...whatsoever.

If ever there was “a person of no redeemin’ qualities,” it'd 'bout hafta be Casey Dibbs. Even his dog headed for the back door when he came in the front; the man just plain had a mean about him! I steered clear, mostly; Grand Daddy always told me, if you know a man beats his wife, his horse and his dog, you waited two questions too long 'fore you shot him, but shootin' Casey Dibbs was a pleasure I'd spent a few years denyin' myself an' I figgered I could live a few more that way. It’d have been bound to get me talked about.1

He smelt like a pig, an’ ate like one, too. He’d ruined whole church picnics just by hawkin’ an’ spittin’ right at the servin’ bench. Picnic days was the only days he’d show his face in the church anyway, an’ he usually came in wearin’ whatever he wore the day before—an’ the son he was raisin’ was lookin’ fair to be his carbon-copy.2

Dibbs didn’t much like me, but I didn’t take it personal; he didn’t much like anyone, an’ me bein’ the grandson of a man married to an Indian woman, not t’mention a man with a bigger spread an’ a finer herd—well, that just made it a sure thing, I reckoned. That’s why, come that rodeo, it didn’t surprise me none that he was badmouthin’ me behind the chutes, nor that he bet against me. 3

“That breed won’t last three seconds on a real live bull,” he told anybody who’d listen, “an’ I got fifty bucks t’back that up!”
Cody, a bit out of Dibbs' line of sight, cocked an eyebrow at me, and out of sheer cussedness, I nodded. He said "I'll take that!" and dug out a wad of sweaty bills. It was money I'd pay back; Cody don't gamble, but the one time I'd tried to make a bet with Dibbs, he'd sneered "I don't make a bet I can't shake on, an' be damned if I'll shake hands with a squaw-man!"4

"Now, all Jeff got to do is stay three seconds. That’s what ya said, Casey….three seconds.” Dibbs got hisself a sour look, but he nodded. I thought I could stay three seconds on Paul Bunyan’s blue ox for fifty bucks…I’d been gonna hafta borrow gas money to get home if I didn’t win somethin’.5

I drew the first bull. 6

No one really likes to go first; yer near guaranteed a low score, ‘cuz the judges figger they gotta leave room above ya if someone rides better. I didn’t worry, since someone was definitely gonna outride my bull-ride. I was a bit disturbed that the event came ahead of ropin’, though. I didn’t wanna get hurt before I had a chance to make some money.7

Now, folk tend to give a contract-bull a scary name if they can think of one; a thousand variations of 'Widowmaker' permeate the circuits, and Sasquatch didn't seem too intimidatin' in that light. Even so, once I hit the rail of Chute #9, I got a sensation down my back like cold droplets of sweat. There was somethin' in that beast's eye that looked like a promise of nothin' but bad! It was no comfort that he stood rock-still while I got my seat; he'd taken my measure while I was tryin' t'get his, and when the gate popped an' the flank was jerked, he turned into a ball of dynamite with no fuse left. I'd thought I'd count my three seconds and bail as soon after that as I could find the chance, but there was no chance an' there was no countin'. I hung on, 'cause that's all there was for me to do, an’ when I couldn’t hang on no more, I let go—but the latigo didn’t. 8

I was floppin’ at the end of my arm like a fish on a line, an’ still not even a thought to spare beyond that I was gonna get tore up. That’s when I seen Dibbs outta the corner of my eye, an’ without even a glance at me, he threw hisself on that critter’s neck, grabbed hisself two handfuls of horn an’ dug in his heels like a mule bein’ dragged to a heavy load, an tossed him like he would a steer half the weight.9

When I got my feet, I stuck out my hand to say thanks, but Casey just glared an’ spat, an’ walked off mutterin’ sump’n ‘bout fifty lousy bucks. I watched him a second or two, then said half out loud,10

“That there…that’s a man!”