The Last Cowboy
By Sheila S. Jecks
Copyright 2012 Sheila S. Jecks
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The Last Cowboy

They say you make your own luck!
I know about that.
Sit a spell and I’ll tell you how I made mine one day in the spring of 1936 right here in southwest Arizona.
Now I’m jus’ an ordinary guy, no better’n no worse than the next man, but that day things changed.
We was goin’ through some hard times the Mrs. and me, what with her and three young’uns to feed, an’ my job at the Cotton Gin off Hwy 95 just outside Yuma hangin’ on by a thread.
I figured I’d better see about bringing in some more money that summer as the oldest one James, we named him after my pa, was pretty good with a baseball and they wanted him t’ go to baseball camp in July up Sacramento way.
Now this would’a been a tight fit for us, don’t know how we’d a managed. But he was a good boy an’ I wanted t’ give him his chance for something more’n just day labour in a cotton gin.
I talked it over with the wife and we agreed the cotton gin was always slow in spring, so maybe I’d go over Phoenix way and see what work I could find to pay for baseball camp, afore things picked up again at the gin.
That night I slept rough on the side of the road ‘cause I didn’t want to waste money for one o’ them newfangled motel rooms. Took me two days to hitch a ride over t’ my cousins place just outside o’ Phoenix.
Next day, I went t’ the Employment Centre down on Front Street, and stood in line with the rest of the out-o’-work guys. The line moved real slow.
I was standing waitin’ my turn when a fellow comes up to me and says, “Hello there, my name is Harold Greeves, and I’m looking for a cowboy. I need someone that can ride a horse and knows a bit about ranching. The pay is good, and the work is easy.”
I looked at the feller; he sure was a city slicker. You could see he never rode a horse in his life.
“Sure I can ride, what’s it to ya’.”
“Sir,” he says, kinda polite, “I’m looking for someone that can help me with my old father-in-law. You see he’s getting on, and the Doctor tells us he doesn’t have too much time left. My wife wants him to do whatever he wants, for as long as he can.”
“We talked it over,” said the man “and Dad said he needed to go back and live on the old ranch and ride till he ‘drops off dead’.”
“Don’t think I can help you with that,” I says, “don’t mind the ridin’, or the ranchin’, but I don’t know about the droppin’ off dead part.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Mr. Greeves, “I’ll take care of that. All you have to do is go riding with him every day. Take him wherever he wants to go, and make sure he gets back home every night.”
“What’re ya payin’ for this here ride?” I asked, pretty sure the pay couldn’t be good enough for the money I needed t’ make.
“I’ll pay you $1.00 for every hour you ride with him. Room and board supplied. I’m sure the work can’t last more than a few weeks. He’s over eighty years old, and it’s been a long time since he rode a horse. You look like someone we can trust. I’d make it worth your while.”
I couldn’t believe my ears, $1.00 an hour to sit on a horse and babysit an old man?
Sounded too good t’ be true.
But the long and short of it all was I went with it. That kind of money would go a long way t’ pay for the kid’s baseball camp. If the old man could hang on for three or four weeks I’d have all the money I needed.
But with my luck, the job probably wouldn’t last more’n a week and the old man would be stiff as a board, in more ways than one I thought. But, I knew I had to try.
So I go’s back to my cousin’s house an’ got my bedroll an’ backpack an’ went to meet him at the garage just off Highway 10 where the new highway crossed. Didn’t think he’d show, but he did, picked me up in a nice car too. I wasn’t too up on fancy cars in those days, still can’t keep ‘em straight, but I remember this one was a hum dinger. It even had cool air blowin’ in an’ all the windows was closed. I knew it was a money car.
We drove west down Hwy 10 till we got to the turn off for the Ak-Chin Indian reservation. Went down a piece an’ he turned off on a old dirt road, seems we was headed to the town of Estrella. We was on that road for a half hour or so an’ we finally came to a cabin out there in the desert.
It looked brand new.
A old man was sittin’ on the front porch. He was in old faded jeans, a blue shirt an’ one o’ them red bandanas all the old time cowboys use t’ wear. His sleeves was rolled down but I could see a tattoo peekin’ out at the cuffs. His white Stetson was restin’ on the small table by his side. He didn’t look up none when the car stopped, but when I got out o’ the car with my bedroll an’ backpack, he perked up and looked me over.
Now, I was a little heavier then, more muscle, more hair, an’ a lot more get-up-an-go. Me and the old man looked each other up an’ down. 
“You the guy they hired to babysit me?” he said standin’ up hard.
“Don’t know if babysitin’s the right word,” I said, “but sure, they hired me to ride with ya. Kind of like, keepin’ ya in line.”
“Fine,” was all he said. He sat down with a groan an’ stared out at the open desert again.
I didn’t know what they expected of me, but I kind of admired the old man. Takes a lot o’ grit t’ ride a horse when you’re eighty.
The old man finally looked at me again, and said, “take your kit around the back son, you’ll find the bunkhouse’s been fixed up fine.”
I got my gear an’ went ‘round the cabin and there was a short barn that served as a bunkhouse, nothin’ in it ‘cept a potbelly stove an’ some beds. Two of ‘em looked like they’d been used lately so I put my bedroll on the far one, hung my backpack on the near one, an’ sat down an’ rolled me a cigarette. There, I thought, home sweet home.
That night I ate in the cabin, the grub wasn’t fancy but there was lots of it. The two-inch steak done rare in the middle and charred on the outside; perfect, just the way I liked it. The beans were good, out of a can I ‘spect, but that was O.K. by me.
The cook was pourin’ coffee when the old man looked at me and said, “What am I supposed to call you? You can call me Mr. Blakencroft.”
“Just call me Jim,” I said, “my kin come from over Yuma way, that’s where the wife an’ young’uns are.”
He just grunted and took his coffee outside. He sat in his chair, an’ me, I sat on the steps an’ looked at the sunset.
Ramona the old cook, half white an’ half Ak-Chin, told me she was born on the ranch and when the rest of the family moved t’ town she stayed here; been here all her life.
She was a plain cook but she made good coffee, dark an’ strong with just a bit o’ chicory in it, almost ate through the mug.
That was just the way I liked it, too.
That city feller, Mr. Greeves, the son-in-law that picked me out of the employment line, didn’t stay for supper. He had t’ get back t’ the city to make the money he was payin’ me to look after the old man; so he said.
So it was just the old man, the cook, an’ me.
Next morning, couldn’t have been more than 5:30 and I hear the old man calling from the porch, “get up, get up you lazy, no-account!”
“Who you callin’ a no-account?”
I was up, dressed, and washed in no time and out in the barn saddlin’ horses afore he could call again.
The old man kept four horses in that big barn by the wash. He told me we would ride them one after the other so they wouldn’t get wore out. I said, yes sir, whatever you say, sir. But you and I know that was kind a’ silly. No horse was goin’ to get wore-out with that skinny old man on his back.
I saddled up the two mares that first day, them bein’ the gentlest and brought ‘em around the front expectin’ to go in for breakfast. But all I got was a mug o’ hot coffee.
The old man was standin’ on the porch, goin’ t’ show me how to get on a horse, he says.
Then he told me what to do. 
“Here,” he says, “bring that horse around here, beside the porch so I can get up on this side.”
I see what he wants an’ I bring the mare up, he swung into the saddle all in one heave. I was some impressed. Showed it took a bit o’ thought on how to get on a horse real careful like from the porch, a good move for such an old man.
“We’ll be back around 10:00 for breakfast,” he told Ramona, “right now I want to go down to the arroyo to see if any brush needs to be cleared away so the cattle can get at the water.” 
I looked ‘round; weren’t no cattle that I could see. I supposed they were just figments of the old man’s memory.
We rode off into the early dawn. 
Nothin’ more beautiful than sunrise in the desert. The first blazing red 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.
If you enjoyed this story, my story “A House Without”, about a girl from Vancouver, BC who has to deal with a haunted house and wicked and immoral family secrets is also on Smashwords.com . Keep on reading. 
Sheila S. Jecks