Compadres: A Cowboy Story

By Paul Pumpian

Jeff & Will, aged 10 & 11 met on a Southwest Texas ranch in 1892 and quickly became compadres--lifelong friends. As youngsters, it was predicted that Jeff would spend his adult years manipulating money and Will's time would be spent among adoring women.

Pursuing these goals, the cowboys experienced adventures in saloons

• Language: English
• Publisher: Go To Publish
• Release date: Jul 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781647497002

Paul Pumpian

The author has enjoyed an extremely varied writing career. Once he had completed occupation duty in Germany, he entered UNC where he majored in Communication. Successful publicity work in New York led him to Las Vegas as PR Director of the Flamingo Hotel. He's also held that position for every night club on Hollywood's Sunset Strip. He's written for stand-up comedians, been on the writing staffs of numerous TV Shows and spent 24 years contributing to the "Blondie" comic strip. He and his late wife showed and bred many World and National Appaloosa Horses.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

On August 18, 1892, there could have been no area in Lexington, Kentucky less inviting than the railroad stockyard. On this day the yards’ accustomed aromas were intensified even further by the sweltering humidity.

Wes Cawdry, a tall, sturdy, 40 year old cattleman from Southwest Texas, stood off to one side and nodded his approval as the yard hands led his newly purchased thoroughbred horses from their stalls into the stock cars with swift and professional efficiency.

While Cawdry’s highly successful C/T ranch had firmly established him among the ranching elite, his unpretentious lifestyle was in contrast to the outrageous excesses of many Texas cattle barons.

However, the man did dress according to his station. His shirt and pants were of the finest quality and his Stetson came from that company’s top line. The oval buckle on his belt had been fashioned in silver and displayed a solid gold steer’s head--its horns spanning the entire width. His dress spurs, that jingled his presence with every step, were inlaid with silver and rode the heels of his custom made boots.

Although the barns and corrals of his vast C/T cattle ranch housed some of the finest cow horses in the southwest, Wes was never a man to be complacent. The desire to upgrade the bloodlines of his working stock is the goal that brought him to the bluegrass country of Kentucky where the thoroughbred, also known as the blooded (meaning pure blooded) horse reigned supreme.

Word that a wealthy Texas rancher had come to purchase mares spread like wildfire throughout every horse farm in the area. Here was a golden opportunity to unload their inferior animals on this Texas hick.

As he rode from farm to farm on the ranch horse he brought with him, Wes found himself laughing aloud as the locals attempted to outdo each other in chicanery. He was introduced to animals with bog and bone spavin, those with ringbone and sidebone, some with bowed tendons and curb and others that revealed splints, signs of navicular disease, stringhalt and laminitis. He met horses with parrot mouth and still others with heaves and he rejected them all until the Kentuckians sighed, accepted him as a knowledgeable horseman and began showing him their A stock.

When he found a mare that he truly admired, Wes paid cash from a thick wallet and led his property back to the stable space he had rented in the stockyard. It was no secret that Wes carried a serious amount of money on his person, but robbery was never attempted. This soft-spoken Texan carried a Colt .44 as he traveled about and his preasance gave every indication that he was well versed in the use of it.

Once his last horse had been secured in a railroad car, the yard boss handed Wes two shipping forms for his signature.

That does it Mr. Cawdry, he said, spraying a huge splash of tobacco juice into the dust one dozen thoroughbred mares, destination Cawdry Town, Texas. And you got yerself some mighty fine lookin’ stock.

Wes read the paper thoroughly and only then did he scrawl his name with the air of one accustomed to affixing his name on important documents.

Waal, he said, handing back one of the copies and pocketing the other, it’s took me a good bit of time away from m’ranch and a right smart amount of money to own these here blooded hoses, but in the long run I reckon it’s gonna be wuth it.

You turnin’ ‘em into cow horses?

Nossir, these hosses is purely for breedin’. We don’t hardly work mares on a cattle ranch.

Why’s that?

Some mares can git to bein’ awful cranky an’ unpredictable when they come into season an’ when a man’s workin’ cows a-hossback, he kin have ‘nuff problems as it is without huntin’ up any more. We don’t work too many stud hosses on the ranch neither. Most studs’d rather be fightin’ or fuckin’ then give you a good day’s work. It’s geldins what makes the best cow hosses. Turnin’ a stud hoss into a geldin’ is how we change his thinkin’ from ass to grass. Now tell me, we still pullin’ out at five this afternoon?

Yessir, an’ in this here yard, we run everythin’ on time.

I’ll be back ‘fore then. I’ve need to git into town an’ pick me up ‘nother passenger.

Wes ambled to a fence where his saddled horse waited. He tightened his cinch, swung aboard and headed toward his destination at a pleasent jog.

CHAPTER TWO

In an affluent area of suburban Lexington, there stands an enticing mecca of masculine pleasure. A handsome sign mounted on the roof tel ls it all:

THE FRENCH LADY HOTEL

SALOON AND GAMING

The French Lady is the preferred lodging for scores of traveling salesmen based in major cities of the East. In the years following our Civil War, these men traveled throughout the South with lines of farm equipment and household goods that were sorely needed in this industrial poor area. While there are numerous watering holes that offer similar amenities, none has the ambience of The French Lady. For those travelers who don’t care to indulge in the hotel’s varied vices, its rooms are clean and the dining room offers an excellent menu of traditional Southern dishes.

The casino, resplendent in red carpeting and drapes, provides a number of gaming tables and assorted wheels of fortune. Dealers, who play for the house, are posted at the poker and faro tables. A solid oak bar, manned by a trio of bartenders, runs the entire length of one wall and is lovingly polished in the early morning hours when business is slow. The brass foot rail is also burnished to a golden glow each day, as are the cuspidors stationed beneath the bar at precise intervals.

Beverages are served by a staff of lovely hostesses who offer drinks to the patrons as a prelude to offering themselves. Only the hostesses with seniority are allowed to maintain living quarters at The French Lady. The others dispense their pleasures in one of the community rooms and sleep elsewhere in town.

In a small, but comfortable attic room where every inch of wall space is filled with pictures of cowboys and horses, eleven year old Jeff Price has made his home. Jeff, a good-looking youngster with sandy hair and freckles, is the offspring of Edna Price, who had been The French Lady’s most popular hostess. It was her immense popularity in a pre-DNA world that made it impossible for her to know for certain, who had fathered the boy.

Edna was determined to keep the child with her and this was a lady who knew how to get what she wanted. Her years of intimacy with many of Lexington’s leading citizens enabled her to pull the proper strings and keep Jeff in this attic room.

When Edna’s body succumbed to her years of dissipation, the house management refused to sentence her boy to the horrors of an orphanage and has kept him hidden from the authorities.

Jeff performs a variety of menial chores and receives a basic education from the staff. He is a precocious youngster with lightning reflexes, a superior head for figures and an uncanny aptitude for the gaming industry. Doc, the senior house dealer, roars with delight as the boy masters each new card trick with the ease of a professional.

But now, Jeff’s life at The French Lady is about to end. As he packs a battered cardboard suitcase with his treasured possessions, he feels the presence of someone behind him and turns to find Sally Faye in his doorway.

After Edna’s passing, Sally became the club’s top earner, bringing in more return customers than any of the other sex slingers. Her secret of success can be explained in one simple phrase--she always comes with the customers.

Yet, there are those occasions when the physical features or the boorish personality of a patron makes it impossible for her to achieve orgasm. That’s when Sally unleashes a fallacious barrage of moans and shrieks with a sincerity that entices the John to return for further helpings.

She undulated across the room and tousled Jeff’s hair affectionately. So this is your getaway day, huh Jeff?

Yessim, Mr. Cawdry’s takin’ me back there to Texas with him. I’m gonna live on his ranch an’ git to bein’ a real cowboy.

When Mr. Cawdry took a room here, it was awful good luck for you Jeff. Much as we all love you, we know The French Lady ain’t no place for you to be raised proper. With no children of her own, Sally had willingly played surrogate mother to the boy.

I’m gonna miss y’all too, Miss Sally, but I sure can’t wait to git started.

Sally took Jeff’s suitcase and to his surprise, dumped its contents on to the bed and put the suitcase on the floor. Since you’re s’bound and determined to be a cowboy she sighed, you might as well learn how to travel like one.

She removed a blanket from the foot of his bed and folded it in half, lengthwise. Then, gathering up Jeff’s possessions, she began spreading them in the middle.

You been readin’ too many of these dime novels, she said, holding up a small, square magazine. The picture on the cover shows a rugged looking cowboy on a wild-eyed horse roping an equally wild-eyed steer. Real cowboyin’ ain’t all fun an’ games, Jeff. It’s hard work, with long hours an’ for awful short money.

Once all of Jeff’s possessions had been placed inside the blanket, Sally rolled it up lengthwise and handed it to him. Now here’s how to carry your belongin’s. What you do, is tie the blanket ‘crost the back of your saddle.

But what do you tie it with?

You’ll see. A western stock saddle comes with tie strings on ‘em.

How’d you get to knowin’ so much about cowboys, Miss Sally?

By injection!

I don’t know what that means.

There ain’t time to explain it to you now, but I’ll betcha this, Jeff. One day when you’re around seventeen, you’re gonna recall what I just said and bust you a gut laffin.

I sure want to thank you for showin’ me how to do this proper, Miss Sally. But now I’d best be getting’ downstairs,‘cause I sure don’t wanna keep Mr. Cawdry waitin’.

Consider yourself privileged, Jeff, said Sally, draping a bejeweled arm over his shoulder. You’re the onliest cowboy what ever got somethin’ out of me for nothin--an’ if the good Lord’s willin’, you’ll be the onliest one.

As Jeff took one last look at his room, a lump formed in his throat and as tears began to burn his eyes, an inner voice commanded him to stop that immediately. Other eleven year olds may be allowed to cry, but tears were unthinkable for a future cowboy. Having determined this he blinked away the moisture, squared his shoulders, tucked the blanket under his arm and moved quickly toward the stairway.

As this was past mid-day, there was minimal activity at The French Lady. The gents who had come in for lunch, a few hands of cards, a belt of bourbon from the club’s private stock, or an interlude with one of the hostesses, had moved on. This left the staff with a welcome respite until the evening’s activities.

Doc, who was born Lovelace Neville, was at his table playing solitaire. He is a slim, elegant man with flowing white hair and a meticulously trimmed goatee—a classic example of the landed gentry who had thrived in the antebellum South. As a daring young officer on the staff of General James Longstreet, Doc had given the doomed Confederacy everything he possessed but life and limb. When he returned to his ancestral home in Louisiana, he found it burned to the ground and his family scattered. Prior to the war, Doc had fared very well at poker on the riverboats and decided to make that his lifetime career. When he learned that the glamour and elegance of the riverboats no longer existed, he cast his lot on shore with The French Lady. The title, Doc had been awarded him for the number of creative ways in which he could doctor a deck of cards.

Honey, Maggie and Ginger, three of the hostesses were at the bar fortifying themselves for the busy night that lay ahead by downing straight shots of bourbon.

Doc, unable to disguise his sadness at the boy’s departure, beckoned Jeff to his table, offering him a vacant seat. It was Doc who had convinced Edna to name her son in honor of the Confederacy’s only President.

Jefferson, (Doc always called him by his full name) I’ve had a great deal of pleasure teachin’ you a tad of the gamin’ profession and as I’ve said many times over, you’ve got the makins of a first class operator.

Doc slid a number of house chips toward Jeff. One last time, let me see those good, quick hands of yours.

Jeff’s busy young fingers flew over the chips, breaking them down into four stacks of five, five stacks of four and finally back into the two stacks again.

Doc beamed with pride at the boy’s dexterity. That was very good, Jefferson. Excellent! Especially the way you palmed those two chips.

Aw, Mr. Doc, said Jeff as he opened his hands to reveal a chip in each, I was only funnin’ you. He dropped the chips on the table and Doc instantly replaced them with two silver dollars. When Jeff tried to refuse them, Doc waved off his protest.

No, no, boy they’re yours to keep as a farewell present. And let me tell you something that I never want you to forget. Being a cowboy may be mighty ‘portant to you at this time of your life, but I’m bettin’ there’s money in your future. Some day, sure as shootin’, you’ll be manipulatin’ lots of it.

Wes entered the casino and searched out Jeff. Hey there young feller, you ready to head for Texas?

I sure am, Mr. Cawdry. Did you bring Pecos with you?

Yep, he’s waitin’ outside fer ya.

The glow that lit up the youngster’s face had every adult in the room sharing his joy.

You promised I’d git to ride him to the train station.

Waal, we’re gonna ride him together.

‘Scuse me, folks, said Jeff while on the run, I’m goin’ out and say hello to Pecos.

You do that, son an’ I’ll have me a quick beer.

Wes turned to the bar and found a mug of beer waiting for him. Before he could reach for his pocket, Frank, the bartender, held up a hand in protest.

Your money’s no good here today, Mr. Cawdry.

Well thank ya, said Wes, taking several large gulps of the cool brew. When his throat had been moistened, he noticed Honey standing among the girls. As he raised his hand to pinch the brim of his hat with respect, they smiled at each other with the very special look that only two people who have been intimate can share.

Afternoon, Miss Honey, it’s mighty nice to see you again.

Likewise, I’m sure, replied Honey, fluffing her dyed red hair while her tongue danced about her sensual lips.

Everybody here really ‘preciates what you’re doin’ for Jeff, Mr. Cawdry, said Frank, refilling Wes’ mug. Since his Ma passed on, we been awful worried ‘bout the boy’s welfare. He’s kinda special to us.

I’ll bet his Ma was somethin’.

Yessir, there was dozens of people who loved Edna.

Honey leaned over to Maggie and whispered to her in a voice that crackled with cattiness.

And that was just on a slow night. She grunted as Maggie’s angry elbow prodded her ribs.

No doubt it’ll be best for the boy to be raised up in a real family, said Wes, taking on a serious tone. My foreman, Tom Denton, has got a young’un who’s just about Jeff’s age. It’s been kinda hard on the boy, ‘cause he’s the onliest kid on m’ ranch an’ never gets to spend much time with them his own age ‘cept at the schoolhouse. I sent a wire off to Tom and he said that him and his missus’d be glad to raise Jeff, as well. We figger them two boys’ll make right good company fer each other.

Frank seemed puzzled. You mean there ain’t no other neighbor kids around? Frank had been raised in an area of Savannah that seemed to be raining kids.

Why hell, Frank, down in our neck of the woods, they’s better’n fifty-sixty mile ‘tween one ranch house and t’other. You folks got to realize that in Texas, everythin’s a dammed site bigger than anywhere’s else.

Honey patted herself tenderly slightly below the tummy, and whispered to Maggie, An’ he ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie.

Wes removed his pocket watch and glanced at the hands. We’d best get us a move on. He drained the remainder of his beer in one long gulp and headed for the door, followed by Doc and the girls. Wes tied Jeff’s blanket roll behind the saddle, released Pecos and climbed aboard. At once, the ladies gathered around Jeff, hugging him while shedding genuine tears. When each had taken her turn, Doc stepped up and took Jeff’s hand in both of his. Mark my words, boy, your future’s gonna be in manipulatin’ money. Lots of money!

Wes kept his left stirrup open and as Jeff placed his foot in it, the rancher reached down, took his hand and swung the boy up behind him. As Jeff clutched his benefactor with both arms, they rode off at a soft lope.

CHAPTER THREE

The train had barely left the station when Jeff asked the question that had been burning in his mind. How’d you get to bein’ a cowboy, Mr . Cawdry?

It started for me when I was fifteen--a tad older’n you are right now. My family run a li’l ole’ Texas scrub farm but like you, what I really wanted, was to cowboy.

Did you run away from home in the middle of the night?

"No, I dint have to. We was s’poor, my leavin’ meant a few more scraps of food for the rest. At that time, they was five of us an’ still ‘nother one on the way. Some years later when I got to bein’ well fixed, I tried hard ta find my kin, but I never seen none of ‘em again.

"I’d been workin’ nights fer a feller down the road an’ he paid me off with a lil’ ole pony an’ a beat up saddle.

A lot of real kind people hepped me out ‘til I made it to ranch country an’ got hired onto a cattle drive that was headin’ for Dodge City. That was the year of eighteen an’ seventy-seven when them big cattle drives from Texas to Kansas was boomin’. An’ there I was, right smack in the middle of it.

What was them cattle drives like, Mr. Cawdry?

Jeff, boy, they was a sight to behold. Sometimes they was better’n two thousand head of them critters stretched out fer miles bawlin’, bangin’ horns with each other an’kickin’ up dust s’bad, it was like havin’ midnight at mid-day. The hull drive was mebbe twelve to fifteen hunnert mile an’ the best we’d lop off in a day was around ten--twelve mile of it. An’ lemme tell you, on every one of them miles you never knew when trouble’d be a-comin’ at you.

Why’d you have to drive them Texas cattle all the way to Kansas?

It’s ‘cause them people back East was the ones what needed our Texas beef an’ them Eastern railroads only come fur as Kansas. To give you an idea, the same steer what was barely worth four dollar in Texas, brung near twenty in a Kansas cow town. An’ even more’n that further up the line.

Then that’s how you got to be a cowboy?

No, not yet. When young kids like me got hired on to a cattle drive, they’d start us off in a job they called the Cook’s Louse. That meant, doin’ all sorts of chores for the cook, like warshin’ the dishes an’ eatin’ irons that cowboys’d drop in the roundup pan.

Eatin’ irons?

"I forget you ain’t savvy to cowboy lingo. What we call eatin’ irons is what other people’d say is knives’n forks. Anyhow, ‘side from that, I’d be grindin’ coffee, an’ makin’ sure the cook always had plenty firewood.

That don’t sound too hard.

But it was! Some of the land we hadda cross was slicker’n a saddle seat an’ there wasn’t no wood to be had, nowheres. That meant I had to go ‘bout gatherin’ up cow chips.

I seen lotsa of poker chips, but what’s cow chips?

"That’s cow crap, son. An’ after the cattle bedded down at night, you’d have a ton of them chips waitin’ fer you in the mornin’. Then you had to go pokin’ ‘round to find the driest ones. Some called ‘em prairie pancakes an’ some called ‘em cow pies, but they was like gold nuggets to a cook when he had him no firewood. An’ fer an extra bonus, the smoke from them chips done right good in keepin’ them damm flies an’ muskeeters away.

"The chuck wagon cook I worked fer, was a salty ole’ bird name of Mullican who taught me more cuss words on that one drive than I learned ever since. An’ I found out real quick that while the trail boss was in charge of runnin’ the drive, Mullican was right smack behind him. I kin still recall my first day on the job, when that ole cook set me down on the chuck wagon tailgate an’ give me his rules.

He said, ‘Fer openers, sonny, I runs this here chuck wagon an’ everythin’ what’s sixty foot around it. If anybody needs some medicine, I’m the one they come to. I’m also the barber, the dentist an’ if they’s any bettin’ goin’ on, it’s me what holds the money. If one of the boys got a problem, he comes to see me fust an’ if I figger it’s ‘portant ‘nuff, I’ll take it to the trail boss.’

Is that all you done on your first trail drive, was help the cook?

"Not a-tall. When all my chores was done, the boys’d lemme ride ‘round the cattle to get the feel of it. They started me off on one of the hosses what was good’n broke like Pecos. But when I showed ‘em I was a nacheral rider they kept movin’ me along. Cowboys look real kindly on a young ‘un what wants to learn things so they started givin’ me all kinds of pointers. After awhile, they was lettin’ me ride alongst with the swing men an’ later on, all the ways up front with the point men. That’s where I