My Britches

South of the Forth Pierce Wash and east a mile or two from Tomato Can Spring is an area with several hundred acres of "old man brush" growing on flat sandy ground that tips toward the wash. It was now after sundown as the herd of about 2600 head of ewes with lambs trailed through this big patch of brush. For some strange reason, Lewis Black gathered them into a tight bunch and told me that we would spend the night here.

This was my second season herding sheep when I was 13 and Lewis was in his early 20's. Sheep don't like to bed on a brushy flat, nor do they eat that type of brush very well. We pulled our camp off the pack horse next to the herd, started a fire and fixed supper. As we crawled into bed a big bright moon rose from beyond the Hurricane Rim.

Lewis was very hard of hearing and I knew it would be my job to wrangle the sheep if they left the bed ground. In my sleep the tinkle of sheep bells told me they were leaving, so I got up and pulled on my shoes. With my shirt tail flapping in the breeze, I trotted out around the herd. With the dogs help I soon had them gathered in a bunch, going back to where I thought the bed ground and camp were located, but I could not find our bed.

Old man brush grows about 3 feet high, looks somewhat like sagebrush but has long pliant stems that give it a soft wavy appearance. I walked here and there looking for the bed, then moved the sheep to another location and searched some more. The brush was so high and thick that with the bed rolls flat on the ground a feller would have to walk right over the top to see it. A yell or holler for Lewis was futile because he couldn't hear. The night was chilly and how I wished for my britches, not only would they help keep my legs and bottom warm, but there were matches in the pocket with which to build a fire for warmth. As I continued to search for 3 or 4 hours, I longed for Lewis to wake up and miss me.

Finally, I walked into the right place and there it lay. My, how glad, I was. That bed had been like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Never, never again did I jump out of bed to round up sheep without first pulling on my britches.

1950 Old biddie won't claim lamb

1950 Doing time on Glendale Ranch

1950