about...horses, Big Bob?

BOB: They're easier to ride than cows...

LARRY: Especially the ones named Mary. Right, Pete?

PETE: Hell, Boys, I'm just an old goat roper.

(THEY all laugh.  PETE and BOB realize they've finished their beers.  LARRY pulls out a pint and the men take a drink.)

PETE: Where's that kid you're riding with?

LARRY: Yeah, I haven't seen him since this morning.

BOB: He talked to his dad this morning and the old man decided he wanted to see what the kid was spending his money on. So, he's flying in... on his private jet.

LARRY: No shit?  Timmy's old man is loaded.  (pause) I think I'm rich if old Bob here has the entrance fee.  (pause) So... we’re going to meet the old man.

BOB: Yeah.

LARRY: Private jet?  How about that?

(LARRY gets a startled look on his face and takes the bottle from BOB and takes a big drink.)

LARRY: Damn...I just had a horrible thought.

BOB: What?

LARRY: What if the kid gets that jet.

(BOB takes the pint and drinks.  They stand contemplating the idea. PETE after a moment takes the pint and drinks.)

PETE: So, what's the problem?

LARRY: Hell, Pete, I'm used to a slow way of life.  Ride a rodeo and take in a dance and fall in love for a few days with the waitress at the motel breakfast shop.

BOB: Yeah, riding with the kid in that new pick-up we're in and out of a rodeo and to the next before the days over. (pause) Goddamn, with a fucking jet he might just be parachuting in.

(LARRY takes the bottle from PETE. PETE stares at the two men.)

PETE: And I thought you two boys were really trying to go for something.

(PETE turns and crosses away from them.)

BOB: Hey, Pete, we are.  It's just---

PETE: It's just you can't.  That's all.  Simple fact.  Once you're a gypsy you don't change.

LARRY: Oh, come on, Pete.  We've been doing pretty good this season.

PETE: Sitting on them goddamn bulls isn’t enough.  You have got to make it good.  Make people know who you are.  Make them little kids out there think hell fire I want to be like that Cowboy.  (pause) Like the kid you stuck yourself to.

LARRY: Easy, Pete.  I helped Timmy out.  He...damn it, he offered to ride with him.  We aren’t cheating on him.

PETE: Then quit cheating yourself.

(PETE stares at the two men. He looks down and then back at the bull.)

PETE: You don't want to be an old forgotten bull rider hanging on to the circuit looking to hear someone tell your old stories.

BOB: You're a world champion.

PETE: Three times...it should have been four.

(PETE turns and kicks at the ground as he EXITS. LARRY starts to take a drink but stops and offers it to BOB. He pushes it back.)

LARRY: You ever think about working in a filling station?

BOB: Every time I feel a bull move between my legs.

LARRY: Yeah.

BOB: Want to get a burger and beer?

LARRY: Yeah, don't think I've eaten since...Clovis or was that Lubbock.

(BOB shakes his head in disbelief as he and LARRY EXIT.  A moment and we hear the bull kick as the light FADE TO BLACK...A MOMENT and the lights up on a moon lighted night.  LARRY and BOB sit against the stock pen.  They are passing a bottle between them.)

BOB: Waco, next.

LARRY: Don't seem to have the time any more...know what I mean?

BOB: Thought I would see if I could catch a ride with Mary and her horse.

LARRY: Time to just sit and visit people.  Just get there and leave.  I don’t know.  I just don't know...know what I mean?

BOB: She told me I could do some of the driving until I got back on track...what do you think?

LARRY: About what?

BOB: Mary.

LARRY: Mary?

BOB: She said, I could ride with her.

LARRY: God, Man, she's ugly.

BOB: I'm not going to marry her.

LARRY: Make damn sure she knows that.

BOB: What the hell are you going to do?

LARRY: I don't want to think about it.

BOB: Everybody will be gone by morning.

LARRY: So?

BOB: You got to get to Waco.

LARRY: Who says?  I might just get a job here.

BOB: This is farming country.

LARRY: Fuck farming.  I'll work at a filling station.

BOB: And what about the circuit.

LARRY: I've been riding around this goddamn circuit for fifteen years.  Shit years.  It's just time...know what I mean?

BOB: No.

LARRY: Yeah, you do.

BOB: If I did I wouldn't say no.

LARRY: I'm tired.

BOB: You're just drunk and feeling bad about Timmy.

LARRY: I told him.

BOB: Right, Mister Fucking Know It All.

LARRY: You agreed with me.  Never change bulls.  Something always happens.  I told him.

BOB: Okay, Mister Smarty Pants.

LARRY: If you want to drink my whiskey you quit calling me 	names, Butt-Hole.

BOB: Give me that, Stupid.

(BOB takes the bottle and drinks.  LARRY rolls over on his side.  We hear the bull kicking at the pen.)

BOB: What the hell are you doing?

LARRY: Listening.

BOB: For what?

LARRY: I don't know...buffalo...trains, the stagecoach.  I'm part Indian.

BOB: You're all drunk.

LARRY: Hear that old bull?  I think I'm going to let it out and run around the arena.

BOB: We'd have to move.

LARRY: It'll go around us.

BOB: Over us...through us.  Sit up.  You look stupid like that.

LARRY: You are stupid, Bob. (pause) Mary!  Shit, Man that's bad.

BOB: I am not going to fuck her.

LARRY: You haven't?

(LARRY sits up.  He takes the bottle.)

BOB: Hell no.  Have you?

LARRY: Can't remember.

BOB: Come on.  Where was it, Larry?

LARRY: I don't know.  I was just kidding.

BOB: You went to bed with Horse Mary. Mister Fuck Only the Pretty Ones.

LARRY: It wasn't bad.  We went into her trailer...with that big, old, gray of hers.  I passed out cold.  I woke up with that dumb horse licking my face. Mary was sleeping in the cab...naked.

BOB: What's she looks like?

LARRY: Not too bad.  Pretty damn good body.  But shit, that 	face.  Hell, I figured you'd had her by now.

BOB: Nope.  I almost did in Redding last summer but couldn't bring myself to kiss her...so we talked.

LARRY: Who said you must kiss them. Rub their necks and they'll just roll over.

BOB: That's the way you do them.

LARRY: Hell, they can get kissed by their cousins.

BOB: Why the hell do I hang around with you?

LARRY: Because you know I won't kiss you, Sweetheart.

BOB: Don't smile when you say that.

LARRY: Come here boy and let me rub that smooth neck of yours.

(LARRY pokes at BOB with the bottle.  BOB takes it from him and sees it's empty.)

BOB: Got any more?

LARRY: Got a pint of Old Grand Daddy with my gear.

(BOB stands and crosses to the pile of canvas bags and bull ropes.  He sits and begins to dig through the bags.)

BOB: Why don't you ask Mary if you can at least ride to Waco with her?

LARRY: Would I have to sit in the middle?

BOB: No.  I would.

Larry: I don't know.  (pause) I really don't know if I want to go to Waco...anywhere...know what I mean?

BOB: Yeah, I guess.  But hell, we see it or hear about it every day.  We just got to keep going.

(BOB pulls the pint out of the bag.  He stops and stares into the bag.)

BOB: What the hell is that?

LARRY: What's it like?

BOB: A damn cannon.  What are you doing with a pistol?

LARRY: I'm a cowboy aren’t I.

BOB: What's it for?

LARRY: Protection.  We don't sleep in too many Hiltons.

BOB: Is it loaded?

LARRY: What good would it be without fucking bullets?  Damn, boy, you can be downright stupid sometimes. (pause) Let me see it.

BOB: Why?

LARRY: It's mine.  Give it here.

(BOB removes a .357 pistol from the bag and hands it to LARRY.)

LARRY: I wish we could still wear one.

BOB: Like the movies?

LARRY: Fuck them movies.  Like real cowboys did.

BOB: You any good with it?

LARRY: Well, you can't quickly draw it.  I tried and it damn near took my arm off.

BOB: Hell of a kick, I bet.

LARRY: And loud as hell too.  I was thumbing from Albuquerque to Hobbs back before we...Hell, I'm walking along the road, and I kept seeing snakes crossing it.  So, I took this baby out and pulled off a couple of rounds.  Shit, I couldn't hear for two days.

BOB: Get the snake?

LARRY: Both shots...nothing left.  I mean nothing...know what I mean?

(LARRY reaches for the bottle.)

BOB: Let me have the gun first.

LARRY: Think I might shoot you?

BOB: It crossed my mind.

LARRY: Am not drunk enough to shoot you yet.  (pause) Maybe I'll just shoot that goddamn bull.

BOB: Come on, Larry...let me have the gun---

LARRY: Give me my bottle.

BOB: I'll trade you.

LARRY: It's my bottle and my gun.  Now give it here, damn you.

(BOB hands the bottle to LARRY.  LARRY takes a long drink.  He hands the bottle back to BOB.  LARRY turns and investigates the pen.)

LARRY: Hey, Bully, Bully.  Come here. I got something for you.

BOB: Come off it, Larry.

(BOB crosses to LARRY and reaches for the gun. LARRY pushes BOB back.)

LARRY: I let you drink my booze.  Now you want to take my gun too.

BOB: Easy, Buddy.

LARRY: Take.  Take.  Take!  This life ever gives you anything.

BOB: Put the gun down.

LARRY: Answer my question.  Does it?

BOB: I guess not.  Not really.  What the hell do you want me to say?

LARRY: The truth.  That's all.

BOB: I don't know what's true.

LARRY: You're the only one I know that would. (pause) Hell, you're the only son of a bitch I can stand...well, Timmy.  (pause) Damn it!

BOB: It was bad.

(LARRY stands and investigates the pen.)

LARRY: Doesn't even know.

BOB: Dumb animal.

LARRY: Aren’t we?

BOB: We're a little bit smarter.  At least we ride them.

LARRY: We will try.

BOB: That's all we can do, is try.

LARRY: And die.

BOB: Stop that talk.

(BOB stands beside LARRY.)

BOB: Why don't we go to the hospital and see how's he doing.

LARRY: Doing?  How many old boys have you seen that took one in the middle of the gut like that and lived?  How many, Bob?  Come on, tell me.

BOB: It happens.  How about Frank?

LARRY: You didn't see it.  (pause) Just look at it.  I could put a couple of bullets right between its eyes.

BOB: You really think that would help Timmy?

LARRY: Get off your high horse.

BOB: All right.  Killing that stupid bull going to help you?  Is it?

LARRY: Maybe it will.

BOB: It will put you in jail.  That's an expansive animal...They won't slap you on your hand and say bad boy.  They'll lock you up for several months.  Is that going to help Timmy or you?

LARRY: I'll feel better.  (pause) Damn it, Bob, for the first time things were better.  Then that old bull goes and guts the best thing that has happened to me...to us in a long time.

BOB: I know.  I like the kid.

LARRY: It makes you wonder why someone with money would even want to rodeo.  Hell, he can buy what he wants.

BOB: Same reason as us.  Something to do with our time.

LARRY: (sarcastically)
That's deep, Bob.

BOB: Hell, I don't even know why I do it.  It's what I want to do.  It's freedom. No nine to five and a tight collar.  (pause) Eight seconds sitting on the back of two thousand pounds of muscles.  One hand against all that meanness.  the respect you get from everyone when you win.  Devil know it isn’t for the money.

LARRY: Nope.

(PETE ENTERS.  He crosses to the two men at the pen.)

PETE: That the one?

LARRY: Yeah.

PETE: Which horn?

LARRY: Left one.

BOB: Old Frank washed him down a couple of hours ago.

PETE: Sure, hate to see that shit.  How old is the boy?

BOB: Twenty, twenty-one.

LARRY: Twenty next month...I think.

BOB: Have you heard anything?

PETE: Over at the dance someone said he was still in surgery. Makes you stop and think, don't it?

LARRY: That's what I've been telling Bob.

PETE: I saw an old boy getting stuck on one back in Calgary.  The pickup riders couldn't get near the bull.  They had to shoot the damn thing to get the body off.  Makes you stop and think, don't it?

BOB: Remember Jack Thompson, Pete?

PETE: Tall Blond-headed Kid, right?

BOB: Saw him get trapped in the chute in Abilene.  Bull broke both his legs.

LARRY: What about Jack?

BOB: What about him?

LARRY: You said the bull broke both his legs.

BOB: Right.  He did.

LARRY: Oh, shit, forget it.

PETE: Well, I'm sorry to hear about the kid.

LARRY: His name is Timmy.  Okay, Pete.

PETE: Yeah.  I didn't really know him, but he sure had guts for a rich city kid. 

LARRY: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

PETE: Hell, I was just talking. Timmy was doing all right.  He's a good kid.  That's all.

BOB: We're just a bit upset.

PETE: Can't blame you there.  I know how you feel.  You hear that, Larry?

(LARRY stands silent.  Then slowly offers PETE a drink of the whiskey.  He drinks.)

PETE: Sad thing is that the old bull is going to be the hottest draw after tonight.

LARRY: If it's still alive.

PETE: Wait a minute.  I don't want to hear them talk like that. A man could get in a lot of trouble.

LARRY: If he got caught.

PETE: Thing it about talking about something, especially with 	a bottle being passed around.  It sometimes becomes a fact.  I've seen whiskey talk mess up a man's life...and his friends.  Better to talk about things long gone or things too hard to reach when a bottle is in hand.

(PETE hands the bottle to BOB.)

PETE: I'd better get some sleep.  Long drive to Waco.  (pause) I was thinking if you boys need a ride meet me at the Bel-Air, room eighteen, about seven o'clock.

BOB: Thanks, but we have another ride.

PETE: If you want you can sleep on the floor in my room.

BOB: Thanks.  We'll be all right.

PETE: Okay.  See you boys down the road.

(PETE turns and EXITS.  LARRY turns around. He pulls the gun out of his pants.)

LARRY: Damn thing is hard.

BOB: Wondered where you put it.  He knows what he's talking about.

LARRY: Because you agree with him?

BOB: Because he's right.  Hell, if you kill that damn thing now, he'll know.

LARRY: Maybe I want people to know.  I want Timmy to know someone that cares.

BOB: Then let's go to the hospital and see him.

LARRY: He's still in the operating room.

BOB: We can wait.  So, we miss Waco.  Big deal.  We can hang around here for a few days and make sure Timmy gets what he needs.  Hell, somebody got to watch his pick-up and trailer. And...and we should be the ones to make sure his horse gets treated right.  Right?  Right, Larry?

LARRY: His Dad will take care of all that.

BOB: Then we'll help him, too.

LARRY: I know what you're doing.

BOB: Trying to take care of a friend. Timmy is our friend.

LARRY: And drunk Larry.

BOB: We've been through too much shit. Come on.  Let’s go see Timmy.  We'll save him a drink.

(BOB puts the bottle in the bag.  He extends his hand to LARRY and the gun. Larry and the gun to BOB.  He puts it in the bag.)

LARRY: It wasn't loaded.

BOB: You shit.  You had me about to piss in my boots.  Damn you!

LARRY: I got a box of cartridges.

BOB: Come on let's be there when Timmy wakes up.

(BOB and LARRY start to walk 0ff as the lights FADE TO BLACK...a moment and lights UP ON an early morning sunrise.  LARRY stands alone at the pen. A moment and FRANK ENTER.)

FRANK: Hey, Larry.

LARRY: Frank.

FRANK: Up early.

LARRY: Yeah.

FRANK: Bob talking to Horse Mary.  You two are going to ride with her, now?

LARRY: Thinking about it.

FRANK: Who's going to have to pay the piper?

LARRY: What?

FRANK: Horse Mary.

LARRY: What about her?

FRANK: Which one of you...oh, noting. Just trying to be funny. Going to Waco?

LARRY: Not sure.  Where are you taking the stock?

FRANK: Well, we were contracted to be in Ft. Worth.  But with what happened to the kid last night, Mr. Williams decided he should take his bulls back to the pasture for a while.

LARRY: I figured something like that would be good for a stockman.

FRANK: Sometimes.  But the kid was so young and, well, Mr. Williams doesn't want a bunch of kids trying to ride his stock to prove anything.  He wants people to contract his livestock because they're healthy and tough.  Not killers.

LARRY: Why doesn't he just kill it?

FRANK: Hell, I really can't say, Larry.  I have known of Mr. Williams to do that.

LARRY: Really?

FRANK: Shit yeah.  He doesn't want that sort of reputation.  Last summer...or was it...no, it was last summer.  He had an old mare that would bite anyone and anything that got near her when she was in the chute.  Hell, she took a hunk out of my thigh, and I was just walking past the gate.

LARRY: He killed her.

FRANK: Yeah, she bit his little finger off.  He shot her right where she stood.

LARRY: His finger and a boy's life.

FRANK: It's shit sometimes.  But you've been riding long enough to know...there isn’t no justice for the cowboys.

LARRY: Only when we make it.

FRANK: You got that right, Cowboy.

(BOB ENTERS he holds a cup of coffee.)

BOB: Hey, Frank.

FRANK: Well, if it isn’t Horse Bob.

BOB: Funny. Larry, Mary said she had room for both of us.  No cracks, Frank.

FRANK: Not me.  I've got to load some stock.

(FRANK crosses away from them.  He turns.)

FRANK: But I bet you could get three in there.

BOB: Get out of here.

FRANK: See you two next time.

(FRANK EXITS.  BOB offers coffee to LARRY. He takes and drinks it.)

LARRY: They're taking a fucking bull to pasture for a... a goddamn rest.

BOB: Makes sense I guess.  Mary wanted to leave soon.	

LARRY: No, it doesn’t.

BOB: Come on.

(LARRY throws the coffee at the bull.)

BOB: Hey!

LARRY: Didn't even feel hot coffee.

BOB: It's done.  We can't change anything.  If you let it eat at you, you won't be worth anything.

LARRY: Hell, I am not worth anything.  I'm just an old bull rider.  I got seventy-three cents in my pants a canvas bag with all my property in it and one more ugly memory to add to the rest. (pause) Bob...I'm tired of the rules.  I've got to do something.

BOB: Killing that stupid animal isn’t going to make you feel any better.  Timmy is dead.  That's it, Larry.  Over.  Time goes on.

LARRY: A couple of drunk tears and a cup of coffee.  That it?

BOB: That's it.

LARRY: No!  No!  Fuck no!

BOB: Larry, it's not---

LARRY: Shut up goddamn it!  I'm tired of you, Bob.  Tired of your stupid dreams.  Making me want them.  They're not real.  (pause) That fucking bull is real.  That dead kid is real.  He's got no more time for your dreams and...and I got no more time for you.

BOB: Don't think I've not had a belly full of you.

LARRY: Shut up and get out.

BOB: No.  You want to hear something real.

LARRY: No!

(BOB pulls LARRY around.  LARRY stands staring at BOB.)

BOB: You won't last without me.

LARRY: You are stupid, little---

(BOB pushes LARRY.  LARRY stumbles back and steadies himself and doubles his fists.  BOB is ready for the attack.)

LARRY: I can hurt you, Bob.

BOB: Not anymore.

LARRY: (relaxing)
Forget it.  Get out of here.

(BOB stands watching LARRY as he turns his back to him. A moment and BOB pushes LARRY.  LARRY turns and knocks BOB on the ground.  BOB starts to get up. LARRY starts to hit BOB but stops. The two men hold their positions but relax a little.)

LARRY: And next time...what if the next time it's you?  You want me to just say, "Bob was a good old boy but he's dead and I'm on my way."

BOB: I'd want you to raise some hell. Let everybody know I'm gone.  I won't want you to do something stupid.  It might be marked down beside my name.  And there I'd be unable to get us out of the mess.

(LARRY stands and pulls BOB to his feet.)

LARRY: You'd find a way.

BOB: Maybe that's what Timmy's trying to do.

LARRY: He sure did look like a kid lying there.  I never realized how young he was. 

BOB: Remember the time Timmy got hooked up with that old gal in Hobbs.

LARRY: Yeah, he thought he was in hog heaven.

BOB: Well, she wasn't disappointed either. A young stud.  I bet he was the youngest man she'd had in a while.

LARRY: Hell, that old gal hadn't seen a man under fifty years.

BOB: Timmy didn't stop thanking you for that for days.

LARRY: I never thanked him for anything.

BOB: You did by just being his...his real friend.

LARRY: Friend.  (pause) We friends, Bobby?

BOB: Sure.

LARRY: You like me?  Honest.

BOB: I know I can trust you when I need it.

LARRY: Trust me?  Hell, I've left you stranded so many times.

BOB: But they were worth it.  Right?

LARRY: Well...well...yeah, they were. Remember that redhead in Lockhart?

BOB: And her sister.  (pause) You saved my ass there.  Her brothers would have pulled my old thing off.

LARRY: I had to pull your ass out.  You were the only one that had any money.  You've pulled me out more times than I can count.

BOB: I've gotten it written down somewhere.

LARRY: I bet you do, cowboy.  And fuck…fuck the money I owe you.

BOB: Hell, I gave up on that a long time ago.

LARRY: Couldn't count that high.

BOB: Didn't want to get sick.

(LARRY puts his hand on BOB'S shoulder.)

LARRY: Thanks.  (pause) I got to admit.  I like you, Bob.

BOB: I'm not going to let you rub my neck. Now, come on or Mary might just find a couple or three cowboys to give a ride to.

(LARRY picks up his bag and turns to look at the bull.)

LARRY: Maybe some old rattler will bite it on its nose when it's roaming around in that pasture.

BOB: Coyotes could get to it.

LARRY: Eat some loco weed even.

BOB: Hell, its days are numbered.

LARRY: You're right.  It's just a stupid animal that's going nowhere.

(LARRY and BOB cross away from the pen.  LARRY is digging in his bag.  BOB stops and looks at him.)

BOB: What are you doing?

LARRY: Shit...shit, I can't find it.

BOB: What?

LARRY: Damn it.  (pause) You think Mary would stop at a store and get a pint?

BOB: Pint?  Yeah, sure.

LARRY: Loan me a couple of bucks?

BOB: If you sit in the middle.

(THEY slowly EXIT as the lights FADE TO BLACK....

THE END

RIDERS

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