A few years later when my dad was 17 or 18 years old, a cattle buyer from the Fort Worth Stockyards offered my dad a job he couldn’t refuse. He took the job and lived at the stockyards. During this time frame, the cattle buyer and a friend of his came to Dad with an offer. They wanted him to go to a remote area of west Texas. He was to gather a herd of horses and bring them to the stockyards in Fort Worth to be sold.
A day later, Dad loads two horses, one saddled and one carrying a pack, into an empty railroad cattle car going west. He carried with him a hand-drawn map as to the location of the horses. Two days later, the train stops at a remote railroad crossing; and the conductor tells him that he thinks this is the general area of interest relative to the horse herd in question.
I don’t know how many days it may have taken to identify the location of the horses, and to get them gathered; but he managed. Nor do I know how many days it took to drive them to Fort Worth. But I do know that he alone drove that herd, numbering over 200 head of horses, down the streets of Fort Worth to the stockyards. When asked if he had any trouble, this quiet man of very few words said: “Not after the first few days.”