Featuring "Devil Herd" by Dale " Doc" Hayes

 

                     Devil Herd

I was in the Ranchers' Retirement Home collecting a story from an old cattleman
Who had cowboyed, ranched, and lived long and well in this western land.
He told me this tale, a tale of two old men
It is their tale and it begins "way back then."
It is one tale but it's told here as two
And its truth or falsehood will be decided by you.
I recorded it so there would be nothing I would miss
As he told me in his words and it went like this.
"Following Fall Gather in '35, we drove in from the ranch, me, my Mom, and Dad
And stumbled in to-for me at age 7-the most fearsome experience I'd ever had.
We came out of the old Orpheum Strand after an evening of cowboying that was just grand:
Hoot Gibson, glorious shootouts, evil bad guys, and songs by a real live local cowboy band.
Coming out of the movie house I bumped into (face to face) a brutally battered half a man;
Both legs cut off about mid thigh, face marred and terribly scarred, leaving only one eye.
No wheel chair, just a 3'X3' set of boards nailed together with metal wheels down under.
I jumped back behind my mother, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in panic wonder
Thinking why would he stop us in our tracks and hold out a two fingered right hand
When I was startled to hear my father speak kindly to this frightening half a man."
"Howdy Delbert," I heard my father say as he shook that disfigured hand in the regular way.
"Howdy Ben. Hello Sue. I haven't seen you two in such a long long time."
The frozen expression on mother's face I attributed to the man's sweat stink and grime.
Then smiling at me with a gap tooth grin he said "And this must be your youngest little man."
And before I could dodge he reached around her and with those two fingers shook my hand.
Turning back to my Dad he said, "Ben could you loan me a dollar or two?
My pension check is running a little late and it's been a couple of days since I last ate.
If you could spare them, a few bucks would really help out and I'd be most grateful to you."
My Dad took a $10 and two $1s from his wallet and handed them to the battered half a man.
"Delbert, don't you worry about paying it back 'til it's going better for you, old friend."
Back then, in 1935, what my Dad gave him, was two weeks for food to keep a family alive.
The frightening little man tipped his old hat to my Mom, said thanks to my Dad
Smiled at me and said "Don't give your Momma any trouble! You hear, lad?"
And up the dirty cluttered alley, next to the theater, he pushed his clumsy little cart.
I found I could breathe again and started working at slowing my pounding heart.
"He'll just go and drink it up Ben and he'll be out on the street begging again,"
My mother opined as we walked to our truck through the gently falling snow.
"Yes, Sue. You don't have to tell me. I've known him a long time and I know."
In the truck I asked "What on earth happened to that poor man, Dad?"
"I just never have seen anyone look so terrible and so very sad."
"His name is Delbert Tyree and his story is one only he can tell
But I assure you, son, Old Delbert has had more than his share of Hell.
He's the reason I always carry a rifle and a Colt when I ride up into the Cold Kills
And I tell you again, don't you or your brothers ever go up into those cursed hills."

 

            Devil Herd , verse 2

It was ten years before I met up again with that battered little man.
I was nearly 17 and life, for me, was going way North of just grand.
I was that year's Junior Rodeo Champ and dreaming of going "big time."
Rodeo was going to be my life and I knew I would soon be hitting my prime.
Dad sent me into town and the feed store feller said there was a two-hour wait
As he was right busy, three ahead of me, and he had to unpack a shipping crate.
So I went over to Moore's Drugstore for a burger and their bottomless coffee cup
And at the doorway sat Delbert Tyree on his wooden ride, looking at the steps, three up.
He had not changed a lot-greyer, a bit more grubby, same old tattered hat,
Ragged worn shirt, mismatched gloves, denim jacket fit only for the bed of a barn rat.
I don't know if it was 16 year old bold or need to hear a story my Dad had left untold.
I upped and said, "Mr. Tyree, I am going in there for a sandwich and hot coffee.
If I go and get and bring them out, would you be interested in eating with me?
He looked startled and replied, "Make it a habit to never refuse food that is free."
In I went and five minutes later I was in the alley behind Moore's with Delbert Tyree.
After those years of seeing him on the sidewalks from the truck or back seat of our car
I sat with him in the alley between Moore's and the El Paso Mexican Lounge and Bar.
Then after eating, he told me the tale my Dad thought it best to leave untold
And I was sorry I heard it and his telling of it caused my blood to run cold.
His story went this way and I remember it word for word even right down to this day.
He said, "In the 40 years back before what happened to me, between 1885 and 1925,
Foreman Mort Bagley said that more than 20 hands had gone missing and none found alive
Just disappeared. Cowboy search parties looked high and low but no trace left behind,
Except a few of their horses-trampled to death-but not even hats or boots did anyone find.
Mr. Bagley told all of us hands that not one of us was to ever go into those Cold Kills.
He said that for a long time something evil had been happening up there in those hills.
I had chased a couple of strays into the west spur of them hills above the Ralston Ranch
And my horse had dropped a leg into a badger hole and I whacked my head on a tree branch.
When I came to it was to hear my horse bellowing in sheer terror and awful pain.
As she was stomped by a mob of roans led by a giant black with markings of blood red stain.
What stood out most about him was that big black horse had a long golden mane.
When I was in France in the Great War, I had stolen myself an army hand gun,
And it was strapped to my side, a Colt .45, a dull black 1911A1.
I had one in the spout and seven in the magazine with a clip of seven to spare,
So I went after them figuring to kill him, all of them, for what they did to my mare.
That lead brute, that black devil with the red forelegs, turned and came at me full bore,
Red eyed, blowing snot, pure stinking evil, right down to his very core.
I was figuring one or two forty-five balls in the center of his chest
Would put that black devil down and scare off the rest.
I was grinning as in my mind I saw him come crashing down on his knees
But eight of those slugs did not slow him down any more than a handful of dried leaves.
He struck me with a hoof and crushed my face and knocked out my left eye,
Then they all jumped in and kicked and stomped me and I knew I was going to die.

                                                                          
               Devil Herd, verse 3

That had been late in the afternoon, as the sun was going down.
When I awoke, the sun was rising and there was morning dew on the ground
My legs were smashed, I was near blind, and my right hand was half bitten off
And the blood gushed out of my mouth whenever I began to cough.
It took me three days to crawl that two miles to Ralston's homestead
And with every yard crawled, I was filled with agony and fearful dread
That demon crew would come back and finish what they had begun.
Sid Ralston found me that fourth day laying near his corral in the morning sun
And you can see what that black devil and his demon crew left of me.
The doc took both my legs and I'm grateful I have one eye so I can see."
As Delbert told me his terror-filled story I listened as if I were in a trance
And changed my mind about things I'd thought cowboy foolishness and romance
But it came home to rest a year later in a frightening and perverse way
As my brother and I, riding hard to catch up with a few cows gone astray,
Rode onto a ridge at the edge of the dark mountains we call The Cold Kills,
Knowing our Dad would tear a living strip off us for going near those hills.
We saw in a small valley about five hundred yards just below
A herd of red roans moving quickly through the blowing snow,
Led by a herd boss, a huge black stallion, with a golden mane,
And his forelegs the deep color and sheen of blood red stain.
My brother and I, we pulled up and watched them there in the morning sun
And, suddenly, they turned and looked up at us, and then moving as if they were one
They came up that ridge toward us, heading for us at a dead run.
Neither of us said a word as we wheeled and spurred our horses down out of those hills.
Delbert's story, and other rumors heard about those mountains called The Cold Kills
Caused us to ride like never before, with the speed of a runaway train
As we fled from that demon herd led by the giant black with the golden mane.
We reached the western valley and thundered down it terrified of the thought
Of that devil's herd heading us off and us being ridden down and caught.
I looked back over my shoulder and saw them silhouetted against the morning sky
And wondered how many other cowboys had faced that crew only to die.
Then the thought hit me, shook me harshly, as I realized I could not explain
That herd of red roans, the black herd boss with the golden mane.
Was it the same as those in Delbert's tale of the terror way back then?
But this was 1946 and Delbert's tale was in the early '20s, way back when.
Those roans and the great black followed us for miles paralleling our track
But they stayed up on the ridges, never came down from the hills
And we gradually pulled away from those mountains we call the Cold Kills."
The old man settled back in his wheel chair and let out a deep sigh
Saying, "I really thought my young life would end that day and I would die
A victim of that demon herd, trampled and left dead beneath the early winter sky.
For fifty years, I ranched and cowboyed west of those mountains we call the Cold Kills
And stayed clear, cautiously stayed far away from those cursed hills.
 

     Devil Herd , verse 4

Only twice did I saddle up and deliberately ride in
But each time we went we went heavily armed and in a group of ten.
On one of those rides, from back in a deep canyon, we heard a herd boss challenge ring.
We rode on quickly, knowing the potentials that herd boss challenge could bring."
I thanked the old cattleman, shut off my recorder, and headed on homeward.
Stopping at Starbucks, I got a coffee, considered the story and labeled it absurd.
Sitting down to drink my coffee, I picked up the evening paper to see the headline
And suddenly I felt an icy hand take a solid and strong grip on my spine.
In large red letters it read: Tragedy Strikes in The Cold Kills
A scout master, and two scouts, on a horseback trip deep in those hills
Had been chased and forced off a precipice by a wild horse herd.
I sat thinking of my judgment on the old man's story, had I said "Absurd?"
So you make the decision. I am not able to do so. It's left totally up to you.
Was it an old cowboy's humor pulled on a researcher? Or is it true?

© Devil Herd Poem by Dale "Doc" Hayes, 2007