Sonora, 1888
By
Leo de Natale
Name’s Slade. I’m a greenhorn cowpuncher out of Tucson. I’m 22 and drifted down to
The Arizona territory. Hooked up with the Circle T Ranch out of Sonoita.
Out West. Tired of the cold Nebraska flatlands. Never seen mountains before.
Bodacious.
The Sonoran desert is a thing of beauty, a thing of fear.
Cupped among massive mountains are arid valleys teeming with life.
It is April and the heat is already intense; everything craves water here.
I navigate my faithful horse Dancer through cow path trails; the beautiful desert
Makes cow herding tolerable even when you’re searching for mavericks.
Trail boss gives that goddamned job to the youngest wrangler – me.
Desert flowers are blooming – such a beautiful blanket of yellows and reds.
It rained yesterday, the pungent aroma of creosote bushes fills the air.
Everything west of Tucson is tinged with danger; rattlesnakes whose skin
Blends invisibly with the rocks and sand. The mighty saguaro cacti loom
Everywhere, their green arms reaching to the heavens. Their cousins, the Cholla
Cacti have mutli-headed needles that cut into your skin creating intense pain.
Scorpions and Gila monsters are everywhere. Vultures circle at the base of a
Mountain. Another fresh kill. Deer? Cattle? Who knows?
The sun is blinding and I push down my Stetson to block the light. The intense
Heat leaves my hat soaked. My boots and spurs are
Dusty, my chaps oozing with sweat. I grab the canteen for another swig of
Water. Gotta save the water supply until we get back to the ranch. Always
Worried about water. I look in the distance and watch heat waves shimmering
Across the desert floor.
Dancer, God love him, plods on clippety-clop, the wet aromatic sweat is
Dripping From his neck, getting lathered up; the hotter it gets the slower
He moves, but we’re not in a Hurry. The damned flies are swirling around us in
Hordes; I couldn’t find those three runaways who skedaddled away from the Herd.
Found ‘em but now gotta drive ‘em home.
This searing heat thins your blood- you almost get used to it.
We just want to get back before sundown.
There’s something prehistoric about this land. The creatures and plants seem
Otherworldly. Perhaps it’s the silence that is broken by only the caw of a Red
Tailed Hawk or Golden Eagle zeroing in on its prey .
The ranch is now ten miles away and I’ve been riding for about half the day. We
Stop at decreasing intervals, find a large ironwood tree with enough shade for
Dancer and me. I dole out two cups of water for him. He’ll have plenty to
Drink At the ranch. We ride on and on and my head is getting wobbly with the
Heat. My lips are parched, nostrils dry as a bone. Makes it hard to breathe Sometimes.
The sun is starting to set and Dancer has perked up. He knows we’re almost
Home. Yes, there, about a mile away I can see plumes of dust from the cattle
Herds. The mavericks start running. As bone-tired as he his, Dancer picks up his Gait and we’re now loping
Faster and closer to the ranch. He shouts out a whinny and a neigh.
We are home, hot, exhausted and dying to slake our thirsts. The day begins to
Cool and Dancer is still at the water trough. Me, I probably drank a gallon and
Am heading to the swimming hole. A long, hot sweaty day is done.
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