Forged With Fire: Wes Stevenson’s Second Ride

Wes Stevenson | Hands of the Homeland

A man, Wes Stevenson, in a worn denim shirt and baseball cap stands with arms crossed in a metal workshop, looking confidently at the camera; the Texas flag hangs on the wall behind him. A man, Wes Stevenson, in a worn denim shirt and baseball cap stands with arms crossed in a metal workshop, looking confidently at the camera; the Texas flag hangs on the wall behind him.

In a small Texas town, the clang of metal and the hiss of a welding torch echo through the walls of a weathered shop. Inside, Wes Stevenson, once a professional rodeo athlete known for grit and grace on the back of a bucking horse, now shapes steel with the same tenacity he once brought to the arena.

The rodeo chaps have been traded for a welding hood, but his spirit remains unchanged.

A man, Wes Stevenson in a denim shirt, work gloves, and a baseball cap uses a cutting torch on a metal surface inside a workshop, with an American flag hanging on the wall behind him. A man, Wes Stevenson in a denim shirt, work gloves, and a baseball cap uses a cutting torch on a metal surface inside a workshop, with an American flag hanging on the wall behind him.

Wes’s story isn’t just about transition, it’s about transformation. After years traveling the circuit and earning hard-fought titles, Wes retired from professional rodeo and turned toward a quieter, though no less demanding, life. He founded Dark Horse Metal Works in 2015, a custom metalworking and restoration business built on craftsmanship, resilience, and purpose.

“I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be a business owner,” Wes says with a laugh. “But I knew how to work, and I knew how to hustle.”

At Dark Horse, Wes and his team specialize in working with diverse alloys, fabricating parts for oilfield companies and welders alike. They process stainless, aluminum, and everything in between. But Wes’s true passion lies in breathing new life into the old, especially vintage horse trailers. “We love restoring the trailers grandpa used to pull, turning them into something better than new,” he says. “They’re meant to be used again, not just admired.”

Sparks fly as Wes Stevenson, in jeans and brown leather work boots, operates a cutting tool in a metal workshop, with the focus on his legs and feet. Sparks fly as Wes Stevenson, in jeans and brown leather work boots, operates a cutting tool in a metal workshop, with the focus on his legs and feet.

It’s work that demands precision, creativity, and heart, much like rodeo. “Metal’s not the hard part,” Wes says. “It’s managing people, understanding customers, communicating ideas and budgets. That’s the real challenge.” A self-proclaimed student of every job he takes on, Wes has also embraced modern tools like CNC plasma machines and is even exploring how AI can make his shop more efficient without losing the human touch.

“I believe the ones who thrive are those who first learned how to weld by hand, who understand the feel of the material, then learned the tech,” he explains. “It’s the marriage of old-school skill and new-school tools.”

Wes wears many hats: welder, fabricator, father, rancher. His boots carry him from morning chores in wet grass to ten-hour days on concrete floors to evenings feeding livestock or chasing kids across the yard. He needs boots that can take a beating, stay dry, and keep his knees from aching. “They’ve gotta be tough, but they’ve also gotta take care of me,” he says.

A man, Wes Stevenson, in a denim shirt and cap walks through a sandy pasture carrying a red bucket and rope, with several horses grazing nearby and trees in the background. A man, Wes Stevenson, in a denim shirt and cap walks through a sandy pasture carrying a red bucket and rope, with several horses grazing nearby and trees in the background.

Wes doesn’t just restore trailers or weld steel; he builds trust. Every job that rolls out of his shop carries his name, his values, and the work ethic instilled from a lifetime in the arena. “You’re judged by what you send out that door,” he says. “Just like I was judged every time I nodded my head in the chute.”

And that sense of accountability doesn’t stop at the shop floor.

Through the rodeo school he founded over two decades ago, Wes has created a legacy far greater than trophies or titles. He’s watched young students grow into men, and then return as instructors to teach the next generation. It’s a full-circle moment he never takes for granted.

“That school gives back more than it takes,” Wes reflects. “Some of those mornings, when we sit the kids down and talk about life, about how much you’ve got to give, how hard you’ve got to work…those are the moments that stick. That’s when you realize this isn’t just about riding broncs or welding trailers. It’s about preparing people for life.”

A man, Wes Stevenson, in a denim shirt and cap sits on an orange tractor under leafy trees, looking to the side while operating the equipment. A man, Wes Stevenson, in a denim shirt and cap sits on an orange tractor under leafy trees, looking to the side while operating the equipment.

In every spark from his welding torch, in every trailer restored, in every young cowboy encouraged to stay the course, Wes Stevenson is honoring the land, the labor, and the legacy that built him.

Wes lives the American dream not in theory, but in practice, by building something with his hands, standing behind his name, and giving back to a community that raised him. “I believe in this country,” he says. “You can start with nothing and make something. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it.”

Much like the boots on his feet — built to last, made to move — Wes Stevenson’s story is one of endurance, reinvention, and legacy. He’s still riding, just on a different kind of horsepower. These are the Hands of the Homeland.

Close-up of a man in a denim shirt working with a metal chain at a workshop table, surrounded by tools including a tape measure and a shackle. Close-up of a man in a denim shirt working with a metal chain at a workshop table, surrounded by tools including a tape measure and a shackle.