The Southwestern Historical Quarterly, Volume 102, July 1998 - April, 1999 Page: 66
559 p. : ill. (some col.), maps, ports. ; 23 cm.View a full description of this periodical.
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Southwestern Historical Quarterly
alarm because it so suddenly drives sleep away. I sit up in bed, snatch the
matches from the corner of the table, and light the old kerosene lamp.
In its yellow light the bunkhouse is not a thing I enjoy looking at so early
in the morning, for, with its potbellied wood-stove in the center, its
scarred dresser with broken mirror, and its newspaper-covered walls, it is
as homey as a sheep shed. Oh well, I only sleep here. The clock says
twenty-two minutes before four and nothing should be awake at that
hour, especially me. Perhaps I am not awake-it is hard to tell some-
times-and even the crickets have quit making the racket that lulled me
to sleep. Finally, I stir myself into putting on my pants, socks, shirt, and
then boots. I imagine it is amusing to watch me dress because I have the
habit of shaking out my clothes and turning my boots upside down be-
fore putting them on. Seems senseless but I always remember the story
the boss told me of the time he put on a boot with a black widow spider
in it. He claimed he couldn't walk for a week. After dressing, I blow out
the lamp and head to the main house. I clump up the steps of the old
stone ranch house, through the front door, down a hall, and out to the
back porch to the sink, where I sleepily wash my face. I'd give anything
to be back in bed because it is still night. In the west, the moon is setting
behind the hills and the stars are beginning to fade into the faint gray
advancing from the east. I walk with Mr. Green and Shorty Hogan to the
barn, where we feed and then milk two cows. Often the milking is done
in the starlight or moonlight, as there are no lights in or about the barn
other than one dim kerosene lantern. By the time we have finished
these chores, we are ready for breakfast prepared by Mrs. Green.
The equipment I have brought with me from home is my saddle,
which I've had for years, a pair of well-worn cowboy boots I have bor-
rowed from my cousin Tinky, steel spurs with medium rowels, borrowed
from my neighbor and friend, Latham Jones, a few changes of cloth-
ing-khaki and blue jean-and a hat, an old felt fedora of my father's,
which can be shaped to resemble a real cowboy hat and serves as a good
sunshade. Within the first few days of my visit I go to town and buy good,
plain, heavy-duty working chaps and a pair of secondhand cowboy boots,
mahogany brown in color, but with fairly elaborate stitching, costing me
between fifteen and twenty dollars, handmade for someone who failed
to return for them. The last and also essential elements of my working
gear are a three-inch pocketknife with two good steel blades and a fine-
grit, three-inch sharpening stone, both of which are carried with me
wherever I go.
I sit down at the long, linoleum-covered table with a "Morning" to the
boss's family on the other side. Breakfast is substantial (we may not eat
much again until nightfall), usually bread and butter, fried or scrambledJuly
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Texas State Historical Association. The Southwestern Historical Quarterly, Volume 102, July 1998 - April, 1999, periodical, 1999; Austin, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth101219/m1/91/: accessed May 2, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Texas State Historical Association.