by Julie Carter
Sam Thompson was the most inconsiderate human that ever
lived and could go further on a nickel than anyone in my recall.
He owned a big, very remote, spread in the Texas Panhandle
that was a half-day’s drive from the nearest civilized settlement. Sam lived in
that little town so as to keep an eye on his numerous other investments that
included a partnership in a nearby feed yard and pasture cattle scattered
around the landscape.
When it was cattle working time, he’d round up a crew from
his neighborhood to help with the job.
He had a foreman residing at the ranch that handily had a
wife who would cook a meal for any crew Sam brought to the ranch. But that
didn’t include breakfast.
The collected cowboy crew would load up their horses and
head up to the ranch the night before the cattle working, utilizing a
ramshackle camp trailer to roll their bedrolls out for a few hours of shut-eye.
Long before daylight they’d rise and breakfast was usually
something as substantial as a candy bar. One time the candy bars had been
forgotten, so after a head count, the package of Honey Buns was shared. Each
cowboy got one and a quarter Honey Buns for breakfast along with some instant
coffee.
Still in the dark of the morning, they’d head to the
backside and start gathering pairs. About lunch time they were back at
headquarters with the cattle. The foreman’s wife was up to her elbows in getting
lunch ready to set out when Sam says to his foreman, “Think we ought to take
these cattle on to the hill pasture before lunch?”
With the smell of brisket, beans and fresh bread out of the
oven wafting through the air and homemade pies waiting on the counter, the foreman begrudgingly agreed they could
move the cows now, be done for the day and then eat.
One of the cowboys on his first trip to Sam’s place thought
this pasture was probably not far off and likely his grumbling stomach would
survive a little longer.
They drove the cows, drove the cows and drove the cows,
crossed a creek, drove them down the creek bed and finally got them up the
other side and continued driving them.
It was several hours later before they finally arrived where
they were going, settled the cattle and started back. Sam decided to take
another route on the return to headquarters and the new cowboy was thinking,
“If there’s a shorter way back, how come we didn’t bring the cows that way?”
As it turned out, the route home was longer and no one
really knew why Sam decided on that route except likely out of pure meanness.
It was near on 5 o’clock when they finally got back to headquarters, took care
of their horses and at last, got to eat. The honey bun and a fourth was more
than long gone.
The foreman’s wife fed the crew “pretty darn good” and there
was plenty of it. However, it became abundantly clear why there were always new
faces at the table every time Sam brought a crew to work. The new cowboy on
this trip determined he had made his last trip.
Ranch hospitality is legendary, second only to Southern
hospitality. It just sometimes takes a little longer to get to the place where
one can enjoy it.
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