In August of'96, a friend & I were bored. We were cowboys, hired out to gather cows off of the high deserts of northern Nevada. My friend was a Vietnam vet, and was riddled with cancer from agent Orange. He had rode the wagon in the 60's, and had chose to die doing what he loved. We had smoked good Humboldt county that he'd brought with. But, in 3 months out with the chuck wagon, we had smoked it all. We were about 85-90 miles from town, but there was a campground close to the Idaho border, that had an old swinging door saloon. We had just drove 75 horses down Chicken Creek pass, and were resting our horses on a ridge overlooking the bar. We decided that this would be Robbie's last chance to do something wild & crazy. We decided to ride rip roaring rough shod right into the bar.
We had been on the wagon too long. We had no money, because the wagon pays at the end of the season. We didn't even know what day of the week it was... We hit those swinging doors like the Devil himself had us by the short hairs. We scattered tables & chairs, and I let loose a round from my .410 snake charmer, into the ceiling. BUT, it was 2pm, on a Tuesday. The barkeep was the only soul around. He didn't even look up from his newspaper. He just said, "take em back outside, and I'll buy your first round." So, we did, then drank our beer in near silence, and utter disappointment. Then, we shuffled back outside, and rode on into the ranch headquarters.
A week later, Robbie went back to Nor Cal, & I to Colorado. About 9 months later, I received word from Robbie's girl, that he had passed. Along with her note was some pics from a disposable camera he'd brought with. I still have them. The doodle I posted is what that day should've looked like... And one day it will be my tribute to a friend I only had for a short time, but was a true wild n wooley cowboy. RIP Robbie Boyce.