Chapter 4
What’s a Dally?
Paniolo Pete learned everything he could about ships during his first couple of years at sea. He traveled around the world and visited many exciting and exotic places. On one trip they docked in Lisbon, the capital city of Portugal. Nickel insisted they travel to the ranch where he and his sister grew up. Pete had never known his grandparents. They both died before he was born, so all he really knew about them were from stories his mother had told him.
The great horse ranch had long since gone, but having a vivid imagination as most young boys do, Peter saw the ranch as it must have been when his mama was a girl. Vast hilly slopes of grasslands stretched down to the rocky cliffs that rested above the jagged coastline. The slopes were dotted with wild horses grazing. Over the next ridge sat the beautiful Ramos mansion, sculpted in the traditional hacienda style. Of course, none of this still existed. The rolling grasslands had been developed into small family farms. The wild herds of horses had long since disappeared. What might have once been a beautiful mansion was now nothing more than a vacant overgrown plot of land. Nickel also seemed to ignore the reality of the present and as they rode along, he gave Peter a real taste of what his earlier years were like.
“Over here is where your mother’s horse got spooked. He took off so fast, my poor sister dear was thrown to the ground and broke her leg. She must have been around ten years old, I imagine.”
“And that area over there is where the outer corrals used to be and where we kept the wild stock. We’d round up the herds and hold them here until they were broken in. Your mother was one of the best breakers I’ve ever seen. She just walked up to the horse, casual as you please, jumped in the saddle, and rode that poor horse till it could run no more. No matter how hard it bucked, Annie just hung on for dear life and wouldn’t quit.”
Try as he might, Peter just couldn’t picture his mother riding a wild horse. Both he and Nickel were lost in memories, real and imagined, of what was once one of the greatest horse ranches in all of Portugal. As they rode along, each absorbed in his own thoughts, they didn’t notice a very old man with a very big gun step out from behind some rocks. Suddenly there he was, right smack in front of them blocking their path.
“Señor,” the old man said in a raspy voice, “this private property. You have no business here. This land belong to Señor Ramos, and you are trespassing.”
Peter was startled by the sudden appearance of the old man and more than a little frightened by the double-barreled shotgun he casually held in his arms. Nickel was also shocked, but for a different reason. He looked hard at the man, and then he broke into a big smile, as if seeing an old friend. Indeed he had! Nickel got off his horse, walked over to the man and gave him a great big hug. The old man looked a little bewildered.
“Señor, who are you? I do not know you. You do not belong here and you both must leave.”
“Paco, you old caballero,” Nickel said with a grin, “after all the trouble I caused you, I thought you’d never forget me. What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
“Señor Niko? Is dat really you? My eyes, they no good anymore. Why you come home now? Everything gone except me, and pretty soon I go to be with Señor and Señora Ramos. They ask me to watch the land for you, but you no come back. Annie no come back. This all we have left. I am so sorry I lost it all.”
Tears flowed freely down the old man’s face. Nickel didn’t seem to notice Paco’s show of emotions, and introduced his old friend to Peter.
“Peter, this is Paco, one of the greatest vaqueros in all of Portugal. He taught me how to ride my first horse, and he was always there to save us when Annie and I got into any trouble. Paco, I’d like you to meet Peter, Annie’s son and the heir to the Ramos fortune.”
Turning to Peter, Nickel said with a smile, “This man could rope the wind if he had someone to buy it.”
“No, Señor Niko, I’m afraid I am too old to rope. All I do now is wait for my time to see all my friends again. They are all gone, and soon I go too.”
Peter, Nickel, and Paco spent the rest of the day and well into the evening talking and telling stories about Peter’s grandparents and how life used to be on the ranch. Paco especially wanted to hear about Annie. When Nickel told him about the great brownstone house in Boston and the clothes she wore and what a great society lady she had become, Paco would break into a big toothless grin and cackle.
“I sorry, amigo, but to think of Annie in a dress is too much for this old man. No-no, you must be joking!”
The next day, as they sat by the fire in Paco’s run down cabin, Peter asked them if they would teach him to rope from a horse. Although Peter had learned to ride a horse early in life, he knew nothing about roping or cutting.
“I know I could learn. It doesn’t look that hard.”
So they gave Peter a rope and between Nickel’s advice and Paco’s example, he was soon learning the basics of throwing a rope. Peter was a quick study, and when he could rope most of the rocks and small shrubs around the area, he was eager to try it from horseback. He was having the time of his life, and by early afternoon he announced he was ready for live targets.
“Yee haw!” yelled Nickel. “He’s got the Ramos blood in him for sure. Just like old times, eh Paco? What say we see if there’s any beef left on these slopes. I’m plum tired of all them beans and rice we been eatin’. How about a good beefsteak for dinner?”
“Señor Niko, I do not think we should do this. These cows have not seen too many men, and they will not go easy to this barbecue. Besides, amigo, I am old and you are of the sea, and Señor Peter has only roped rocks and bushes. No, Señor, I think this is not a good idea.”
Although Paco said this with concern in his voice, Peter saw the gleam in his eyes. They all discussed it, and although it probably was a bad idea, no one could come up with a good reason they shouldn’t go. To be honest, none of them tried too hard to find reasons.
“Señor Peter, if you feel you must prove yourself by challenging the ghosts of these hills, then please Señor, I would be honored if the grandson of my closest amigo would accept a small gift from me.”
Paco disappeared into his cabin and returned with a leather riata of extraordinary beauty.
“It is not much,” he said, “but I would be honored if you would take this small gift.”
The rope was unlike anything either of them had ever seen. It was a good sixty feet in length and throughout the entire rope braid, a white strip of leather was woven into the design. It was truly a magnificent piece of craftsmanship.
“Paco, that’s about the most beautiful lasso I’ve ever seen! Are you sure you wouldn’t rather leave it here where it’s safe? Peter and I can just come along for the ride. Of course, if you really want to bring it, I’d be glad to rope our dinner with your fine new riata,” Nickel said with a smile.
“Señor, I have seen you rope, and this is a bad idea. You will try to snare the biggest bull in all of Portugal and then we will spend a week trying to get it back,” argued Paco. “No Señor, I think this boy has the look of a vaquero, not the far off eyes of the sea. One day I believe he will be a great caballero.”
Thus far, this was the proudest moment of Peter’s life. Until the end of his life, Paniolo Pete worked cattle with the hand-braided rope Paco had given him. Of course, it had been used and repaired so many times that its beautifully woven pattern faded, but it was always spot-on accurate when Pete threw it, and he always remembered the first thing he ever caught with that rope.
Peter, Nickel, and Paco headed out into open country well before sunrise the next morning while the air was still cool. As Peter rode behind his uncle and Paco, he felt as happy and proud as he had ever been. Never before had he ridden a horse other than to get from one place to another. Now he was riding a horse for a purpose. For the first time in his life, he felt like this was where he belonged. This was what he was meant to do.
Of course, Pete also loved the ocean, but he told me once that
he never really felt like a sailor. Although he spent years at sea, he was never quite as content as when he was on the back of a horse. Now, I reckon I can understand what he felt like. I’ve been on a horse since before I could walk and would be lost without one. A true cowboy is part horse anyhow and never walks when he can ride.
Peter’s grandfather was one of the best horsemen in all of Portugal, and riding was definitely in his blood. So it ain’t too surprising that as he rode along with Paco and his Uncle Nickel that day, he felt like a true cowboy. We are what we are born to be, and it just felt right to him. He felt like he could conquer the world. Years later, he told me the story.