Meeting Our Cowboy Grampa

In 1957, my father and mother packed their three children, into the back of the old Buick and headed west. They traveled from New Jersey to visit family in Utah and Arizona. It was quite a journey and I remember it well. (By the way, we never made a cross-country car trip again. My Mother denies all memory of the experience. And from then on, Dad put us on a plane, and if he drove, he drove alone.)

After many days and one Buick breakdown, we made it to southern Utah. Once there, we stayed with my Jackson grandparents in Kanab. Often we would gather around my grandfather as he told us stories about being a cowboy. We were easterners, after all, and he was our “Cowboy Grampa.” From the picture above, I think Cowboy Grampa was having the most fun.

One of the stories he told and one that has been retold around many a campfire is the story of Old Red. I am going to retell it here. Not in my grandfather’s own words. I’ll be happy if I can capture even a bit of the drama he was able to bring to his tale.

A Cowboy and his Horse, Old Red

Old Red was a cow pony. Elmer, as he was called, was given the horse as a young boy. This would have been around 1910. He was often out with the herd — sheep, and then cattle, that his family grazed on the Arizona Strip and up on the Kaibab. Together he and his horse roamed over great distances in the empty land, spending long days and longer nights together. Often with no one else to talk, Elmer shared his deepest secrets with the pony.

And he knew Old Red was listening, especially when his pony’s ears would twitch back in that certain way. Over the years, he and his horse became partners. Elmer believed Old Red to be the truest friend he would ever have. And he was also the smartest horse of any in an entire country filled with smart horses. And then there came the day that their friendship was put to the test.

One day he and Old Red went further afield than usual; they were looking for a calf, who had wandered off from the herd. Not an uncommon occurence in cow country. Just as the two were about to give up and head back to camp, a band of Navajo came up and over the rise. They were off the reservation and looking for trouble. And when they spotted Elmer they did not hesitate to give chase.

Elmer, who had quickly turned his pony around and sped off, could hear their war whoops and the twang of arrows leaving their bows. Old Red gave them a run but eventually, they were chased to the edge of a cliff. Looking out over the edge all Elmer could see below was a deep darkness. Elmer knew he would not survive that jump, but he had no other way out. And he had a plan and a trusted horse. Still, he wasn’t anxious to jump. Old Red stood calmly at the very edge of the precipice without a tremor, waiting for Elmer’s signal.

The Navajo came up very fast and Elmer realized he had no choice. With a steady grip on the reins, he guided Old Red forward. Without further coaxing, as if the horse knew exactly what his friend had in mind, Old Red jumped into the night. Elmer let out a holler, maybe a scream, as Old Red made a wild, galloping leap up into the air and then straight down. They fell through the darkness, Elmer holding tight but never doubting his friend.

Just as the land reached up to grab them, he yelled whoa and pulled back on the reins. And almost before the words left his lips the horse halted. Just a few feet from the ground. Elmer hopped off the back of the pony and then stepped out of the way as the horse lightly touched the ground.

Above them, they could hear the disappointed cries of their enemy. None of those very brave men dared to make that leap. None of them had a pony as true-hearted as Old Red. 

Cowboy Traditions

I believe this is an old folk tale passed down in many cowboy families. This winter I went with my husband, my Mom, two brothers, and a sister-in-law to the Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko, Nevada. This year, I realized that even though I’d never lived a ranching life, or even a farming life, I have inherited a little bit of that tradition. Enough at any rate to feel that I belonged and I was representing the Jacksons of southern Utah/ northern Arizona and, most importantly, my Grandfather.