She swings a 40-pound saddle over her quarter horse mix, hops aboard and pokes towards the center of town to snag the mail.

      ãAinât nothing,ä says this Kaycee, Wyo., horse woman whoâs loped steeds 10 times her size since, at age two, her folks first roped her to a saddle she couldnât slide off. ãBroke my first mustang at nine. Heck, Iâd still be punching cattle if I could still read the brands.ä

      Georgie Connell was a five-year-old birthday girl at Trout Creek near Seligman, Ariz., when Dad slapped down $75 for her first horse, Buster, who loved biscuits. Georgie, in pig-tails, wearing Levis held up with rope, tossed a biscuit on the ground, scooted up Busterâs neck, and took off. ãJust watch out for rattlers,ä hollered mom, ãand be back before sundown.ä

      Georgie took three mile short-cuts to school through deep streams and thick cottonwood stands. Mustangs tried to outrun Buster to school, ãbut never could,ä and ended with Georgie sharing a sandwich bag full of crumbs, and a big smile.

     While the one-room school seemed to teach only ãinside workä to girls, her teacherâs words, ãnever say canât,ä became an inspiration. Whether she was brush-dragged from the saddle, tumbled in a gopher field, or knocked flat in the dirt with a broken arm (after Buster bucked because of a bee sting), the treatment was always, ãaw shucks,ä and pails of ice water.

      ãJust wasnât enough cash for Docs back then,ä says Georgie, who talks about having enough horse sense, to keep fingers out of a lariat so ãyou donât lose your thumb like Pa.ä

      Each spring there was a 25-mile back-pack into Arizonaâs Penitentiary Mountains ãto visit Dad.ä There, Georgie, sisters Ida, 13, Emma,9, and brother Clyde, 7, escaped 120-degree heat, broken water coolers, wood stoves and weekly tub baths. Swimming holes abounded, as did sweet pear fruit, cactus candy, and squaw-berries to stuff into saddle-bags for lemonade.

     At night, Georgie sat around the campfires and listened to cowboy stories for hours, ãbecause they were clean and good.ä

      By age 17, Dad considered Georgie ãold enoughä to run the ranch alone. Her parents had divorced, remarried and moved away. Emma lived with Mom. Ida married. Clyde got a ranch job, but Georgie could not get hired because she was a girl. Georgie shoed, roped, tied cows, packed salt and banged nails until things got lonesome enough to saddle a bedroll and hit the trail for somebody to talk to. ãCause now and then,ä says Georgie, ãyou needed that.ä

      They were cowboys, mostly, the kind of people who could be trusted when she had high fever and chest pains, miles from nowhere. Two fellows soaked Georgieâs feet in hot water and mustard, wrapped her in warm blankets and stoked coals until her fever broke.

      ãSaved my life,ä says Georgie.

      Finally, it was a bronco-buster she met at age 23, she trusted most. Frank Sicking was a real man, according to Georgie, and a real cowboy who wrangled breakfast, scrubbed floors and wrestled the kids when Georgie was out riding herd. Frank was the kind of guy who doffed his hat, kicked spurs and mud from his boots before stepping inside, and ãwas always there when the chips were down.ä

     ãTruth is,ä says Georgie, ãFrank and I were partners.ä

     Today Georgie rides her pal ãMontyä along the Powder River, into town, where she hitches to the cafŽ rail and ropes a few more good, clean stories from ãthe kinda folks whoâd never let you down.ä And for this cowpoke, thatâs everything.

     Georgie was the first Nevada woman inducted into the Cowgirl Hall of Fame for ãpreserving Western Heritage through poetryä; honored by Nevada  Cattlemen for over 100,000 miles on horseback; and recipient of the ãGail Gardner Awardä for ãoutstanding working-cowboy poet.ä Author of three books of poetry, Georgie often recites at the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko, Nev., an event she shares with one message: ãKeep it cowboy and keep it clean.ä

      Today, Georgie lives in Kaycee, Wyo., with her two horses and claims the secret to a good life, is a ãgood dog, a good horse, and a wide open range.ä÷by Gary Watkins 

Georgie Sicking is honored as a poet and top hand. 

Photo courtesy Georgie Sicking

Georgie in a sheep-powered cart in 1923. Photo courtesy Georgie Sicking

The young cowhand in town stops in a photo booth but keeps her hat on.

Photo courtesy Georgie Sicking