Will you be sent to roam the Pecos?
It has been said that when a bad man dies, instead of being sent to hell they are sent to roam the Pecos River brakes. The Pecos River snakes through Texas on its way to the Rio Grande, rising clear and cold in the mountains of northern New Mexico, its pure waters cut through rough country that changed its flood to turbid red.
That ol’ country lays claim to the fact that its mineral-thick waters and sudden floods brought immediate danger to all. History merged with legend where the whoosh of arrows meant Comanches, the thunder of hooves warned of stampedes, the blast of six-shooters signaled gunfights and the strike of prospectors’ picks hinted at buried treasure.
Out of the river’s banks grew the mythical Old West, introducing us to the escapades of “Pecos Bill!” He was a mythical folk hero that conquered our imagination and delighted us with his matter of fact approach to everyday situations. Life was hard in that Pecos country for early pioneers, giving rise to Charles Goodnight’s description of the Pecos, which he termed “the graveyard of the cowman’s hopes.”
Storytellers have likened the river and the arid land along it to destruction, death and violence. Others even compared it to hell. Like its most-dreaded ford, Horsehead Crossing, it flowed bloody, while in its currents. It derived this name because of the many horse skulls that lined its banks. Many of which died from quicksand, drowning, or over drinking of the brackish waters. Many cattle drives originated in this area.
Trail Herder’s Plight
The gather had started south of the Pecos River,
Where storms get mighty intense
That streaky lightening will make an hombre shiver
Not a place for folk with good sense.
Folk up north was payin’ good money for beef,
An’ it was here for the takin’,
Branded right, ‘cuz we weren’t like a mangy cow thief,
So stop your bellyachin’.
It’s hard work gatherin’ critters wild an’ free,
An’ your pony has to hustle,
If your ever goin’ to head them bad’uns, don’t you see,
It will take blood, sweat, an’ muscle.
But, there’s beeves needin’ to move on
Tho that ol’ country shore is dry,
An’ without a doubt I ‘spect hardships will be known.
Of course, we will give it a try.
An’ the first night out, that air was thick an’ warm,
An’ we longed for the break-o-day,
‘Cuz we all knew to expect a comin’ storm,
Give you the willies, made you want to breakaway.
Them critters knew there was a change in the air,
They was skittish as all get out,
The wind had changed ever so slight out there,
A storm on the way no doubt.
Shore ‘nuff, soon we could see lightnin’ in the northwest,
‘Fore we ever heard the thunder,
The drive just started an’ we was goin’ to get a test,
Make one shake his head in wonder.
Well heck, I reckon it’s just a puncher’s plight,
When you hire on to an outfit,
You’re thankful that the good Lord had the foresight
To endow you with never quit.
‘Cuz you’ll need it all and your pardners will too,
With this trial that is close at hand,
But we’ve got what it takes to see the night thru,
See, these fellers ride for the brand.
So, cooky gives us chow an’ we grab a fresh hoss,
An’ circle that herd to calm them down,
But there is trepidation as to song we give voice,
Tryin’ to smile instead of frown.
Them clouds rolled in an’ blotted out the stars an’ the moon,
Lightnin’ streakin’ an’ slashin’ about,
An’ that ol’ wind made it hard to hear your cowboy tune,
Them beeves would run, there was no doubt.
When that lead steers head went up, seems like time stood still,
‘til lightnin’ fair lit up the sky,
An’ thunder rolled about an’ rain began to spill,
Then as one, that herd seemed to fly.
Well, the fellers joined in, headin for the lead,
Thru the rocks an’ prairie dog holes,
Singin’ out at the top of their voice that others might heed,
An’ them beeves eyes glowin’ like coals.
The race went on for a spell, ‘til leaders began to tire,
Slowly turnin’ in their spooked flight,
As ‘crost their horns lightnin’ glowed as Elmo’s fire,
A shore ‘nuff strange an’ spooky sight.
Then the storm raced off like the devil’s herd would go,
As those beeves turned an’ milled around,
While each hand checked on their pards in that storm’s after glow,
Hopin’ to find everyone sound.
Now the young hands hit the draws to roust out them strays,
Some will hunker down in that brush,
An’ they’re hard to find in that early mornin’ haze,
They hold tight, but soon have to flush.
Now the herd is quite under early mormin’ sun,
An’ while the outriders stay,
Other hands head to camp an’ coffee on the run,
Restin’ up to start another day!
Ol’ Jim Cathey
If those old trail herders would have known about Pastor Chip’s preachin’,
they would have detoured through Marlin!
Come join us at First Baptist Church Marlin. You will be blessed
God bless each of you and God Bless America!