I have ranched and cowboyed all over the place for the best part of my life. Most of it has been near the Mexican border, and that’s a whole different breed of cats right there. Maybe it has something to do with the water in the Rio Grande, but I don't think so.

We had an old ranch in New Mexico, where rain was just something that people said happened once in a while. The tumbleweeds out- weighed most of the grown calves. I saw pictures of green grass, never had any on the ranch. Not to complain now ‘cause it does make you tough for what you might have to face later on in life.

Just about everyone I cowboyed with over the years mostly came from Mexico. They didn’t have what one would call a lot of papers with them. They were all good boys for the most part, and some were pretty good cowboys. We didn’t pay them much, but it was more than they were making in Mexico. They were chased like outlaws by the Migra,(Border Patrol). I could never see that they were breaking the law. They were just trying to get some food for their empty bellies and few dollars back to their families. The way that I see things, can't hold that against a man.

In the mid 1980s, I got out of the ranching business but still kept my cowboy ways about me. I moved to El Paso, which is damn sure not a cowtown by any means.

In 1983 I was living in Van Horn, Texas, I had an old ranch leased there. It was a rough mountain ranch - they called it Eagle Mountain Ranch. It is the roughest ranch I’ve ever been on, with very few flat spots. You were either going straight up or straight down, if the wind wasn’t blowing you sideways. Rattlesnakes and mountain lions did really good there, sure a hard place to get a cow fat. If God ever made a rocky nightmare, this was his best of all.

The big old ranch house sat right by a canyon called Wind Canyon. Not only wind blew down that old canyon. It was the traveling path for many a wetback to come in from Mexico. At any ranch I have ever been on, they always got a meal when they passed through, even if they didn’t get a job.

Of all the nightmares and calamities that Eagle Mountain could throw at a man, I had to add more to the stew. I married a woman who was on cocaine, and that’s a nightmare and a half. While we were there she was about to have my daughter. She did April 2, 1983. I took her to El Paso, as the hospitals there were much better. That year we got a lot of snow in the Eagle Mountains. Maybe I should have opened a ski resort. While I was in El Paso waiting for Jennifer to be born, it did come a snow. At the ranch there was right at a foot of the white stuff, and no way that I could get back. Once I knew that Jennifer was all right, I left and went back to Van Horn to wait for the thaw.

When I finally did make it to the top of the hill, I was in for yet another surprise. I parked my pickup, got out and started to the house. Right off I could tell someone had broke into the house. There was no need for alarm, I thought it was just a hungry wet caught in the storm. When I got into the kitchen, it was more than a hungry wet, as all the food was gone. There was a little dog food left, but damn little. I always kept a pretty good supply on hand and under the conditions I couldn’t blame them for that.

I then left the house and headed up towards the barn. It was a crisp, quiet morning, even Wind Canyon was not blowing for a change. I opened the small door to the dark barn, then did I get a surprise. There were about fifteen hungry wets looking at me. I was in no danger, they were just hungry. I’d picked up some groceries before I left town, but soon they were all gone to my new-found friends. I brewed up some coffee . They told me when they started out, the weather was pretty nice. Then all Hell broke loose. They were caught in THE blizzard of the year. Most did not have much warm clothing, and it’s a wonder they hadn’t froze to death. I told them that I didn’t have any work for them, and I was damn sure out of food. They all laughed. They didn’t want a job in the United States anymore. They were headed back south, where it didn’t snow. These were the good boys that a feller don't mind helping out in a time of need, but they were not all that way.

A couple of months prior to this blizzard, I was about to receive some pasture cattle. I was by myself, but the new-found income was a welcome sight. I was living at the ranch and in town as well. I left town early that morning to receive the incoming cattle. The road to the ranch was so rough and steep that a cattle truck couldn’t make it to the top. We were going to unload the cattle on another ranch down on the flat, then drive them to the hills on horseback

I got to the ranch that morning at around four o'clock. When I pulled up to the house, I could see things weren’t right. No one was living there. I’d had a partner but he’d had to move on. I saw a bed sheet hanging over the kitchen window, a strange sight. I reached behind the seat of the pickup, where I usually carried a 30-30. For some reason I had left it in town that morning. I didn’t like this feeling at all.

I made my way to the kitchen door, and saw that it had been kicked in. I turned on a light, making as much noise as I could with my spurs. Someone had been in there, tried to build a campfire on the kitchen floor. I knew whoever my new guest was, he wasn’t totally all right with the world. There was a perfectly good cook stove right there, but it hadn’t been used.

I went to the bedroom where I had my bedroll. I reached in the second drawer of a chest where, I kept a . 22 pistol. The pistol was gone. This wasn’t a good feeling, as my heart fell somewhere around my boots.

It was a big old house with polished hard wood floors, sounded like an echo chamber when someone walked across it. I went to the next bedroom, and found an old baseball bat my partner's kids had left when they moved. I started to think - going to a gun fight with a baseball bat isn’t a winning hand for me.

Then I made it out into a big living room. There was just a couch in it for something to sit on. The big room was still dark, but I could see a body laying on the couch. It was February and the dead of winter in the Eagle Mountains. I made noise as I moved closer with baseball bat in hand, ready to strike. When I got within ten feet of the sleeping body that could have been dead. I saw that it was just a sixteen year old Mexican kid, wearing just his underwear. He wasn’t even aware that I was in the room.

I still didn’t know where that pistol was, but I felt like I was getting pretty close to it. The thought in my mind was, either this kid can play possum good, or he is dead. I didn’t have time to play the waiting game, so I grabbed a hand full of his long hair. He didn’t weigh much, and with a jerk I had him up on his feet. His eyes blinked, and about then my right boot found his groin. He let out a blood curdling moan as he doubled over in pain. Then I slammed his face on the top of my right knee, and still I didn’t see the gun. He was out of commission now, rolling on the floor. My nerves were twisted into a tight knot. I was mad and scared of what could have happened.

I smoked a cigarette as he was rolling around, wondering what the hell hit him. When he did simmer down, I asked him, not in any type of a polite manner in Spanish, "Where did you put that damn gun"? He just pointed at the couch under the cushion, as his eyes were starting to swell. I knew he was no longer a threat, but I kept that bat ready. I had one eye on the boy, the other headed towards the couch. I lifted it, and then I did get mad. The damn fool had taken all of the bullets out of the gun. He couldn’t have shot me if he’d wanted to. I was shaking, thinking I went through all of that for a damn gun that wouldn’t shoot.

I just told him to get his clothes on, and get out of my sight while he still had a chance. He didn’t have to be told twice - that boot and knee job got his thinking in shape. When he was gone, I went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. While it was brewing, I went to the barn to feed my horse. I looked inside. There I found what had caused the problem. I fixed all the flats that we had on the ranch, and the tire repair stuff was in a box by the door. The glue can to repair the tubes was bone dry, and another was laying on the floor. All that glue had gone up that kid's nose the night before, kind of altered his thinking. I learned my lesson – from then on I just kept the glue to where only I knew where it was.

I returned to the kitchen to drink coffee, thinking of what had just taken place. I loaded my horse in the trailer, then made my way down the mountain to receive the cattle. I didn’t see the kid, he probably hid when he heard me coming. But that is the way the life of a cowboy is - you just have to take the good with the bad.

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