Coffin Nails

Meb had a big bunch of cattle in the holding pasture at Grassy Mountain Spring. We had been gathering them for several days and he figured to trail them over to his place at the base of the Hurricane Rim. It was Fall time and this bunch of cattle most all needed to be shipped to market. Old cows and others that didn't produce a calf every year, and some cully in body, some wild and ornery ones. We turned them out on the north of the pasture up through cedar trees growing on Gyppy hills. They were glad to get out and were looking to get away to places of peace and solitude. The idea of being shipped to market wasn't to their liking at all. Many bovine hooves trotting on that gypsum formation caused a hollow rumble that spooked the already anxious critters into a run which tripled the noise that turned the action into a regular stampede. Meb and I did some fast riding for awhile to point them north and keep them somewhat together. They slowed down pretty good in a couple of miles.

One ornery yellow Brahma cow kept quitting the bunch to go off through the trees by herself. It took one of us full time to keep track of her. When we got out into the open flats Meb's patience had worn down as thin as his Prince Albert tobacco rolling paper. So he shook out a loop and busted that ornery critter hard on her back, then trussed up her legs. While I held up the bunch he took out a curved needle from his chaps pocket and sewed her eyelids to the hide below. His stitching wasn't too neat and when he let her up she could see just a little bit. She soon found another cow critter and was real careful not to let that set of hocks out of her sight for the rest of the drive.

By noon or before we had trailed around to the north end of Grassy Mountain and were headed down a long draw toward Mule Canyon. After awhile the bottom ledged up and a narrow trail climbed out along the easterly side of the canyon. Here the cattle had to string out, single file, to make the passage. This was new country to them and none wanted to take the lead so Meb rode his horse above them to where he could thunk the leaders with rocks. I pushed the drags and we finally got them stringing out down the trail. We were back in the bottom by dark and here we took our bed and grub off the pack horse. We figured they couldn't go back except over that trail and we would stop any such try.

Pretty quick Meb started mumbling and cussin under his breath. "What's the matter," I asked, thinking something bad had gone wrong. "I've lost my can of P.A." he said. "Probably dropped out of my shirt pocket when I was off my horse throwing rocks." He stomped around some more grumbling. "Oh, that's too bad, but you got some more there at home, probably get there by tomorrow night."

What's he making such a fuss about? It's dark as pitch and I'm so tired all I want to do is climb into bed, don't even matter if there is some bumps and rocks under it. I pull off my boots and pants and climb in with my shirt tail night gown.. Then I hear a horse headed back up the trail. What's the matter with him? He can't find nothing in this black night, besides this bed is a lot better than an ol' cigarette.

Sometime later, I don't know how long, I'm faintly aware that he crawled into bed with me. (Cowboys and other men working on the range used the same bed to lighten the load and bulk on a pack horse.)

Next morning I ask Meb if he found his P.A. "Yep, it was right where I thought I'd lost it. I rode back to that spot and struck a few matches and there it was." He seemed quite happy and cheerful.

During the night some of the cattle had drifted down into Mule Canyon, but when we counted, they were all there. At the Alcorn place Meb roped ol' Yeller Cow and took the stitches out of her eyelids. Aside from doing considerable blinking, that operation did her a lot of good. It took most of that cantankerous nature right out of her.