TOM DALY
Tom Daly and I worked together for several years and I liked him very
much.
One time we went from the DHS ranch at Rocky Ridge close to the main
range of the Rocky Mountains to the ranch the outfit owned at Malta,
which was in the eastern part of Montana. We had two strings of horses,
which was about twenty head. We had our beds packed on two horses on
that trip. One day Tom’s pack slipped and got down on the horse’s side.
We roped him and fixed the pack, but while we were doing so we turned
our saddle horses loose with the bridle reins on the ground (which is
the way Montana horses were broke to stand). Mosquitoes were very bad
that day and was worrying the horses, and when we turned the horse loose
that we had been fixing the pack, we turned around to get on our saddle
horses—they both run off and into the loose bunch, which got scared and
away they all went, leaving us both afoot and I think it was at least 20
miles to any ranch and the day very hot. I never saw Tom excited before
as he was very easy-going, but when I looked at him and asked him, “What
are we going to do now?” his lips trembled and he said, “Damned if I
know.”
Well, a lucky thing I had my rope that we had caught the pack horse
with. So I picked it up and we started after the horses on foot. They
run about a mile and stopped and went to feeding—but when we caught up
with them, one of our saddle horses would drag his bridle reins around
some of the horses’ legs and scare them—and away they would go again.
Finally we got the bunch in between us and one of the pack horses had
his head down feeding—I made a run at him and when he put his head up to
run I throwed my rope and caught him. We unpacked him and I got on him
bareback, with a rope around his nose, and rounded up the bunch and
brought them back to where Tom was. He had made a loop in the pack rope
and caught his saddle horse. And after a good many trials of roping, we
caught my horse.
When we got our horse packed again and on our way, we were sure a couple
of happy boys. Tom told me I sure made a lucky throw when I caught that
pack horse.
In my younger days as a cowboy I had a hobby on saddles. I always wanted
a light saddle with as little leather on it as possible. I used to use a
Clarence Nelson saddle, made in Visalia, California, which was about the
smallest and lightest stock saddle made in those days. Then after I had
got it, I would trim and cut off all the leather I possibly could get
along without. Tom Daly always rode a double rig saddle and wanted it
quite heavy. He was always making fun of my saddle and said I might as
well ride bareback.
One time a big prairie fire broke out and the best thing we used to have
to fight those fires was a “green” or fresh cowhide. We could tie a
couple of ropes to it and with our saddle horses drag it along the fire
line. If the blaze wasn’t too big, it would smother the fire out
completely. This fire broke out close to our roundup, and we had a big
jaw steer in our roundup and he wasn’t any value as a beef steer. So the
boss told the boys to catch him and kill and skin him and use his hide
for a drag to put the fire out.
Everybody got their ropes down in a hurry. Tom roped the steer by the
head and I caught him by one hind leg. He weighed about 1,500 pounds and
Tom was riding a big strong horse, and when he saw I had the steer by
the hind leg he never looked back but was spurring his horse and pulling
on the steer to try to throw him down so we could cut his throat, as
nobody had a gun. My horse wasn’t too well broke to roping, but I got my
rope fast to the saddle horn and Tom was pulling so fast and so hard, it
must of hurt my horse and he went to bucking. I couldn’t get my rope
loose from the saddle horn and I hollered at Tom—but he kept right on
going and pulled me—saddle and all—off the horse. The boys joshed me
plenty about my little saddle. I asked Tom why he didn’t stop when I
hollered. He said he didn’t know I was riding bareback or he would.
Another time Tom and I were gathering saddle horses for the spring
roundup. When we left our camp in the morning we went different
directions and I got back to camp quite a while before Tom did. I had
loosened my cinch and tied my horse to a post and went in the cabin to
cook dinner. I heard someone holler and looked out and saw Tom coming
with a bunch of horses. Those horses were sometimes very hard to corral.
So I run out and got on my horse but forgot to tighten my cinch. Those
horses came by me pretty fast and I run my horse in ahead of them to try
to turn them. They dodged by me and when I turned my horse to head them
off my saddle turned and, of course, I hit the ground and my horse got
away and went with the wild bunch.
I got Tom’s horse and followed them. After a little distance he quit the
bunch and took off across the country by himself. I followed him about
ten miles and finally run him into an old roundup corral and caught him.
The saddle was under his belly and there wasn’t a thing left of it—only
the saddle tree and the cinch—he had kicked it all to pieces.
When I led him back to camp I felt like crying and called Tom out to
show it to him. In place of sympathizing with me, he smiled and said he
didn’t see any difference in it than it was before.
I had to ride 40 miles to town to order another saddle. I tied a rope on
each side of the saddle tree to use for stirrups and rode that distance.
Tom went with me—I think he had the time of his life that day laughing
at my rig.
We worked together on the roundup that year and slept together. We
worked pretty late that fall and the nights got very cold. We were
holding quite a bunch of cattle and, of course, that meant we had to
guard the cattle at night. Each man guarded three hours and then woke up
another cowboy. One night was very cold. When I came off guard my feet
felt like chunks of ice and I had noticed Tom’s underwear was wore out
where he had been sitting in the saddle. I pulled off my boots and went
out in the frost—then slipped into bed with Tom. He was asleep and
didn’t hear me. I got into bed easy and found that bare place on his
body and planted both feet right on it. He hollered and went clear out
of the tent. He said afterwards he thought somebody had burned him with
a hot iron. I think I got even with him for making fun of my saddle!