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The Last American Cowboy I knew the last American cowboy; his name was Howard Jury. He had a hole in the end of his nose told me it was from a cancer. He told me many other things like how my half-hour drive used to take him all day with his Belgian team and wagon. (if the streams weren't swollen that is) I asked him what if they were. He'd laugh, "I'd make camp, wait till they ebbed, shoot a couple rabbits and eat my dinner." He had so many stories to tell and they were all good... He didn't like Nebraska after he rented his horse to a Cornhusker, for an elk hunt. The hunter tied Howard's horse to a rock outcropping, then walked completely around it, promptly shooting Howard's horse from behind! Figured he had a real trophy. Howard said he still missed that horse. His face was crinkly leather from the Colorado sun and Wyoming wind. He lived on a thousand acres, pasture land with twenty-five head of cattle, his last two horses and his trailer, messy but warm in winter. We worked together for several years and he loved to tease me in the hundred plus degree heat. "Kid," he'd say, "Don't start drinking any water or you'll be drinking it all day long." (then he'd laugh)... I'd see him drinking at Dukes, a tavern of sorts with sawdust on the floor and smoky ceilings. An oaken bar full of cowboy hats and Coors beer. One day I asked him why he didn't sell his land, become a millionaire, buy cars houses and travel. He smiled at me and said, "I have all I want and need and I like what I have." "I like my land, my trailer, my cows and horses, my girlfriend, Dukes, and boy do I like my whiskey and water." "I won't be trading it for dirty old greenback dollars!" I drove by his ranch last week. It has been replaced by an eighteen-hole golf course, surrounded by expensive buff colored homes. (each one like the other) His land was never sold while he was alive though he knew the winds of change would shift. His heirs and their lawyers are millionaires now but how I understand, Howard, you were so right... |
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