by Julie Carter
Another cowboy has gone to the great beyond where corrals aren’t dusty and bones no longer ache.
He was a cowboy from an era gone by where they didn’t burn daylight and their horses were ridden more than hauled. Their word was gold -- stamped with a handshake.
Nothing made this brand of cowboy happier than shaking out a loop and laying a spur to his horse to chase hell-bent-for-leather after a herd quitter. Gathering wild cattle was his forte and no one could do it better.
This cowboy became a legend among cowboys for his skills, his humor, his love of life, his kindness to others and his zest for living. “The best there ever was,” or “They broke the mold with that one,” and “There will never be another like him.”
Campfires and cowboy stories were the fiber of his being and whether it was a story he had lived or the recitation of Sierry Petes, Strawberry Roan or Windy Bill, it was delivered from memory with his own cowboy cadence.
His practical jokes and humorous tales of a life few get to experience were as much part of him as were his skills with leather and wood. He gave his brand of cowboy art the authenticity of having lived it.
Through the years, he'd drifted from one state to another and the names of ranches, men and horses, each with their own detailed story, remained sharp in his memories. He never recognized his life for the legendary status it became.
As the years rolled by, that life seemed even better looking back at it.
Living hard and fast took a toll on his health and like most cowboys, birthdays were his biggest enemy. One day he wrote this lament:
Where ever you go either you walk or ride.
You use your knees with every stride.
Your stride gets short and the trail gets long.
It sure is hell when your knees are gone.
You jump right off but when you land,
Sometimes your mouth gets full of sand.
You can’t stand up and it hurts to crawl.
You ain’t no good on the ground at all.
You can’t run your horse with any ease,
‘Cause of the real bad hurtin’ in your knees.
But don’t you worry about that ol’ pard,
The cowboy life was always hard.
He spent the last years of his life in a nursing home where he tried regularly to make his escape. It was no life for a cowboy and inside his gnarled, knotted body, crippled by too many occupational wrecks, lived a soul that longed for the freedom of his youth.
He would have given all that he had to turn back the clock far enough to do it all again, just one more time.
His memory lives on in the minds and stories of cowboys across the Southwest. He’s free now, gone to that great roundup in the sky where his compadres were waiting for him.
The best words of parting have been repeated often in recent days. “See you on the other side ol’ pard.”
Julie can be reached for comment at jcarternm@gmail.com.
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