Cows, Trail Dust and Poker

The celebration of the American Revolution in 1976 was a memorable one for me. I was working as a reporter for the Phoenix Gazette, a daily newspaper in Phoenix, AZ., and my City Editor Vic Thornton came up with an interesting assignment for me.

'You like to ride horses, don't you?" Vic said. "How'd you like to go on a trail drive?'

A rancher in Arizona wanted to celebrate America's bicentennial by driving 300 head of cattle 100 miles. He planned to use cowboys on horseback to drive the cattle and he had extended the invitation to any reporters who wanted to come along for the ride.

That was how I met some real cowboys. We met near a ranch just outside Douglas, Arizona, and after a breakfast of chorizo, beans and eggs, kicked down with strong coffee, I mounted a horse and joined the cattle drive.

The wranglers almost all had nicknames: Hoss, Bronco, Rattlesnake and Pete. Their faces were creased and burned by the sun, wind and occasional rain, and they rode their horses like they were born to ride.

I was instructed to stay outside of the cattle, off to the right. If any cows broke my way, I was to ride to their outside an herd them back to the center. Nothing to it.

Really?

We drove the cattle through a small town and the people turned out to welcome us. They lined the streets by the hundreds and we rode proudly through their community. About 20 cows suddenly broke from the herd and began running through people's backyards, tearing down washlines and toppling over backyard barbecues. We followed them and somehow got them back into the herd. No wonder they paid John Wayne so much money to make those western movies.

At night we camped near a dry river bed. A sleeping bag was tossed to me and one of the wranglers said, 'We're having a poker game tonight in a Mexican bar about half mile down the road. Do you play poker?'

My backside was sore, but my ears perked up at the words. 'Sure,' I said, wondering if I had the strength to climb out of my bag and make it to the poker table.

That night I rode in a pickup truck to the bar. Several attractive senoritas greeted us with homemade bean burritos along with tasty beef and ice cold cerveza or beer. Then they led us to the poker table where a distinguished looking gentleman with a mustache was dealing cards.

'Gentlemen, take your seats,' he said. 'The game is about to begin.'

While coyotes howled in the distance, we drank a lot of beer and tequila and played cards that night. I won and I lost but I made friends and had fun. The cowboys were more interested in camaraderie than playing poker and the game went well. There was a minor fight when one of the wranglers challenged another player's right to the pot. He was forcibly told to simmer down and somebody helped him out of his chair and another cowboy took his place.

'Red never could mix his liquor and his poker,' another cowboy said, shaking his head.

I ended up in the back of the pickup truck where I spent the night in my sleeping back. In the morning, I was awakened by the sound of splashing water. I looked out of the bed of the pickup and saw a cowboy bending over the horse trough. Ice had formed on the water during the night and he had broken through the ice to wash his face.

'Come on and join me,' he said, grinning. 'This is a cowboy's cure for a hangover.'

I rode with the wranglers about 30 miles before heading back to Phoenix to write my story. It was one of the better experiences of my life. At the end of the trail, the rancher butchered a steer and served all of us a great steak dinner with hot apple pie and ice cream.

'How'd you like being a cowboy? ' he said.

'It couldn't have been better,' I said. 'Pass the pie.'