Working the Crowd

by Editor

To the experienced Cowboy, his work has become automatic and routine. More than likely he's forgotten his first time branding, and how he saw things then. I will never forget the time I was invited to observe a branding. This is then a greenhorn's view of a Cowboys day:
Like a hot air balloon rising, the sun was just coming up over the horizon. I could see the silhouettes of the cowboys, as they headed out to gather cattle one more time before the "iron got hot".

I'd headed to the area where the action would soon begin. It was just the corral, gates, birds and the orange color of the sun, as it pulled itself higher in the sky. A cool morning breeze slithered through the tree limbs, and the windmill turned lazily, whining its lonely desert song.

The first few cowboys rode in. As they adjusted the gates, the creaking sounds added to the unique symphony. The men talked about the day ahead while a young boy readied his rope. I could now hear the sound of cattle in the distance. The main gate squeaked to its widest position, as if its jaws were opening to swallow Jonah.

Now, the flat empty prairie was turning into a sea of black, as the cattle moved slowly in the direction of the corrals. A lone rider approaches, heads for the "Greenhorn" and in a stern tone tells me not to make any noise, as the cattle come in, or I could spook em. I sure wouldn't want to have to face these men if I were to spook the approaching herd. This was no time for a sneeze, I can tell you that, and I could not risk a click of my camera either!

Within minutes the air filled with the calls of the cows and the confused cries of their young as they begin to squeeze through the gate. They funnel into the main corral and I watch the action developing before my eyes. It's as if I'm watching an old western movie, but now I'm in the movie and it's in color.

You can no longer hear the birds, and the windmill's song is lost as it becomes intermingled with the dust. These softer, tranquil sounds have been replaced with the clink and jingle of spurs, cowboys calling out to one another in the cloud of dried earth, calves cries, cows worried bellows and horses hoofs beating dust and stone. This becomes the new song of the corral.

Calves are being separated (cut) from their mothers, and you can see the fear in their eyes. A young one falls as the horse steps from side to side to block his path of escape. Dust fills the air and conceals a cowboy in the corner, as he works the fence. Muscles tight, eyes flashing, the horses work as if choreographed. To the cowboy, this is just another workday, cutting calves from the cows has become automatic to them. To me, however, it is a unique ballet. Each movement has a purpose, and the muscle of the rider tells the horse the direction of the dance. Every move is precise. I see the importance of the experienced rider, well trained horse and team work, as I watch the action from my perch on the fence.

In no time, jackets worn before the sun came up, are shed. The east fence becomes a closet for dusters, jeans jackets and an array of coats, all dusty from the trail and hard work just completed in the corral. The fence resembles a quilt, as the last jacked is hung to complete the pattern. The cool of dawn is now gone. The sun continues its climb higher in the sky. The horse tied next to me samples the wood of the tasty fence during this break in the action.

I look past the main corral into a playpen of baby faces with big brown eyes and hear them bawling for their mothers. Dust, the smell of hot iron, excrement, the sweat of both horse and man, leather, burning hair and flesh, all stir in the soft breeze, creating a unique corral musk as the branding begins.

Now, a new flurry of activity re-stirs the settled dust. Horse, rider, rope and calf are all invited to the party, but it's a party that the calves sure wish they hadn't showed up for! "Cutters" with years of experience, and sometimes-great notoriety among their peers, work to bring the calves to the fire. Their ropes slice through the air towards the target. I can see the reward of continued practice, in years past, as the rope hits its mark every time. The ranch owner rides the inner fence to assure all are working in unison.

I really got quite a show when four cowboys tried to "down" a reluctant bull calf. Now, I have a visual of the old saying "as stubborn as a bull". Even with the odds of four against one, that youngster gave em a real run for their money before he conceded and the cowboys prevailed.

Two lines were working at once, east of the holding pens. Young cowgirls raced from line to line giving shots to each calf. Young and old, it's a family affair and neighbor-helping neighbor, till the task is done. Horse, rope and rider, at the other end of the corral make their acquaintance with the calf, rope it and drag it to the branding area, where a man grabs hold of the head and left front leg. A cowboy called the "sitter" holds the rear, his left leg braced on the calf's left leg. The men use every muscle they have to hold the calf, and the calf is busy using all he's got to get away.

With no time for introductions or polite conversation, one after another they keep em coming. Shots, ear tags, medication, perhaps castration, and then the brand. Each calf scrambles to its feet and makes a dazed escape when released.

Shifting my eyes from the "assembly line" to the riders, even my inexperienced eye can see that the horse is an extension of it's rider and the rider is an extension of its mount. Muscle movements and body shifts are the communication network of this working team. It's beautiful to watch this unspoken language, and the harmony of the two, each giving to the other, what is needed to get the job done.

The water jug becomes as inviting now, as the hot coffee had been before dawn. The sun's rays have grown noticeably stronger, as they reach out to singe the skin and dry the throat of the cowboys. There's a welcome break in the action. Cowboys, down from their horses, take a stretch, rub their lower backs and talk about the morning events over a tall cool one, water that is. It slides down easy and takes some of the dirt with it. After a brief rest for horse and man, its back up and do it again.

The workday winds down and comes to an end. The cattle gathered just before dawn meander back to pasture. Tired cowboys begin to think of the meal awaiting them at the ranch house. The pens are empty, gear is packed and off they ride, carrying the dirt and sweat of the day with them. As they ride off, the song of the windmill returns. Dust settles, like a new sheet being thrown on a bed, to lay in wait for another day. The cattle move off to graze as if nothing happened, while the young calves seek the comfort of their mothers. The sun is loosing its grip and the cowboys seem be fade to silhouette once again. There's no visible indication of how worn out they must feel, as they ride off toward the ranch house and the promise of a warm meal.

After saying my thanks and farewells, I head out down the twisting road that carried me in this morning. I've got a lot of new memories to tuck away, and I'm glad that I came along to watch the action of the cowboys that were working the crowd!