The long-limbed cowman was not a young man at the time this tale occurred. He was in his early seventies, but age hadn't taken away his zest for life. Born in 1916, he grew up working horses. Some of the earliest pictures of him were around horses. He drove teams of horses, broke horses, bred horses, and especially rode horses throughout all his adult life. The only exception was for a stint as a top-turret gunner in the European theatre during World War Two. Like so many before him, he worked most every day of life. Typical of the western man, he was polite to a fault and tough as old leather. His parents named him Robert, but most knew him as Bob. I knew him as Dad. The neighbors saved him many dental bills by pulling his teeth for him. It took a lot of persuasion, they didn’t do it willingly.

Maybe the area we live in makes for such staunchness of character. Stories abound supporting the toughness premise clear back in the Bent's Fort era and in modern times as well. Tom (Peg Leg) Smith attempted to cut off his own leg after being shot by Indians while trapping beaver. Another kind soul, Milton Sublette, finished the grueling task after Smith passed out from the pain. Ironically it was another tribe that saved his life when squaws applied herbal poultices to the wound.

In modern times there was an old rancher whose testicles were swelling up, so instead of seeking medical consultation he decided he would cut them both off. If that idea doesn’t seem radical enough, he cut them off on separate occasions, reasoning one wound had to heal before inflicting the other. Although now quite to that extreme, Dad was one such staunch and resolute character.

He was doing fieldwork, what he referred to as "riding on an old bumpy tractor". One of the neighbors was driving slowly by on the road. Dad was looking for any excuse to go horseback riding and leave the tractor work for later. He waved furiously, trying to get the neighbor's attention. Since indeed Dad was the only thing for miles around that was making any motion, the neighbor was sure to see him.

In due course the conversation had to come around to discussing horses. If it didn’t naturally then Dad would break the ice. The neighbor indicated he had a colt he was breaking that needed exercising, but had been putting it off because he didn’t have anyone to go along with him. It wasn't long before he was persuaded to remedy that situation. Their agreed destination was the pasture on the East Side of Timpas (pronounced temp) Creek. Dad wanted to "look at the cattle"; and it was nice exercise for the horses.

The pair started feeling adventurous. Crossing the creek was an education for the colt. The youngster was reluctant to climb the steep creek bank. Seeing the neighbor struggling with the young pony only brought out more of the cowboy in Dad. It wasn't long before he decided to test his rusty roping skills. He admitted to everyone who inquired that he was no quality roper. But he wanted to at least keep his horse's skills finely honed.

Things being as they are, they didn't cooperate. Several throws of the rope at an uncooperative calf were fruitless. Angrily he spurred his horse after the calf another time, only to have his horse slip and fall on a patch of icy snow. Dad’s foot was caught between the saddle and the ground. I was not a good thing, particularly when one takes into account that the horse’s weight was added into the equation. Bones seem to go snap under those these circumstances and closer inspection determined that the foot was indeed broken. After some preliminary searching, a suitable splint was fashioned by the pair from a piece of driftwood and baling wire. Painstakingly, they proceeded to make their way back to the ranch house.

It is less than a mile as the crow flies from the pasture to home. But they had to get across Timpas Creek. While it was not too much problem crossing from the other direction, it could prove to be a real nightmare with a broken leg. They thought about their plan of action. "Maybe you can tie the rope around my waist and drag me up the slope," reasoned Dad. By that time the pain in his foot might have been beginning to smart just a bit. Thankfully, after a short discussion, the dragging idea was abandoned for a more practical solution. It would be easier to slowly ride the horses down the embankment and proceed home. The horses were tired of their adventure and wanted to retire to the corral. They were loath to exhibit any behavior that would lengthen the time required to achieve that goal. With some hesitation they set off toward the homestead. True to form, the horses navigated the crossing flawlessly and walked patiently toward home, not wanting to impede their burden's progress in any way.

After arriving at the homestead, Dad insisted that the horses were unsaddled before they proceeded to the hospital. After all, first things first. It was a routine that went smoothly because it had been practiced many times. The noble beasts were on their best behavior wanting to be released as quickly as possible.