The Ole Coyote
am is most particular about the cattle he buys to winter over. I have
learned enough to have a general idea of what he's lookin' for, but he
delights in showin' me the finer points of cattle buyin'. We go all over
lookin': Southern Colorado; New Mexico; an' West Texas. He hates to drive
for very long. He says it puts him to sleep an' hurts his back. I think he
just likes my company, an' knows his daughters wouldn't let him go it
alone.
I met Sam at the Bushland Store were I work as cook, clerk, carpenter, flat fixer an' anything else that needs doin'. Mostly I do the Mesquite Bar-B-Q. After I took over as cook a lot of the boys off the ranches made the place a lunch time stop over. One day I was at the counter dealin' with an irate customer, a townie named Homer, over something he imagined was wrong. He doesn't ever quite make sense, so it was hard to tell just what he was after. I noticed this other old fellow behind Homer watchin' our confrontation with an amused smile. One look told me this old man was the genuine article. He was short an' little portly with a grey, well worn ranchers Stetson hat on his head. His face had was weathered from decades of winter winds an' summer sun, but all the lines seemed to run together into a small grin. Homer finally got tired of worryin' at me an' left. This old fellow stepped up an' stretched his grin a little, "That Homer's elevator don't run all the way to the top," he said in a deep gruff voice. I grinned back, "Oh, it runs all the way to the top, I said. "It just don't stop on ever' floor."
He laughed an' stuck out his hand. "Sam Carter," he said. I looked straight into his eyes an' took his hand. He had a grip like an old bear on an' we both held on for a moment figurin' each other, both takin' the measure of the man. I knew right then if Sam Carter gave you his word an' his hand on something he'd stick by it even if it meant a long ride across hell. I think he saw the same truth in me.
"Jim Emmony," I said. "But ever'body calls me Slim."
Sam squinted at me. "Hell of a name for the cook. I hear you burn a pretty fair brisket."
"Proofs in the puddin'," I replied. "You step on over there to the bar an' Big Shelly'll fix you up."
"I believe I will. I'll be talkin' to you, Slim."
From then on I'd see Sam ever' day or so. We might go back in the garage with Jaunito or Bob an' add a little Irish to our coffee from the bottle I kept hid out back.We'd sit an' swap lies. They ever'one had a tale to tell. One day a few months after I first met Sam he came up with the idea of me drivin' him on cattle buyin' trips. I could set my own hours at the store. Big Shelly could handle my cookin' chores for a day or so, an' our part-time help didn't mind havin' a few extra hours. Off we went to see Sam's old friends, buy cattle, an' raise a little hell.
It was mid September when we took our first trip. I made sure Sam's old pickup was in good shape, filled the thermos with coffee an' made it out to Bushland by six that morning. He was sittin' on his front porch waitin' for me. He came carryin' a little blue bag before I could get out of the truck.
"Well, I see your ready," I said as I climbed out of the truck.
"I was born ready," he handed me his bag. "Your wife ain't mad at you for goin' is she?"
"No," I said. She reckons I won't get in no trouble runnin' 'round with you."
"That Linda is a fine gal, but I already seen she ain't much of a judge of character."
"I'm markin' that down," I said. "Now let's get to goin'."
The plains don't change much from Texas north nor west. The old expression goes: "There ain't nothing between Texas an' the north pole but barbwire fence." In the summer time I have heard it said, "there ain't nothin between Texas an' hell but a barbwire fence." The plains don't suit ever'body. The lack of trees except at water, an' the endless horizon make some folks uncomfortable. The everlastin' wind, the isolation, an' the extremes of weather have driven away all but the strongest souls Sam dozed off for the better part of a couple of hours. He came 'round when I stopped the truck at a small convenience store to stretch an' use the rest room. He complained about stoppin' so soon after leavin', but he was the first one in the bathroom. When I came out he was talkin' with the girl at the counter, a frazzled blond with empty eyes.
"You ever notice how folks got less manners the further you go out of Texas," Sam said when we climbed back in the truck.
"Well, that gal looked purty wrung out, but I have noticed folks ain't quite as friendly when you cross over into New Mexico."
"There is reasons for that. It could be the raisin', but I reckon it's the water," I looked sidewise an' could see his grin broaden.
"I know damn well I'll be sorry for askin', but what the hell could the water have to do with it? I demanded.
"There's a lot more alkali in the water as you comes into Texas."
"Alkali in the water! That don't do a damn thing but make you a hell of lot more regular, or worse."
"There's something to be said for regularity. Always askin' for the use of the facilities makes folks a good deal more polite. 'Minds me, I called up Prunes last week. He's goin' to meet us at his place."
I chawed on that for a while. I'd met Prunes, who owns a bar in Roswell, an' Billy, a hard rock miner from Colorado, when they came to visit Sam in Bushland. I cooked beans, cornbread, an' souse meat for all of 'em. That night there was more whiskey drinkin' than I could handle. I ended up on the couch, an' in the doghouse for about a week for not callin' home. I figured on a big lunch an' a large glass of milk to face an evening with Sam an' Prunes.
Sam went back to snoozin' an' I got lost in the unendin' skyline as the miles rolled on by. We stopped for lunch in one of those big time truckstops with the standard American menu.We sat down an' ordered. Sam began to look around. "They used to call these fellers knights of the road. Them days are gone I reckon."
"I remember what they were like when I was a kid," I said. "If you broke down or had any trouble out on the road they'd stop an' help you. Today you'd be lucky if they didn't run right over you!"
"Sometimes it seems like ever'thing is goin' that away. World's in to much damn hurry to get to nowhere. I think sometimes I'm gettin' old an' just don't care for all the new."
"Gettin' ole an' cranky don't make you wrong," I said an' grinned at him.
The grub was a bad saddle with a loose cinch, greasy, tasteless, an' skimpy."No wonder these fellers ain't knights no more," Sam said. "Iffin I had to eat such ever' day I'd turn outlaw."
We were both relieved to get back to the road. After a few miles Sam fell asleep again. I figured I was in for a hell of night. He'd get there rested up an' ready to raise a ruckus. He came to in late afternoon when I slowed down comin' in to Roswell.
"Place sure has changed since I come out here with Mandy in '32. There wasn't hardly a damn thing here then," Sam said lookin' around.
"There ain't hardly a damn thing here now," I replied as we drove past the jumble of drive ins an' cheap motels.
"You know, Slim, I think you was born too late."
"Your more'n likely right, I always did have bad timin'."
"Pull in over there, that's Prune's place."
I pulled into the parkin' lot in front of what looked to be an old frame, two story house recently painted red. A sign over the front porch proclaimed in big yellow letters: "THE BARN."
"Prunes opened this place back in thirty four or five. Him, Eleanore, an' two kids lived in back in them days. Lord, 'cept for the new paint she don't look no different," Sam said as we walked toward the front door.
The inside was dark, but it had a warmth that few bars enjoy. The lights were cherry reds an' yellows. The big brown mahogany bar backed with mirror dominated the big room. Prunes was behind the bar, a small stooped feller with thick glasses. Only four or five customers sat at tables around the room. The juke box was grindin' out something old an' country.
"Lookie here, they musta swept out Texas!", Prunes yelled out when he saw us come up to the bar. We both gave Prunes a howdy.
A young Mexican woman behind the bar came over to see about the ruckus that Prunes was raisin'.
"Maria, I know what these two are havin'. You go get me two of them ole dram glasses."
Maria went to a shelf high up on the mirror an' brought back two glasses that looked to be double shot. She wiped 'em down with a new bar towel an' Prunes poured them brim full with Wild Turkey.
"Now there's a proper drink for a feller," Prunes said.
"You ain't drinkin'?" Sam asked.
"You know I never do this side of the bar."
"Well you could walk 'round to this side," Sam said.
"Get another glass. I reckon it's a special occasion." Prunes came round the bar an' raised his leg on the rail beside Sam. Prunes grinned over at me. "Slim, you better be on the lookout, hangin' 'round with this ole road agent'll get you a reputation for a long rope."
Sam squinted sidwise at Prunes. "Now you know a cook always did make more than a pore ole cowboy, an' a barkeep more than the both of 'em."
"Quit pickin' an' start sippin'," I said.
They left off worrin' one another for a while an' we almost got through the refill 'fore they said a word.
"You seen ole Willy?" Sam asked Prunes.
Prunes scratched his head. "He was in 'bout four days ago. I tole him you was a-commin'. I hate to say it, but damn I sure wish he'd take a bath fore he comes in here. I mean to tell you he smells 'bout like death eatin' on a cracker."
"I figured me an' Slim I'd go out an' see him tomorrow. I got to check on some cows in the mornin', but I figure on the afternoon free."
"You don't eat nothing out there. You hear me Slim, You don't stay for supper not even at gun pint!" Prunes said to me.
"Don't make him out worse than he is." In the mirror I saw Sam Wink at Prunes.
"I don't know about tomorrow, but iffin' I don't eat you all'll end up carryin' me out of here."
"Maria!" Prunes yelled out. "Call up your mamacita an tell 'er were sendin' over two hungry men. Tell her two big bowls of red an' plenty tortillas. That suit you Slim?"
"I'm chawin' on 'er already."
"It ain't but over cross the road an' down a piece. Maria's mom cooks up the best Mexican grub round these parts. You get filled up an' come on back an' have another drink."
We had our supper an' it was as advertised. I can turn out a pretty good Mexican dish, but I'll be damn if it can hold a candle to the real thing. What it comes down to is time. Maria's mama don't never stop cookin', starts in the mornin' an' don't quit till after supper. She starts her chili at sunup an' by supper time it has a whole day worth of flavor.
I got off lucky that evenin'. When we was done with our dinner we went back to Prunes' place, but only had one more drink. Even so the world was goin 'round an' 'round a little when we bedded down at an old motel 'bout a block from Prunes.
The next mornin' we ate Mexican again, an' went out of town to the west a ways to look at some cattle. We didn't buy a one. Sam said they looked too good to put on much weight over the winter, an' the price was too high. After lunch, Mexican again, we went north of town an' looked over another small herd.
Late in the afternoon we headed south toward the Mesa. When we turned off the main road onto Willy's place the country changed some from the plain to low rollin' hills. You could tell we were headed toward a river or a creek. The first thing we come to was a herd of mules, 'bout twenty, blockin' the road. I hit the horn.
"Hell," Sam said. "Look at that, ever' damn one at least a yearlin' an' ain't seen a saddle or a bridle. What in hell is Willy up to? Pull on up, Slim, they'll move. Honkin' won't do a damn thing. They ain't afraid of a little noise."
"They look wild an' then some," I said as we moved slowly forward an' the mules grudgingly moved aside.
Sam pulled off his hat an' scratched his head. "You know you couldn't break one of these devils if you had a rock for a head an' a heart. He's let 'em go wild!"
The place was visible from a long way off, a collection of old junk trailers, a big unpainted barn, an' a small rock house all scattered on the edge of thick cottonwoods that marked the river.
"House was an ole stage stop way back when," Sam frowned, "He sure has piled up the sh*t ever'where."
The door of the house opened as we got out of the truck. Four mangy lookin' dogs come out from behind the house lookin' to find out if we was food or fun. A small thin feller stepped out the front door of the house an' started yellin' at the dogs. He was dressed in dusty jeans a dark western shirt an' a hat so dirty an' chewed up you couldn't tell the color. When he come closer you could see a face marked with pride an' years in hard weather. He wore a western scarf 'round his neck in the manner fellers did way back when. Sam an' me got out of the truck an' did the formal introduction. Willy wasn't no easy figure. He was suspicious. I thought it might be for anyone he didn't know an' most that he did.
We went into the house, an' there ain't no describin' it. The front room was the kitchen. It was piled high with dishes pans an' pots not a one clean. There was a big ole gray cat prowlin' round on top the round table in the center of the room. You couldn't tell what color the stove might have been. The pans on top were swimmin' with ole grease an' their was a big open bucket of lard on the counter by the stove. Two more cats were roamin' 'round the floor, an' what a floor it was. I thought for a minute the place had dirt floors 'till I realized it was what had settled in over time. I swear there was even bones throwed down all over in the dirt.
Willy offered us coffee which we neither one took. We went into the room behind which was some better as it was the livin' room. A big room that ran all the way to the back of the house. I couldn't sit down, but Sam managed to find a wooden rocker after a moment of figurin' on how best to avoid a dose of the fleas. I quick excused myself. I told 'em I needed to stretch my legs. I had to get out of that place bad.
"Watch out up 'round them trailers. There is a bunch of yeller jackets up in there," Willy yelled after me.
I felt a lot more comfortable outside. It warn't no different than the inside, but there was a lot more room to spread out the mess. Ever'where was junk an' trash dumped where she fell, but as I walked down toward the river it all thinned out an' the trees took over. The sun was beginnin' to fall low. I sat down up next to a tree an' kinda dozed off 'till I heard Sam hollerin' me.
When I got back to the house there was just a taste of dusty afternoon light left. Sam was ready to go, but before we left I ask the both of them if I could make their picture together. It seemed to please the both of them. I got my 35mm out of my camera bag in the truck an' had the both of them stand in the road with the old unpainted barn behind 'em. "Now look like them bad outlaws you see in them ole pitures," I yelled at 'em. I swear when Sam put his are 'round Willy an' dropped his hand down on Willy's shoulder a little puff of dust come up off Willy. I took a couple more shots an' packed up the camera while they said there good-byes. I shook hands with Willy an' we got into the truck an' made our getaway. I could still see Willy wavin' in the mirror when the topped the first hill.
"Lord God, I knowed he was bad, but he never come close to that in his younger days," Sam said shakin' his head. "You know the inside plummin' in the bathroom don't work no more. I'll bet he ain't had a bath in a year. He tole me he used the bathtub to cure hams. He invited us for dinner, but I tole him you had to get back to town an' all your wife. I think he figured you had the apron strings tied on tight."
"I seen some range rats," I said, "but I ain't never seen the like of that place."
The sunset was commin' on strong an' fine. The air was already takin' on a chill. It was a long ride out. I went slow an' easy. It was early dark long before we reached the front gate. We topped a little hill an' there were the mules again. They had gathered all 'cross the road; their breath makin' plumes of steam in the cool of the dark. I stopped the truck a little way from 'em an' shut off the engine. We sat in the silence for a minute watchin' the mules watch us.
"How can you figure a feller like that?" Sam asked. "Did you see his boots?"
"You mean them burns on the sides an' bottoms? I seen that before in the north country. When we went in the livin' room I saw the burns out from the fire place. It's a damn fool thing to do alone or not. I knowed an ole man up in Montana burned up that way. Put a big log end on into the fire place 'cause he was too lazy to chop 'er up. He fell asleep with his feet up on 'er like Willy's been doin'. Only that ole feller never woke up when the fire come up the log on his boots an' set the house afire."
The mules moved a little but didn't act too interested in gettin' off the road.
Sam took off his hat an' ran his hand through his fine grey hair. "I get an itch just thinkin' bout that place. He's run ever'body who ever cared 'bout him off. He ran off the kids when they put paint on the barn while he was on a trip up north. He come home seen their handywork, an' run 'em off the place. His wife left him a little while after. He never was like that when she was in the house. No woman'd put up with them ways."
I pushed myself back from the steerin' wheel an' shook my head. "Run 'em off for paintin' the barn. Now that's a hard man!"
"Slim, I don't talk much 'bout Mandy. I never figure you nor no one else wants to hear a feller cry in his beer. I miss 'er something awful at times. I wake up in the night, reach for 'er an' she ain't there. She's been gone now for ten years. I never will get over missin' 'er. She used to yell at me for wearin' my spurs in the house or trackin' mud in her kitchen. I hated it back in then days, her yellin' at me for something like that. I'd give ever'thing I own, ever'thing, just to see 'er like that one more time, mad as a cat, spittin' hell at me. I never knew how much I loved 'er, even when she was like that, 'till after she was gone."
I reached my hand out to touch his shoulder.
"Slim, how can he be like that? Run ever'body who cares 'bout him away. Bones on the damn floor, he's livin' like an' ole coyote."
"He ain't likly to die of no disease. He's done made friends with ever' damn germ there is!"
Sam laughed an' punched my arm. "You ain't no good Slim. Here I am feelin' sorrowful an' you make me laugh."
The mules finally grew tired of their game an' moved off the road. I started the truck, put 'er in gear, an' we went on our way.
