A Day’s Drive With Montana Cowboys

The landscape unfolds in muted tones, the mountains a dark, soft-edged silhouette against the awakening sky in the east. As the last vestiges of night surrender, the peaks rise, height upon imposing height. At their base, the wide plain stretches, still cloaked in the gray of lingering darkness. The celestial sphere, a vast blue dome, witnesses the stars, their nocturnal vigil complete, gradually extinguishing their brilliance. The moon, veiled in a delicate, low-lying cloud, descends towards the horizon, retreating as if in deference to the approaching sun.

A transformation commences. The sky ignites with a rosy red, a warm fire spreading across the heavens. The mountains, now etched more distinctly, loom in rich purple shadows. Then, the sun bursts forth, its rays, long and golden, reaching towards the zenith, casting its radiant glow across the prairie. Night’s reign is over, and the slumbering world awakens.

Down in the camp, nestled in the shelter of a small grove of trees beside a meandering stream, life stirs. The watch-fire, fed with dry sagebrush, sends a column of blue smoke skyward. The cook, his face as dark and polished as ebony beneath a wide-brimmed felt hat, tends to a kettle brimming with steaming coffee. Cowboys, emerging from their sleep, stretch and yawn around the fire. Others head to the stream for a quick wash, their calls rousing the last of their sleepy companions from their blankets and buffalo robes.

The horses, tethered nearby, graze on the nutritious bunch grass. Across the plain, scattered for a mile or more, hundreds of cattle stand or lie, their dark forms contrasting against the yellowish-brown expanse. They chew their cud, inhaling the crisp morning air.

The sun crests the mountains, intensifying the sky’s brilliance. Coyotes, stealthy shadows with drooping tails and pointed ears, lope back to the coulees and buttes at the foot of the hills, seeking refuge from the light. The magpie’s discordant cry echoes from the riverbank, mingling with the curlew’s whistle. High above, an eagle and its mate circle in the blue ether.

The day has begun, and it is time to rustle, for there is much work to be done. These hundreds of cattle must be driven through the narrow canyon today, ensuring they find water and rich grazing lands on the other side of the divide by evening. There is no time for delay; bedding must be rolled, wagons packed, and breakfast consumed before setting off on this journey of A Day’s Drive With Montana Cowboys.

These cowboys are a hardy and picturesque group. Seated around the fire, each holds a can of coffee and a slice of fried bacon, or a hunk of bread, devouring their meal with appetites sharpened by the invigorating air of the plains.

Observe the brawny cowboy with tight-curling yellow hair, his sun-browned face framed by the broad brim of his hat. His piercing gray eyes survey the scene. He is clad in heavy chaps, stained reddish-brown from long use, and a cartridge-filled belt supports his revolver. With each stride, his spurs jingle. He finishes his coffee, sets down the can, and heads towards the horses, picking up his heavy leather saddle, which served as his pillow.

Swiftly, he saddles his Cayuse, tightening the hair-rope girths and slipping the bit into the horse’s mouth. The horse bucks and rears, but the cowboy is undeterred. Pawing, squealing, and kicking, the horse struggles against its master.

But the struggle is brief. The cowboy’s skill, spurs, and whip quickly subdue the Cayuse. With a final shake of its head, the horse settles into an easy lope, carrying its rider to his assigned position on the flank of the herd. This is the beginning of A Day’s Drive With Montana Cowboys.

The others soon follow, breaking camp and packing the wagon for the road. The cattle seem to sense what is coming. On the edges of the herd, steers raise their heads, gazing at the approaching horsemen. As the cowboys turn their flanks, the cattle begin to converge, moving towards a common center. A steer or young bull occasionally breaks away, but is quickly pursued, headed off, and driven back into the herd.

The cowboys, riding swiftly, round up the cattle. Urged onward by the drivers in the rear, the herd moves forward, grazing as they go, in a loose column headed towards the canyon entrance. The work of these cowboys during A Day’s Drive With Montana Cowboys is far from over.

The prairie is gradually crossed, and the nervous animals are crowded closer together. Two or three cowboys gallop ahead to the canyon opening, guarded by cone-shaped mounds, to head off stragglers and guide the leaders into the narrow trail. “So! So-o-o!” they call, gently urging the herd onward. They push in from both sides, curbing their horses to maintain control. The herd slowly enters the pass, marking the beginning of the most challenging part of A Day’s Drive With Montana Cowboys.

The sound of hundreds of hooves striking the hard roadbed fills the air, a rushing, confused roar like millions of hailstones on dry leaves. It is not the sharp tramp of iron-shod horses, but a shuffling, muffled rolling. The mighty herd moves slowly through the wild canyon, its walls of sandstone and towering pines looming overhead. The river rushes beside them, a stream of liquid lava pushing through its rough bed.

A thick cloud of yellow dust, illuminated by sunlight, hovers above the herd, its tangle of horns swaying and tossing like foam cresting angry waves. A heavy, sweetish odor permeates the air, mingling with the sound of hooves and the occasional bellow of a frightened steer.

The herd moves cautiously, halting frequently. The cowboys urge them onward with soothing cries, knowing that a momentary panic could send scores of animals tumbling down the mountainside. One unfortunate steer has already fallen into the torrent, dashed to death on the rocks below. The cowboys maintain constant vigilance as they undertake A Day’s Drive With Montana Cowboys.

Riding slowly in the rear, one can see the trail ahead, winding through the canyon. At times, the road descends to the river’s edge, crossing it in shallow pools. At others, it curves abruptly around rocky points, only to cross the river again further on.

The canyon gradually widens, its rock walls giving way to grass-covered slopes. The river broadens, its surface shining like silver. Wild rose bushes, breathing out the fragrance of newly opened buds, hang their slender branches over the water. Sunflowers, daisies, and blue harebells dance in the breeze, covering the hills in a carpet of soft velvet.

The herd moves more easily now, its ranks opening to allow the cattle to graze. The cowboys take a moment to rest, eating lunch and drinking whiskey and water. They light their pipes, lounge in their saddles, and watch their charges, ensuring no adventurous animal wanders away. Although the sun is high, the breeze tempers the heat. The dust is minimal, except when a surly steer charges at its comrades. These brief moments of respite are vital during A Day’s Drive With Montana Cowboys.

The afternoon wears on, the herd steadily advancing. The hills become smaller, and soon a broad plain stretches to the horizon, covered in waving grass and sagebrush. This is a place of rest and refreshment for the tired beasts.

Camping places abound. Grass and water are plentiful, and sagebrush provides fuel for a campfire.

The cattle sense that rest is near. They wander freely on the prairie, or stand knee-deep in the water, drinking and mooing contentedly. The horses are unsaddled and allowed to browse. As the sun sets and the fires are lit, the cowboys prepare their evening meal, marking the end of A Day’s Drive With Montana Cowboys.

Long twilight descends, melting into night. Silence reigns, broken only by the coyote’s yelp or the crackling of a twig. The tired cowboys, having discussed the day’s events, spread their bedding on the ground. They roll into their blankets, rest their heads on their saddles, and fall into a dreamless sleep.