Cowboy Cure

Editor's note: In the previous installment of Saco Stories, a character was misidentified as "Richard DePuydt." The actual moniker is simply "Richard," sans the last name (no relation). We apologize for any confusion.

It wouldn’t be a regular day riding the range without dropping in at a secluded ranch house. In fact, not pausing for a neighborly greeting, cup of coffee, or whatever would have been a real insult to hospitality in the West. Settlers on the plains of Montana depended greatly on each other, and the virtue of hospitality was abundant.

Fighting hunger pangs, the lone cowboy decided that the sight of the distant log ranch house was quite inviting. A little rest and a cool drink of water would sure set well on this hot day on the prairie. Surely, his faithful horse deserved the same.

Rough terrain had been traveled. The Frenchman Creek breaks had been a pretty sight but danger often lurked in the form of hidden rattlesnakes and holes which would trip your horse in a split second. Earlier today, he had pondered on the strong possibility that few, if any, white men had traveled those breaks. They were too far north for Lewis and Clark to have seen on their expedition.

The rider’s reverie was broken by the barking of a dog, protector of the ranch house and occupants up ahead. Directly behind the excited collie stood a slender woman wearing the usual garb of that era, a long printed dress topped with an apron. This was indeed a welcome sight.

“Take your horse around to the corral where there’s a water tank. Then come in for a spell.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” At the same time doffing his dusty hat. Cowboys traditionally had a great respect for the opposite sex. Any cowboy worth his salt, that is.

While his horse drank her fill, he washed the prairie dust from his neck and face. After the usual routine horse care, removing the saddle and placing it in the barn, he picketed her a distance from the windmill.

Already reeling refreshed, he walked toward the house. Perhaps there would be a cup of coffee available. Conversation with another human being would be very welcome also.

“Sit down, sit down,” the lady of the house motioned to the large round oilcloth covered table. It had survived many a meal you could see by the thin cracks around the edges, but it was very clean as was everything else within sight.

The lanky cowboy was soaking in every bit of this generosity. He was thinking that his mother back in Chicago would be mighty surprised at this Western hospitality. Here on the prairie, it was commonplace, taking care of neighbors and strangers. A Bible verse seemed to have crept into his consciousness. Something about bein’ your brother’s keeper.

A steaming bowlful of beans had been placed in front of him. A white mug filled with coffee sat at his right. He could hardly contain himself at the sight of thickly-sliced, homemade bread. It was nearly two weeks since he’d eaten such grub, and he intended to be a compliment to the cook who had now poured her own cup of coffee.

This morning, he had finished the leftover rabbit he’d cooked the night before. Washing it down with cowboy coffee, he remembered some dried fruit he’d placed somewhere in the bedroll. From slim pickings to ambrosia.

From the looks of the size of the kettle, there would be many more eating here before nightfall. He’d barely finished the last spoonful when the refilled bowl appeared. This lady sure knew the way to a man’s heart.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he eased the chair away from the table. As if this was a signal for conversation, he cleared his throat. “Mighty tasty, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, kindly.” Everyone appreciated a compliment and this lady was no exception. “Now, young man-”

“Jim’s the handle, Ma’am.”

“And mine is Melton, Mrs. Melton. Well, Jim, I’m a mite curious about your limp. I couldn’t help but notice that you favored one leg.”

“Well, Ma’am, I’ve been lame for a couple of weeks.”

“Let’s not be shy now. Take off your boot and show me.”

“It’s my foot – plantar warts,” as he perched one leg up on the other. Bending over for a closer look, she nodded.

“I’ve heard they are very painful, Jim. What you need is a poultice.”

“Yes, Ma’am, but I find it impossible to get into town. Town being a couple days distance, and if he wanted to keep his job, which he certainly did, he wouldn’t be taking off to town for some darn plantar warts, painful as they were – it simply wasn’t a life-threatening situation.”

“No, you won’t need a drugstore for a poultice – you are surrounded by the best in the world!”

Jim’s face showed his surprise. What on earth could this prairie possibly supply for a poultice/

Mrs. Melton explained, “Yes indeed, the very best ... calf manure. Jim, the young man from the city darn nearly fell off his chair. He was totally unprepared for this.

“Jim, the sooner you get at it, the better. There must be an old bucket not being used around the corral. Check for leaks. Then get yourself a half bucketful of fresh calf manure.” Emphasis on the fresh.

“Oh, yes, I am a nurse.”

“Just spend the night in the bunkhouse. There’ll be others around tonight. There’s plenty of room.”

Greeting the sunrise the following morning, Jim meandered around the yard watering his horse and scratching her dark neck.

Deciding to refresh himself a bit, he removed his red kerchief from his tanned neck and proceeded to rub his face, ears and nick. Wringing out the wet kerchief, he put it around the saddlehorn. Smelling the smoke from the ranch house chimney, he eagerly ambled toward it. Life was at its best. Somehow he’d have to find a way to get a letter to his mother. He smiled as he thought of his mother’s reaction to the last few days.

Jim rapped at the screen door out of courtesy. His presence had already been announced by the friendly collie.

“Good morning, Jim,” answering his cheery greeting. “Just use the washstand if you wish.”

After washing in creeks, potholes and water troughs with his horse and cattle, this was one of the most civilized acts he had been part of for a heck of a long time. A look in the small mirror showed a haircut and a shave were long overdue.

“You can sit up anytime. The other fellas will be coming shortly, but you may want to get on the trail early.”

“This is powerful nice of you, Ma’am.” The hot sourdoughs were the best. Buttered and topped with some sort of fruit syrup, perhaps chokecherry. He’d seen plenty of those bushes down in the coulees. He was hoping that there would be time to go berry picking before the snow came. Some of the older fellas who’d been around told tales of berry picking.

After the third cup of coffee, his host asked the expected question. “How was your night, Jim?”

Jim couldn’t contain a deep chuckle. “I nearly got run out of the bunkhouse. The other men said they had seen everything and called me some uncouth things. They quieted down fast when I told them where the poultice advice came from. One of the guys claimed he’d heard of marinades but that was the best. Anyway Ma’am, would you like to examine my foot this morning?”

“You wouldn’t be allowed to leave the place until I examined my patient you know.”

“Smiling, he pulled off his boot and sock displaying his foot with little dimples on the sole. You just don’t know what a relief it is to walk normally again. Why this morning when I had washed the poultice off, those darn plantar warts came out like nails. Now my foot looks like -”

“Yes,” Mrs. Melton finished. “I know, just like a baby’s behind!”

Helen DePuydt is a regular contributor to the Courier and a member of a homesteading family in the Saco area. All of her stories are true.