Monte and I took a left off the Bridger Creek Road up the road that is actually the old Bridger Trail. Then to get to D-Pass where this wool blind ram was supposed to be we had to cut through the P-Bench summer camp. Which was actually a pretty nice more like modern cabin with running water, bathroom, and electricity if I remember correctly.

Then when we turned into the house and corrals there was a sheep wagon, but no vehicles, and more disappointing as far as Monte was concerned no saddle horse in sight at the wagon or even in the corral. Monte was hoping someone at least would be around to point us in the right direction of where this wool blind ram might be.

And I guess this is as good a time as any to lay out the theory of the case. This wool blind ram was no accident. First he had been up there going on two years. Second he was a really old ram I don’t know the breed of with full curl horns. Third Ted had phased out the horned rams for new hornless black faced Suffolk rams. So not needing hm anymore Ted had just let the ram run loose on the P-Bench to eat their grass until he died. A handy, cheap, chickenshit and very inhumane way to dispose of what used to be Ted’s prize ram.

That sat well with no one. Hell, if Ted was done with the ram he could have at least just shot the him since no one would have bought a ram that old.

But he didn’t. The ram was still on the mountain alive after two winters. And the old and kind hearted owner of the P-Bench had enough and demanded Ted come and get him. Which Ted wouldn’t so he sent Monte and me to get him.

We pulled in there on this mission all alone with no help. But at least it was kind of civilized. The P-Bench summer camp had both a loading ramp which was a dirt inclined plane you could back a stock truck up to. But also a loading chute on the corral which was a wooden inclined plane with fence rails on each side. Some called them money chutes because they were used mostly for loading sheep and cattle from the corrals into livestock trucks in the fall after they were sold. But they would work for anything to get livestock or horses into or out of a truck.

Loading ramps were way easier for loading and unloading horses. But given the rodeo at the railroad tracks Monte opted for the loading chute. And backed up to the corral.

I got the gate again and Monte was just about to step into the back of the truck to get his Palomino when instead the Palomino turned around and met him half way and then just followed Monte down the ramp like a little puppy.

I followed suit and got in the back of the truck untied Friday and started to lead him down the ramp. And in the four or more years I had been riding for Ted Friday had never even balked on me let alone blown up. So I sure wasn’t ready for him to rear up and pull me over backwards that time. And I assure you Friday looked a little different when I was laying flat on my back looking up at the whiskers on his chin.

Now one, looking back it had already been a very stressful morning for Friday with the Palomino and train episode. So maybe he was a little less tolerant to suffer fools.

But so was Monte. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t lead a horse down a loading chute. He’s afraid you are the one who’s going to fall and he might step on you. Throw your reins over the saddle and get out of the way.”

Now no one should have had to tell me that. But even so I wish someone had before I ended up looking at Friday’s whiskers. But I did what Monte said and Friday went down the ramp and kind of unloaded me behind him.

D-Pass actually ran pretty much north and south. You had to climb up the pass from the north end. Then came out in sort of a little basin where the D-Pass ghost town used to be and where the tailings pile and entrance to the copper mine still is. Then it topped out just a little past the mine and then went downhill very steep on the south end.

I had been to the mine and where the ghost town used to be before it got wiped out in a massive cloud burst dozens of times. And rode all the way through D-Pass about a dozen times riding back and forth between the Bow and Arrow and the Berger Place Ted kept leased. It wasn’t really a canyon but the mountains and ridges were really steep on both sides.

Monte did something I probably wouldn’t have thought of and opened the gates to the big outer corral and the smaller holding pen he intended to put the ram in at least overnight. That was a good cowboy thinking ahead.

We mounted up but now that Monte and I were riding into the mouth of the north end of the pass it suddenly seemed a whole lot bigger to me since we were just looking for one sheep that could be anywhere. And Monte also conceded that was the case and it might take a lot of looking. Which was why he brought binoculars he broke out of his saddlebag.

Monte decided the best move might be to look for signs of the ram first. So we split up in the middle Monte riding east and me west until we got to the base of the mountains. And then switching directions riding back to meet in the middle. We were making kind of sweeping motions looking for the ram or tracks or really long strands of wool caught in the brush. And of course Monte was constantly “glassing” the mountain sides with his binoculars.

We covered what might be considered the easy flat ground and the only thing we found was Monte came up with a strand of wool that was actually about six inches long. It was the longest strand of wool I’d ever seen but Monte said pretty much worthless because all it told us was the ram had been there at one time. But no clue to where he might be now.

We kept up our sweeping rides until the pass was so narrow it was only about wide enough for the road with a little ground on each side and the tiny creek only about a food wide and an inch deep. Which was about the time I saw what looked like a track in the mud near the creek.

I stopped Friday and got off him and sure enough it was a sheep track. Monte saw me dismounted and rode over wanting to know what I had found saying I better not be looking for arrowheads again. Which I did do sometimes but never when another cowboy could see me because it was a professional faux pa considered a serous waste of time.

“It’s an antelope track,” I told Monte. “And one of the biggest I’ve ever seen. But he must have trimmed his toenails.”

Now that was just me ribbing Monte over something that had happened between us in our early days of riding together. I mistook an antelope track for a sheep track and Monte could hardly believe I was such a “dude.”

“Look at the damn points on the front of that track. That’s an antelope. Sheep tracks are rounded on the front. Didn’t nobody ever teach you anything”?

And since nobody else had Monte decided he would take it upon himself to teach me tracks. How to tell the difference between sheep, antelope, deer, elk and even moose tracks. Although there probably wasn’t a moose within 100 miles of us and Monte had to take an elk track and use a stick to draw the difference of a moose track on the ground.

And over time we kept it up for Monte to teach me maybe a dozen other animals like coyotes, fox, badger, racoon, bobcat and even mountain lions, mice, pack rats, prairie dogs, cotton tail rabbits, and jack rabbits. Monte was of the mind there was hardly no better classroom than riding the range and the education should not be wasted. So when he saw tracks he would often point them out and test me to see if I could name the animal.

But this time Monte got off his Palomino looked at the ram track knew I was just joshing him and then asked, “Ok smart ass how fresh is it”? (meaning how long ago had it been made.)

Now that was actually kind of a tough one because it was in the mud which made it look really distinct and sort of shiny so I guessed to be like a pretty fresh track.

But Monte said, “look at the mud around the edge of the track. See how it’s kind of dry?It’s hard to tell how old it is but it’s not fresh. Probably a few days old at least.”

We looked around and found signs of another track or two. But nothing else and no trail we could follow.And there just weren’t any signs of repeated activity like the ram was coming down there for water. So we mounted up again but this time both of us riding really slow on each side of the creek looking hard for more tracks.

And we started to see more tracks and then got to a place with tracks all over it and matted down grass and then we knew that was where the ram was coming down to water.

And his tracks said he had been down there last night or maybe even that morning. But the tracks still didn’t tell us where he was at and on dry rocky ground there was still no trail to follow.

But Monte said there was at least enough “sign” to tell us the ram was probably on the west side of the pass and we could write off the east side and concentrate looking on the west side.

And from then on it was really slow going.Sometimes only riding 10 or 20 yards and then stopping so Monte could glass the mountain side with his binoculars from bottom to top.

It was finally such slow going Monte had me ride up ahead checking for more tracks or maybe a trail of something. Because if there were more tracks ora trail further up the pass then we were wasting our time looking lower.

So I took off and rode maybe like 30 yards towards the top of the pass before I found the creek stomped flat with tracks, six inch strands of wool in the sagebrush, and what looked it might be a trail going up the mountain side.

I thought that was enough evidence and went riding back towards Monte. Where I found him all but frozen in his saddle, pitched slightly forward, binoculars glued to his eyes.

And as I rode up beside Monte he was twisting one end of his mustache like Snidely Whiplash and chuckling to himself. “Well I found him,” Monte said. “So it’s only fair that you are the one who is going to have to go up there and get him down.”

Now technically I didn’t’ think that was necessarily fair at all. But let’s face it I was 16 and I figured Monte was 60 or pushing it at least and if it came to a steep climb I was the one who would have to make it anyway.

I sideled up to Monte and asked where? Meaning for Monte to point the ram out to me. And he said, “about half way up (meaning the mountain side) about one o’clock, on the rock outcropping with two trees.” And Monte even traced his directions with his finger for me to follow.

Well I followed his finger and directions to look up the mountain side and finally found a rock out cropping about half way up to the top with one live tree and a fallen dead tree. But damn sure didn’t see no ram.

I conveyed that to Monte and he handed me his binoculars and said “He’s laying down facing south. Butt to the fallen tree.”

So I put the binoculars on the spot Monte was pointing out. Glassed it with the binoculars. Gassed again and another time. And then finally saw what I thought might be one horn and an ear of a sheep. And Monte said that was him. And as was often the case I was amazed at Monte that he could see that.

The mountain side was actually a ridge to the mountain about 500 yards high. The rock outcropping was about half way up. And how in the hell even with binoculars Monte managed to pick out a horn and an ear at that distance was beyond me.

But once I got the ram located Monte said it was time to “lay a study on the situation.”

Which is why I always liked riding with Monte. And if truth be told copied him on everything from raising kids to working my Roughneck crew when I was a driller on drilling rigs, to about everything else involving humans.

Everyone else in that country would have just told a hired cowboy, and especially a kid, what to do. Ted would have just barked about three words of what he wanted you to do and expected you figure out the rest and hell to pay if you did not. But Monte not only figured there might be more than one way to do something he also believed humans need options and input.

So when Monte said we needed to lay a study on something it meant everyone involved got to say what they thought should be done. There would be discussions, observations, opinions, even feelings. And let’s face it, not always but almost every time your 10 years in the saddle compared to Monte’s 50 years meant he would be right about everything, every time.

But after laying a study on it if you had your input if everyone agreed it not only made it easier to do the work. But more importantly take the risk. Because cowboying is always risky business. And then you took the risk willingly because you had your say. And at the end of the day someone had to do it.

The first thing I did was tell Monte I thought I found the trail the ram was using to get to his ledge. And we decided to go have a look at it since it was only about 30 or 40 yards up the pass from where we were sitting.

When we got to it Monte agreed it was the ram’s trail alright. And then added by the looks of it the ram had been using it for a long time the way it was beaten down.

I had of course thought maybe I could just ride Friday up it to get to the ram. But Monte pointed out a few things I had not seen.

One it looked almost like a roller coaster track with about three or four big zig zag sharp turns going up the mountain side. Another was it was both really steep and narrow in a few places where a sheep might be able to go but a horse would have trouble.

And worst of all as Monte pointed out the steep and narrow places looked like they were covered with scree which Monte explained were just a bunch of little sharp broken rocks that would be dangerous footing for a horse.

The real problem though as Monte pointed out was even if I could ride up there I would be facing the wrong way which was towards the ram’s head when I needed to get behind him to drive him down.

So we scratched off the trail as unworkable and road back down to where Monte first spotted the ram. And from there it was pretty easy to see the ridge was too steep for a horse to go up.

Monte then pointed out that if I rode down to the end of the ridge I could ride up the low part and follow the ridge up to where the ram was. Then get off my horse, and walk down to where the ram was laying and get behind him to drive him out that way.

Well I had to think about that one. First I would have to ride nearly back down to the P-Bench summer camp to get on the lower end of the ridge, and then ride the ridge back up to get even with were the ram was laying. Tie up my horse. Hike half way down the ridge. Try to scare the ram down the ridge. And then hike back up the top half of the ridge to get my horse.

That would be about four times the distance. And if it worked, which was a big IF to get the ram down I would still have to hike up about half the ridge to get my horse.

Which is when it became clear to me the easiest thing would be for me to just hike half up the ridge from where we were sitting and spook the ram down that way. To which Monte concurred that sounded like a good plan. Which was of course what Monte knew had to be done to begin with. But at least it kind of seemed like it was my idea.

Then once we had planned the route the next thing was the procedure which was when Monte got a little more serious.

“If you start right here and walk up that draw you can buy a little elevation cheaper,” Monte said pointing out the draw.

“The draw will get you about half way to the ram before you get to the head of it. Then the rest of the way is just steep and I don’t see any way around that.But keep your eyes on that live tree so you go straight to the ledge where the ram is laying. You will be paying dearly for every step you take, some of it might even be hand over hand more like crawling on all fours so you don’t want to waste any steps if you can help it. And it’s not a race. We’ve got lots of time so rest when you need to. And don’t worry about making noise. In fact make a lot of it. It might spook the ram down and we could get off easy,” Monte explained.

“And now listen to me, Steve,” Monte said next a little more sternly for emphasis. “When you do get up there climb up the north side of the ledge where that dead tree is laying down. That will put you behind the ram and you can spook him down his trail. You don’t want to get in front of him”

I understood and agreed with all that. But Monte made me look the whole side of the ridge over with the binoculars again to make sure I could see what was in front of me. And once I did Monte said “Here I’ll hold your horse.”

And with that I dismounted and headed up the draw. Only to find I could have looked at that ridge all day with binoculars and still never gotten any idea how steep it really was.

The draw was also deeper than it looked filled with sagebrush and grass that was up nearly to my waist in some places and hard to wade through. And I thought I might have to go hand over hand before I even got to the head of the draw. But the thought of accidentally grabbing a rattlesnake laying in the sagebrush was incentive enough to keep me up right.

But then once out of the draw it was even way steeper and hand over hand about half the time because my boots kept slipping on me and I would have to catch myself. But in other places so steep I would have to almost crawl up it on all fours.

I was sure taking Monte up on telling me to rest when I needed to. Because sometimes I needed to rest after just three or four steps. And not always but many times I could actually see parts of the ram and his whole head was coming into view. And between the huffing and puffing stumbling falling and cussing I was making plenty of noise but the ram never even seemed bothered enough to look in my direction let alone get up and run out.

The first thing I noticed when I got to the ledge was it was a long way up there because looking down Monte and the horses looked tiny. And then the next thing I noticed looking up was that ledge sure was a lot higher than I thought it would be. More like 15 feet high before I even got to the dead tree. And instead of one ledge there was actually two.

The whole thing was actually and old mining claim where they had started digging on the side of the ridge but apparently never found anything worth tunneling into and abandoned it. But they did create a cliff on the west side about 15 feet high and 25 feet long that I wouldn’t have been able to climb down.

The flat place the ram was laying on was only about 10 feet wide and maybe 15 feet long. And was actually the tailings pile, just tiny broken rocks, left over from the prospecting.

But at least there were rocks where they started prospecting and piling their tailings. so I started climbing up them and made it almost to the top of the ledge.

But then I ran into the dead tree and it wasn’t laying on the edge of the ledge like it looked from below. The dead tree was laying half way on the edge of ledge and half way over it.

It was only hanging over edge maybe just about six inches but I was trying to hang on with one hand bending over backwards and when I tried to get my other hand over the tree it was more than a foot thick and there was just no way. There just wasn’t enough of me to hang on with my left hand and reach my right hand over the tree to pull myself up. And even if I got my hand on the tree it was round and I would slip.

That caused me to look down which you are never supposed to do when climbing. And when I did all I could see was the rocks I would land on falling about 15 feet. And that bluffed me out and I decided I needed a new plan as opposed to broken bones 50 miles from the nearest hospital.

I decided Monte could not see what I was up against from below and I needed a new plan. So I climbed back down the ledge and moved over to the east side of the ledge.

And as I made my way to east side Monte instantly stated complaining shouting “no no no.” But Monte wasn’t up there and I was. And besides I figured out while I could hear Monte shouting up from below he could not hear a word of me hollering back down. Because if he could hear the way I was cussing him he would have dismounted and started up the ridge after me.

And well ok the east side didn’t turn out to be any better of a plan. It was still about 15 feet up to where the ram was laying but no rocks to climb up or even get a foot under me. Nothing but little loose rocks where it was more like one foot up and two slides back. Until I finally tried the “he yaw” scream and adrenaline rush to scramble up and actually managed to touch the ram that was still laying down.

Before sliding back down. And as I said these were little broken rocks. But did I mention they had really sharp edges. Which sliding down drew blood on both arms? Well they did.

And that was it. I had enough of that plan and just went to the south side where the rams trail went up and started marching up it.

By then Monte had even dismounted and was standing out in front of the horses waving me off and cancelling the mission with his arms hollering “come down come down.”

And I was screaming back “Fuck you Monte. I am not coming back down. For Christ’s sake it’s a fucking sheep. And if I have to I will storm him and just throw him off this ledge.”

Now, perhaps during our study on this situation Monte might have reminded me it’s a wool blind ram. He can’t see. And if he only knows one way up he only knows one way down.

But that part had escaped me. And when I started up the trail I could see the ram standing up in the middle of his little ledge. My plan was to walk up on the ledge, circle around him, get behind him and spook him down. Or throw him down if I had to.

But just as I started to get to the top of the flat part of the ledge the ram was standing backed up to the dead tree. And I didn’t have to get behind him because he lowered his head with those full curl horns and came charging with his head down.

There was no place for me to go. I couldn’t jump up hill out of the way because the end of the cliff was there. And I couldn’t jump down the hill because it was so steep one step was worth about 15 feet down on nothing but mostly rocks. So plan B was I was a 16 year-old kid and I would just jump up over the ram.

But while I may have been a 16 year-old kid that ram was probably 80 in sheep years. Lots of experience with those horns and just as he got to me and I jumped he picked up his head.

My cowboy hat went straight up in the air and the first thing I thought was both my legs were broken when those full curl horns hit my shines. It was white hot pain but a very soft landing because the ram’s wool was so long and thick it was like landing on a really stinky feather bed.

And speaking of landing I had both hands buried in the ram’s wool hanging on for dear life as the ram ran down his trail and I realized I couldn’t land on the ground. Both my boots were hung up in the curls of the ram’s horns and it was better to ride it out on top of his back than get drug down those sharp little rocks.

I kicked around enough to get my left boot loose and was trying to do the same with my right boot when we hit the first sharp turn in the trail. For such an old ram he was moving pretty fast and combined with the sharp turn there was just enough centrifugal force for the ram to throw me and one boot off.

And notice I said throw me and one boot off. Because my right boot didn’t come out. It just came off and was still hung up on the ram’s horn. And I was saying goodbye to my boot as I went rolling down the hill on the side of the trail because the ram just kept going.

It was quite the tumble. I didn’t get knocked out but I did hit my head a few times and could feel myself collecting cuts and bruises before I finally stopped rolling.

And when I finally did stop and gingerly sat up to assess my situation I was not pleased. I only had one boot on. My cowboy hat was about 20 yards up the trail. And fortunately I guess the ram seemed to have had enough activity for the time being and had laid down about 30 yards from where I had landed. And shook his head until my boot came off.

Technically I suppose I only really needed my boot. But that meant if I hiked the 30 yards down to where my boot was I would then have to hike all the way back up to the ledge to get my hat.

I thought I would cut my loses if I got my hat first. I was wrong of course. I would have only had to walk 30 yards on a bare foot on sharp rocks if I had gotten my boot first. But instead I walked 20 yards up to get my hat on a bare foot. And then 50 yards down on one bare foot on sharp rocks to get my boot.

And I found myself to be a literal “tender foot.” Not a novice unaccustomed to the hardships of pioneer life. But someone who felt extreme pain with every other step I took like each step was cutting my foot but I was afraid to look at it.

Once I got my hat gong down the steep trail was as bad or worse than going up because the sharp rocks seemed to roll more under my bare foot. And then when I finally got about 10 or fewer yards from the ram he got up and started down the trail again. But fortunately left my boot behind.

I was never happier to get a boot on in my life when I finally got to it. But it wasn’t a cure all. My foot was scratched and cut up pretty badly and each step still hurt.

And both the ram and I were taking those steps sparingly. No telling how long it had been since that ram had to use that much energy. So he would only go five or ten yards before he stopped to rest. And I would stop and rest too instead of encountering him and his horns again.

I bet it took 20 minutes maybe half an hour to finally get down the mountain side to the road and the creek. Where both the ram and I bellied down for a long drink.

Monte had mounted up and took both horses up the road to give the ram plenty of room to go down towards the corrals instead of up the road.

And when Monte road back down with Friday in tow the first thing he asked was, “I told you not to get in front of him. Are you in one piece? Are you hurt”?

Of course I was hurt. In lots of paces literally head to toe. But I didn’t think I was injured and told Monte I was alright.

“You could have fooled me,” Monte replied pointing down to my legs. Where I hadn’t really noticed but by then blood had soaked through the front of both pant legs.

I told Monte it was a long ways from my heart, grabbed Friday’s bridal reins and mounted up. I was trying to shake it off and not show any pain. But probably doing a poor job of it because I really did hurt head to toe.

Getting back in the saddle felt good though because it took the weight off my legs. And then Monte and I started trying to drive the ram down to the corrals.

Which was misery in slow motion.Because the ram wasn’t just walking slow he was only moving in apprehension. Taking a few steps. Stopping. Trying to look back with the wool over his eyes. Then moving again but acting like he would try to turn back at any moment.

It seemed to take forever but we finally got him to the gate of the big outer corral. He didn’t want to go through the gate but Monte and the Palomino bumped his butt until he did with Monte screaming to “get the gate” meaning close it as soon as they got into the corral.

When someone screams get the gate you are supposed to do it very quickly. Which I found easier said than done because my shines were on fire and my whole body was stiffing up.

But I did get the gate closed, got mounted again, and Monte and I started working the ram towards a very welcome gate to the small pen because once through it that would be the last gate on a very long day.

The ram didn’t see it that way though. As soon as we crowded up to the gate of the small holding pen he wouldn’t go through it and doubled back. So we tried riding really close on each side of him with Monte slightly behind so he couldn’t turn back. And instead the ram turned back and tried to run under Monte’s horse.

Sheep are funny creatures I never understood and they never understood me. But unlike cattle if you are trying to drive a bunch of sheep into a corral from behind they will stop at the gate and just keep piling up until the suffocate each other.

So you have to crowd them up to the gate. Then someone has to go around to the front of the bunch and start walking through them. And I guess that makes the sheep think they are getting away with something and they run past the person into the corral.

Monte decided he would try that. He got off and stood at the gate. While I got behind the ram and tried to drive him to the gate so Monte could walk past him hoping he would run into the corral.

That didn’t work either. The ram either ran off to one side or the other. Or worse tried to run under me and Friday which Friday was having none of.

Monte then decided the problem was the ram was so wool blind he couldn’t even see it was a gate because the pen was small and it all looked the same to him. He decided he needed to cut the wool off the ram’s forehead so he could see the open gate. Theoretically at least.

We both got off our horses then and for the second time that day Monte had his double bladed Schrade-Walden out but this time with the smaller even sharper blade out.

And then the fight was on. We tried to corner him but the ram would run past us or over us. We tried grabbing his legs to throw him on the ground. But he turned out to be too quick and stout for even both of us.

I finally said, “Let’s just rope him, Monte.” But Monte said, “You can’t rope a sheep. The vertebrae in their neck won’t take it and will break. That’s why you have to use a sheep hook on their legs.” Which of course we didn’t have with us.

That’s when Monte decided he would get back on his Palomino. I would haze (ride along beside) the ram on his right side and Monte would jump off his horse on the left side of the ram. Kind of like a bull dogger in a rodeo.

And a rodeo it was. That ram could still run and it took both our horses to keep up with him. But Monte finally saw what he thought was his opening, jumped off the Palomino with his knife between his teeth, and hung on to the ram’s horn with one hand while sending wool flying with the other hand with his knife and his boots flapping in the breeze.

All the running and Monte’s weight was more than the old ram could take and he finally just laid down like he was dying. Which did I mention would have been just fine with all parties by then. If the ram died of even semi-natural causes that was just fine. We just couldn’t kill him on purpose or let him starve to death.

And there for a while at least it did look like the old ram was breathing his last because instead of breathing hard like Monte he was barely breathing at all with his eyes closed.

But then his eyes fluttered, the ram took a couple deep breaths and it jumped up. And Monte barely looked around before the Palomino came trotting right to him and Monte got a foot in the stirrup and mounted on the move. It was another time Monte and the Palomino were more like one mind.

And it worked. We each got on each side of the ram and eased him to the gate with his eyes watering so bad it looked like tears running down his face. The ram stopped and hesitated again but then finally just walked into the pen and I jumped off Friday and slammed the gate behind him.

We weren’t really done yet though. We couldn’t just throw him in the pen with no food or water. But both the hay and the water were quite handy at the P-Bench corrals including a tub that would hold water.

We still had the truck backed up to the loading chute and it was no problem at all. Both horses had as long and nerve wracking day as we had and were glad to get back in the truck. We didn’t even tie them up. Just threw the bridal reins over our saddles and put in the gate.

I thought we were headed back to the Battle Ax when I jumped back in the truck. And I was sure ready. I suddenly noticed I was exhausted and hurting all over. Not that batching with Ted at the Battle Ax was much comfort but at least I could lay down in the bunkhouse.

But then Monte noticed smoke coming out of the stovepipe at the sheep wagon and said we needed to stop in there to report what we had done. “And I will introduce you to one hell of a hand and sheepherder Joe Aerea.”

That made me feel like a drowning man and my whole cowboy life flashed before my eyes,

More Stories You May Like

More from Steve Holmquist