The Last Cowboy

by Sheila Jecks

sliver comes peekin’ round the side o’ the mountain, all timid like, you can’t take your eyes off it. Soon fiery fingers come slinkin’ down the shadowy pass, then in jus’ a speck of time there she is in all her glory, an’ it’s warm an’ you know it’s gon’a be a great day.

  A few jackrabbits was still out lookin’ for some greens, a coyote was out lookin’ for some jackrabbits. I kept watchin’ to see if they met up. The birds was feasting on last year’s crown on the saguaro. Everywhere I looked, there was life.

  We took the old road on the west side of the cabin an’ we came to a wide arroyo. He was right; grease bushes was piled up ‘round the only place that was sloped enough for a animal like a cow or horse to get down t’ drink, if, of course, there was water.

  I got off the horse, an’ the old man said, “Pull the bushes away, the cows will be here soon and they’ll need a drink.”

  I looked at the arroyo.

  That creek bed was dry as dust!

  The old man was still at those memories. Weren’t never goin’ a be no cattle here.

  But money was money, and I did what the old man told me t’.

  Later that morning, we went back to the cabin and had a big breakfast. That old woman sure could cook!

  I gave the horses a good drink of water and off we went again, him in his old white Stetson and me in my baseball cap.

  The next day, and the days after that was all the same. Up at 5:30, eat, ride an’ sleep, an’ next day, do it again. I had to find a better hat than my baseball cap, the days was gettin’ hotter!

  We was just short of two weeks when I got up that mornin’ and looked at the sky. Weren’t blue no more, more a cloudy, hazy grey turnin’ blue black at the edges. Seemed kind of hard t’ breathe too. I went inside to let the old man know we weren’t ridin’ today.

  “Looks like a storm’s makin’ to come up,” I says.

  “Too bad young man,” he said, “we can’t stay home today and lie in bed, we’ve got to get ready to bring in the herd, they’ll be here by nightfall.”

  I didn’t have to look out the window to know there weren’t no way a herd o’ cattle or anythin’ else for that matter was goin’ to come in here tonight.

  No corral, no nothin’ and only me, an’ I hadn’t done any wranglin’ or ropin’ since I was a pup. Besides, forgot everythin’ I ever knew!

  The old man said, “don’t worry, the herd will come through here on their way to the water, you’ll see.”

  The bitty clouds was startin’ to collect into big cottony bunches, and the light seemed to be gettin’ extra bright.

  I knew what was comin’.

  “Come on old man,” I said as I jumped off the porch, and ran t’ the barn. I had t’ nail the building down, it was goin’t get blowed away and the horses’d run. Didn’ have a phone an’ who knew how long it’d be afor someone come to check on us. If the horses were gone, it was a long, long walk t’ town.

  It was just my luck. I almost had ‘nough money to pay for the kid’s baseball camp and now this had to happen.

  In the barn I opened the stall doors, so if the barn roof started t’ blow away the horses’d be able get out afore it came down an’ killed ‘em.

  I ran to the house and grabbed two pails from the kitchen and took ‘em to the pump and filled ‘em with water as fast as I could. Whatever happened, we’d need water. I found two more pails outside and filled them for the horses too. I knew it wasn’t enough, but it was the best I could do.

  The clouds were runnin’ now, rollin’, an’ bumpin’ into each other. They were moving so fast it was hard to watch. The sky was a blue-black haze now and it looked crazy because the pink air was so clear you could see tomorrow. The air crackled and snapped, and the black clouds hung lower.

  Nothin’ moved on the ground, everythin’ waited!

  I ran to the cabin to take the chairs inside. But the old man just sat and watched the sky, he wouldn’t budge.

  “Come on, old man,” I hollered over the noise of the wind that’d just picked up, “you got t’ get in the cabin. It’s goin’a storm somethin’ fierce!”

  He paid me no mind, he only had eyes for the clouds and now the lightening started to split the sky. Holy Mother of God! I was seein’ the end of the world!

  “Get in the house,” I yelled over the crashin’ thunder, “here comes the rain!”

  The black clouds opened up the flood gates an’ rain came pounding out. Drops so big and hard they would’a killed a new born calf. I pushed and bullied the old man into the cabin and slammed the door shut. The rain had hail in it now, and was pinging off the door and windows.

  “Quick,” I yelled, “grab a pillow and hold it on the windows, the hail can break the glass. The old man seemed t’ come out of it then, and ran as best he could t’ get a pillow from the bedroom. Ramona and I struggled to keep the big window that looked on t’ the porch from breakin’.

  Just when we were about t’ give up, the rain stopped short. We dropped our pillows, looked at each other and the three of us smiled and laughed.

  I looked out the big window and saw the sun sittin’ on a rainbow! “Come outside,” I said and helped him and the old woman out to the porch.

  Steam was risin’ from all the water lying everywhere makin’ everything look shiny an’ new. I got the two old chairs from the cabin out again an’ said, “sit here.”

  You could see the huge rainbow. It’s ‘pot o’ gold’ end was just over the barn. The biggest brightest bow o’ colors I ever did see. I looked at the old man but he wasn’t lookin’ at the rainbow, he was lookin’ at the rim of the desert. I looked an’ saw a small dust cloud way out and it was gettin’ bigger and bigger.

  Now I could see cows runnin’! I couldn’t believe my eyes. Where’d they all come from?

  The old man was standin’ by the porch rail, I swear he looked 50 years younger. He was cussin’ an’ yellin’, wavin’ that white hat at the cattle as they careened past us on the way t’ the water in the arroyo.

  Then he sat down, all old again an’ watched. Couldn’ be sure, but I thought I saw a tear run down that wrinkled old face.

  He looked at the old woman and said, “Just one more thing Ramona, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  I went in and helped the old woman straighten up, she was tired and all war’ out, but she wouldn’ let up. Not until it looked all neat and clean, like it did before the storm.

  I said, “go sit outside, I’ll get supper.” She looked at me an’ her old eyes filled up and she went out and sat down.

  The cows were bawlin’ an’ wheezin’ their way back from the arroyo. Didn’t know what we were gon’t’ do about them stampin’ an’ millin’ all over the yard. We didn’t have no cowhands to herd ‘em together so they just went where they pleased.

  The old man sat on the porch and watched the cows.

  Couldn’t seem to take his eyes off ‘em.

  I finally got some supper goin’, just cold ham from the icebox and a can of beans I found under the sink. I knew they were both tired, so after we ate an’ I did the dishes, they went t’ bed an’ I went out to the bunkhouse.

  I couldn’t do nothin’ about the cows all by myself, so I thought tomorrow the owner will be ridin’ up looking for ‘em. Let him look for the strays, would serve him right for letting ‘em get away like that and not one cow hand come to see where they went.

  I had the strangest dream that night! So real I believed it true when I got up the next day. I couldn’t stop thinking about it either, while I dressed and was gettin’ the horses ready for the mornin’ ride.

  I went over to the porch expectin’ the old man to be waitin’ for me, but there was no one on the porch. I knocked on the door an’ no one answered so I pushed it open an’ couldn’t believe my eyes.

  The place was empty!

  Not just empty, but empty a long time. Dust, cobwebs, and mice shit everywhere. I looked in the kitchen an’ the bedroom. No people, no nothin’ just old worn out rickety furniture.


  An’ me.

  No one’s been in this ol’ cabin for a long, long time, I thought as I looked at the thick dust and sand on the floor. My tracks was the only ones that showed.

  On th’ table was a envelope with my name on it. I grabbed it and ran outside. My heart was poundin’ in my head so hard I could hardly see. But I looked in the envelope an’ my wages was all there, all the money I needed for the boy’s baseball. I couldn’t hardly believe it.

  Now you can believe me or not, but I stood outside the cabin with the money in my hand an’ looked around. No barn, no horses, no cows, just me. And when I turned back t’ look, no cabin either.

  I walked over t’ where the bunkhouse was an’ there was my bedroll and backpack sittin’ on the sand.

  Nothin’ else for it so I pick up my kit an’ start walkin’ down the road back to Phoenix. An hour or so later a fancy car comes racin’ past me goin’ my way so I stuck out my thumb hopein’ for a ride. But he jus’ kept on goin’.

  I was kinda glad he did, ‘cause he sure looked like that Mr. Greeves t’ me.

  # # #

  Hi Everyone, I hope you enjoyed my story. The stories of the old West aren’t all of drunken louts that drank too much, shot everyone they saw and pillaged every town they came to. This story is dedicated to my old neighbour across the street who loved to tell the old stories, he was always young again with the retelling.

  Sheila S. Jecks