When dad was at Medicine Ranch we had a neighbor about 15 miles away, on Cherry Creek, named Alf Devore. Alf had homesteaded his place in 1912, the year Arizona had become a state. Alf had been a cowboy in that rough old Gila County and around before he had got his own start. How did he get his start?Damned if I know, but I do know that he could catch anything he decided to catch. His rope was only about 30 feet long cause he took his dallies out before he left home. In other words he tied hard and fast.

I got to spend a little time over there at CHerry Creek, and ride with Alf and Dutch Ortega, who worked for Alf, and was a damn fine Arizona COwpuncher. I think they both probably wished I was home at Medicine instead of in their way. Anyway, I got to see some pretty good runs, that country is steep, rocky and has lots of cactus and brush. We still had screw worms to doctor. It was a fun time to be trying to be a cowboy. My sister Carolyn, Dad and Davey Reese were all there too, and all good help.

I was riding an old gelding called Blondie, he was grey so tell me how he got his name. Anyway, we were trying to get a bunch of cattle held up in a pretty tight place. Well, crap, I let them get by me and the race on on, down of that ridge to a canyon full of bad brush. I wasn’t getting there, and old Alf went around me, turned that little bunch back uphill. DUtch and a couple of other good guys were there and they got the cattle held up. The worms were doctored, cattle roped led out heeled and doctored without running the rest of them old cows off.

When we were done I got some ribbing. Where were you? How come you let an old man ride around you? And so on. Alf was at least 65 and I was 12 or 13. So I blamed poor Blondie. He can’t run, he’s too old and a couple other lame excuses. So then I got a good little lesson, there were a couple of ponies there just as old as Blondie. It was up to me to make him run and so on. Mainly, I finally realized I just wasn’t in the right place to get those cattle turned and stopped. That’s the main different in some cowboys, some know how to help you get in the right place, almost no matter what they are riding. And other fellars? Well, some learn and get better, others just think they are better. I hope I was the first kind, but know I was never the good rough country cowboy that Alf was.

What a great time in our family. Jake and Rachelle had a new daughter born! Maggie is just plain Beautiful! I got to hold her today, I forgot how tiny new babies are. Maggie is healthy and all there. Rachelle seems to be fine, and they are home.

Guess we can all get tied up, thinking, working, worrying about politics, finances or whatever. But when you add it all up, nothing is as important than family. Most of us haven’t been perfect family members, I for sure haven’t been, but my family has always been the most important aspect of my life. I want them to be happy, healthy and enjoy every day. That is a tall order, being happy, but just look around. Most of us are very blessed. Sure there are hard times, but every day can hold some pleasure – pet your dog, ride a horse, look at the country or just take time to be Appreciative of what we have. And love your family!

I was in Matt’s Bar in Prescott one time, well, this time anyway. There had been a few drinks consumed, the music was loud, and the dance floor crowded. I wanted to dance with a nice young lady, so I took my hat off, required manners in those days, and laid my hat on a table. Well we danced, poor girl, and when we came back my hat was gone.

So I went bare headed all night, and felt undressed even though I had hair back then. The next day was Sunday so the bars didn’t open until noon. Nothing was open all day where you could buy a hat, so i was still naked when I went back to Matt’s bar. I was a few minutes late and there were already a few guys in there. And wouldn’t you know there is a big old boy sitting there sippin on a beer, and wearing my hat! This feller had to be 6′ or better and weigh 220 pounds. I’m weighing about 150 and 5’8″ at the most.

Well I sat down a few stools away from my hat, ordered some hair of the dog, and start wondering what to do about my hat. In those days in Prescott a feller could match a fist fight real easy and quick. And as I had proved before, you could get over matched easy! I kind of wanted to just let the guy have my hat, which was about 5 sizes too small for him, and just set ontop of his head. But I knew I couldn’t afford more whiskey and a new hat, and that I would feel pretty bad if I didn’t try to get my sombrero back.

So I finally say to this feller,k who had just glanced my way and looked away, “That is sure a good lookin hat” “Thanks” he says, so I ask him if I can see it. He says sure, takes it off and hands it to me. I take it by the crown and don’t look inside but say, “this is a Resistol, bought at Babbit’s in Williams and is a size 7. And I lost this hat last night.”

He says, “Hell, take it a friend gave it to me.”

So all my worrying was for nothing. One of the few times I had real good luck in Matts. There was another time or two that luck ran my way in that great old watering hole. Maybe someday I can tell about them.

It is said that clothes make a man. I don’t know about that, but the outfit sure don’t make you a good hand necessarily. An old timer I worked with at the OO out of Seligman sure proved that. Pat Davis was in his sixties when we were working there. Pat wore an old Palm Braid hat, one of those wide woven things like you might see a corn farmer wear. His clothes were working man clothes, no snaps on his shirts and maybe J.C. Penny britches. He had a pair of old bat wing chaps that didn’t hang very well. His saddle and outfit was a good one and he kept everything is good shape. Grazer bit, split reins and swell forked saddle.
There was an old kid there, about 18 years old or so. Now Tom (we’ll call him) had a new good looking hat, boots, Wrangler pants he wanted creased even in the country, and bright colored Western shirts. Tom had a new saddle, new step in shotguns and nice double Navajo blankets. Course he had only been a cowboy a couple of years. His family was  wealthy by cowboy standards and they had helped him get rigged up. They were not a ranching family.
Anyway, Tom was always bellyaching about Pat. He was sure he was a better cowboy than Pat was. Tom thought he was quite a wild cow cowboy, and could tie a lot of cattle down in any given run. Hell, he always carried 3 or 4 piggin strings! Well, we were all over at the Jolly to try to clean that country out. Johnny Sanders was there from Fort Rock, which he ran. Johnny was a sure enough good old time Arizona cowboy. There were about 6 of us there that day. That country is haired over with Juniper and Cedar. There was a dirt tank, with a water lot, set right on a fence line. The trap or water had three gates in it. That was the only water for quite a ways.
Well we made a little quiet drive into that trap, and didn’t spill any cattle. We shut all but one gate, reset saddles and Pat left me there. The rest of the crew left to make a drive back into this trap. I was to keep what cattle we had from leaving and turn new cattle in that gate when they showed up. After awhile I hear rocks rolling and brush poppin, and here comes Johnny with a handful of cattle. Just cattle, no mavericks or big steers. But these cattle are all fast company and if you weren’t in the right place at the right time you would lose them sure. After a while everybody is back in except Pat. No cattle – none.
Then Pat shows up with a little wad of cattle. His horse is soaken wet and out of air. We shut the gate and unsaddle to let our ponies backs air out. Pat don’t say much, as we all roll smokes and cool off. Pretty soon it’s time to go, we were goin to walk these cattle out of there to the Double H’s I think. As we are getting ready Pat asks if anybody has anything tied down. NO! Tom says, “This sorry damn horse I’m ridein – I couldn’t get nothin done.” Bull—-
So we start out of there, Pat in the lead, and pretty quick he stops that little herd, has Johnny help him turn a big old slick heifer into the herd. Yep, that old fart had tied one down. We got another little ways and looky there, right close together is a cow tied down, and 100 feet away her big old bull calf is tied down. So Johnny and I help turn them up into our set herd. Pat was a cowboy, plain and simple. There can be no praise higher than that.
It was pretty quiet about how good a wild cow cowboy Tom was, at least till he got back to town.

Ben Fancher passed away a few days ago. The west has lost one of the greatest cowboys in the country. There are a million stories about Ben, I have almost that many. Today I want to say how proud I am to have worked and played with Ben. We may have played too hard, but when there was work to do Ben was always there and able to make a hand. I saw Ben on quite a few horses that could BUCK. I never saw Ben throwed off outside. And rope? My God how he could rope. I worked with Ben and his dad Eph the most, but was around Sam Fancher some. I never had the pleasure of working with any of the rest if the Fancher family, but the reputation of being great cowboys follows all of them.

A friend told me once that being a cowboy was not genetic. Well, I am sure it is. We have bred the Quarter Horse to be a cow horse for 75 years or so. Hell, the Fanchers have been cowboying twice that long, they have married into other cowboy families and have practiced and refined the art of being top cowboys. And they are.

Ben, I loved you like a brother, and thank you for being my friend.

They tell me us old guys get to living in the past-Hell, I can’t remember what happened yesterday! Yet I do seem to spend some time remembering what it was like as a young feller, just starting out wanting to be a cowboy. Being a cowboy is all I can remember wanting to be, at least after I figured out the mountain man was a thing of the past.
And yes, old guys always talk about how it was, like “Damn kid you should have been here before this country was fenced.” And you had to be horseback for hours, and had to open one gate to leave camp. Or, “I was here when this outfit first ran two wagons.” Or, “We had a full crew of top hands back then.”
One thing I know for sure, when I started out there were a whole lot fewer trucks, trailers and NO damn 4-wheelers. There was lots less roads, and most of them weren’t good ones. But most places I ever was we did haul horses some. On some of those old ranches, like the Yolo, the roads were so bad it was easier on men and horses to trot.
I think those miles and hours of travel really helped horses, and cowboys to be better. If a pony packs a bit for 15 or 20 miles, with no pressure to stop, turn, pick up the correct lead, turn around or whatever, he will learn how to pack a bridle. And relax. Also those rides helped horses get gentle.
Course, there was a big difference in horses temperment then. Lots of those old thick skinned horses never got very gentle. And a lot of cowboys didn’t either. I think as cowboy horses, in big country those old ponies fit and so did the men. Times change and some things are better today. I’ll name them when I think of what they are.

This past weekend I went to a little cowhorse show at Cottonwood. Very few entries in a club that used to get 100+ entries at every show. Don’t think it’s the clubs fault. Many organizations are having problems with entries etc. Even the AQHA reports problems. I think it all ties into the economy. I got a little stuff sold , so it’s OK.

There were two fellers there that knew me as a hard drinking man. Had fun telling my stories, but had I known I would keep seeing people with good memories I would have been a nicer guy. Maybe.

On Sunday granddaughter Emma and grandson Johnny helped me run a big old American flag up our flag pole. We saluted and said the Pledge of Allegience.  Made me happy that both kids knew the words, and seemed to think it was neat to raise the flag. I believe in my heart that America has some deep problems right now but we still have the best place in the world to live. I sure hope all my great family can live as good a life as I have had. I know it will never be the same, just pray that not too many freedoms are lost.

Another trade I liked was for a stud horse, Camiseta Badger. I wouldn’t raise horses for years, cause you could buy them cheaper than raise them. Finally though, I did buy some mares and started with a couple paint studs. Didn’t take long and we made geldings out of them. Next I leased a stud or two and finally bought Chex Again. A 15.3 black horse that Ken Wold had trained and showed well. He was by King Fritz and out of a Blob Jr. mare. What a nice horse. I never rode him a lot, but he was broke! Good to rope on, would really work a cow and did the reining stuff better than anything I’d ever been on. Well, old Chex Again at about 17 years of age lost a piece of gut and died. So I was in the market for a new stud.
I called Ken Wold because he had trained Chex Again, and I hoped Ken would have another stud for sale. He did, so Dick Knight and I drove down to look at Camiseta Badger. When we got to Kenny’s, Camiseta was tied to a fence and Dick and I both said “Wow”. What a keen looking horse this feller was! We talked to Kenny about him and found out that Camiseta had an impressive show record, and there was some of his get to see, nice. The next day or so I went back to Ken’s, after counting my money. I rode Camiseta Badger and really wanted him then. So I asked Kenny if there was any trade in him, Ken said no. If he isn’t worth my asking price I’ll keep him.
So I ended up with the most expensive horse I ever traded for. I traded cash for my new stud. I figured in less than two years Camiseta had paid for himself, so guess that was another good trade, at least in my mind.