They drift over, sleepy eyed,
One by one, from headquarters
Frost coats the wiregrass
Glistening in the low sun
We will ride west, thank God
Here comes head marshal, Slade
Manages Chinquapin, born cross the road
Before him was Joe
Before him Wallace
Here come the judges
Well-known and respected
They’d rather be handling
But Howard asked so they didn’t refuse
It’s ten ‘til eight
A little ground fog
But fast burning off
The sun sparkles the frost
There’s thirty mounted I count
From my seat up high on the truck
Cowboy’s behind the wheel
Six pointers fidget in their steel boxes
Here comes the Black Truck
Howard behind the wheel
Mr. Ted riding shotgun
Jimmy Stockton behind him
Horsemen and ladies ride over to greet them
Slade asks for attention
Introduces the judges
Prays for our safety
Two scouts take dogs from cages
Clip a rein on their collars
Lead them off the pipeline to empty
Two handlers ride forward
Judges say, “Let ‘em go”
Scouts slip the reins
Dogs are off up the pipeline
Judges set their stopwatches
Handlers ride in front
Up the pipeline
Side by side
Sing to their dogs
One dog breaks off left into cover
Then the other right
They reach forward
Scouts drift out behind them
A scout on the left lifts his cap
Shouts “Point” spurs his mount
Handler and judge ride out
Birds lift but are seen, dog stays put
Judge marks one in his book
At 9 minutes
Handler and scout water the dog
Handler remounts, scout releases
Off again