By the time Robby and I rolled out of bed that first morning it was actually sleeping in to me at least. The sun was even starting to peak over the eastern horizon.
When if I was staying at the Battle Ax with Ted it was still pitch black when he started hollering to get up and/or wrangle the horses. And he only hollered once before he’d throw a bucket of cold water on any oversleeping cowboys.
It was a little cool in the wagon that morning but Robby got dressed and started a fire to cook breakfast. I only put on my shirt, cowboy hat and boots because I wanted to doctor my skinned shins. And I probably should have said socks and boots first. Because the floor of an old sheep wagon wasn’t a surface I wanted to walk on bare footed.
Robby also turned on his prize possession which was a battery operated portable radio a little bigger than a transistor radio. But it wasn’t for listing to music or entertainment because that would just run the batteries down. Robby only used his radio in the mornings and evenings for the weather reports, news and livestock markets.
Once I’d found an old can of Bag Balm under the bed I grabbed my pants and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette and apply Bag Balm to my legs. And then got into my pants and went back in the wagon.
And as I was stepping out I heard some announcer come on the radio saying, “And it’s a beautiful day in Fremont Country.” Which told me it was the AM station about 60 miles away.
Robby was cooking breakfast by then and he had quit the system. He only had one frying pan on the stove and was busy dicing slab bacon into little pieces.
And in case you are unfamiliar with “slab bacon” it’s just a large, uncut block of cured and smoked pork belly with the skin (or rind) still attached. Robby was cutting a pretty thick slice of bacon down to the rind, skinning it off the rind, and then cutting it into about one square inch pieces.
Robby handed me a pot and told me to peel four potatoes. Which I did outside just letting the peelings fall where they may. And once I got the potatoes peeled Robby sliced all of them and threw the potatoes and bacon into the frying pan. And then just about the time the bacon and potatoes were done Robby cracked three eggs and threw them in with the potatoes and bacon.
It turns out Robby had an interesting theory about cooking. “It all gets mixed in your stomach anyway.” So Robby just cooked everything in one pan. Which he also said cut down on the number of dishes we had to do.
I had to hand Robby one thing though because he did allow one extravagance. He had a wire Hearth/Camp toaster used for making toast on a wood stove. It’s just a double-sided hinged wire frame fitted with a wooden handle. You open it up and put two slices of bread on one side and then close it. That way there’s a wire frame on both sides of the bread and you just toast one side of the bread and then turn it over to toast the other side on the stove.
It can be kind of tricky but Robby was really good at making toast. Which mattered to me because I really didn’t like eating eggs and bacon with just plain white bread. It just didn’t seem to fit somehow.
Robby also ran what I would call a “clean camp.” Meaning we did the dishes after each meal. Made the bed and swept the floor. And we made pretty quick work of that.
Then Robby said it looked like a really good day for a ride and for me to run his horses in. Horses? I had only seen one horse when I rode in there which was Robby’s saddle horse. But he explained he was also breaking a young horse and it looked like a good day to ride him.
Leaving it unsaid if I could even find him. I got Y-E saddled up and rode west towards the old hay fields. Robby’s saddle horse was right there not too far from where Robby turned him loose the night before.
But there sure wasn’t another horse with him. And it suddenly dawned on me there were about a million places for Robby’s bronc not to be.
I think there was probably close to a section, one square mile, right around the Berger house. There was land to the west past the hay fields and up a ridge. About that much land to the east of the house. A half mile of land above the house to the north and another half mile of land below the house to the south. And I couldn’t see a horse in any of it.
But one thing I was seeing was sheep. Stinking sheep. God damned sheep. Fucking sheep. Just to let you know how I felt about sheep. And most of them weren’t in the hay fields. They were down in the willows and trees next to the creek. Which meant it would be hard to get them out of if we had to gather them.
I decided I would write off the land to the north because that was the south entrance to D-Pass. It was rocky, a steep climb, and sparse grass.
So I rode up the ridge to the west to get a little elevation so I could see more country. Which didn’t help because there were actually two old hay fields and I couldn’t see all of the field to the south. So I had to ride down there anyway.
To no avail. Then I road across the creek and up the other ridge to the east. Which I could have named “no horse ridge.” And then back tracked down to the south to cross the creek again.
Not really looking for Robby’s horse. But by that time I was just about back to the Berger house and sheep wagon and I didn’t want to be embarrassed riding past the wagon and Robby knowing I couldn’t find his horse.
I rode up the road to D-Pass almost to the gate and couldn’t see a horse. And finally in desperation dropped off the ridge down to the creek and rode to the south which was like bushwacking with the trees and willow slapping my face theywere so thick.
And just when I was about to give up I finally found Robby’s bronc next to the creek. About 50 yards from where I had started.
He had quite the little hiding place. It was actually just a little above the spring and was an open space only 50 or 75 feet in diameter. With lots of green grass. The creek ran through the middle of it. And it was surrounded by willows and Narrowleaf Cottonwood trees. Which are the most worthless trees and wood there is because the wood is more like balsa wood they make toy airplanes out of.
The hidden spot only seemed to have one narrow trail leading into it from the south and it was all but covered with willows. Which is how I missed it. And Robby’s bronc seemed as surprised to see me and Y-E as I was him because he picked his head and nearly ran out of his hiding place.
And while all this searching had been going on Robby’s saddle horse had actually corralled himself. He saw Y-E and me coming and knew or at least thought it was time to go to work. He’d wondered up to the corral to nibble on the hay leaves Y-E had left from the night before.
Robby had seen me and the bronc go past the wagon and was sauntering up to the corral to catch him as I was closing the gate. And he was asking, “What took you so long? The horse was right there above the spring.”
Now I could have asked Robby why in the hell he didn’t just tell me that. But I could see the grin on his face and wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. It was kind of a cowboy joke. A set up. And I didn’t even acknowledge it.
I had no idea what we were supposed to be doing. In fact I didn’t even know why I was there in the first place. And if Robby did know he didn’t explain it to me.
Once Robby got his bronc saddled up we just took off riding southwest on what was actually an old sismographe rode. They aren’t real roads like the ones leading into ranches. They were just bulldozed roads from when the sismographe crews came into that part of the country to lay down miles of electrical wire.
Then they would set off dynamite and the wires would record the shock waves through the ground. It actually created kind of a map or the rock formations below looking for oil and gas formations.
The roads they made didn’t really go anywhere. They were just bulldozed to get their trucks and other equipment into the area to do the sismographes. They were made to use just once. But could be used to ride horseback on to make it easier to cover long distances because they tended to be in straight lines. And were easier to ride than just a trail.
So Robby and I were just riding cross country and not even Robby knowing where we were going. Because as he explained his country was the mountains at the head of Badwater Creek. Close to 50 miles to the northeast from where we were at. This was his first time riding Copper Mountain and he was trying to learn the country.
So we were more or less just pleasure riding side by side which was a good way to break his bronc. Which incidentally looked like a really good horse. Almost pretty with good legs and head and an almost milk chocolate color. And the bronc was behaving very well with no trouble at all.
We were just riding along talking about school and other things we shared in common when suddenly a cowboy hat appeared walking out of a little draw about 100 yards in front of us. Then a head and upper body. Then an arm straight up in the air waving. And then the rest of the body of what was a extremely big cowboy walking towards us.
And that’s when Robby’s bronc decided to grab its ass. His first attempt was to try and turn around to run away because the approaching figure had startled him.
Robby’s bronc was agile and quick on its feet and spun to the left next to me and Y-E. And Robby was grabbing leather (holding onto his saddle horn) as they went by.
Robby then grabbed a bridal rein close to the bit and got the bronc pulled up and turned around again so the bronc decided to try and buck him off.
But he was a young horse that didn’t really know how to buck and Robby had his head pulled up to keep him from bucking very hard. And Robby had the bronc “square and centered” meaning his body was in line with the horse and he was deep in the middle of his saddle still holding onto his saddle horn.
It wasn’t much of a rodeo and didn’t last very long before Robby got him settled down again. Although they were facing the wrong way. The tall figure approaching us had stopped as to not spook the bronc any mor than he had.
And actually I didn’t blame the bronc. We were looking at a very big man that appeared out of nowhere in the middle of nowhere. And I mean there was nothing but five miles of flat nothing in front of us and about that much flat empty land behind us. I was as shocked to see a man out there as Robby’s bronc was.
But even at a distance of about 50 yards there was something very familiar about that man. For one I only knew one man on the mountain that was that big. And even at that distance I could recognize his grin. It had to be my grandma’s favorite cousin, George.
And so I had to ride to meet and greet him because “Uncle George” as I called him had been a mentor to me since I was seven years old. He was my most favorite relative.
I actually had to put the heels of my boots into Y-E’s ribs to get him moving again. Because that was the most amused horse I’d ever seen watching Robby and his rodeo. Y-E seemed to be really enjoying the show and didn’t pay any attention when I leaned forward in the saddle which was usually all it took to get him moving.
But once we were moving again Robby got his bronc turned around and started moving as well. Even though his bronc was still on full alert with his ears pitched forward and nostrils flaring. Still spooked of the stranger.
It didn’t take but just a little ways before I knew for sure it was Uncle George. And he recognized me as well and called out my name. But as we rode up on him this had to be a dismounted encounter. Meaning I had to get off Y-E and shake hands with Uncle George and exchange a little hug. He always deserved at least that much respect.
We exchanged greetings and George and Robby were at least acquainted with each other. Although Robby didn’t dismount and still had a very short rein on his bronc just in case he blew up again.
And then it was time for the obvious question. “George what the hell are you doing way out here”?
Uncle George said it was such a nice morning he decided take a little walk to look at the grass and flowers and get a little exercise. Also pointing out or almost marveling at how well the grass was growing because it had been a “wet spring” meaning we got some rain. But you would have had to have been a life long sheep rancher to even see the clumps of sparse grass let alone see it was growing.
And let me define George’s “little walk.” His ranch house was at least six miles from where we were and he planned to keep walking a little further. Which I pointed out to him wasn’t exactly a little walk. But George said he was used to that for the exercise.
Which I recognized just from knowing him. Sometime in his 50’s George developed some kind of arthritis which his doctor said might leave him bed ridden.
But instead George started doing 40 pushups every morning as soon as he rolled out of bed. And taking long walks. All of which was in addition to being a sheep rancher which is plenty enough work for most people all by itself.
It seemed to be working. George was in his 60’s when we encountered him on his “little walk.” And he kept moving and working. Always with the same fun loving personality, big laugh, and easy grin.
Of course George wanted to know what I was doing and where Robby and I were going. I told him I was working for Ted again. Staying at the Berger Place. And I had no idea what we were doing other than taking a pleasure ride.
That actually made Robby stiffen up and clinch his teeth because cowboys were never supposed to take pleasure rides. But I didn’t know any other way to describe it.
It was also enough to make Robby say he was trying to learn the country and we better get going. Although he still didn’t say where. So Uncle George and I had another hug and I mounted up.
George took off walking again and we took off riding in the opposite direction. But I did turn around just long enough to get another look at Uncle George striding across the empty prairie like the Jolly Green Giant.
