The True Tale of Table Cloth,
the Longhorn Steer
By Billie Birnie
The facts being drawn from J. Frank Dobie’s book, The Longhorns
His mother came from southern plains, a longhorn Spanish dun.
She’d never see a shipping pen, her freedom she had won
By adding to the boss’s herd a healthy calf each year;
Her value lay in mothering, so her life’s path was clear.
One year she had a bull calf, a strong and healthy male,
A perfect sample of the breed—and the subject of this tale.
He tasted freedom early, for during his first year
That mother cow evaded men and kept him in the clear.
But when he was a yearling, he was herded to the pen
To be roped and cut and branded by the boss’s men.
He found that process bothersome, and when they’d done their best,
He knocked the startled brander flat and scattered all the rest.
Back to his mother’s side he fled and followed her away.
Beyond the brush, in timbers tall, their destination lay.
The cowboys called him Table Cloth, for the colors of his hide:
Blue and white and yellow bright, and checkered on both sides.
The pair were seen from time to time upon the open range,
But when the roundup started, they disappeared again.
One year the mother was not seen; Table Cloth was on his own.
Now in his prime, he ruled the range that had become his home.
When he was ten and far afield with others of his kind,
Three cowboys spied the little bunch and hazed them into line.
They found themselves within a herd for market being trimmed:
Two thousand steers began the trek toward the shipping pens.
The first night out, the riders watched the milling herd bed down—
That is, except for Table Cloth: he stood and looked around.
The second night the wind came up, and stormy weather loomed;
The restless herd kept riders circling, working in the gloom.
The darkness favored Table Cloth; he took this chance to go;
Back to the cedar roughs he sped, eluding men once more.
The weather cleared, the herd calmed down, the cowboys turned in late.
When morning came, they missed one steer and learned of his escape.
“Old Table Cloth is gone,” they said; and after break of day
They found the telltale hoof prints where he had loped away.
Two years went by and Table Cloth was still out, running free,
But the boss decided this was the year to end that steer’s long spree.
He sent the boys on a special hunt, and this was his last word:
“You find and catch that pesky steer and put him in the herd!”
They found him in the cedar brakes, and then the chase began—
Not being one to give up quick, the steer turned tail and ran.
They knew they’d have to rope him, so the riders made a push
Toward a wide arroyo, away from all the brush.
They didn’t see the enormous bear that stood right in the way
Until he faced old Table Cloth and wondered at the fray.
But Table Cloth was moving fast, he never slackened pace.
He bowled that big old bear aside and stayed right in the race.
They roped him, though, on open ground, and snubbed him to a tree.
And Table Cloth was caught at last—he was no longer free.
14
Cenizo
Fourth Quarter 2013
They yoked him to a gentle ox, and this time it seemed certain:
They’d ship him to the packing plant—this drama’s final curtain.
The boss was pleased; he promised special treats to all the men
Who helped to get old Table Cloth into the shipping pen.
The drive was going well, when two or three days down the trail,
The sleeping herd woke up and ran, spooked by a coyote’s wail.
The ox and Table Cloth, still yoked, joined in the wild stampede.
The cowboys followed, trying to catch the steers out in the lead.
One rider heard a mournful sound, he thought a steer was down;
To his surprise he found the pair; the ox was on the ground
On one side of a mighty tree and choking from the rope
That looped the trunk and held the steer. The cowboy cut the yoke
To keep the ox from dying, and the steer lost not a beat:
Old Table Cloth was gone before the ox got on his feet.
So once again, the cattle train pulled out without that steer,
And Table Cloth was free again—at least for one more year.
But as it turned out, three went by, with roundups every fall,
And Table Cloth, in perfect form, still roamed the timbers tall.
That year, the boss proposed the men could take their guns and ride:
Just shoot that steer and bring to camp his carcass and his hide.
He thought his offer well-conceived to give the men some sport;
Their answer came united, as if they’d tried that steer in court.
Hadn’t Table Cloth fought hard to win his liberty and life?
For 15 years, he’d proved himself through every kind of strife.
The whole outfit set out each fall to catch that wily steer,
And he’d outsmarted all of them, not once, but every year.
He wasn’t mean; he hadn’t killed; he just wanted to be free.
And he was getting old besides. It was time to let him be.
He’d won his freedom fair and square: he’d lived by their own creed.
Their arguments convinced the boss, and so they all agreed.
They left old Table Cloth alone, to roam the canyons wide,
To range among the cedar brakes, no reason now to hide.
For several years they saw him now and then, and then one year,
He was no longer seen; like his mother, he disappeared.
They never found a trace of him, not skin, nor skull, nor bone.
They liked to think that Table Cloth had finally gone home.