CHAPTER X TOM DALY

Tom Daly and I worked together for several years and I liked him very much.

One time we went from the DHS ranch at Rocky Ridge close to the main range of the Rocky Mountains to the ranch the outfit owned at Malta, which was in the eastern part of Montana. We had two strings of horses, which was about twenty head. We had our beds packed on two horses on that trip. One day Tom’s pack slipped and got down on the horse’s side. We roped him and fixed the pack, but while we were doing so we turned our saddle horses loose with the bridle reins on the ground (which is the way Montana horses were broke to stand). Mosquitoes were very bad that day and was worrying the horses, and when we turned the horse loose that we had been fixing the pack, we turned around to get on our saddle horses—they both run off and into the loose bunch, which got scared and away they all went, leaving us both afoot and I think it was at least 20 miles to any ranch and the day very hot. I never saw Tom excited before as he was very easy-going, but when I looked at him and asked him, “What are we going to do now?” his lips trembled and he said, “Damned if I know.”

Well, a lucky thing I had my rope that we had caught the pack horse with. So I picked it up and we started after the horses on foot. They run about a mile and stopped and went to feeding—but when we caught up with them, one of our saddle horses would drag his bridle reins around some of the horses’ legs and scare them—and away they would go again. Finally we got the bunch in between us and one of the pack horses had his head down feeding—I made a run at him and when he put his head up to run I throwed my rope and caught him. We unpacked him and I got on him bareback, with a rope around his nose, and rounded up the bunch and brought them back to where Tom was. He had made a loop in the pack rope and caught his saddle horse. And after a good many trials of roping, we caught my horse.

When we got our horse packed again and on our way, we were sure a couple of happy boys. Tom told me I sure made a lucky throw when I caught that pack horse.

In my younger days as a cowboy I had a hobby on saddles. I always wanted a light saddle with as little leather on it as possible. I used to use a Clarence Nelson saddle, made in Visalia, California, which was about the smallest and lightest stock saddle made in those days. Then after I had got it, I would trim and cut off all the leather I possibly could get along without. Tom Daly always rode a double rig saddle and wanted it quite heavy. He was always making fun of my saddle and said I might as well ride bareback.

One time a big prairie fire broke out and the best thing we used to have to fight those fires was a “green” or fresh cowhide. We could tie a couple of ropes to it and with our saddle horses drag it along the fire line. If the blaze wasn’t too big, it would smother the fire out completely. This fire broke out close to our roundup, and we had a big jaw steer in our roundup and he wasn’t any value as a beef steer. So the boss told the boys to catch him and kill and skin him and use his hide for a drag to put the fire out.

Everybody got their ropes down in a hurry. Tom roped the steer by the head and I caught him by one hind leg. He weighed about 1,500 pounds and Tom was riding a big strong horse, and when he saw I had the steer by the hind leg he never looked back but was spurring his horse and pulling on the steer to try to throw him down so we could cut his throat, as nobody had a gun. My horse wasn’t too well broke to roping, but I got my rope fast to the saddle horn and Tom was pulling so fast and so hard, it must of hurt my horse and he went to bucking. I couldn’t get my rope loose from the saddle horn and I hollered at Tom—but he kept right on going and pulled me—saddle and all—off the horse. The boys joshed me plenty about my little saddle. I asked Tom why he didn’t stop when I hollered. He said he didn’t know I was riding bareback or he would.

Another time Tom and I were gathering saddle horses for the spring roundup. When we left our camp in the morning we went different directions and I got back to camp quite a while before Tom did. I had loosened my cinch and tied my horse to a post and went in the cabin to cook dinner. I heard someone holler and looked out and saw Tom coming with a bunch of horses. Those horses were sometimes very hard to corral. So I run out and got on my horse but forgot to tighten my cinch. Those horses came by me pretty fast and I run my horse in ahead of them to try to turn them. They dodged by me and when I turned my horse to head them off my saddle turned and, of course, I hit the ground and my horse got away and went with the wild bunch.

I got Tom’s horse and followed them. After a little distance he quit the bunch and took off across the country by himself. I followed him about ten miles and finally run him into an old roundup corral and caught him. The saddle was under his belly and there wasn’t a thing left of it—only the saddle tree and the cinch—he had kicked it all to pieces.

When I led him back to camp I felt like crying and called Tom out to show it to him. In place of sympathizing with me, he smiled and said he didn’t see any difference in it than it was before.

I had to ride 40 miles to town to order another saddle. I tied a rope on each side of the saddle tree to use for stirrups and rode that distance. Tom went with me—I think he had the time of his life that day laughing at my rig.

We worked together on the roundup that year and slept together. We worked pretty late that fall and the nights got very cold. We were holding quite a bunch of cattle and, of course, that meant we had to guard the cattle at night. Each man guarded three hours and then woke up another cowboy. One night was very cold. When I came off guard my feet felt like chunks of ice and I had noticed Tom’s underwear was wore out where he had been sitting in the saddle. I pulled off my boots and went out in the frost—then slipped into bed with Tom. He was asleep and didn’t hear me. I got into bed easy and found that bare place on his body and planted both feet right on it. He hollered and went clear out of the tent. He said afterwards he thought somebody had burned him with a hot iron. I think I got even with him for making fun of my saddle!