Counterfeits

One of my favorite cowboys came to work about Ray's 2^nd year as cowboss. He was older than the typical cowboy and had a lot more sense than most of the less experienced ones. He didn't have much schooling and could barely read, but what he lacked in book knowledge he made up in character. He was a hand, and savvied cattle. I learned to heel calves in a branding trap a lot more consistently just from watching him. He was like a machine: Swing, catch, drag. Swing, catch, drag.

I'm not going to say his name because he's pretty well known between here, Wyoming, and Nebraska. I know he's still around because Clayton ran into him when he worked on the Padlock. He didn't recognize Clayton, even though he'd taught Clayton a lot of cowboy things before he was even old enough to be in school. He missed his own 2 sons, and enjoyed having Clayton or the girls ride along to “help” him.

Cowcamp during weaning.

The guys called him Gram-ma because he was always cold, and didn't like to ride bucking horses. He was the only one that really suffered when Ray shut the cookhouses down, leaving the guys to cook for themselves. He was from the old school, where women or cooks did the cooking, and he didn't know how. His favorite sandwich was bologna and peanut butter. And, he was a bit of a chronic complainer.

Regardless, he was the real deal. If he said something, you didn't have to wonder what he meant. He wasn't a pretender. Either he liked you, or he didn't. He might cuss, or murmur, or complain, but you always knew where he stood.

He was a pretty good team-roper on the heels too. The last time he came back, we picked up a few horses from Bob Douglas in Wyoming, including one Bob's wife Lee had ridden, called Charlie. A well-built pinto that also happened to be a pretty decent rope horse. The cowboy got to have him for his string, and for the most part they got along pretty good. Except anytime he'd ride him into a roping box, old Charlie would mash his leg into the fence. The cowboy told us a few times how counterfeit Charlie was, but we just chalked it up to his normal complaining.





Jim and Charlie on the right, with Ray on Nugget, Kristy on Alpo
and Clayton on Old Yeller, at the county fair, 1988

When he left that fall, I got to use Charlie to help doctor the feedlot, and I was liking him pretty good. Until I roped a big calf that was leaving in a hurry, by one hind foot. I got my dally, but Charlie took a pretty good jerk. That counterfeit bugger crow-hopped and spun around to the left, taking his own dally around my ribs before I could turn my rope loose. The calf on the other end, frapped me to the ground so hard I thought I'd never get my wind back.

Clayton, who was 6 at the time, was riding around with us on Alpo. He watched me flat on my back, desperately gasping for air, with his dad lifting up on my waistband trying to help. Then he turned and rode off to the end of the pen and started crying. When Ray and I rode over to get him, Ray asked him why he left. “Because”, he sobbed, “I thought my mom was dying, and I didn't want to watch.”

Anyway, I figured the old cowboy had been right all along, and I decided I didn't really like Charlie after all. Besides, I knew that Ray was not going to let me continue to ride something we couldn't trust.

That's the worst kind regardless of whether you're talking about 4-legged critters, or two. The ones that act perfectly fine 98% of the time, then about the time you've let down your guard and are really counting on them, they turn and “gitcha”.

Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. PV 27:6



Me, Mike, Jim, and Pete using "dead-men" at a branding.