Where the Wild Ones Are!

By Patrick M. Browning

Hunting wild cattle is a dying art, now days every kid with a horse and a rope thinks he is a 'Wild Cow' man. Most are having a lot of trouble just trying to be a man! Those of us that have filled many 'Remnant Contracts' for both Banks and Ranchers, find it both amusing and aggravating that these fellows think that they can under bid the m

• Language: English
• Publisher: Westwood Books Publishing
• Release date: May 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685366117

Patrick M. Browning

Patrick M Browning has spent his life Cowboying all over the west and deep into Old Mexico, managing some of the largest cattle and horse ranches in both countries. These many years in the saddle have given him the advantage of a perspective and knowledge of his subject matter, few writers of our generation have the benefit of drawing from. His works on Contemporary Cowboy life have a true to life feeling and flavor that only comes with actual experience. PMB, 'Lives the life he writes, and Writes the life he lives!"

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Copyright © 2022 by Patrick M. Browning.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Westwood Books Publishing LLC

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 1

Hunting wild cattle is a dying art; nowadays, every kid with a horse and a rope thinks he is a ‘wild cow’ man. Most are having a lot of trouble just trying to be a man! Those of us who have filled many ‘remnant contracts’ for both banks and ranchers, find it both amusing and aggravating that these fellows think that they can underbid the men that have actually done this work for decades and still be able to make it a paying proposition.

This entire business, like many others, is based on numbers. How many animals are left on a certain range? How many you have to catch and remove to fill your contract and how much you get for each animal successfully caught and brought in either to the home ranch or to the sale yard? How much for the entire job regardless of numbers? The return or the delivery destination, makes no real difference unless you have a long haul to either one. The costs of moving the cattle any long distance needs to be calculated into your bid to perform the gather.

When a bank or other lending institution forecloses on a rancher for defaulting on their agreement in some way. The last step they want to make is to take the cattle back. They have no use for cattle and do not have the wherewithal to gather and turn them into a tangible asset. That is where the ‘wild cow’ man comes into the picture.

The bank can usually hire a neighbor to help gather the ranch and get the preponderance of the more gentle cattle removed, but the wilder smarter cattle require a wilder smarter hand to locate, capture, and remove them from their home range.

Most of these wannabe wild cow hunter kids, have actually talked themselves into believing that they have all the necessary skills and knowledge to ‘clean’ a ranch of these surplus animals. Sadly, being a young and dumb arena roper, is not enough to disqualify a fellow from this kind of work and in some cases, both young and dumb can be quite beneficial.

"What is most often lacking in any substantial quantity are experience and common sense. The absence of either of these is extremely detrimental to the success of a wild cow hunt. A typical conversation with a bank loan officer, who is new to acquiring the assistance of a ‘wild cow’ man, usually goes like this:

Boone, that is more than young Mr. X said he would gather it for! He agreed to clean it the cattle of for just $50.00 for every cow he caught, bank man says.

$100.00 a head is my price, but you go ahead and hire Mr. X. Then when he leaves most of the cattle out there and you call me to gather his remnant of the original remnant, my price will be $250.00 a head. You have my number, have a nice day, Boone would say.

After the new banker gets burned a time or possibly two, he will take Boone’s price and have him clean all the cattle off the foreclosed-on range. Some bankers eventually get wise and set a minimum number of animals that must be cleaned off, before they will pay anything. This has all but stopped these young hot shots from coming in and gathering a small percentage of the remnant cows and then demanding payment on the few they were able to capture and get in.

These young goofs calculate how many cows they need to capture to make a few quick dollars, then pull out leaving the real work to professionals. Remember, ‘figures don’t lie, but lairs can figure.’ So, these would be wild cow men come in and take off the gravy and leave the meat and potatoes for the men that can actually ‘clean up’ the remnant cattle from ranches changing ownership, and have done it for a living.

It is a shame that these good hands always have to charge more per head, after these amateurs have been hired to try to do the job for a cut rate price and really did no more than spook the remaining cattle. This results in a higher cost of clearing a ranch for the bank or new ranch owner, and certainly makes it harder for the real wild cowman to clean.

If the fellow losing the ranch is fortunate enough to be allowed to gather all his cattle, he will be at best, put on a tight deadline and will seldom be able to get them all within the time constraints he is given. A good ‘wild cow’ man can help him gather the largest percentage of cattle possible in this restricted time frame.

Our protagonist was born, Boone Avondale, to an unwed 19-year-old girl named Jane Swenson. She filled out the birth certificate incorrectly on accident and put the town she lived in down as his last name. There was no known father, so Avondale was as good a last name as any, so it stuck.

Jane had been cleaning the houses on the huge Carlyle ranch, out in the desert in southwestern Arizona, when she turned up pregnant. Mr. Carlyle’s wife was convinced that her husband was not the father, and that possibly one of their cowhands was. It may have even been some man from town. Jane partied hard, and although only nineteen, she was more than welcome at all the bars in town and took advantage of their hospitality often.

Boone was the result of one of her bad decisions. Mrs. Carlyle felt sorry for this wild girl, with no family except for them and now little Boone, and she let her keep working for her, continuing to clean the ranch houses. She worked hard, but soon was partying hard again and Mrs. Carlyle spent more time with Boone than Jane was spending with him, and she had had enough.

You have a baby to care for, Jane! I am happy to help, but I am not going to raise him for you, Mrs. Carlyle had said to her.

Things would get better for a while, then Jane would backslide. This went on for six years, until Mrs. Carlyle passed away, from a chronic heart condition. Mr. Carlyle was devastated by her death, and Jane made a move from the maid’s quarters into the owner’s bedroom.

From a very early age, Boone would have coffee with Mr. Carlyle mornings, and Carlyle would scrape a little Mexican chocolate from a cone, into Boone’s cup and say, It only takes a little extra effort to make life nice.

This lasted two years and then Mr. Carlyle discovered that Jane had not slowed down her hard partying ways and he threw her out! He kept Boone as his own, and Jane didn’t seem to care. Time passed, and Boone grew rapidly, as young boys are wont to do! He was everywhere on the ranch where there was any action happening and paid close attention to every move the cowboys made, both good and bad.

Two more years passed and they were wonderful years for Boone. Mr. Carlyle treated him like a son and loved the boy as much as if he was his own flesh and blood.

For Boone’s eleventh birthday, he received an unexpected present. His mother, Jane Swenson showed up with a court order and took Boone away from Mr. Carlyle. The sheriff’s deputies had to restrain John Carlyle, to tear the crying boy out of his arms.

You come back here as soon as you can, son! I love you! Mr. Carlyle cried as they drove away with Boone. Carlyle fell to his knees and wept like a child, as the law chose to take a young boy, who was loved and being cared for by a good man, and give him to a drunken slut, solely because she had given birth to him. So much for child justice.

The law reads, The best interest of the child standard is the basis for most custody decisions, regardless of location. This standard is meant to protect the mental, emotional and physical well-being of a child, and ensure their ‘parents’ are fit to provide them with the best possible upbringing.

The fact that someone is the blood parent of a child, overrides all other common-sense reasoning. So, Boone was ripped from the loving arms of a fine man and successful rancher and given to his whore mother. Ain’t life grand?

The next several years were hard for Boone as his mother lost job after job from her drinking and drug use. He ran away many times, but everyone knew where he was going, so he was caught and brought back to his mother. After several runaways, he was put in a state childcare facility. He tried to call Mr. Carlyle from the home but missed him each time and the Carlyles didn’t have one of those new answering machines that were becoming popular. Boone only had a couple of opportunities when he was even allowed to use a phone, but he never gave up hope.

He started an undertaking to fool the guards and he finally gained the trust of these ‘keepers’ by becoming an exemplary detainee, and once they relaxed their watch over him just a little, he was gone! It was just three months before his sixteenth birthday; he had virtually been held prisoner for the past five years. He did not go to the Carlyle ranch, because he knew they would be looking there for him, so he went east to New Mexico and hung around outside of a church in the little town of Luna.

He waited several days hiding out in the woods near the church until Sunday and watched as the people went in. He chose a couple of men that were wearing boots and carrying cowboy hats. He would approach them when they left the Church service and ask them for work. He was a big kid, and life in a state home had hardened him well beyond his years and he looked like he could work.

When the service was over, he walked up to the first of the men that he had chosen from those going into the Church and politely said, Sir, my name is Boone and I have run away from a state home. I am hungry and have no place to stay. Do you have any work I could do in exchange for a meal?

The big old cattleman’s wife said, Absolutely, young man. Come home with us and I will feed you and we will see if we can’t figure out just what we should do with you.

Ma’am, I truly appreciate your kind offer, but I will have to turn it down. I don’t want or need to be rescued or saved. I just want to work for a meal and, then I will be on my way. Thank you very much just the same.

Well then young man that is all you will receive. Why don’t you eat first, then work to pay for it? I believe it may have been a while since you have had a good home cooked meal! the big man said.

Yes, Sir. It has been five years and four months, Boone said.

The rancher’s wife sighed sadly, and her eyes filled with tears.

The rancher said, I am Phil Hanks and this lady, is my wife Cindy Sue. Jump in the truck and let’s go see if she can break that long hungry streak! She has always been a fine cook and I will bet she has something you might enjoy!

That would be very nice, Sir, but I would like your word there will be no tricks. I am not going to go back there! Boone said politely, but adamantly.

I give you my word. There will be no tricks, young fellow, just a good meal and some wood chopping afterward. We have a fireplace and a wood burning stove that both have unquenchable appetites for fuel! Is that good enough for you? Phil asked.

Yes, Sir. Mr. Carlyle said that a man’s word is his bond, and it is the most precious thing a man has to give! A man should never lie or accept being lied to, ever! Boone said, repeating the wise words of the man he felt was as close to being a father as he would ever have.

Your Mr. Carlyle is a smart man! Phil acknowledged.

Yes Sir, was all Boone said. He was mad at himself for saying the name Carlyle. He knew that it could get him caught and taken back. He would eat and chop enough wood to pay for his meal and then leave. He was mostly upset that he had said Mr. Carlyle’s name, because these looked like really nice folks and he felt he might have liked to stay with them for a while. But he didn’t. He also didn’t wait until after the meal to start cutting the firewood.

When they drove in, Mr. Hanks parked the truck and Boone saw the big pile of lengths of logs and asked, How long would you like the wood cut and split?

The fireplace can handle 2 ft. lengths and in the wood stove about 12 inches works well, Mr. Hanks said.

Boone went straight to the wood pile and started chopping and splitting the wood into useable pieces. He had seen Armando cut wood for the wood burning cook stove, at the cowboy cook shack, on the Carlyle ranch years ago and had paid close attention to exactly how he did it. So even though Boone had never actually cut any wood before himself, he did a very good job of chopping this now.

Before too long, Mrs. Hanks called him to come in and wash up for dinner. He used the bathroom and washed his face and hands and left the room just as clean as it was when he went in. He then came out and sat military straight until all the food had been passed around, then waited for Mr. Hanks to start to eat, before he began. He had expected these churchgoing folks to say a prayer before they ate but did not care that they did not.

He was near starving but did not eat like he was. He ate slowly and politely just like Mr. Carlyle had taught him. When finished he carried his plate to the sink and asked if he could help with the dishes. He was told that Mrs. Hanks would do them and asked if he wanted to get some rest before he moved on. He would have loved to as he had been sleeping on the ground for quite a while and sleeping in a bed sure sounded wonderful.

He had decided to give this a try, but then Mr. Hanks asked him if he would like him to call this Mr. Carlyle for him and let him know he was here and alright. Boone said no and that Mr. Carlyle had died several years ago, even though he had no idea if Carlyle was dead or alive. Boone then asked how much more wood should he chop to pay for his meal and was assured he had already done more than enough.

He said thank you to Mrs. Hanks and goodbye to Mr. Hanks, then left amongst much begging him to stay a while and at least get some rest. He wanted to very much but would not take a chance of being turned in and being forced to go back. He had been cruelly treated back at the home, mainly because of his bad behavior and refusal to comply with all the rules. That is until he started his ruse to make them think they had broken him, and he was going to be a puppet like all the rest of the children there. Then he escaped!

He walked outside and turned around and asked, Please never mention to anyone that I was here. He asked so sadly that both of the Hanks gave him their word they would not. He then disappeared into the woods.

A few days later he walked upon an older fellow and a Mexican man building fence and asked if he could help in trade for something to eat. The older man said, You bet! Dive in and help Ernesto dig these post holes and I will sit here on my butt and watch you two! He handed Boone a digging bar that had to weigh 40 pounds, but the tough kid went to work with it. He and Ernesto dug and set eleven cedar posts and strung new wire closing a gap made by hunters and ATV riders playing in the forest!

Come on, men, jump in the truck and let’s go to the house and see if the old woman has thrown our supper out yet, this friendly old man said.

Boone got into the back of the pickup truck with the fence supplies and posts. There is room up front here, kid. You will freeze back there, the old man said.

I haven’t been anywhere to wash up good in a while, Sir, and I am afraid I don’t smell too good. I will ride back here. Thank you anyway, Boone said.

The old man drove through the forest a long ways and eventually came to a nice little house with a barn and corrals close by. You are not carrying a bag of any kind, Son. Don’t you have any other clothes or even a heavier coat? the man asked.

No. All I have is what I have on, and I don’t mean to be rude, but please don’t call me Son! My name is Boone.

Ok, Boone! I am Jack Riley and you already met Ernesto. My wife is Jenny, and I will bet she would be happier to feed you if you would wash up a bit. Wait here a minute and I will get you some clean clothes to wear for supper. You can shower in the house or go down to the barn. There is a good shower in there. You will need to let the water run for a while before it gets hot. We built the shower too damn far away from the water heater! I’ll get you a towel and a bar of soap, Mr. Riley said.

Boone was cold, dirty, tired, and hungry, so he went along with the plan. This Mr. Riley hadn’t asked him any probing questions yet, except if he had any more clothes so this may be the spot for him. In just a few moments Mr. Riley came back out with some clean clothes a towel and a bar of soap. Here, I don’t think any of this will fit very well but they will do for you to eat supper in, and we will figure something else out for you to wear later. For now, get a shower and put these on. Supper is almost ready, Mr. Riley said.

Boone went down to the barn, and there was a small room with a bunk and a wooden chair and in one corner was a plastic curtain blocking off a shower stall. He turned the water on, and it was ice cold, so he followed Mr. Riley’s advice and let it run for a little while and the steam started rolling out of the little shower stall. Boone stripped and stepped in. He didn’t remember a shower ever feeling so good before.

He scrubbed two weeks of stink off himself and then put on the clothes he had been handed. The pants were too big around and too short, but the shirt came close to fitting. There was a pair of socks but no underwear, so he went commando! He walked back up to the house and as he did, he could see another little building that sat behind and off to one side of the Riley’s. He assumed that was where Ernesto lived.

He walked up to the door that Mr. Riley had gone in and knocked. A kind woman about the same age as Mr. Riley let him in and introduced herself as Mrs. Riley. She was very pleasant, but certainly not gabby.

They had a good meal of stew and biscuits with coffee to drink. Mrs. Riley also sat a glass of water down in front of Boone in case he didn’t drink coffee. He had started drinking coffee hot and black with Mr. Carlyle when he was just a young boy and really enjoyed it, so he drank the coffee.

He looked around and could see that these were people of modest means. They had what they needed, but no more. It was a comfortable home, and these were nice folks. So, when Mr. Riley said, I can’t afford to pay you anything, but the Mrs. will feed you and you can sleep in that bunk in the barn if you want to stay and help Ernesto for a while. If not get yourself some sleep and you can just leave my clothes on the foot of the bunk when you go.

Boone said, I believe I would like to stay here a while, Sir.

Good. We eat breakfast at 6:00 am. Come on up then and we will eat, then get started, Mr. Riley said.

Mrs. Riley said, If you will bring me your dirty clothes, I will wash them and have them ready for you to work in tomorrow.

Boone brought her his old clothes and she said, I will have these ready later this evening. You will need to hang them on something to let them dry overnight, but they will be clean. Come back up before you go to sleep and get them.

Yes Ma’am, thank you very much, Boone said.

He did not see a washing machine but assumed it must be in the back of the little house somewhere. They must not have a dryer, or he wouldn’t need to hang them out. When he got back down to the barn, he ran some hay wire across two 2x4 studs in one corner of his room to hang his clothes on when he got them back from Mrs. Riley.

He laid down on the bed and fell asleep. He had intended to just rest until 8:00 pm and then go get the clothes but was so worn out he more slept soundly than he planned. He woke up at 4:00 am, which had become his habit while living with the old rancher Mr. Carlyle those many years ago and had just stayed with it. The first thing he saw was all his own clothes hanging on the hay wire he had tied across the corner. He changed out of Mr. Riley’s clothes and put his own back on then folded the borrowed clothes neatly and waited until a few minutes before 6:00 am to take the borrowed clothes and walk up to the house.

Mrs. Riley answered his knock on the door and said, Good morning, Boone! I see you found your clothes. I was worried I was going to wake you when I hung them up, but you were sure sleeping soundly. Are you hungry?

Yes, Ma’am. Thank you for washing my clothes. I appreciate it very much. May I help you with anything? he asked the very friendly old woman.

You could bring in a little wood, please. It is supposed to be a cold one today. That reminds me. I hung my lined Wrangler jacket there by the door for you to wear today. I will be inside all day and won’t need it, but you will be helping Ernesto repair more of the elk damaged fences. You will sure want a jacket out there. Mine will come closer to fitting you, and Dad will be needing his.

Boone thought her calling Jack ‘Dad’ was an indication that they must have children, but he did not ask. They had not asked him any personal questions and he was going to respect their personal lives as well.

The door he went in and out of went right into the kitchen, so he hadn’t seen any of the rest of the house but did notice there were no photos of any children in there. In fact, the only two photos in the kitchen were one of Mr. and Mrs. Riley taken not too long ago and he assumed it must be an anniversary photo. The other was a photo of a young man standing next to a trophy saddle holding a new belt buckle up in front of himself. Again, he assumed that it was a photo of a younger Jack Riley! He didn’t ask.

Mr. Riley came in about then and asked how he had slept.

Boone said, Like a dead man, Sir.

My friends call me ‘Dad’ but since you were a bit touchy when I called you son, you can call me Jack or Boss or even Mr. Riley, but don’t call me Sir. Ok?

We will start with Mr. Riley. We had to call the guards ‘Boss’ and I never got along with any of them, Boone said.

Mrs. Riley had a worried look, but did not say anything, so Boone added, I was in a state children’s home, not jail or a reformatory. My only crime was being born to a drunken drug addict mother!

I am very sorry, was all Mrs. Riley said.

Let’s eat and get to work, Mr. Riley suggested.

Mrs. Riley sat the plate of scrambled eggs and a platter of biscuits with gravy made from sausage drippings on the table and sat down to eat with them. She didn’t say a word about the ‘No Meat’ breakfast, and Boone didn’t care anyway. He had gone hungry so many times when he had been with his mother that this was a feast to him.

There was always food at the state children’s home, but was institutional caned, dried or powdered and was never too great. There were many questions that Mrs. Riley would love to ask but did not out of respect for Boone’s privacy. After they finished breakfast, Boone again asked if he could help clean up the breakfast dishes and was told that was her job and that she appreciated his willingness to help, but that she had it covered.

Do you drive? Mr. Riley asked.

Not much! I drove the tractor when I was just a kid. Mom never had a car, and they sure didn’t let me near one at the school, but I am game to try, if it will help any, Boone offered.

Hell! My old truck can’t be any harder than a tractor to drive. Go start it and pull around and pick up Ernesto and you two go down to the barn and load up the fence materials, Ernesto knows what we will need for today, come back here and get me, then we will head out to the reserve allotment and repair the elk damage, Mr. Riley said.

Boone did as he was told and had no trouble. The truck started easily and drove wonderfully. It was old but had been very well maintained. He pulled it up by Ernesto’s and the Mexican climbed in. They then drove down to the barn and loaded up more materials than Boone thought they could possibly need for a day but said nothing and just kept loading until Ernesto was satisfied.

They drove back up to the house, and Mr. Riley came out carrying a sack that turned out to be lunch for the three of them. In it was a large wide mouth thermos, full of pinto beans with green chilies and a couple small pieces of pork fat cooked in them. There was a large tin of Saltines and three empty plastic tubs to use as bowls and three spoons. There was also a large thermos of coffee and three metal cups.

The signs of a simple life were everywhere. Mr. Riley’s jacket elbows had both been patched, the right one, at least twice. Ernesto had a pair of cheap, but heavy gloves for working with the barbed wire, but Mr. Riley worked barehanded. The tools they used were old and worn but taken good care of. Boone enjoyed the work and threw himself into it with the eagerness of youth and both Ernesto and Mr. Riley commented on how well he worked. Ernesto showed him how to stretch the wires correctly and taught him several tricks for how to build fence properly. He spoke very little English, and Boone wished he had learned more