Page 40 - Ninety Miles From Nowhere

That summer I watched my first round up. The Dub Evans Ranch, or Slash Ranch, was the largest ranch in our vicinity, and I loved to sit on the top rail of the corral fence, well out of everybody’s way, to watch the branding.
Dub’s daughter Pansy roped the calves from her horse and pulled them near the branding fire. Next someone on the ground would tie their legs with “piggin’ strings,” while Pansy went after another calf. When the calf was tied, one person branded it, another gave it a shot of hoof-and-mouth- disease serum, while still others dehorned and castrated the bull caves. The dehorning was done with a spoon-like instrument which gouged out the tiny embryo horns.
It was all done with clock-work precision and great efficiency.
I was really quite a walker in those days, and one trip I made occasionally was to Dixie’s. On the level I could walk four miles an hour but the intervening hills slowed me down somewhat so that I averaged only about three miles an hour on these trips. I could still walk there, have a good visit, and walk home before sundown.
Many late evenings I walked down to Warren’s store, ostensibly to buy a quart of fresh milk, but mostly for companionship, I’d say. Sometimes I’d stay too long visiting, so was after dark getting home. If the moon was shining, there was no problem, but one night it was as black as the inside of a cat. I could not even see my hand before my face, so kept wandering off the road. Suddenly I heard the loud unmistakable rattle of a rattlesnake, and I know I must have jumped ten feet.
In the spring the Warren’s had come from Clayton, N.M., and had homesteaded along Railroad Canyon, about three and a half miles south of Dad’s cabin. They started a small grocery store in their home which later became the gathering place for the whole community, not only for making purchases but to exchange the latest news.
Mr. Warren was a big tease and called me “Half Pint”. I told him a squirrel had been removing the daubing and chinking from a spot in the lower part of one wall and coming into my cabin. I would awake and find the squirrel sitting on his haunches on the floor, looking at me, and chattering away. Mr. Warren said, “All squirrels like nuts.”
Later on when he had to be away overnight, Mrs. Warren always sent for me to stay with her. She was deathly afraid of staying alone. On one of these occasions, I learned that she thought Mr. Warren called me “Half Pint” because I could drink a half pint of whiskey — instead of the real reason which was because I was only five feet tall and weighed ninety pounds!
One old-time cowboy who came to the store regularly was Pete Davis whom I had seen the first time when he appeared unannounced at my cabin, riding a mule. He came in and just sat with his hat on. As lunchtime approached, he went outside, chopped some wood and brought in an armload. I had never seen the man before, but considering that he was well behaved (he called me “Ma’am”), and remembering the custom of feeding anyone who came by, I took the hint and prepared lunch. He removed his hat as he sat down to the table, then put it back on again as he got up. He was very bald.