Event Information

Join us for the Annual Junior Cypress Cattle Drive on Big Cypress Seminole Indian Reservation. Ride along on your horse, on a Billie Swamp Safari Swamp Buggy or just bring your own chair and watch the excitement from the road-side. Spectators are always free or join the herd and ride in the Cattle Drive. Your choice of buggy seat or your horse. Surviving family members and community members reminisce on memories and tales. Bring the family. Overnight accommodations available. (863) 902-3200

Indian Cowboy Dreams
Poem by Moses Jumper Jr.

A tribute to Morgan Smith, one of the Seminole Tribes First Indian Cowboys

As a young boy I stood in awe, as I watched these rugged men of old
They were dark with their jet black hair, topped with “ole Stetson hats,” and
faces that were bold!
Their jeans were worn as were the faded long sleeve shirts they wore with pride…
The boots, the spurs, they had it all, even to the horses they would ride…
I knew these men before I’d heard of Gene, Roy, and Wayne,
I didn’t know these movie cowboys stood for a way of life that would cause our people so much pain!
The Indian Cowboys I knew were for real! And something told me, that’s what I needed to be,
Big Morgan Smith cracking the whip, and riding along with old Samson Dixie…
Those were the days of the big roundups, the family feast and the long cattle run,
There were no one day shows or being late, and you stayed til the work was done!
I would spend the nights at the Morgan’s Camp lying under the ole tin roof while having my Indian Cowboy Dreams,
Awakening to the sounds of the squeaky old army saddles and feeling the coolness of the morning fog as the men would have
that important coffee and cream…
I loved it all and for a boy of nine, it was all I wanted to be,
The wet season, the hanging moss, the Big Cypress Swamp it was a place where a young boy could really be free!
The names are etched in my mind of these Indian Cowboys of yesteryear:
Charlie Micco, Naha Tiger, Josiah Johns, true cattlemen who knew no fear!
Braided bull whips, Mexican spurs, and high in the deep seated saddle they sat,
These wee “real men” from the tip of their boot to the top of their “Tom Mix Hat”…
I would play in the “Ole Red Barn”, and wait as the bullets in my toy gun I would load,
I would listen and from far off I could hear the horse’s hooves, as they walked on the shell
rock road…
These men stood for a way of life that I’m sure once again, we would all like to see,
Good Cow Dogs, Cracker Cattle, a good horse and the glades where a man could really be free…
These men were my Heroes, and their names you won’t hear on TV,
But to those of us who remember, their names will always be a part of our history…
And as long as there is a horse to ride, a steer to rope, and a bunch of good dogs that work as a team,
I’ll remember back to those days when as a boy, I slept under the “Ole Tin Roof,” as these men rode tall in my Indian Cowboy Dreams...