Cowgirl Up! by Heidi Thomas Page A

much whether I got up or not.”
    Seventeen-year-old Jane lay there, aching all over, “wishing bronc riders were allowed to cry.”
    Despite the pain and bruises and humiliation, she continued to travel to rodeos, looking for bronc-riding jobs.
    Traveling to Sheridan, Wyoming, Jane met a major obstacle. The rodeo promoter, a thin-faced man with high cheekbones and bright blue eyes, told her, “Sorry, little lady. We don’t hire no women bronc riders.”
    Jane was taken aback, but before she could protest, he added, “But I’ve got a job fer you if you can ride relay.”
    â€œYou bet,” Jane replied. “Just so I can try out the horses first.” Meanwhile she was hoping he would give a clue what was expected in a relay race. She’d never done it and had paid little attention to those events at other rodeos, being more concerned with the steer and bronc riding.
    â€œCome with me, little lady,” the promoter, Barney, said. “We’ll bring the horses out on the track right away. You won’t need to change saddles, like they do in the men’s relay—but then you know all that.”
    â€œYeah.” Jane nodded weakly. She was just about to admit she would never be able to get on those tall horses in a hurry, when Barney came to her rescue.
    â€œC’mon, I’ll give you a leg up, then when you’ve gone around once, I’ll holler to let you know when it’s time to start gettin’ off. The horse’ll pull into the next station by hisself and I’ll be there to catch him and give you a leg up on the next one. Okay?”
    Jane nodded again. Her mouth was too dry to speak. Up she went, Barney shouted, “Go!” and the horse took off.
    â€œThe wind and fear made my eyes water. My hair was streaming behind me,” Jane wrote. “I kept praying the horse knew what we were doing because I was numb. In what seemed like a fraction of a second, we had completed our first lap and I heard Barney shouting, ‘Start gettin’ down!’”
    Jane looked over the point of the big bay’s shoulder and saw the ground flying past. No way was she getting off at that speed. While Barney kept yelling, “Get down!” she made another loop of the track.
    As they approached the stands the second time, Barney gave an ultimatum. “You get down off ’n that horse right now, or so help me I’ll shoot you off!”
    That gave Jane the incentive and courage to try. With her left foot still in the stirrup, she swung her right leg over and squatted on the horse’s side. Lo and behold, the bay began to pull over. “For the first time I felt some confidence. This was what the horse was trained to do.”
    Then her foot slipped out of the left stirrup, and she was dragged across the dusty track until Barney caught the reins.
    She was fired.
    Back in Montana a few weeks later, she heard of a small one-day rodeo in an arena in the foothills near Lewistown. Jane caught a ride into town, located the promoter in a back booth at the Montana Tavern, and asked to participate, prepared with a list of her accomplishments to counter his objections.
    â€œSure,” he replied without looking up from some papers. “But you’ll have to ride saddle broncs. I don’t like to see you little gals trying to ride barebacks and steers.”
    Ecstatic, Jane looked through the bars, finding a cowboy to take her out to the rodeo grounds. “Do you have your own hobbles and reins?” he asked.
    â€œHobbles?” Jane was taken aback. “The only hobbles I own are the ones I put on my saddlehorse when I let him graze.”
    After the cowboy stopped laughing, he took her to a saddle shop for her gear. He held the leather straps outstretched and explained, “See how there’s a loop at each end when they’re buckled? Have somebody fasten one end through a stirrup on the far side . . . then bring the