A man that has lived, seen and heard. He comes from Old Mexico and worked his way North roping cows, fixing fence, shearing sheep and trading stories. He rides a Paint horse named Angel with a pretty fancy saddle that I’m sure took months of savings to buy. He enjoys Tequila and Coors Light from the can and fine Mexican ladies.
He has lived in some deep-rooted houses, with nothing but mere windows and a few ghosts that would appear in the heart of night. The echoes of jingle bobs would awaken him from a deep sleep. He would rise and look around and ask who was there, but no one would answer…just a cold draft would find its way into his home. The echoes of past cow punchers determined to never leave.
Years ago, when the days were good he would live at cow camp miles and miles from town. He would hunt for his food and cut the meat right off the bone to cook. I think he day dreams of the Curry Meadows.
He is one of the best when working and sorting pairs. He knows more about his rope than he does himself. He is never in a hurry. He is our friend Jesus, from Old Mexico.~Wyoming Wife